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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year ago

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Denial || Men Like Me

Part 2 of the Men Like Me series. Part 1

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girthy age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), masturbation (male & female), cis fem reader, descriptions of reader's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, Joel ignores you until he can't, slightly insecure reader, very insecure Joel, corruption kink, mild fem!dom, reader turns the tables a little, name calling, fetishization of virginity, face fucking (not the mouth, but cheek), kneeling, stripping, moneyshot, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 10.4k Summary: After your steamy encounter, Joel ignores you out of guilt, leaving you feeling unworthy. But you make a discovery that makes you turn the tables on him. A/N: The reception that chapter 1 got gave me enough serotonin to keep me going, you guys. I hope everyone likes this chapter at least half as much if not as much as the first one. Even the half would give me a lot of joy. And do say hi in my inbox or my asks. I would loooove to talk about these two. As always, pleaaaaaase give me reblog and/or a comment to recharge my writing batteries. Most importantly, a big thanks to @tobuildahomeinthewoods because the smut part was from their idea in the last chapter's comments .

“Long day, huh?”

“What?” you asked, your brain taking a second too long to process the words. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah,” you said, going back to your glass of whiskey.

“I heard about the kids. They gotta be more careful,” Tommy said, looking to his brother for some kind of confirmation. Joel nodded hesitantly, his eyes looking everywhere but you as he traced the rim of his glass with his middle finger. So cavalier like he didn’t fuck you with that very finger. Asshole.

“Yeah, yeah. Climbing trees is not wise,” you agreed, willing yourself to look away from his brother. You didn’t want to get caught staring, or worse glaring. The chatter of the dinner crowd at the Tipsy Bison drowned into the sound of you tapping your fingers on the wood counter of the bar. You got up abruptly, the bar stool going down from the force of your actions. You bent over to pick it up, a hand moving to your chest instinctively to keep from flashing everyone. With no such protection for your ass, you could feel familiar eyes on them. Eyes that you’d become accustomed to having on you no matter the distance.

“You ok–” Tommy began, but you cut him off.

“You have a good one, Tommy,” you said, grabbing your bag from the bar counter and slinging it over your shoulder. “I gotta go. I’m really tired.”

Like the fool that you were, you picked your glass up and downed the rest of the whiskey, your throat rejecting the choice with a cough that had you spit out half of the burning liquor. Great. Now you’d have to wash your scrubs before going to bed so it didn’t stain. Fucking great.

There were some protests from the younger Miller brother, some words of concern. But you ignored him as you hurried out of the Tipsy Bison and into the night. At least one of the Millers had some manners. And it wasn’t the one that broke into your house and showed you what a clitoris was. It was fucking embarrassing that he was ignoring you after that. Even more embarrassing that you had to learn it from a random guy when you were the one poring over anatomy textbooks trying to become a doctor. You should know anatomy better than anyone else. Your mentor should’ve taught you. You’d learned how to conduct a safe childbirth. Even been allowed to close up the last c-section patient. But you didn’t fucking learn how the baby got in there.

Alright well, you did. But you hadn’t been told about some of the especially sensitive parts of the body that would be involved in the process.

You tossed your bag on your couch, got yourself some cookies that you traded for last week and climbed up the stairs to your bedroom. It wasn’t a nutritious dinner, but it filled your tummy. It came in handy when you didn’t want to spend time chopping vegetables and boiling pasta or whatever the hell you had to do to cook.

Your bedroom had become your prison in the last two weeks. You felt trapped, unable to see beyond it. How could you, when it ironically was right here that you found freedom?

Even as you did something as mundane as eating cookies on bed and spilled crumbs on your sheets like a child, the chair in front of your dressing table was in sight. From where you sat, you could see very clearly the scratch on the black paint that revealed the light wood underneath. Evidence of how you had to hold on to dear life as Joel worked your pussy expertly. Like he knew it as well as he knew the tools of his trade. Like weaving his fingers between your folds was as familiar to him as it was for you to weave through skin with your suture needle and thread.

You felt yourself dripping at the mere memory of his thick fingers pumping away inside you, unraveling the fibers of your being. The sight of him at the bar– his finger tracing the rim of the glass– it took you to the memory of that very finger teasing your pussy.

The pornographic magazines, the entertainment for men, no longer saw the light of day from their box under your bed. Pictures of nude women you wanted to model yourself after in order to be attractive to men no longer sufficed. All you strived for now was to be attractive to him. To be strung like a puppet in his hands while all he seemed to want was to get away from any place where you were.

You felt a pang in your chest as you recalled the first time you went to the house of worship after your time with Joel to find that he’d been replaced with the younger Miller. Tears stung in your eyes as you felt rejected by his absence. Like he no longer wanted to be in the same room as you, hammer nails into wood as you spoke to your fellow townspeople about their wellbeing. You told yourself it was just a temporary thing. That the brothers just liked to alternate shifts and he would return soon to fix the windows that shattered during a storm in the winter.

He never came.

You’d never experienced such rejection before. You’d never wanted before. To want was to risk rejection, to feel the pit in your stomach as you felt now. You never wanted to feel less than, undesirable, unwanted. So you pulled away from all the men you dated. If you could even call that dating. Maybe it was your own fault for thinking it would be easier with Joel. What did you think? That he would fold immediately because you showed off your legs and touched his arm and pushed your breasts out to present your femininity?

Naive, stupid girl.

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.”

Something twisted in your belly and you lied down, pulling your covers over you as though it would contain the shame coursing through you.

You probably looked silly to him, like a little girl playing adult. Like a kitten picking a fight with a lion. Less than half his age, just a fucking preschooler on outbreak day when he would’ve been a fully grown man. Maybe already beginning to gray, the skin by his eyes crinkled from the years he spent smiling at and wooing women. Why would he want a girl? He’d want a real woman. Someone like Tommy’s wife, perhaps. Someone he wouldn’t have to teach.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man?” his taunt rang cold in your ear, sending chills down your spine like he was still behind you, fingers buried deep inside the most intimate part of you. You pressed your thighs together, heat pooling between them as it always happened when you thought of what he did to you.

Shame didn’t deter you as you brought your fingers to your pussy, brushing one against your clit with curiosity. With fear. It felt so good, like its sole purpose went beyond the animal need to survive and propagate. You bypassed it to touch your weeping slit, more comfortable with what you were already used to for carnal pleasure.

Your own fingers had always been enough. Out in the wilderness when you needed to release pent up energy. After long days at the clinic and sharing notes with the other students. When you were tired to the point where you couldn’t sleep. Your fingers always took you to where you needed. You were always satisfied.

Not anymore.

You whined as the different angles you tried failed to work. The physical pleasure was the same. But not quite like how it felt with him. His hand was larger, his fingers longer and thicker. He showed you sports inside you that you’d never been able to touch yourself. Maybe this was what people meant when they said ignorance was bliss. Knowledge of pleasure you could have but couldn’t give yourself was torture.

As much as you resented Joel now, you couldn’t help but conjure images of him as you brought yourself closer to release. His deep brown eyes, his large hand that he wrapped around your throat, the way he carried you from your chair and deposited you on your bed. Like a human being weighed nothing to him. Like you were his toy that he could bury his fingers in, play with and set aside when he was done, when he was bored. Entertainment for Men came to your mind again and you cried like you never had at your own touch.

Your thighs trembled as you imagined yourself as one of those women in the magazines, but only for him. Entertainment for Joel. Splayed out on the center page for him to look at and fuck his hand to. You wouldn’t mind being tangible entertainment. Laid out on his bed, limbs arranged in an attractive manner for him, so he could access whatever part of your body he wanted to play with. To be bent to his will and fucked, to be used, given an affectionate pat on your pussy and put away when you’d outlasted his needs only to be given attention when he wanted to get off the next time.

You shook uncontrollably, your eyes squeezed shut and the world went blank as you reached your peak. You pulled your spare pillow to your chest, needing some physical comfort after experiencing such a high. You wished it were him instead of an inanimate object. That he would make you feel good and hold you and kiss you all over. That he would stay when you woke up the next day and do it all over again.

Once the haze of your orgasm cleared up, you cringed at the feelings it had brought out of you. How stupid… Wanting a man who broke in, fucked you with his fingers, and began ignoring you like you did something horrible to him. Fuck Joel Miller and fucking his stupid fucking face. As he said, there were other men in the town. Men who wouldn’t ignore you.

⌘

“How are the windows lookin’?”

“Fixed ‘em up in time for the cold winds. No thanks to you, fuckin’ asshole.”

“Sorry. Y’know I ain’t the church going type.” It wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t the church kind before Sarah died and he certainly wasn’t anymore. That the young aspiring doctor he fingered in her bedroom was the real reason behind him swapping work would remain his secret.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy grumbled, playing with the now cold fries on his plate. “It ain’t a church, by the way. Maria keeps correctin’ me. It’s the house of worship.”

Joel rolled his eyes at that. He got the reasoning behind it. The town had people who believed in different Gods and had different religions. Calling the place a Church would be as unfair as calling it a– whatever, he didn’t know any other kind of place for worship. But it still pissed him off when his little brother came to him and went on about something his wife said.

Go off and do whatever your wife tells you, motherfucker.

No matter how he tried, the snide voice in his head that hated Maria never went away. He never said anything to her or Tommy. Maria was decent to him too, unlike the time he first arrived with Ellie. She trusted him with Miles. Invited him and Ellie over to family dinners. But they kept their interactions to a minimum, as though there’d been a silent agreement that it was best they kept it civil so as to not sow discord in the family.

“Whatever. No point in worshiping, be it Jesus or whatever stuff they got goin’ these days.”

A shudder went down his spine, triggered by the talk of religion. As it became colder, Ellie had begun to revert to the empty shell of a child she was after the events in Colorado. There’d been grifters in the past hiding behind religion to cheat people out of their money, to damage children irreparably while preaching the word of God. The end of the fucking world somehow didn’t stop them from going on. Didn’t stop people from believing that an all-knowing, all-powerful guy in the sky was still watching and would protect them.

If what protected people was God, guns were God. And Molotov cocktails. Sharp rocks and shoelaces.

Ellie didn’t tell him much, but from what he could piece together, it was a religious group with one guy leading them. And they were fuckin’ cannibals. Sounded like a goddamn cult.

“It’s a nice place to meet people,” said Tommy, snapping him out of his descent into the void of the recent past.

Joel simply snorted and took a sip of his glass of water. He couldn’t handle his alcohol like he used to. Age and that he had been off his usual cocktail of oxy and whiskey for a long time now. He had to resort to having a lot of water to sober himself up after the occasional evening drinks with Tommy.

“What? It is! I go there, catch up with everyone in town. Usually people go there when they’re going through some shit. It makes them feel conscious if you visit their house. So I just run into ‘em at the Chu– house of worship– and I just talk to them about their lives ‘n see if there’s anything I can do for them.”

“Guess you’re right,” he said, slotting his thumbnail in the ridges on the bar counter absentmindedly, scraping off bits of the old softening wood.

He could go again. Only so many days he could ignore you. But the reminder of the shame coursing through his veins when he saw you this evening made him shake the thoughts off. There was no way he could be anywhere you were without shriveling up and dying of embarrassment.

You were so young.

Relatively unblemished by the world. A fuckin’ virgin. Never known the touch of a man and moaning his name as you touched yourself.

Nope, nope, nope. Shouldn't have gone there, he thought as he felt himself hardening in his pants. Shouldn’t his dick be non-functional by now? He was dangerously close to sixty and spent a good two decades without adequate nutrition. Shouldn’t that be enough to turn his dick limp forever?

“Come over tomorrow, then. We’re doin’ a little memorial thing in the back of the house of worship. That young doctor’s idea, actually. She put the idea forward at the last council meeting. Thinks it’ll help people to have something physical to remember their people by.”

Young, sweet, and so fucking thoughtful.

Not meant for men like him.

Yet he went the next day.

The topic of Sarah hung in the air around him and Tommy like a fog beyond which they couldn’t see. It sat heavy in his chest, the memory of his baby and worse, everything his shit brain had forgotten. He remembered that she gave him shit, mocked him over everything. But she didn’t have a voice in his head anymore. He could describe the sweetness of her voice, but it no longer sounded out in his mind. No matter how hard he tried.

Her favorite color was purple and she loved soccer. He couldn’t recall the name of her team. She loved reading. He didn’t remember her favorite author. She liked animated movies. He couldn’t remember a single one. Just the vague memory of her falling asleep on his lap as cartoon characters chirped away on tv. Even her face was beginning to blur. When he recalled her features, it was only through images of the last seconds of her life.

“We could just do alphabetical order. Simple.”

“Not really,” you said, scribbling lines on the paper. “We get new people in the town sometimes and we don’t want the names they add to stand out, away from the alphabetically ordered list. Might make them feel bad.”

“Yeah, you’re right. What about age?” Tommy suggested.

“Still the same problem. It would force newcomers to have their own separate list at the bottom.”

“How about a first come first serve system? We tell people when we’re taking names down for the memorial and they can come over, form a queue and give us the names they want included. That way, people can keep the names of the people they love in one spot on the memorial instead of having it scattered all over because of age or alphabetical order.”

“What do you think, Joel?” Tommy asked, making him fold his arms over his chest and sigh. He didn’t give a shit. But that wasn’t the most amicale thing to say when someone was trying to do an objectively good deed. Unlike the other people in this town, he didn’t deserve to add the names of his people to a memorial. He failed in protecting them. He didn’t deserve to mourn like he wasn’t the reason they went into early graves.

“Yeah, ‘s good. I agree.” He said, finding no faults with your proposal to order the names of the deceased by the order in which people gave it to ‘em. He didn’t know why he was being asked all this. It wasn’t like he was on the council like them. He was just takin’ measurements when he got dragged into this.

“How many names do you think we’ll get?” Tommy asked him in yet another attempt to get him involved.

Taking pity on his brother, he began a rough estimate of the number of names they’d get for the memorial and how much surface area they’d need for carving them in. “Six hundred people in town. Babies don’t have names to give. Kids wouldn’t have too many and if they had any, it would be on their parents’ list too. How many kids in this town?”

It was a fucking nightmare, sitting there at the table with you and doing calculations when all he wanted was to throw you over his shoulder and take you back to his place. Make you pose like you were posing in front of your mirror that day. Like women in those porno magazines he sneaked into his teenage bedroom and jerked off to. The fuck were you even thinking? Door left open, tits out, fingers in your cunt and his fucking name on your lips.

Did you notice him at your door and decided it would be a fun trick to play on an old man? Or did you always scream his name when you fucked yourself? When was the first time? Did you always come so prettily on your own fingers like you came on his? Being in the dark drove him crazy. But part of him felt that getting the answers would drive him absolutely fucking insane.

The thought alone was enough to make him feel uncomfortable in his pants. He adjusted himself on his seat and looked away from you, afraid that somehow you’d be able to tell that he was having improper thoughts about you when you were talking about honoring the dead. If thinking about you sexually in a church was bad, he was sure it was worse to think it when you were trying to help people memorialize their dead.

You had an air of innocence about you. The brightness of your eyes and the way you moved your hands about as you planned the details of this memorial and scribbled them out on your little notebook. He’d been attracted to that innocence from the very start. A rare thing to find out in the world. When even babies were born into violence and oppression, innocence was a luxury no one even thought to acquire.

A virgin, too.

His cock twitched in his pants. He gulped and looked around to check if anyone had caught his shameless response. Nope.

He was surprised you were a virgin. For all your innocence, you were also fucking beautiful. There were plenty of guys in town. Ladies too, if you liked that. Anyone would’ve snatched you up quick and made sure to show you a world of pleasure. It didn’t take him long knowing you to give in to temptation. It was fucking impossible that no man had worshipped with his head between your thighs. That no man who saw you in your pretty little dresses bent you over and filled you up with his cock.

You were beautiful. Even more so when you came on his fingers. Made all those pretty little sounds. The way you said his name… Nobody had said it like that in such a long time. Not even Tess.

It rang in his head whenever he found himself alone at home. Being in possession of your panties didn’t help matters. White cotton. Innocent. Covered in your dried up release. When he left that day, he made sure to suck on his fingers. Moaned like a fucking creep while going down your stairs. Eyes closed, he could still taste you on his tongue. After so many days. A little tangy with a hint of salt from your sweat and all woman.

It had been embarrassingly long since he felt like a man. He’d been father, brother, smuggler, and father again. But long since he was just man. Never someone desirable. Out there, sex was just for release. Purely biological. The end of the fucking world did not afford good hygiene. You fucked someone because they were the safest option. Not because you were attracted to them.

You, however… You had others in this town. You were here before him. Younger, smarter, with a body that worked perfectly fucking well. You could have anyone but it was his name you were moaning out in the privacy of your room.

He grunted as your voice crept back into his mind. The ‘Joel, please’, and the ‘Sir’.

He grabbed on to the railing as his thighs trembled, afraid he would have an embarrassing fall. His breaths grew quicker and his mind void of everything but you.

On your knees. On your back. On your front so he could fuck you from behind. Your hand around his cock. Your lips stretched out around him as you struggled with his size. Fistful of your hair as you begged for release. Please, Sir. Please, Joel. The heat of your tight velvety cunt. Tears blurring your wide eyed innocence as he stretched out your rear hole. He wanted to take you everywhere, leave you burning with him. Mark you so deep every man you let in after you would know who fucked you first.

It didn't take long. The mental images of you were far too effective. His last time was too long ago. He was too old to last. Too old to want you. Somehow the reminder only pushed him further along. Sticky white cum coated your panties, mixing your scent with his. The mirror showed him a reflection of himself. Old, gray, crow’s feet by his eyes. He dropped your panties in the hamper, the warmth of his own release on his hand and the shame on his face sobering him up quickly.

He wanted to teach you sin. But you had taught him more of it already than you would ever know.

⌘

“Cool jacket, dude!”

“Uh…thanks. I traded for it years ago” you said, digging your thumb nail between the teeth of the zipper. It didn’t fit perfectly, but it worked well on cold nights that weren’t cold enough to warrant a sweater. “Is Joel in? I need to talk to him about a building project.”

“Yeah,” said Ellie before pressing her lips into a thin line. “I mean, he was awake half an hour ago when I left, but he could be in dreamland by now. Cause he’s old.”

“Ah. Of course,” you said, smiling awkwardly at the girl. Joel’s kind of, sort of daughter. You were closer to her than Joel in age. You rolled the memorial plan tighter and tighter, your hands needing to be occupied with something as your mind reeled at the inappropriateness of your desires.

“I’ll make sure I don’t wake him up,” you said before leaving the girl to return to her group of friends.

He was old enough to be your father. It should disgust you, scare you. Maybe it would’ve if you’d had an actual father in your life. A point of reference to know how vile a man of that age would have to be to want a girl your age. You tried to force some disgust into your veins, hoping that would help in putting out the fire in you that threatened to consume you whole. But it was hard to convince yourself that this was wrong when he’d made you feel so good.

Your fingers had become inadequate overnight. If his fingers were so powerful over you… You shuddered to think what he could do for you with his penis. It had to feel better. The organ was made for it, unlike fingers.

You stopped outside his door and knocked without giving it a single thought. If you’d thought about it, you would’ve fled. It had already taken you hours to muster up the courage to make the walk to his house with the draft sketches for the memorial. You wouldn’t let your desperation ruin it.

He looked surprised to see you, mouth opening and closing as though he’d forgotten how to process language. His dark brown curls and the silver that decorated it sat messily atop his head. Like he’d run his fingers through it. An old t-shirt stretched over his chest and struggled against his arms. A pair of dark sweatpants sat on his hips, the drawstrings hanging in the front.

“Hey? Uh…what’s wrong?” he asked, bringing a hand up to his face and scratching his beard. Why was that hot? You had to be out of your fucking mind.

You cleared your throat and looked up into his eyes. “Does something have to be wrong?”

“You’ve never come here, so I thought…”

“I’m here about the memorial plans. I have a few designs I want to run by you,” you said, holding up the rolled up sheets of paper.

“Ah. That. Sure, uh come in,” he said, opening the door and stepping aside to allow you passage. You looked around his house, careful to seem disinterested so he didn’t have more reasons to think you were a stupid little girl pining after him just because he made you come once.

Shit. He probably already thought that.

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me.”

You swallowed at the reminder as he led you to the dining table and offered you a seat. You looked around while he cleared the table. Plates, tools, some worn out novels. So he was the messy sort. You didn’t know who you would be if you’d had the chance to just be. You didn’t know if you would leave things lying around like that if you’d had a normal start to life. Like Joel. Like the others who were old enough to remember life before the cordyceps.

The place didn’t scream Joel Miller. There were no personal artifacts decorating his living room. No framed art. No books. No throw pillows or even a blanket on the couch.

You knew what it was like to have nothing in your house. When you were still new to the town and it hadn’t hit you yet that you were allowed to have your own things. Collect stuff and not worry about having too many things to carry with you when you had to run. You didn’t own anything you couldn’t fit into your backpack. And you took that backpack everywhere when you managed to step outside your new house.

But over time, you’d decorated your house. People you helped out at the clinic often gave you things as a token of their gratitude. Kids drew pictures for you. A lady once gave you the art off her wall that the previous owner had put up. Tommy and Maria gave you a new sweater that she’d knit when she was pregnant. New yarn from new wool from the town’s sheep. The first time you ever got something truly new.

“No decorations, huh?”

“What?”

“You don’t have any decorations here,” you pointed out again and licked your lips nervously.

“Uh, yeah. Not really the priority. Have’ta trade wisely. Can’t be gettin’ pictures when ya need bread.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “But you don't have to trade for it, you know? You could put up something of what’s in the house already. Surely the previous owners left some stuff.”

“They did. Traded ‘em all for things we need. Fresh fruits, bullets, that kinda shit.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be framed art. You could cut up a nice picture from a magazine or something.”

Joel looked up from the plans, head tilted and an eyebrow raised. Shit! Of course he thought you were talking about your magazines with the naked women.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you said, your voice coming out squeaky. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat and looked down at the plans.

“Let’s discuss the plans,” he said, his voice all gruff and his tone so stern.

“I-I- uh… May I use your restroom?” you asked, unable to look him in the eye after what you’d said. After how he’d reacted. You really didn’t mean it like that. But you could see why that would be hard to believe when the last time he saw you, you had a box full of those men’s entertainment magazines on your bed and one open in front of you as you touched yourself.

Touched yourself and moaned his name.

“Upstairs, second door to the left.”

You squeaked out a thanks before you bolted out of his dining room and made your way up the stairs. There were two bathrooms. One decorated with band posters and a poster of a girl with weirdly cut black hair sitting on a motorcycle. Had to be Ellie’s. The second door to the left was another bathroom. Joel’s, apparently. There was just one bar of soap, a toothbrush, and a pot of toothpaste. No shampoo bar. You pulled the toilet seat and lid down before taking a seat.

You let out a groan and planted your face in your hands. Why the hell did you have to go and make it awkward like it wasn’t already that way. After he made you come that day, he’d refused to be anywhere near you. You hoped it was just coincidence, but after over a week it became undeniable that he was avoiding you.

He probably thought you were going to catch feelings. A girl in one of the romance novels you read fell in love with a guy who took her virginity. And there was the time you overheard this guy talking about not wanting to sleep with a girl because she was a virgin. He was afraid she would catch feelings and get clingy.

Now here you were in his bathroom because you thought it was wise to make small talk and ended up insinuating he should put up dirty pictures on his wall. You could scream. But you wouldn’t. There was already enough awkwardness with him.

You could always jump out of the window and run off to your house. Never speak of this again. Pretend nothing happened if Joel tried to talk to you about it. But something told you that he wouldn’t. He would probably be happy if he never had to interact with you again. You had been acting desperate. He caught you touching yourself moaning his name, for fuck’s sake!

Your hands, permanently dry from all the times you scrubbed them clean for your patients, found some moisture from your salty tears. It was embarrassing, sitting in the bathroom of a guy who wanted nothing to do with you after you scared him off with your stupid little infatuation.

You were a grown woman. Still young, but too old to be acting like this. You should have some experience already. Not sniffling over a man more than twice your age. He was right. He had been a grown man with experience longer than you’d been alive. Of course he wanted nothing to do with you.

The window looked more and more attractive as the seconds passed. It had been a while since you did something like that. You didn’t need to jump out of buildings or trees anymore. You didn’t go on patrols like some residents. With no need to fight for your life and having all the food you could need to never go hungry even once, you’d become a little unfit. If you broke a bone jumping out of Joel’s bathroom window, there would be questions. And everyone would know. You’d have to avoid the whole town instead of just Joel.

You’d just have to face it. Even if facing it was doing as little as just bidding him goodbye and bolting out of his house without an explanation. You got off his toilet and pressed the flush just so he didn’t think you were weird. Like it fucking mattered. He already found you weird and desperate.

You washed your hands, letting the water wash away the tears on your hands before wiping your wet hands over your face in an attempt to remove traces of your crying.

You should’ve just left after that. Not looked around. Not snooped like a creep. You didn’t ever dig. You didn’t have to look too deep to catch it. But a sliver of white peeked out through the netted walls of the laundry hamper. A sliver of white cotton with a light blue stitch.

Without second thought, you dug into his dirty laundry. You came up with the white cotton fabric, going straight to the gusset where the blue thread stitched the fabric pieces together. The original stitch had given out and you sewed it back together just some time back. The blue thread was all that you had at the time.

As though the sight of your panties in Joel’s bathroom wasn’t jarring enough, next came the smell. Of you. Your cum. You felt practically hear your own heartbeats as you recalled how he’d cleaned you up with your own panties. You recalled that he stuffed the fabric in his pocket as you lied on your bed, pussy still pulsating from his handiwork, brain melted, and life changed forever.

You took another whiff of your panties, goosebumps raising the hairs on your body as you felt it. Your cum and something else. It was still damp.

Blood rushed back up to your face and you felt yourself getting tense.

This fucker. How dare he? You’d been embarrassed just a minute ago over your desires and he was doing this the whole time? Noticing you on the streets and running away for days. Running back to his home where he kept your fucking panties, apparently. Avoiding you for so long only to cum in your panties.

So he wanted you.

If not you, he at least wanted sex. Dirrty old man who liked attention from you, but you weren’t even disgusted. Just angry he was pretending to be better than that. He could’ve used any old rag, but he used your panties.

You brought your defiled panties back up and smelled them again. Strangely, it smelled something like bleach. Or you could be wrong. You’d never… You didn’t know what a man’s release was supposed to smell like. Was it different for each man or did they all smell the same?

Wetness pooled in your panties as you imagined him touching himself. Large rough hand wrapped around himself. Did he think of you when he did it? Think of you naked in your bedroom and taking his fingers? What did his penis look like? What would it feel like? Soft? Rough? You’d wondered about having one inside you, but never about a particular man’s anatomy. But this was Joel. Joel was the only one who’d gotten this far in your head.

He couldn’t deny it to you anymore. If nothing else, you could at least call him out for ignoring you when he was wiping his ejaculate off with your stolen panties.

“Joel!” you called out before your fears could talk you out of confronting him. Unsure if he would’ve heard you, you opened the bathroom door and yelled his name out again. “Joel!”

“What?”

“Come up here!”

“What happened?”

“Just come here.”

You heard him sigh, the sound followed by the typical grunts and groans he made when standing up. Fuckin’ old man, ruining your life. Ruining your self-confidence. Ruining your fucking panties. His heavy footsteps thudded against the stairs as he climbed up, the sound getting louder as he got closer to the bathroom.

“Why were you screaming my name like y–” he stopped mid scold, frozen in place by the door as he saw what you had in your hand. He opened and closed his mouth, as though attempting to explain but deciding otherwise. He licked his lips and scratched the back of his neck, his eyes looking everywhere but at you.

“Do you not have rags, Joel?” you taunted, taking a step towards him and enjoying seeing him step back. You felt powerful, moving a large man with just your voice. It was very unlike how he made you feel all the days he ignored you. Weak, insignificant, undesirable.

“You weren’t meant to– Fuck, I’m sorry!”

“Which part are you apologizing for? For breaking into my house and touching me? For ignoring me ever since? For stealing my underwear? Or for doing whatever you did with it?”

You moved him out of the bathroom, making him walk backwards in the hallway you hoped led to his bedroom. Even if it didn’t, you’d be fine. You’d exact revenge in any place you can. As long as you got to make him feel the way he made you feel. Pleasure. Shame. Want.

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I never should’ve—”

You took your last step towards him, finally trapping him against a wall. You stood close enough to place your hand on his chest. You licked your lips, the rock hard muscles beneath your touch storing itself away in your mind for later use.

“Imagine what would happen if I told someone? You sister-in-law, perhaps… She hates you, doesn’t she?” You smirked, though you were screaming on the inside. You didn’t know where you got all this courage from. You didn’t know you had it in you to threaten a man as imposing as Joel.

He turned pale, his hands up against the wall in surrender. If you’d asked him, he wouldn’t tell you the truth that it was to keep himself from touching you. “Please don’t tell anyone. I won’t do this again, I swear.”

“Maybe I want you to do this again…”

“You don’t. Trust me.”

“Shh!” You said, placing your index finger on his lips. Pink, perfectly shaped, and so damn kissable. “Don’t tell me what I want. You ignored me ever since you walked into my house without my permission and shoved your fingers inside me. I was walking around town believing I wasn’t good enough for big old Joel Miller. What did you say? That you’ve been experiencing longer than I’ve been alive?”

You raised an eyebrow at him when he didn’t answer. Then he nodded reluctantly.

“Why were you coming in my panties then if I didn't measure up? ”

“I won’t do it ag—” he groaned when you grabbed his cock through his pants. He let out a low grunt and his Adam’s Apple bobbed in his neck as he swallowed. You replaced your index finger with your thumb, tracing his trembling lips as you lazily stroked his cock with your other thumb.

He filled your whole hand and there was still more. It took everything in you to not moan at the sheer size of him. To not grind your belly against it to feel it against you. You didn’t know how big it was supposed to be, but the romance novels you read always described the big ones as more desirable.

“I don’t want to hear excuses. I asked why. Why did you steal my panties, Joel Miller?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you come on it? Don’t fucking lie to me cause I can fucking smell you on it.”

“I did. I jerked off with it.” You had to choke back a moan at that. No, you had to be strong. Show him you could take the upper hand just like he did with you. You weren’t a little girl with a crush. You were a woman and you could have this effect on a grown man. You refused to be discounted with a pat on your pussy no matter how much you wanted him to touch you like that again.

“Mmm. And that’s enough to get you going. Just a pair of my panties.”

“Mhmm.”

“Show me how you did it.”

“What?” He asked, eyebrow raised.

“Show. Me. How you did it.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, his hand coming up to stroke the base of his neck. “Wh-What?”

You felt your heart thud against your ribs and if you didn’t know from experience and your textbooks, you’d have been afraid that he could hear it. You’d never done anything so daring. You were the timid girl when it came to this stuff. That the thought even occurred to you was a testament to how much you desired Joel. Not just to sleep with any guy, but to have Joel. Without a word, you reached under the skirt of your dress and tugged your panties down.

He inhaled sharply as you bent down and came back up with your panties. Undyed white fabric, a little green ribbon in the shape of a bow stitched to the front, gusset a light gray from your wetness.

“Show me. I want to see what you were doing in your bathroom with my panties after ignoring me everyday,” you said, taking his hand and forcing the fabric into it. His hand curled around it and you found yourself feeling lighter. You didn't know how long you could keep up the brave front if he continued to have no response.

“Take your clothes off.”

It was like something changed the moment you gave him the garment. His eyes were on you, his gaze unrelenting. He took a step ahead and you stepped backward. His lips curled up in a smirk. It seemed playtime was over… Like a lion letting the cubs play at predation before taking over to show how hunting was really done.

You didn’t know if you were ready for that… Sure it was nothing he’d never seen before, but it was different. The last time, you didn’t do it with the intention to have him see you. He just happened to see you bare and you didn’t cover up when you realized.

“I don’t have a box full of dirty magazines. I need to see somethin’,” he said, his eyes going down your frame like they had every right to be there. “Or you could leave these,” he said, holding your panties up in front of your eyes, “and run back home. What d’ya say?”

You swallowed, your hands shaking as you reached behind to find the zipper of your dress. You weren’t going to run off. Not when you’d been desperate for so long to do something, anything with him. Cold air kissed your back as you pulled the zipper down and the hairs on your body stood up in full attention. You pushed the sleeves off your shoulder and shimmied out of the dress, standing in just your dress in front of him.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. He looked you up and down. He tilted his head as he looked you up and down. He radiated superiority, putting you in some kind of a daze. “Your bra too. Show me your tits.”

The crudeness had more wetness pooling between your legs. You nodded wordlessly, afraid that pathetic whimpers would be the only sound you’d make under his gaze. You reached behind and felt around for the clasp of your bra. With his eyes piercing into you, you failed to find it quickly like you usually did. Your mouth dried up, your tongue sticking to the roof.

He made no effort to help. A mocking smile assumed its place on his lips as he watched you struggle in front of him.

When you finally managed your task and stood fully naked, he stood up straight. His tongue darted out and licked his lips. You felt like a piece of meat placed in front of a starving man. Just seconds ago, you were telling yourself you didn’t need his approval, that this would just be revenge. But as he evaluated your body, your pussy wept with the need for your body to be nothing but what he liked.

“Room’s that way.” He nodded in the direction of the room. You turned around and took small steps, your shoulders curling inward and your head bowed in submission. Every inch of your skin burned with the strength of his gaze.

“Kneel.”

You placed your knee on his bed, ready to climb up.

“On the floor.”

One knee still on his white sheets, you turned around to look at him. He was so large. Imposing. The kind of figure you would follow without question. So, you did.

“You look pretty on your knees.”

He took a few steps towards you, stopping when the distance had your neck straightening to look up at him. Large, powerful, imposing. Another step and you were face-to-face with his crotch. His bulge was right there.

“Go on, take it out. Since you wanted it so bad.”

Joel didn’t think you would do it. You looked even smaller kneeling at his feet. Meek little thing. He didn’t at all expect you to taunt him the way you did. Especially after you threatened to tell on him to Maria. He fully expected you to start crying. Guess he really underestimated you. Virgin didn’t necessarily mean innocent.

Yet you folded as soon as he took the reins. He saw the change in you right when he told you to take your clothes off. When your eyes went from determined to defeated. All that spunk evaporated to reveal the little girl underneath. He liked it like that. Made him feel like a real man. Not that there was any scarcity of masculinity in his life of taking out clickers and defending this town. But somethin’ about a beautiful woman accepting his authority did the trick faster than every other display of masculinity.

Your hands fiddled with his belt, trembling as you tried to take it off. He stopped you with a hand on your wrist. “Just undo the zip.”

No way he was going to get naked in front of a pretty little twenty something. It wasn’t anything great to look at even before he began a life of violence and traversing the wilderness. Sure he was well built from all the hard physical labor and constant fight for survival. It’d left several unappealing scars on his person. Time had done a number on him too. Especially his pudgy belly. It didn’t help that food flowed free in Jackson, fattening him up a little.

Thankfully, you listened. You looked up, as though you expected him to complete the task for him. He challenged you with a look. Wanna be a big girl so bad, act like one.

You reached inside his pants and took his cock out. Your lips parted and he heard you inhale through your mouth. His cock hung in front of him, hard from your teasing. He had to give it to you, you were daring for a meek little thing. No one in town would believe him if he told them all that you’d done. And he suspected he didn’t even know the half of it.

“Not too late to back out, you know?” he said, wrapping his hand around himself. It took everything in him to give you an out. As much as he wanted to grab your face, force your mouth open and make you gag around him, he was man enough to let you know you didn’t have to do anything. Young girl probably bit more than you could swallow. And seeing his cock and your mouth so close by showed that he was definitely nothing you could swallow.

“I’m not backing out.”

“First time seeing one?”

“Of course not. I work at the clinic. You think I haven’t seen a penis?”

“No anatomical terms. I ain’t your patient. Go on, touch my cock.”

You reached up for him, but he stepped back, delighting himself in the disappointment on your face. “Come on, you want a man so bad, work for it.”

You moved to stand up. “Did I say you could stand up?”

“No.”

“Then get back on your fucking knees.”

You dropped to your knees and he groaned in satisfaction. The euphoria of wielding power over someone rushed through his veins. And he wanted more. It was the same sick satisfaction he got when he beat men to death. When he broke bones and dressed animals he hunted in the wild. “Good girl. You’re going to listen to what I say. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Fuck! That fucking word again.

“Come on, come get it. Hands and knees. Crawl to me.”

He beckoned you forward with one hand, his other still on his cock. You bent over and god fucking damnit, you were a vision. You were an eager girl and he could see what you could become in the right hands. His hands. The things he could show you… Introduce you to your own body. Bring you pain and pleasure that were indistinguishable.

Your tits hung from your chest, swaying as you crawled towards him. Feverish, bright eyes followed him as he continued to refuse what you wanted. Too fucking late. He warned you. Told you men like him weren’t for pretty little things like you. But you didn’t fucking want to listen. Now you’d have to deal with the consequences. Maybe you’d stay away then.

“Please, Sir,” you whined so prettily he almost gave in.

“What are you begging for?”

“You. Y-your penis.”

“My cock,” he corrected. “Say it.”

“Your cock, Sir.”

“Good girl. C’mere,” he said, giving you a nod to come closer. You crawled to him and when he didn’t back away, sat up on your knees. He placed his hand on the back of your neck and gripped your hair, making you hiss. Holding you in place, he brought his cock to your face. You looked up at it, your eyes widening and your mouth slackening. You brought your hand up and touched his tip with just your thumb. The rest of your hand followed, wrapping around him. He gasped silently as you stroked his slit with your thumb, making him leak precum on you.

“Did…? Did you?”

“No. Gotta do more ‘n that to make me come. That’s precum.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t think you knew what precum was. Probably not the focus of your education here. Not the most important thing when townsfolk came in injured after patrols or suffering from a fever that was life threatening without the medicines of the past.

He pressed his cock against your cheek. The sight presented a visual of how you’d struggle if you took him in your mouth. He’d have you choking on him before you even took half. He twitched against your face at the mere thought. You were the picture of innocence, even with his cock on your face. Even with the stunt you pulled before he put you back in your place.

“Think I’ll just do this. Fuck your pretty face.”

You whimpered, spurring him on. He wanted to force himself inside you, punish your mouth for having the gall to speak to him the way you did. Make you cry from how full of him you were. Give you a sore throat so when you spoke to him again, you’d remember to speak with respect. But you wouldn’t be able to handle it. So he’d settle for defiling your sweet features, hold his cock against your cheek and rut like the animal he was.

“I ain’t gonna lay you out on my bed and take you nice and slow. I’m just gonna use you. ‘s what men like me do.”

He pulled away, giving you another opportunity to rethink this. “You can put your fucking clothes on and leave if you don’t like it.”

To his surprise, you stayed put on your knees. You shook your head before reaching up and rubbing your cheek against his cock. You let out a soft moan, eyes closed and your thighs pressed together tight. “No, no. I like it.”

“Fuckin’ slut,” he said, his hand back in your hair. He tugged at it and took his cock in his other hand. He tapped your lips with his tip, smearing the precum that leaked out of him. “You like an older man using your face like it’s a pussy?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He snorted, amused. “Never met a virgin slut before. Getting your face fucked before your pussy. Bet you’re wet from this.”

There was the sweet little whimper from you again. He wanted to hear more of it. Trap you underneath him and make you weep and cry and whimper as he split you in half.

“Let me see. Touch your pussy, show me your slick.”

You obeyed, spread your knees and touched yourself. Your hand glistened under the light of his bedroom, your wetness stretching between your fingers in strings. “Goddamn, would you look at that…” he said in a low rumble. “Rub it on my cock.”

Your hand trembled slightly and you stared at him with a blank look in your eyes. He guided your hand to his cock, withdrawing his hand when he’d brought you close enough so you could decide whether you wanted to follow his command. You touched your slickened hand to his cock, covering him in the evidence that you wanted this. Wanted him. You reached between your legs and brought more of yourself, eyes soft yet glazed with lust as you smeared yourself all over his length.

“Ask me for it.”

“Please,” you whined.

“Please, what?”

“P-please fuck my face. Sir.”

He returned his cock to your cheek, your wetness lubricating your face. Hand cradling his cock, he began to thrust. It wasnt much different from fucking his own fist. It was just skin. Not the tight velvety wetness of a pussy or a throat that would gag with his thickness. But your face was softer than his gun callused hands. Even better was your pretty face, looking up at him so adoringly… So full of desire.

He didn’t have to let his imagination do the trick now. Not when you were right in front of him, lending yourself for his use. And no imagination, no memory did justice to you. Your body. Scarred, but beautiful. Tits that filled his large hands, clean and styled hair, a belly that showed you were well fed. He wanted to lay you out on his bed and consume you. Take your tits in his mouth, grab handfuls of your ass, spread your cunt lips and lodge himself inside you. Give it to you hard so your thigh jiggled and you felt them ache as they rubbed against each other when you walked around in your pretty little dresses.

But as depraved as he was, he knew he shouldn’t be the first to take you. He’d have you just this once. Store your image in his head to get off with for as long as his dick worked. You acted all brave, but he couldn’t shake off that you were still inexperienced. The first time was meant to be good. The world was no longer normal, but you could have normality within the insular walls of Jackson.

Even this was wrong. Using you like this instead of making sweet love to you. But he hadn’t been that man in a long time. He was selfish and cruel. If there was no town, no community where everyone knew everyone and you still threw yourself at him, he would’ve taken you in all your holes with no hesitation. Ruined you, kept you until your body wasn’t of use and tossed you aside. But being in this semi-normal place had gotten its claws into him. Softened him up.

He grew closer to the edge embarrassingly quickly, the haze of carnal pleasure beginning to muffle the voices screaming in his head to let you go. He only barely noticed that you were touching yourself. Enjoying this treatment of you. That spurred him on. There was no stopping now.

You let out soft moans, your eyes never once leaving him. He struggled to get himself to focus. To check for any signs you didn’t want this. But all he saw was you on the precipice of pleasure. The world disappeared. His house, Jackson, the darkness that lay beyond. It was all him now. He felt lighter, like he would float out through the window and everything he’d ever been through would disappear. Every ounce of goodness quietened down, the last shreds of his morality discarded with your dress. He grunted and moaned your name as he kept fucking you. Your features morphed into nothingness. No longer a face, no longer a human woman. All he knew was the ache in his body, the tightness that begged to be released.

He slapped a hand against the wall as his thighs stiffened and every muscle in the vicinity of his cock tightened. He took himself back in his hand and stroked himself over your face. Once, twice, and thr– mid stroke, he growled and spilled on your face, coating your innocent features in sticky white cum. You flinched as the first stream hit, screwing your eyes shut. He wanted to make you look, see how he could defile you, show you that he wasn’t for you. Force you to confront what you’d allowed into your life so you’d run and never look back.

But all he could do was keep stroking as he came down from his high. It was unlike anything he’d had in the recent past. Not his imagination, not just his hand. A real human woman who wasn’t just a convenience. One who sought him out, stripped for him, and let him use her face like a toy.

He took a minute to collect his breath and let his senses return to him. His cock hung semi-hard outta his jeans, like it could go again if he willed it. Like it wasn’t almost six decades old. But he wasn’t too surprised. He could go again for the utterly debauched girl in front of him. Innocence eclipsed by milky white ropes of his cum. Without thinking twice, he grabbed your hair and pulled at it. You yelped, but let him pull you up from the ground and drag you to the other side of the room.

He stopped you in front of his mirror, and slapped your hand off your pussy before replacing it with his. “Look at yourself. I fucking told you,” he said, forcing two thick fingers inside your cunt. You sucked him in with little resistance, your cunt leaking enough for him to force a third finger inside you. You gasped and tried to wriggle away, but he wasn’t having it. He was a fucking monster, but he would never leave a woman unsatisfied. Especially a young thing who’d never had anyone else before.

He wrapped his free hand around your throat, his half hard cock begging him to go again when he felt the vibrations of your moans. “I warned you,” he whispered into your ear. “Fuckin’ warned you. Told you how starved I was. And you still taunted me. Look at you now!”

“Please… Please, Joel! Sir, please…”

“Fuckin’ slut. Maybe you ain’t really a virgin.”

“I am, I am, I promise. I wa–” you cut yourself off with a gasp as he pressed his thumb on your clit.

“What was that?”

You made some incoherent noises, too far gone to form words. Yet you managed to thrust onto his fingers and roll your hips like a real natural.

“Joel…”

“I know, pretty girl… I know,” he cooed, the softness in his voice contradicting how he’d used you just minutes prior. Contradicting the cum on your pretty little face.

“You gonna come for me? Give me another one after you came so sweetly on my fingers that day?”

There were no answers from you. Not even an acknowledgement that you heard him. Just whines and moans as you let him support your entire weight. Your head lolled back on his shoulder and your eyes rolled back into your skull as he fucked you stupid with just his fingers. Oh the things he could do with his cock… Reach deeper, take the virginity you’d held on to for so long. If he ever had you, he would never let go. He was too selfish a man to willingly lose a girl so precious after taking her cunt.

You gripped him like a vice, so tight he couldn't pry his fingers out. Something that vaguely sounded like his name spilled from your lips as you crumpled in his arms. Your pussy pulsated around you as he held you against him, unwilling to remove himself from you so quickly.

He withdrew your panties from his pocket– the fresh pair you took off in his fucking hallways like it was no big deal. He wiped your face with it the same way he cleaned up your cunt that day. Instead of tucking it in his pocket, he forced it into your hand.

“Put it on. Your fucking dress, too. Hope you learned you fucking lesson.”

As you put it on and scampered away naked into his hallways, he hoped it would be enough to scare you away. But he knew in his heart of hearts that he would always crave you like an addict craving a drink.

⌘

Fic update notifications over at @chocofountain-notifs

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pinkboaclub · 2 months ago

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Masterlist

Series

‘Welcome To Victory’ Masterlist

Wattpad Version

Short Stories

Sweet Thing

[part one] [part two] [prequel blurb]

You and Harry are best friends, despite your 15 year age gap. One night, when your blind date goes wrong, he wants to make sure your night still ends in pleasure. {Older!Harry}

Professor Styles

[part one] [part two]

Harry is your professor who also mentors you in the field you aspire to pursue. One night, while at his home, things go a little to far.

Scene Stealers

[read here]

You and Harry decide to film yourself having sex for fun, until you decide to upload it and become famous over night.

One Shots

Ex-Boyfriend Musician

[read here]

You and Harry are exes, on the day of your wedding, he pays you a visit, causing you to rethink things.

Sundress For The CEO

[read here]

You visit CEO Harry at his office, sad that he didn’t wake you up to say goodbye. (Older!Harry, Daddy!Harry, CEO!Harry)

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yandere-writer-momo · 5 hours ago

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Cleaning out my drafts and stumbled across this horror piece. Minors DNI please.

Yandere Head Canons: The Dollhouse Husband

Yandere Living Doll x GN Reader x One Sided Neglectful Toymaker Husband

TW: yandere themes, unhealthy relationship dynamics, obsession, neglectful husband, unhappy arranged marriage, murder, horror, and gore (mentioned)

His face was beautiful, just like your husband’s, yet he wasn’t your husband. No, this adonic doll was an imposter. A crude imitation of your distant beau. A creation your husband, Jonathan, made out of cruelty so you’d stop clinging to him and your desire for him to love you. A doll he crudely named Johnny. The nickname you affectionately called your emotionally constipated husband.

A marriage that was arranged since the two of you were young and yet your husband would not lie with you. No… he’d rather play with his toys. Jonathan told you he had made you this doll to play with so you’d leave him alone…

“What’s wrong dear?” A smooth voice whispered in your ear as lanky arms wrapped around your body to pull you closer to his. His skin felt like ice and you didn’t even feel a heartbeat… was this man undead? He wasn’t human, but you weren’t even sure if he was even living. “Is my appearance not to your liking? Your husband did his best to make me exactly in his image.”

“…” you frowned at his words, your words died off in your throat before they could even be uttered. How could you forget that your toy maker husband built you a living doll to be a crude imitation of him all because you expressed a desire for more attention. Yet it felt as if you were not worthy of having the real husband. Only this doll. A doll that would do anything you asked of it to an almost unhealthy degree.

Everywhere you want, Johnny followed. If you were in the garden, so was Johnny. If you were in the tub, Johnny would wash your hair and back for you. It didn’t matter that you were disinterested in this lifeless mockery of your husband, the doll would follow you.

“Dear? Do you not like me?” The doll asked once more as his porcelain arms wrapped around you tighter. His perfect face remained unmoved, but you swore his tenor voice sounded anxious. “I’m just as good as he is! I dote on you! I take care of you and your needs! I’m made as a perfect replica-“

“But you’re not my husband.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your eyes filled with sadness. “Your body is as cold as ice and you have no heartbeat… your presence does nothing but make me sink into a larger pit of loneliness.”

“So you desire warm skin and a heart?” The doll asked in a hushed tone. His glassy green eyes admired your form. “If I were to be more human… would you like me more?”

“…yes.” You just wanted the conversation to be over. To bury your head on your pillow and sob until you passed out from the loneliness and pity that consumed you. Were you that unloveable that your own husband gifted you a living doll?

If only you noticed the way Johnny rested his head on your shoulder as the cogs in his mind turned. You’d love him if he had skin and a heart? He’d do just that…

How were you to know that this doll would present you Jonathan’s heart the next day in a heart shaped box with a smile that could only be described as uncanny? Not to mention the porcelain white skin that was no doubt from your husband’s own face that rested on Johnny’s like a mask.

“I have the traits you desire… so won’t you like me now? I’m better than him in every way!” He shouted as he set the box down on the dining room table in front of you. He took his pointer fingers and curved the loose skin around his lips into a smile. “We can be happy here in our dollhouse! Please! Please say you like me now!”

You felt numb as the heart in front you leaked crimson all over the box. Perhaps… this was all your own doing due to your selfishness? Of begging to be loved all your life that only a living doll would pay you any mind?

You let out a shaky sigh before you gulped. The alive burned your throat like it was acid. Your gave a fake smile to Johnny who eagerly awaited the four words he longed to hear for his entire existence.

“I like you, Johnny.”

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themoonlitquill · 29 days ago

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Whispers Woven in Shadow. (1/?)

𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧? 𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚? 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚? 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 ; 𝖠𝗓𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗅 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖮𝖢 (𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; I’m terrible at summaries, so please don’t hate me for that! This is an OC that I’ve been playing around with for literal ages and I finally made the choice to really dive in and develop her, and then the ideas just started flowing in and I couldn’t stop writing! I’m already working on a second chapter for this, but let me know your thoughts if you’d like to see this continued! I don’t post my writing too often, so be kind if you don’t mind!! Oh, && special thanks to @coffeebooksrain18 for the moodboard! 🩵 Enjoy!

𝖳𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ; 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿-𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗺𝗼𝗶𝗹.

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ; 3802.

Everything is different now, Ariadne Archeron blinks as she looks out the window to the clear skies of robin’s egg blue with rays of sunlight streaming through to cast a golden hue that emitted warmth and yet, she had never felt so cold, so empty. Her mind was spinning around in circles, jumping from thought to thought, never settling and making her skin itch with such an intensity that she had to refrain herself from digging her nails in and ripping flesh from bone.

It was all wrong. Every single bit of it. And she couldn’t understand what was going on and why she was feeling this way.

The simple answer was because she had been thrown into a massive pot that stripped her humanity from her without consent and replaced it with immortality, which was something she had only wondered about in the stories that Elain used to show her as a little girl; she never imagined that it would come true and become her life.

Feyre had accepted being Made into High Fae graciously, almost eagerly, while Nesta seethed and resented, focusing her pent up emotions into care and concern for Elain. That left Ariadne to deal with it alone and if she were to be honest with herself, she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

She was broken, lost, and confused, nearly a shell of her former self. How was she to handle this? What was she to do? There wasn’t a set of rules for something like this and there was no one to turn to for advice, not that she could anyway with her inability to speak.

It seemed that magic couldn’t heal everything.

Ariadne had been born deaf and could only communicate through gestures and looks, which made everything that much harder for her compared to her sisters. She couldn’t get her mouth to form the words that ran rampant in her head, not that she didn’t try, and eventually, she gave up, coming to the realization that what she so desperately wanted to say would never be heard by anyone other than herself.

She had never felt sorry about her ailment before, knowing that Nesta understood when she was irritated by the way her eyes narrowed with a hand placed defiantly on her hip and that Elain knew when she needed a moment away from their father when a frustrated huff emitted from her nose, followed with the incessant picking at the skin around her fingernails.

And Feyre, well, she was able to decipher what Ariadne wanted before she even did.

But it was different now. It wasn’t the same and the changes she was going through had to be dealt with, with no help from anyone. It wasn’t fair.

She wanted to scream and yell and cry and throw things, but she couldn’t, and if she could, she wouldn’t want to. That wasn’t who she was and it definitely wasn’t how she acted when life didn’t go the way she wished for it to. Instead, Ariadne kept it hidden away from prying eyes and suffered in silence, because that’s what this all was.

Suffering.

Agony.

Without any end in sight.

Ariadne works to swallow the dry lump that had formed in her throat and she withholds a wince, knowing that she needed something to drink and she was already dreading the fact that she’d have to leave the bit of safety in the room, that was now hers, to go get it.

Unless she wanted to stick her mouth under the faucet again and she most definitely did not.

Downstairs it is, she gnaws on the inside of her lower lip until she tastes the unmistakable tang of copper on her tongue, the nerves already setting in. You can do this, Ari. Just stand up and walk. It isn’t that hard, her fingers clenched into a fist, nails biting into her palm. Get UP! Get up, get up, get up!

Why couldn’t she move? What was wrong with her?

Ariadne sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment, then releases, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep herself composed. The tears were right there and there was no way she would allow them to fall; she had to be strong like Feyre would be, not letting anything knock her down, and if it did, she’d get back up to try again. She could do that, couldn’t she?

It’ll be quick. Start with putting your feet on the floor. That’s easy enough to do, she reopens her eyes and stares straight ahead for several minutes, working on keeping each breath steady. On the count of three… One, her skin prickles, but she manages to sit up straight, legs unfolding. Two, sweat forms on her brow as she moves her feet to hover over the carpet. Three!

The distance closes and she freezes when she feels the plush material against her skin, finding that it was kind of… nice. See, not so bad, right? One thing at a time. You can do that no problem.

A small bit of confidence surges through her and she quickly rests her arms on either side of the chair, bracing herself before pushing herself up; her knees wobble and her brow furrows, but Ariadne - more determined than she realized - finds her balance and straightens, taking a deep breath in order to calm down a little.

Hey! Look at that. You did it, there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth, which she dutifully ignores. Now, another deep breath. Start walking, was it too soon to do this? It had only been a week since- Don’t go there, Ari. You’re doing so well. You aren’t there anymore. You’re fine, she lifts her chin and turns towards the door. Go on, she takes a step.

Ariadne keeps going, one foot at a time, and becomes more steady, making her way across the - her - room to the door and stopping to stand in front of it. Her hand wrapped around the handle, halfway turned, but she froze again. Completely immobile. Why was her heart beating so quickly? This wasn’t normal. It made no sense to feel like this and she couldn’t find a way to understand it, which was incredibly frustrating.

It’s good that you want to see something else besides these same four walls. Nothing wrong with that. No one is even going to be out there, she turns it the rest of the way. Nesta is with Elain, and Feyre, her heart clenches painfully. Feyre isn’t here right now, so you’re going to have to do this yourself, she pulls and it opens. There you go.

Ariadne peers out into the hall and looks down both ends, not seeing anything other than the rest of the doors, all closed, and the sconces that emitted a warm light. She slips through and begins to walk, her feet padding softly against the floor and she was hoping that the kitchen was in this direction or else she was going to be wandering around for a while; the House of Wind was huge.

She continues on with her hands clasped together in front of her, the pad of her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the top and she can’t help but look around, never having seen anything like it before. Not even Archeron Estate. The amount of money that Rhysand had to build something like this? He must’ve grown up rich. Her gaze roams over the intricate carvings on the large columned archways, head tilted in quiet admiration. They were pretty.

The hallway comes to a set of stairs, only four, and Ariadne pauses before taking each one down to find a kitchen to the left that led to what she assumed was the dining room, and held a grand table in the center with multiple high-backed chairs.

Yeah, definitely rich from birth, she walks further in and flicks her eyes over the cabinets, realizing that she had no clue where anything was. Look through all of them. It isn’t going to matter anyway, she reaches up on her tip-toes and her fingertips barely brush against the handle. Oh, great, she sighs. Where’s a ladder when you need one?

She notes the sink only a few inches away and she moves to crouch down in front, beginning to search through and eventually coming up empty. Please don’t tell me I have to climb on a counter, Ariadne stands back up straight. Again, there was really no other way, was there? Of course not.

Her brow furrows as she surveys the correct way to do it without getting hurt, knowing that no one was there to help if things went awry; she finally settles on using the shelf that went across the middle of the bottom cabinet to use to give her a boost and then she’d be able to get her leg up by bracing her weight against the wall.

It seemed simple enough.

After getting into position, Ariadne takes a breath and places her hand to the left as she pushes her foot against the shelf. She grunts from the effort to lift her leg, managing to get her knee onto the counter and use what strength she had to pull the rest of herself on top.

She grasps at the handle on the cabinet to steady herself before she adjusts her knees and leans over a little to open it, only to find plates. An annoyed huff makes her nostrils flare and she carefully shuts it. I should’ve just drank from the faucet again, her arm extends and her fingers wrap around the next handle as she moves over. This is way too much to do for a cup, she keeps her spine straight and prays to whatever higher power hailed over Prythian that this was the right one.

Ariadne pulls, and she doesn’t notice the fabric of her dress shift or when she starts to slide; she peeks inside and her eyes brighten when she sees what she had been hoping for. Yes!

Her body goes to lean like she had done a couple minutes ago and her knees give out from under her, a surprised sound leaving her lips as her other arm flails, unable to find anything to hold onto. No!

Everything went sideways and Ariadne began to fall, the top of her foot hitting the edge of the counter and she hisses through her teeth, eyes squeezing shut and bracing for the impact of her body against the tiled floor. But it never came. There was something looped around her waist, cool and soft, flowing like silk and holding with a gentleness that she had never felt before. What is it? Where did it come from?

Whatever it was had decided to turn her upright and place her down safely, which is when she decided to open her eyes; the first thing noticed were the wings, massive and actually really beautiful, but holding a power that matched that of the one, two, three, four… seven siphons, which reminded her of sapphires, and then it was the deep bronze skin that was littered with dirt, grime, and only the Gods knew what else, followed by a tousle of dark hair, slightly curly.

Though, what Ariadne noticed the most was the golden glow that faded into hazel. There was a mixture of guardedness, curiosity, and worry - maybe? - swirling within the shifting shades of green and brown, but she wasn’t sure if she could trust it. Azriel, I think. The other one is who Nesta can’t stand. Cassian? This is the… Spysinger, her lips pressed together. No, that isn’t right. Oh! Shadowmaster. Yeah, that makes more sense.

She blinks and realizes that she had been staring at him for longer than she should’ve and quickly refocuses to see that he had come around from the other side of the counter to stand a few feet away from her.

It looked like the Shadowmaster had been in a few fights and then slept on the ground afterwards, which was weird to her because she swore Cassian was the aggressive one. Never judge a book, Ari. People look at you and think you’re not capable of anything or that you’re stupid, she lifts her chin and finds that she could now only see his chest when she did that, so she tilts her head back further until she finds his face again.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Azriel watches in silence as the youngest Archeron sister - Ariadne - nearly breaks her neck in order to meet his gaze, the warm honey of her eyes full of questions, trepidation, and a sadness that was trying to hide itself and he was certain it was much larger than what he already caught. He found himself wishing he could ask her about it, but that was impossible for two important reasons; one, Azriel didn’t do things like that and two, even if he did, Ariadne wouldn’t be able to hear him.

And who was to say that if she could, she would answer?

He resorts to raising a single brow, inclining his head towards the counter as he keeps his sights set on her, surveying her expression for the slightest change; it starts with a flicker of surprise before shifting to neutral and she nods, the smallest of sighs emitting from her parted lips and she glances at the still open cabinet that held the cups, then tapping her fingers at the base of her throat.

Ah, he steps forward and reaches inside to grab one, lowering it down and handing it to her. There’s a moment of hesitation, though it doesn’t seem to be an aversion to him. It was more so of someone unsure how to accept help when they had been doing everything without it for a long time. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?

The ever-present shadows that swirled around Azriel became tense at the thought and he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind to be locked away.

Now wasn’t the time.

Ariadne was staring at the glass and he realized that she had no idea that the House of Wind would provide anything she wanted. After all, how was she going to know anything about a world she had been thrown into? Stories that passed over to the human lands weren’t always accurate.

Will you- He hears a quiet gasp and he cuts himself off, attention snapping back to the small Fae in front of him that was watching as… orange juice filled to the brim. Apparently, she figured it out a lot quicker than he thought she would. The corner of his mouth twitches. Smart girl.

Azriel takes a couple steps back and leans his hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest with his wings tucked behind. Ariadne turns her head and blinks at him, observing his position before giving a single dip of her chin and he had a feeling that it was her way of saying ‘thank you.’

He returns the gesture and she begins to walk by, more than likely heading back to her room, and that’s when he smells it; cherry blossoms. It was sweet and soft, hints of creamy vanilla bean and almond with a warmth that made him want to reach out and touch her.

It’s his turn to blink now and he waits for Ariadne to pass before he looks over his shoulder, hazel returning to that golden hue as she makes her way back up the steps and disappears down the hall. His shadows begin curling around his neck and ears, whispering to him in cool breaths, some louder than others.

She is special. Yes, special. And alone. Afraid. She is lost. No way to understand. She cannot ask. She wants to understand. Must help her understand. Yes. Help her.

Azriel gives a small tug and they fall silent, though they flick against his skin in protest and to show their evident distaste for his dismissal. He rolls his eyes with a heavy exhale, giving his head a shake before he pushes himself away from the counter and disappears into the same temperamental darkness that matched that of himself.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Ariadne was unsure how to feel about her brief interaction with Azriel; he understood what she’d been trying to do and had even helped her, which was odd for her, but it made him better than most people she had met. He didn’t invade her personal space either, didn’t try to do anything at all that would make her the slightest bit uncomfortable.

In fact, he seemed to be a fairly decent male. She couldn’t remember a single instance over the few times she had been around him - even as a human - where he had ever acted out or caused any sort of problem. And if he did, she had an inkling that it would have to be over something important.

Her eyes lifted to the window and found that the sun had set, painting the sky in magenta and lavender with bursts of burnt orange and yellow; it reminded her of something that Feyre might like to recreate on canvas. There’s a sharp pang in the center of her heart at the thought of her sister and she winces, reaching up to rub the spot with her hand.

It was hard without Feyre. Yes, Nesta and Elain were there, but they were handling being Made even worse than Ariadne was. At least she had left the room. Granted, it was only once and she wasn’t gone for that long. It was still more than what they were doing.

And that had to count for something, didn’t it?

Ariadne had been the closest with Feyre, in age and in every other way. They were inseparable and a lot of love was shared between the two of them, along with a deep-rooted loyalty and respect for who they each were. And now? She felt like she was missing a vital piece of herself that she didn’t know how to get back and the longer the stretch of days went on, the more painful it got.

She picks at the skin around her nails and shifts her gaze to the floor, not wanting to think about any of this anymore. That was the thing about having no way to talk to someone; she tended to inner-monologue and go too into detail about things, overwhelming herself until she disassociated from it all.

Not the best solution, but it worked for her.

A flicker of movement in the corner catches her attention and she zeroes in on it, eyes narrowing slightly. Don’t tell me this place has ghosts now, Ariadne stands, noting how it was darker than it should’ve been with the way the light was streaming in. Because I will find a way to get out of here. There can’t be that many stairs.

She takes a couple steps forward, head tilted with curiosity and a bit of fear if it was actually a ghost. Whatever you are, I’m not going to hurt you, so that means you can’t hurt me either. That’s how this works.

The unknown something moves again, causing a shift in the air that her new Fae eyes are able to detect; it looked like smoke, though more refined and smooth, shimmering with an iridescence that reminded her of the stars. She reaches out. What are you?

It slithers forward and Ariadne watches as it brushes against one of her fingers, almost as if it were curious about her too, and that’s when she feels that same softness that had been around her waist earlier, silken and surprisingly strong.

You’re one of Azriel’s shadows, it curls around her finger and Ariadne hums. What are you doing here? Did he send you?

The shadow moves further up until it’s wrapped around her wrist, the end curled between her fingers and she feels something push at the back of her skull. It didn’t hurt, but it was strange; it sort of felt like someone was trying to fit the wrong key into a lock.

Ariadne keeps her eye on the shadow and takes a breath. Are you trying to get in? Feyre mentioned that before, but I can’t remember what it’s called. It’s mind reading though, isn’t it? Are you saying I can do it too?

There’s an instantaneous pressure around her wrist and she sucks in another breath. Okay, that’s… Okay, her brow furrows; how did the shadow know before she did? Was it because of Azriel being their master? But then that would mean he would know too, wouldn’t he? And he had never given any inclination that he did, so how?

She wished she knew all of the information that Feyre had given back when she first showed them that she was High Fae. Ariadne could read, some, from the few books Nesta was able to get when they lived in the small cottage and then even more so when their father had suddenly been offered a business deal that made them wealthy again, not that she remembered any of that part of their life, and was given lessons; she didn’t like them and proceeded to have a glare off with her eldest sister until it was made clear that there would be no changing her mind.

Ariadne would teach herself.

And reading turned into writing.

But it had been slow going at first and when Feyre had arrived with Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian, she had only gotten so far and there was some of it that had been written down that she either got mixed up or couldn’t remember at all. It was all bits and pieces.

The tightening around her wrist draws her attention back to the present and she shakes her head. Right. Focus, Ari. If the shadow is trying to tell me what I think it is, I have to try, don’t I?

Ariadne closes her eyes and recedes back into her mind, maneuvering through the jumbled mess of thoughts before she comes across an opalescent wall, shimmering with a moonlight glow and she couldn’t help but think how pretty it was. Why had she never noticed this before? Her head tilts and she probes further, searching for some way to open it.

It brushed softly against her just as the shadow did and she gave an instinctive squeeze in return before the wall of light brightened, beginning to shake and shift, soon revealing a small entryway for a single person to get through. She gasps.

Whoa! How did I do that? Ariadne opens her eyes and looks down to see the little thing was weaving between her fingers. Can you hear me now?

Yes.

225 notes · View notes

mochie85 · 11 months ago

Text

House of Cards

These Wicked Games Collections | Complete Masterlist

Summary: You and Loki finally confront each other about your feelings and what went wrong. Suggested Song: "Fantasy" by The Driver Era Word Count: 2.9K Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: Smut. Dominating/Controlling Loki, Angry sex, rough sex.

Loki’s room was dark and humid. Thick waves of moisture rolled to you from his en suite, bringing with it the scent of his soap and aftershave. He must have taken a shower moments before movie night, you mused to yourself.

As the latch on his door clicked closed, the fireplace roared to life startling you. The heat from the fire only made his scent grow deep and heady. Warm yellow light canvased the room. You followed the flicker of the flames as your eyes took in Loki’s private chambers.

There you were…alone in his room. His sanctuary. A rare opportunity to sneak around and find out more about the intimidating god of mischief. Nothing had changed since that fateful night when you challenged him to Blackjack. That following morning, you were too hurt and busy trying to get out of the mortifying situation you walked yourself into to appreciate anything else.

His desk sat in the middle of the room, facing his bed. A house of cards was meticulously crafted on top— an elaborate pyramid of angles and shapes. Some cards, magically teetering on their corners. You had forgotten your deck that night, in a hurry to leave and lick your wounds from Loki’s casual opinion of your relationship with each other.

You reached out to take one— a discarded card lying on the bottom layer. You focused on the filigree and the cherub on the back cover, greeting you back.

“I thought I told you to wait for me on my bed?” His deep voice froze your movements, squeezing the air from your lungs. You turned quickly to find Loki, already closing the final steps to you.

“Loki, I-” He didn’t let you finish as he seized your lips and invaded your senses once again. His fingers laced themselves in your hair. His other hand pulled your shirt off from behind, popping your buttons, and exposing your breasts that were already spilling over your bra from his groping earlier.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, hoping to melt with him. You needed him closer. You needed his every being to get reacquainted with you. God, it's been so long.

His kiss was never-ending. He didn’t let you catch your breath, stealing your mouth every time you moved to inhale. His lips were so ravenous and demanding that it almost hurt. “…Loki…” you whined.

At long last, his fingers pulled your hair and brought your face up to meet his eyes. “You never do as you’re told, do you, darling? You never listen. Always worried about letting people inside.” His fist in your hair got tighter. His breath was hot and sweet; trying to hold back an emotion you had yet to work out. “Is that why you perfected your poker face? To hide the lies underneath?”

“What lies?!” you asked insulted and slightly afraid. “You lied to me! You used me just to play some game! Toying with me! Just entertainment for the night!” You tried to push him back, but his body was hard and unyielding. You pounded on his chest, trying to get away. But he trapped you in his arms and he wouldn’t let you go.

“You don’t listen! I have already told you, and yet you still pay no heed to my words! Do you even know how the last two weeks have been for me?” he said with a cold glare. “Torture! The moment you walked out of my bed, I started doubting myself. I started doubting you! I never thought you of all people would play me for a game like you do with your cards and tricks.”

He was furious! You had no idea how this would go, where Loki was going with his discourse. You knew Loki would never hurt you intentionally, but the look in his eyes was undoubtedly anger and pain. Not knowing terrified you and it also sent a thrill down your spine.

You had hurt him. You can see that now. He was affected as much as you were that night. You could see it in the unshed glimmer in his eyes. “You do care about me,” you realized.

“And what made you think I didn’t?” he demanded. His hold on you tightened. To be in his arms and to know that he was holding back so much of his godly strength. It hurt to almost breathe in his presence. But that was nothing compared to the guilt you felt inside. It hurt to know that you had assumed the worst of him and failed to communicate what you wanted. That you had missed out on two glorious weeks of being with him.

“You said you liked playing games. The way everything unfolded…I- I didn’t know what to think. I had no idea you even looked at me that way! And in mere hours I was splayed like a toy for you in your bed, Loki! What was I supposed to think?! How was I to know that I wasn’t just another conquest for you? That your confession was true?” you yelled back at him.

“Does this feel untrue to you!” he bucked his hips to yours, pushing you against his desk. You let out a carnal moan as you felt the length of him rub against your awaiting clit- throbbing to feel more of him, to be closer to him. The pyramid shook slightly behind you but remained standing. “Perhaps, you need a little reminder…” he growled as he kissed your lips boldly.

Blurring colors started to form and solidify in your head. Memories took shape as if they were tangible moving pictures.

~Loki growled. His fervor and desire ruling all rational thought. “I love that you’re intelligent,” he said as he flattened out his tongue and lapped the juices flowing from your cunt. “…Loki…” “I love how clever you are.” He said giving your sensitive clit a soft kiss. “I love how you’re willing to play my games.” He laughed as he kissed his way up your stomach. He knelt up on the bed, towering over your lustful figure beneath him. His eyes were wild taking in your heavy breathing, your glowing skin, and how utterly besotted you were when you looked at him. Your eyes were hooded and pleading, missing his tongue. Your mouth was open, ready to beg him to continue. “And by the Norns, you look absolutely sinful laying on my bed the way you are now.” He lined his hard cock at your entrance and slammed his way inside your tight folds.~

You felt him thrust towards your aching cunt, as if he was reliving the memory himself. The heavy force of his illusion pushed you back into reality. The house of cards gave way and fell behind you in one fell swoosh.

“You love me,” you whispered to yourself. Tears brimmed your lids as you looked at the truth in his eyes. The realization was heavy and thick; along with the guilt of invalidating his feelings.

Loki closed his eyes as he leaned in to rest his head on yours. He took a deep breath, relieved you had finally understood what he was trying to convey. Your fingers brushed through his silken hair, pulling him closer. Your lips apologized for you as you assailed his beautiful face with kisses. Softly, one after another. His fervid cheeks. His troubled eyes. His sharp chin. He felt each kiss as a prayer of penance asking for his forgiveness.

Your velvet lips turned into passionate kisses the more you held him. Loki returned your fervor with as much desire, if not more. How long has he waited for this? Dreamt of this? Wondering if he’d ever get the chance to kiss you again like this.

He had already granted you his pardon- earlier tonight when you had confessed that you imagined kissing him instead of Rogers. Perhaps even earlier than that, when you sat down on his lap and acknowledged his presence, finally, after weeks of disaffection. You had his forgiveness, but not his mercy.

“Loki, I need you. Please,” you begged. You started to unbutton his shirt, your fingernails nicking and scratching at his creamy skin in haste. “Make love to me,” you whined, wanting to compensate for lost time.

He licked his lips and savored your words. “Oh no, pet,” he chuckled darkly. “Only good girls get made love to...” Loki pushed your shoulders down, laying you on his desk. Your eyes widened in shock as your hair flowed around you, weaving with the cards of the fallen castle. He pulled your legs forward, bringing your hips flushed with his hard cock. “…Bad girls get fucked!”

You took a sharp intake of air as his words rattled your nerves. You heard the zip of his pants as his hands held you down on his desk. He nudged the wet gusset of your panties aside and guided the tip of his cock at your entrance. You moaned shamelessly when you felt him inside you for the first time in weeks.

He let out a shaky breath as he dragged himself up and down through your wet lips. Slowly teasing you, making you squirm with need. “…please…” you said so quietly you thought it was in your head. “…please, Loki…”

He gave into your cries. Into your begging; and thrust quickly inside you. You let out a vulgar moan at the sheer length of him filling you completely. Your knees squeezed around his hips as you tried to slow his assault. Your nails dug into the soft wood of his desk trying to hold on. “Stop resisting, my love. I thought this was what you wanted?” he grunted.

Your hands gripped his wrist that was holding down your shoulder. He gathered your skirt around your waist and used it as leverage to thrust deeper into you. “Just a little bit deeper…fuck…When I’m…when I’m done with you…I’ll make sure…you can’t walk in the morning…” he vowed. “So, you won’t leave my bed like you did that day.” His rage was palpable and cloying.

“…Loki…” you whined. But that only made him go harder. Faster.

You held the edge of the desk above you, trying to meet his passionate thrust with your own. Strands of your hair fell off to the sides. Your back arched, and you could feel the cards stick to the sweat of your skin.

“You like this, don’t you? Look how wet you are for me.” He watched as your sweet cum coated his shaft, making him groan. You could feel it dripping from you with each hard thrust of his cock. “Do you like it rough?”

“…fuck, Loki…please…”

“You’re enjoying this too much.” His hand moved from your shoulder up to your throat. He grabbed your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, “Next time, I’ll just fuck you in front of the team. So, they can see what a begging mess you become for me.”

And he was right. You are a mess. And you are enjoying this too much. You had always prided yourself in being a tough and independent person. But when it comes to Loki, you didn’t hesitate to be cuffed and barred. You didn’t fight it when he chased you. You wanted him to catch you. You wanted his dominance.

Loki bent to hover over you, pinning your hips down to his hard desk. “You are not to leave me. Ever. Do you understand?” his breath came out labored and grunting. “You can storm out angry. You can yell, scream, and fight. Hell, I prefer it. But you are never to leave without returning and talking about it afterward. Is that clear?” He thrust deep to mark his point. You moaned loudly into the stifling air. Your fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Say it!” he thrust again, demanding an answer.

“yesyesyes…please Loki…I’m a-about to…” you squeezed tighter around him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Come on then. Give it to me.” He demanded in your ear. You wrapped your ankles around his waist, keeping him locked to you. Loki stood back up, taking your wrist ad holding them down against his desk. You were trapped in between his corded arms. All you could see was the beautiful face of a god unraveling above you. His slanted brows and his gritted teeth, his deep voice grunting at the feel of your warmth around him.

You could feel the tight pull of his shaft against your walls when he dragged himself out and plunged back in. “Fuck baby, that’s it. Tighter. Come on.”

Your legs shook and you screamed his name one last time. Your orgasm pulses inside you, making every single part of you sensitive and euphoric. Loki followed soon after. His hips jutted forward with each grunt and spill of his climax inside you.

Loki bent over you again. He caged your head between his arms and kissed you softly on your swollen lips. Your hands roamed his back, feeling his powerful muscles contort and contract as he moaned above you. Your nails would scratch on his smooth skin whenever his cock twitched inside you. “Loki.”

Without breaking your kiss, he scooped you up from his desk and walked over to his bed. “…such a good girl for me, darling…” he whispered on your skin. “…taking me all in like that. Good fucking girl...” Your throat was hoarse and stung too much to answer anything above a sigh. His plush blankets welcomed you as he laid you down on top. “…and do you know what good girls get?”

You bit your lip to stop from giggling. Loki lined himself up with your entrance once again and pushed slowly. Your giggles turned into moans as he continued his rhythmic thrust against your heat.

“Look at me, darling,” he asked so sweetly. Your furrowed eyes caught his. “I love you,” he murmured. “I should’ve said it from the very beginning.” He continued at a tantric pace, keeping his stare at yours. You tightened around him and you got a more genuine feel for him. Every vein, every inch, pulling your moans from your lips and leaving you with nothing but the sensation of his love and adoration for you.

He looked deep into your eyes, and you could tell that he was close again. “I love you too,” you whispered. Loki let go. At the same time, your body releases itself into a climax. One of the strongest, and most powerful, ones you’ve ever felt.

His body sunk on top of yours. He was finally letting go of the weight and worry that he held these past weeks. And you welcomed it by holding him tighter against you.

You woke up the next morning, tender and stinging. The tiniest movement of your hips shot an aching soreness throughout your body. And you smiled. Your mind reeled at the memories of last night. After your shared confessions, Loki took you again in the shower, then on the floor, and then in the shower again. He fucked you in every conceivable space in his room. And then he would make love to every inch of your body afterward.

“Can you walk?” his voice was low and gravelly. The dredges of sleep have yet to release him from their grasp.

“Well, good morning to you too.” You playfully pushed him aside, pretending to be insulted. He laughed as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a morning kiss.

“Good morning, my love…” he said with adoration. “…Can you walk?” he repeated. You rolled your eyes at him, smiling. You knew the answer before you even attempted to sit up and try to get off his bed.

Your hips felt out of place. Your thighs burned and screamed at being used again so soon after last night. And your feet could barely hold you up threatening to slip. “No, I can’t. Are you happy?”

Loki scooped you up making you yelp and grab hold of his shoulders. “Tremendously, so.” He said kissing you heatedly on your lips.

Nat sat in the conference room, reading Tony’s mission briefing from the night before. The rest of the team returned early last night and decided to join in on the movie. No one had noticed that you and Laufeyson were missing until Thor asked where his brother was. “They were both very tired. I think they might’ve gone to bed early,” Nat smirked.

And now, here she was watching the two of you come out of the bedroom hallways. A sudden giggle escapes from your lips. She looked over the paper and witnessed Laufeyson carrying you into the kitchen bridal style. “Put me down! I can walk now you know,” you whispered into his ear.

“Oh, darling. We both know I’m too good for that to wear off so quickly.”

“You pompous ass!”

“Yes, one that has your scratch marks all over it!” He gave you a quick peck on the lips, followed by his signature devious smirk. Loki pulled out one of the chairs and sat down with you on top of his lap.

Oh, this oughta be good! Nat neglected the rest of her work on the table and made her way over to the two of you. Loki had conjured a muffin and some coffee for you. While you sat on his lap feeding him grapes like he was Dionysus himself.

“You know, when I dared you to sit on his lap, I meant for the length of the movie,” Nat said coming up from behind you and sitting across the table. “Not indefinitely.”

“Your lovely friend here has been incapacitated, Agent Romanoff.” Loki smiled, nuzzling his nose against the smell of his shampoo in your hair. “I’m afraid she’ll need assistance from here on out. For the foreseeable future.”

“Stop it!” you chided him.

“Make me,” he teased.

⬅️ Truth or Dare | Hide and Seek (Coming Soon) ➡️

A/N: I guess I wasn't ready to let go of these two yet. This series wasn't supposed to have any major angst or plot. It was just supposed to be a collection of these two characters playing random "adult" games. So, I will try to get back to that thought and update whenever I think of something for them to do 😉.

🏷️ @emarich7 @michelleleewise @coldnique @psychospore @lokisgoodgirl @silverfire475 @fictive-sl0th @springdandelixn @wheredafandomat @goldencherriess @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @tallseaweed @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine-blog @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @chrisevansmaindish @capswife @dangertoozmanykids101

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mauvecherie-writes · 2 months ago

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be mine this christmas: l.hamilton.

pairing: lewis hamilton x black oc!xenia richards

trope: grumpy billionaire x personal assistant au

ru’s 💌: this will be my last update for a few days because I have some school work to do that I’ve been avoiding lol. The Lewis in this story is not to be conflated with IRL Lewis. He’s an asshole who knows he’s an asshole but you’ll love him the same. This story is fast paced because it takes place in about one day.

series masterlist

chapter: TWO

chapter warning: DUAL POV, mentions of toxic family dynamics: child neglect, asshole!lewis

chapter w.c: 3.86K

𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒

Lewis had an affinity for pissing people off. Since childhood, it had been something that he loved and it was probably something that he always had a fascination for. Seeing the way that he could affect someone else in such a way that dictates their mood was amusing to him. For most people, it was a funny occurrence that he would quickly forget about as soon as he left their presence . But there was one person that he made a point to aggravate with her furious expression being left in her wakes as she stormed away - his little assistant, Miss Xenia Richards.

Being able to garner a reaction out of her was worth his time in gold. It was like a hobby of his where he kept a running record going of how many times that he could successfully piss her off. Any moment that he was feeling bored, all it took was a swivel of his chair and an intercom call to her desk and it took nothing to invoke a reaction out of her - simply because it was too easy.

Why did Lewis love it so much? A very simple answer. He was an asshole.

It was how he was raised - or lack thereof.

A toxic cycle that he found all too time consuming to break with everything else that he had going on. It was just the way he was and he was not going to dig deep into his childhood trauma to figure out why pissing his PA off gave him a greater satisfaction than winning a new client. He liked the way he was just fine.

He wasn’t going to psychoanalyse why when she bashfully hid her face away from him, it made his dick hard. Or when she storms out of his office, he loved the way her ass jiggled and he pictured it bent over his lap wiggling as he slapped the smooth surface. He didn’t care as to why he enjoyed aggravating Xenia so much. But he was not going to stop any time soon.

When the company was established, Lewis had put it in the company policy that the executive staff would not fraternise with anyone directly in their line of authority and for the last three years he had been deeply regretting that rule. He was sure even the way that he fantasised about Xenia would be grounds for his termination from his position. So the next best thing that he had in his arsenal was riling her up.

His fascination also probably had to do with the fact that getting smart-mouthed and strong-willed women to submit to him was a kink of his. It was a dangerous affliction that he knew would cost him but it was worth it, million times over. Especially if it was Xenia at the end of his tunnel.

Lewis knew that she put up a good front but he could see right through Xenia’s faux exterior. She was nothing more than a brat who needed guidance. Specifically his guidance.

“Sir.” The sweet voice of his secretary, Tabitha, came over the phone’s intercom.

“Yes Tabitha?” He answered as it put a stop to his wayward thoughts.

“I have a list from Olivia on what else is needed for the Christmas party.” He could already feel an idea formulating before he could even utter thank you. The eagerness that swept through him at the thought of his assistant’s displeasure was concerning but he chose not to focus on that. Instead, his mind dwelled on how her face would contort between wanting to be defiant and wanting to submit to his bending. It was too good of a moment to not witness. As for now, he’ll just have to settle for the memories.

Lewis grabbed his cellphone from the desk and typed a quick message to Xenia with an updated list. He predicted that by now she probably would have been grabbing Mile’s lunch as the sushi restaurant was a few more miles further out from their offices. It was a last minute addition and when he thought about it, he preferred the roast blend from MonMouth instead.

After sending his message, he placed his phone back on his hand-carved red oak desk and turned back to face his computer screen. When the screen lit back up, he scrolled through some of the marketing reports and was particularly impressed with the continuous success of PLUS44WORLD. Nearly half a decade later into his retirement, his merch was still a major selling point of his brand. He then schemed through a few proposals from marketing agencies for sponsorships. He forwarded the ones that he thought would work best with the company to Miles and the legal team.

Even despite his obsession with enraging his personal assistant, Lewis could not deny that she did a fantastic job. A damn near perfect job actually. Everything that he threw her way, she was able to handle it with ease. Departments handed in their reports on time due to her delegation. Meetings and proposals, he went through half the time because Xenia often assessed them before forwarding them to him. This ultimately left him with very little to do towards the end of the day.

That was not great for his boredom. As he looked out of the window and watched the falling snow, he was forced to spend time with his thoughts. By the stream of thick fluff, he predicted that by the time Christmas rolled by, the streets of London. Would be covered in blankets of it. He hated the way that his mind shifted to his parents. They hated the cold, snow in particular and spent most of their time somewhere in the tropics.

At the very first sight of snowfall, they ran. As soon as they were able to leave Lewis alone with his nannies, they did. He was raised by his nannies, whichever one they had at the time. Up until he began to take an interest in motorsports, then his parents decided that they wanted to do their job. They had done just enough for it not to cause a media firestorm as his success grew expeditiously. The perfect family, they were dubbed.

It was only ever for the public. Behind closed doors, Lewis was often left alone - back into the arms of his nannies. Alone again, especially at Christmas. He never let it bother him, in essence, he was surrounded by too many people to actually ever be alone. But in his solitude, he had observed a thing or two about humans. Their mannerisms, their habits, their tells - all to come to the conclusion that people were ruled by their emotions. Whether they wanted to or not.

Through his adolescence, he pushed his nannies past their limits - most of them quitting before their contract was over. It was then that he decided that he was not a fan of compliant women. They were not stimulating enough for him. Lewis learnt a lot of things in his isolation as an only child. How to be in charge of his own happiness. He was indifferent to his parents due to their mistreatment and he probably needed professional help to unpack that. Right now, that was not a priority.

Instead, he chose to find solace in causing Xenia discomfort. He enjoyed seeing the life in her eyes when she got mad. He always wondered if there would be that same fire when she reached her climax. Or would she crumble beneath him, spent and exhausted. One assumption he was almost certain of was that she was undoubtedly a screamer. That he was sure.

As if his thoughts had summoned her presence, he turned around at the tumbling of limbs, bags and lunch barraging through his office door.

The better part of him wanted to stand up and offer some help. The arsehole part of him leaned back into his chair, silently watching as Xenia cursed as she struggled to make it through. After a painful moment, she was able to gather herself as she dumped the bags onto the floor and then placed his lunch and coffee onto his desk without a single spill.

“Such a gentleman for helping me with the door, sir.” She spat out the last word with so much venom. Xenia had probably done it to annoy him as if he wasn’t already in the mindset that he was, it would have. All it did now was that it shot shocks through to his dick. Too many times had he fantasised about her using his official title as she thanked him for her pleasure. He chewed on the inside of his cheek to control his smirk from breaking out as he watched her shuffle in one place as she tried to regulate her emotions. Her hand twitched by her sides as she seemed to be counting down.

She was so responsive, Lewis thought to himself. And it only drove his desire to toy with her more. Xenia may not respond with words but in letting her body respond for her, it fuelled the flames in the pit of her stomach.

Since Lewis had hired her, he knew that she would be more than he bargained for and he had begun to wonder if - even by just the smallest fraction, that she also wanted to please him. It would make sense if she did. Xenia was responsive to him in other ways that she may not have been aware of, eager for his touch and eager for his praise.

Yet she would not submit, she would not give up her control to him. But he would take it, own it, bend it to his will and there would be no going back.

However, as tempting as it would be, it was a pleasure that he would not indulge in just yet. The company rules were there for a reason and his desire would remain in his thoughts and burn his soul as they were starved of fruition.

Lewis would just have to settle for the tremble of her full, glossed lips, the rising of her chest instead of the jiggle of her ass. He would observe the fierceness that swirled in her eyes every time that she looked at him rather than the feeling of her cunt clamping down on his dick. He would expand her energy to run around the city with a list in hand for as long as it fuelled the fantasy of her running out of breath as he drove into her, marred the walls of his warped mind.

That would do. For now.

𝐗𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀

There were many kinds of demons in accordance with the religions and mythologies of the world and as this particular demonic spawn sighed as he leaned forward, Xenia wondered what she had done in her past life to deserve this.

“Let’s hope that I don’t need to get my shirts re-starched due to your negligence.”

Oh, this dickhead.

For the second time in less than two minutes, Xenia had to use the countdown method to control her rising temper. And for the fourth time that week, she thought about handing in her resignation, cashing out her savings and moving to New York. It was wishful thinking. A sigh left her as she patted her hair back into place.

“Maybe if you had helped me then that wouldn’t be a worry would it?”

“And why would I do that? It’s what I hired you for.”

Now, she knew that being of a certain class made people lose touch with reality but to hear such words come out of the cretin had her mind racing with insults that could curse an entire bloodline. All of them colourful and all of them violent enough to get her a secured spot in HM Bronzefield.

So she stood there in silence as she swallowed down her disgust at the complete lack of chivalry. They stayed there, Xenia attempting not to burst with anger and Lewis daring her to defy him.

You just need this job a little bit longer, Xenia.

Pushing her pride aside, she bent down, picked up his dry cleaning and walked across the main office space to the private en suite. She hung them behind the door and took a moment to inhale and exhale, again and again until she felt her hert beating steadily again.

Entering back into the office, she did not offer Lewis a second glance as she picked up the other bags up from the floor. “Now that you have your lunch, I will take these bags to the conference hall.” She turned to walk away, her body burning with anticipation to leave his scrutinising gaze. Then he cleared his throat and she had to stop herself from screaming in frustration.

“Is there anything else that you need from me, sir?”

“I do.” For all of the times for Xenia to be affected by his voice, it had to be when she wanted to bash the side of his head with the bags in her hands. Not only that, she hated the visceral reaction his voice seemed to have on her body. Her core tightened as a shiver rushed down her spine.

Xenia forced herself to stay still, facing the door as he stood directly behind her. She did not want to look into his eyes as she was avoiding whatever she was feeling.

“As soon as you drop those bags in the conference rooms, please come back here. I know your propensity to become distracted.”

He was right and it gutted her that he had picked up on the restlessness of her mind.

“Yes, sir.” Xenia did not stop once she had thrown the door open and rushed across the floor, avoiding the eyes of the other assistance.

“Are you alright?” Her mind couldn’t register that it was the voice of Tabitha. She incessantly pressed on the elevator button, in an effort to increase the distance between her and Lewis. Her eyes cut to his office and she saw him leaning against his desk so he took sips of his coffee as he scrolled through his phone. As if he could feel the intensity of her glare, his eyes flickered up and met hers. Holding her stare, Lewis put his phone down and pressed a button on his desk and the glass walls began to tint darker and darker until they were pitch black. Before he was enclosed in complete privacy, Lewis shot her a wink.

And it almost dissolved her resolve.

“Xenia?” The sound of her name jolted her back to reality. She looked to her right and saw the older woman, Tabitha standing there. In her mid fifties with a full head of grey dreadlocks secured on top of head in a bun with spunky red glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. “I asked if you were alright dear.” The Jamaican twang to her voice gave her a sense of comfort that made Xenia relax her tense shoulders.

“I’m okay Tabitha, thank you for asking. I’m just trying to get through the day in one piece.”

“Knock on wood as soon as you find some. That boy is very unpredictable.” Tabitha winked at her as the elevator doors closed. The ride down to the ground floor was swift. When she entered the main conference hall where the party would be hosted, it wasn’t a shock to her at the utter chaos that was taking place. Ladders tall and short propped against the walls as frivolous leftovers of decor loitered on the floor. Workers ran around as they tried to finish the last of the set up.

As she stood at the door, Xenia could see the beginnings of her vision coming together after weeks spent designing. This was not just a party for the company staff, no. All of the members currently sitting on the board attended. Major clients that the company wanted to keep in favour amongst social media content creators on the PR list. Ala in all to say that a lot of fucking people were going to be in attendance and Xenia had felt the pressure, to make it perfect as she did every year since her employment.

She managed not to get her feet tangled in discarded tinsel as she entered the room further.

“Drop them near the main stage, Nia.” Olivia, the event coordinator and good friend pointed in the direction that she wanted the bags to be. Her dark, raven locks were pulled into a high ponytail, her beautiful umber skin glowing under the low lights. Similar to little miss bitch, Lola, Olivia had the same gymnast body type. However, Olivia was nowhere close to the bitch that Lola was, she was an angel.

Once the bags were dropped, Xenia stepped back to admire the work that was being put in. The theme this year was Winter Wonderland with a specific colour scheme to stick to considering what the traditions of what a winter wonderland entails. But the design was coming along very well and Xenia was very proud of herself.

Crystal and faux glass decorations adorned the ceilings alongside uniform rows of white christmas lights. The centerpiece was a ten foot Christmas tree sat on the stage that was still in the process of being decorated but she knew that when it was done, it would be the showstopper.

“You think you can help us tackle that monster?” Olivia asked as she opened the bags that Xenia had delivered.

“Not a problem darling. I just need to go and see what Hamilton wants first and then I’ll be back down.” Olivia smirked at the mention of their boss but when she met Xenia’s death glare did she swallow it back. Olivia had a sick fascination with Xenia’s relationship with Lewis. From the beginning, she claimed that the sexual tension was intertwined in the bonds of their hatred for each other. Olivia had the ridiculous notion that Lewis seemed to enjoy infuriating Xenia because she was terrible at hiding her emotions. Whilst that may be true, that he loved goading a reaction out of her, Xenia loved doing the same. Even if it was the smallest loss of composure, it gave her a sliver of triumph.

“When i come back, the very mention of his name, I will fuck off out of here.” Xenia threatened, which caused Olivia to roll her eyes. Her track back up to the executives floor was one she dragged her feet for. She was not in a rush to get back to Lewis’s office. When she approached her desk to grab her iPad, she could feel his eyes peering at her through the privacy window. She had always found it creepy that he could watch the floor but no-one could look into his office when the tint was at full transmission. Xenia didn’t bother with knocking, he knew that it was her anyway.

The air grew thicker as he was unfazed by her show of an entrance. He was ignoring her as he typed away on his computer. She lowered herself onto a chair in front of his desk in a huff.

Can this man hurry up? I have shit to do. Xenia said to herself internally.

“Can you stop being dramatic, Richards? There’s no need for all of that.” His words were slow and mastered as he finally typed in the last of whatever that he was doing and turned his gaze onto her. His deep brown eyes were dark, alluring and made all of the muscles in her body tighten.

She could be honest, Xenia talked a big game and she absolutely had a massive attitude but there was not a lot of bark in her bite. Especially now as they were alone, Xenia’s body knew what her mind refused.

“Can I be honest with you Miss Richards?” The smoothness of his voice was enticing. Like a matured whiskey being poured over ice, she knew not to reach for a taste.

And yet, she still took the bait. “When have you never been honest with me?”

Lewis smirked. “I like this little game that we have going on between us.”

”Game?” Xenia frowned in confusion. Lewis nodded his head as he stood up from his chair and circled the desk until he was closer to her. She froze in her sit but managed to lean back into it so as to create some physical distance. His dark eyes remained on her as he rolled his sleeves, exposing his intrinsically tattooed skin for her viewing pleasure. Xenia forced her eyes back to his face and to maintain that eye contact as her traitorous core tightened at the simple act.

“Don’t play coy. I won’t say what it is that we play as it doesn’t need to be stated.” He paused as he fixed the folds of his shirt. “But I like it.”

Her worst enemy at that very moment was her body. Her nipples tightened as her core pulsated. Once in a while, the thought of hate fucking her boss crossed her mind, more often than it should. However, today was simply not the time nor place to let her mind wander into places that had been locked behind red doors.

Xenia crossed her legs and cleared her throat. “Of course you’d think torturing me is a game that we both like to play. I mean, I knew that you were a narcissist but this sounds concerning. Do you need me to contact someone?” The faux concern in her voice caused Lewis to lean backwards. He folded his arms across his chest and peered down at her. That fucking stupid smirk back on his face. The strands hanging on either side of his face with the overhead lights casting shadows that danced across his skin.

She should have been intimidated but she wasn’t. She was deeply aroused and then it dawned onto her how they were positioned.

Lewis above her and her below, almost eyes level with his crotch.

A show of submission. One that she would not give into. Xenia quickly shuffled back up to her feet and that caused Lewis to widen his smile before he moved back to his seat.

“What did you actually need me here for, Mr Hamilton?”

“I just wanted you to make sure that you don’t forget about the list I have emailed you.” Lewis said so casually as if he had not just accosted her. The scoff that left her could not be held back as she grabbed her iPad from his desk and charged towards the door.

What a waste of my fucking time.

“Oh and one last thing, Miss Richards.”

Don’t roll your eyes girl.

“Yes, sir?”

“Make sure to remember the number six for me.”

Is this man alright?

Xenia exhaled through her gritted teeth. “Yes, sir.” She had almost made it out of her door when she heard the faintest whisper. Whether he had actually said it or not, a shiver rolled down her spine and lit her nerves aflame.

Two simple words,

Good girl.

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @saturnville @hopefulromantic1 @lettersofgold @cocobutterqwueen @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @laneywrld @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew @henneseyhoe @perfecttrashface @alianovnaromanovanatalia @leilaxaliel @hotfudgeslug @iamryanl @pickingupmymercedes @eleetalks @ambs-06 @annisassintchaska @boujiestpoet @nayaesworld @nat-lh-44 @mochachocolatteyaya @melaninpov @kindan3rdy951 @elyseesarchive @sl33p-deprived-princess @soiguessimtheshit @acidlv @trinitoldyouso @gwenda-fav @f1-football-fiend

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 10 months ago

Text

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow that "Keep Moving Forwards Fic"

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, mentions of physical abuse, loss of a child, and general trauma.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author's Note: This is the first part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

There would be no going back. You had promised yourself that. As you stepped out of the cabin door, you vowed not to look back, not to turn around, not to wish for what was. You would move forward, one foot in front of the other, into the world. Yet, as you crested the first hill, your heart clenched, and tears welled in your eyes, a sudden and overwhelming loneliness gripping you. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. What could possibly bring you back to that place? A place where everything hurt constantly, and the only safe refuge was sleep—where even then, he invaded your subconscious.

You wouldn’t go back. Not this time. Not like the last time.

Pushing the tears down, you took another step forward. The companionship of the night, lit by the full moon, felt both lonely and liberating. You adjusted your pack and pulled your oversized, worn leather jacket tighter around your torso as you silently crept through the forest.

It wouldn’t be morning for a few more hours, and if you kept moving, you would cross the river while it was still dark. You had a plan and a general idea of where you were heading, but at the time you made this plan, your only thought was to get as far away as possible. To put as much distance as you could between yourself and the old, rotten cabin that had been your home for the past fifty-three years.

The moonlight made the trees seem farther apart, and you felt exposed. Glancing over your shoulder, despite the hill and the fallen trees and boulders between you and the cabin, you imagined you could still see smoke rising from the chimney. You quickened your pace.

You hoisted yourself over a fallen log, the moss soft and forgiving under your fingertips. The new spring air was beginning to overtake the cold of winter, and the damp scent of rain filled your nose. You had loved spring—or at least you used to, fifty-three years ago. Now, you couldn't remember what you loved or who you would be when you finally made it away. But you would make it away. You would not go back. Not for anything. No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he cried, no matter how much you ached to return.

Hours passed as you continued your trudge through the woods, your legs growing more tired with each step as you carefully descended the mountain. You lost your footing twice, but quickly regained your balance, careful not to make a sound. You wouldn’t stop moving, not until you had crossed the river.

As the night sky shifted from deep blue to purple, and the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you heard the rushing of the river and quickened your pace.

When you reached the clear waters of the Highlawn River, you stopped, tossing your pack onto the pebbled shore, and leaned down to drink from the cold, clean water. You dipped your hands in greedily, cupping them to your lips, when you caught sight of your reflection glaring back at you. As you sipped, your eyes traced the cut on your cheekbone. What had once been a wound was now only a trace of dried blood, just like the gash on your forehead. You splashed water onto your face, scrubbing at the blood caked on your skin. You scrubbed the area raw and red, as if washing it away would also erase the memory of what caused the bleeding.

Kneeling there, your face burning slightly from the cold water, you took a deep breath and let yourself feel alive.

You pulled your jacket back over your shoulders, catching his scent, which made you recoil, your heart racing and your stomach dropping. But you reminded yourself you were alone. He was not with you. He would never be with you again. You grabbed your pack and hauled it back onto your shoulder, then turned and wandered down the shore of the river, searching for the shallow, rocky crossing. When you reached it, you carefully tiptoed across, taking care not to slip into the nearly freezing water.

Once on the other side, you turned and looked back up the mountain you had just descended, squinting to see the cabin's roof that sometimes poked out when the leaves were down. You couldn’t find it. Not that you wanted to, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

He would be getting up soon. He would find your note. Would he run from the house calling your name? Would he cry? Would he rage, swearing what he would do when he found you? Would he hunt you down, sending birds flying from trees and animals racing for their burrows? Or would he stand there in silence, reading the note, his green eyes calm and collected, before starting the kettle for his tea?

You hoped you would never find out. You turned again and walked farther into the deeper woods. You would not come back. You would live. You would live your life. You would survive this, just as you had survived the last fifty-three years.

As the early morning turned warmer and the sun rose higher, heating your hair and sending warmth radiating down your body, you removed your jacket, tying it around your waist. You continued wandering through the deeper woods, determined to reach the tavern, a day's walk away. Despite your legs burning and aching for rest, you kept moving forward. You would always keep moving forward.

The trees of the Night Court, now blooming with spring flowers, cast shadows on the forest floor. The sun's warmth on your face was both comforting and energizing. Morning shifted to afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and by the time you saw the tavern lights, you were nearly crawling with exhaustion. A renewed sense of energy hit you, and you made your way across the field, nearly running as you pushed open the creaky wooden door.

You peered around the lively room, searching for an open table. The crowd chattered animatedly, downing beers and spirits, guffawing with friends. You hadn't been around this many people in a very long time. Almost giddy with excitement, you chose a table near the back of the tavern. Settling into the booth, a waitress promptly placed a cold glass of water on the table, which you downed before she could introduce herself. You ordered a plate of chicken and potatoes and allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Leaning back in your chair, you felt your spine relax and the ache in your feet begin to subside.

When your dinner arrived, you scarfed it down as quickly as you had the water, the grease of the meat making your lips shine. You wiped your face with your sleeve, not caring if you looked like an animal. When you inquired about a room, the waitress informed you there was one left, but it was connected to another room already rented. You considered sleeping in the woods but knew you wouldn’t rest well and still had miles to travel. So, you pulled a satchel of coins from your bag, paid for the room, and gave the waitress a few extra coins, asking her to deny anyone who might come in asking about you.

When you made your way up the creaking steps, the lights in the other rooms had already been turned out for the night as the other travelers rested their weary bones. You found yourself at the end of the hall, the light under your door still lit. As you unlocked it, you were quickly taken aback by the sight of a man sitting in a chair across from you. His feet were propped up on an end table, and he leaned back comfortably in an oversized armchair, a book in one hand while the other hand lazily traced his lips. He looked up quickly, closing his book. He wore only a pair of black linen pants, his tanned skin covered in various whirling tattoos, and his black hair tousled as though he had been running his hands through it repeatedly.

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong room,” he said, quickly putting his feet back on the ground.

You paused, taking a tentative step back. “Um, no, actually, I rented this room. The owner said that someone else was staying in the adjoining one, but I can go to that one if you’ve taken this one.”

The man rose to his feet, and you suddenly noticed the large wings tucked behind him. He was much larger than he had looked when curled into that chair. “No, please,” he said, gesturing to the room and moving toward the adjoining door. “I was just using this as a sitting room.” He picked up his book, his bare feet padding across the floor. Opening the adjoining door, he ducked his head, turned back to you, wished you a goodnight, and quietly shut the door.

You didn’t move until the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears subsided. You hadn’t spoken to a man in decades, and the first one you see is half-dressed, and you walk in unannounced. Shaking your head, you muttered to yourself before walking in and shutting the door behind you, pressing your back against the wood, resting your head on it, and closing your eyes. You had worked so hard all day to keep the bond shut on your end, willing it closed while he pounded on the other side, screaming to be let in. You had given yourself a headache doing so.

You threw your pack down on the floor, pulling off your sweat-drenched shirt and pants from the hike and tossing them over the chair the man had been lounging in before flopping down onto the bed, your head pounding.

________________________________________________________

The sun beamed down onto your face as you squinted, eyes still shut as you rolled over in bed, groaning softly. You inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the burning fire, the heavy wetness of the April woods, and the scent of spruce and sage. Your eyes opened, and you found yourself staring at the log wall, the window above it slightly open with sheer linen curtains fluttering in the wind. The quilt you had spent months making was balled at your feet, kicked away in the night as the pre-summer air seeped in through the open window. Your hair was plastered to the sides of your face with sweat.

You sat up, your cotton nightgown sticking to your torso, the lace scratching lightly at your skin as you rubbed your neck and eyes. The cabin air was slightly damp; it must have rained last night. Planting your feet on the hard wood floor, you looked across the room to see a small wooden cradle. Walking towards it, you tied your hair up with a ribbon from the window sill and leaned in to see your tiny babe, still sound asleep. You smiled down at them, brushing your fingers over their soft cheek as they softly gurgled. They were perfect, angelic, with your nose and lips, their tiny hands curled into loose fists beside their head as they slept on their back. Even in just their cloth diaper, the heat of the morning had made their cheeks red and their skin slightly damp as you continued to run soft lines down their face. Perfection. They were perfection.

The morning dove cooed its melody as the world around you seemed perfectly soft and hazy, as though all the colors were muted and edges somehow rounder. Then you heard it, the soft crying from the main room of the cabin. The babe stirred slightly but remained asleep as you looked through the open door to the living room. You glanced back at your perfect babe, still sound asleep, and then lightly stepped through the bedroom, trying to peek around the corner of the door without making the floorboards creak.

You stopped at the threshold, placing one hand delicately on the frame as you peered out. He was sitting there, on the couch he had carved for your 120th birthday, the blanket your mother gave you draped over the back. The window next to the front door was shattered in a moment of blind rage many months ago that he still hadn’t fixed.

He sat there, his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. The wet inhales and exhales formed a rock in your throat as you stood there, still as a deer. His head jerked up, and he turned to look over the back of the couch at you. His eyes were red, bloodshot, and he sniffled back another sob.

“Why would you do this?” he asked, his voice a breathless sob. “Why would you leave me?”

You said nothing, eyes wide in shock, seemingly frozen in place. The only movement in you was your heart, beating faster and faster. You worried he could hear it. Your hands and feet went numb, and you felt every twitch in your body as you tried to keep still. Your mouth parted slightly to speak, but before you could get a word out, he was standing, walking over to you, the heavy sound of his footsteps echoing in your head, pounding through the cabin until he stood in front of you. You took a step back, hands flying upwards to block the doorway.

He wrapped his arms around you, his large frame towering over yours as he sobbed into your neck. “We can fix this, baby,” he cooed into your ear, still sobbing. His height lifted you from the ground, rising to stand on your tiptoes as he continued to plead. “Just come home, baby. Come home. We can make this right.” Your arms slackened at your sides as he held you up. You swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure if you were going to scream or vomit as everything inside you burned. “Just come home,” he whispered again into your ear, his hot, wet breath streaming down your back as his tears glued your hair to your face. He pulled back to look at you, releasing you back to the floor. His green eyes peered into yours, searching for a response—the response he wanted. He leaned down to kiss you, and in a moment of bravery, you stepped back. He reached for your arm to pull you back, and you took another step backward, your hands behind you.

“Baby,” he managed to get out, but the sound of his voice, broken by sobs, no longer echoed through your mind. Instead, it was a warning. He took a step toward you, reaching out. He grabbed your wrist, which you tugged free. He took another step, reaching for you.

“No!” you shouted as he grabbed for you again. Your voice barely above a whisper, “I won’t come back.”

He stopped, his hand still extended toward you as his face twisted in anger. His mouth curved into a catlike smile, though his eyes darkened. “Where are you going to go, baby?”

You swallowed down the rock in your throat, your vision blurring as tears clouded your eyes. “I-I-” you stuttered.

He smiled at you again. “Where would you go?”

You took another tentative step back, your hands brushing the cradle, which rocked softly. Your babe cooed lightly, looking up at you with bright, brown eyes.

He peered over your shoulder at the babe in the cradle. “You want a baby? I can give you a baby,” he promised. “You just need to come home.”

You looked at him, your mouth hanging open, searching for words to shut him up. Words that would let you win. He reached for you again. “Where will you go where I can’t find you?”

You turned, grabbing the babe from the cradle, picking up their blanket with them. In the frantic motion, the babe let out a wail, but it didn’t stop you. You pushed past him, dashing through the living room, past the broken window, and down the steps. Your feet barely registered as you pounded through the front grass and headed into the woods, your babe pressed to your shoulder, crying out. As you hit the treeline, you turned to see him standing on the porch, his arms crossed, the catlike smile still inching across his face.

You tore through the woods, careful to hold your babe's head to your neck, trying not to trip over roots and branches, panting out wild breaths as the woods crashed around you.

As your babe let out another piercing wail, you found a hollowed out log that you crouched down in, trying to shush the screams. You rocked, hushed and pressed soft kisses into their temple as your heart continued to beat wildly in your ears. From behind you, you could hear branches and twigs snapping as he made his way towards you. Where would you run? Where could you go? Where can you go he wouldn’t find you? As your mind races you suddenly realize the babe has gone quiet and your arms are light, you look down and in your arms you hold an empty white blanket. A sob escapes you as you search around frantically for your babe, a wail crosses your lips as the sounds of the branches get louder and louder, you fall to the ground screaming as the sounds of him calling your name mixed with your pounding heart flood your head. It’s all gone. Everything is gone.

________________________________________________________

“Hey! Hey!”

Your eyes shoot open, and the room around you is pitch black. You hurl in a heavy breath, wheezing out a cough, sweat pouring down your face and back as you scream, but no sound comes out. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see moonlight streaming in from the window, tears blurring your vision, and the silhouette of someone yelling at you, their hands pressed onto your shoulders.

You rip their hands off, kicking back to ball up in the corner of the bed, pressed into the wall, ragged breaths tasting of iron in your lungs. You pull your legs into your chest, eyes wide and frantic. The figure in front of you is the male from earlier, sitting on his knees, his wings tucked behind him and his hands up, showing he means no harm.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “It’s okay.” But it doesn’t feel okay. Everything is on fire.

You shake your head, snot running down your face, your lips quivering as you try to form words that won’t come.

He shushes you quietly, lowering himself from the bed onto the floor. He slides closer, reaching out a hand, his hazel eyes filled with concern. You look down at his hands, scarred and malformed. You try to let out another breath, but it gets caught in your throat as you cough. His extended hand covers your foot, and you continue to fight down sobs and screams. He hushes you again, “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re right here.” He squeezes your foot lightly, the pressure somehow grounding you. Your screams fade, but the tears continue to stream down your face as you cry silently. He runs his thumb up and down the top of your foot, his eyes never leaving you. After a minute, he reaches out his other hand, and you reach back. His hand engulfs yours, squeezing gently, kneeling beside your bed as if in prayer. “It’s okay.”

As if the reminder shatters something inside you, your tears fall heavy and full as your body relaxes. “Everything is,” you start, “it’s so loud.”

He lifts himself from the floor, and you curl away again, pulling your hand back. Realizing your response, he slowly lowers himself back to his knees, reaching out again. You take his hand, and he presses it between his palms so it disappears completely.

“There are clouds rolling in. I can smell the rain,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Between sharp intakes, you can smell it too. A storm is coming.

One hand stays with yours as he runs his other over the blanket. “This blanket,” he says, pressing your hand to it, “is scratchy and wool, too hot for this season.”

You nod slightly, unsure of what he’s doing. He glances at the clock. “It’s a little past two in the morning.” He looks back at you, your hand pressed into the bed, his hand over yours.

“Can I stand?” he asks, still whispering.

You nod, unable to speak. Slowly, he rises from the floor, which creaks beneath him. His movements are deliberate, raising both hands as he gets to his feet. “Can I sit down?” he asks, gesturing to the bed.

You nod, and he turns to sit next to you, his back against the wooden wall. He holds out his scarred hand again, and to take it, you have to scoot away from the wall. He takes your hand and runs his thumb up and down the back, his face now calmer. “You’re okay,” he reminds you.

Finally able to breathe more steadily, you wipe your eyes with your free hand, never letting go of his. He never loosens his grip.

“I’m-” you start, your throat raw, “I’m so sorry.”

He smiles lightly at you. “It’s okay. I was already awake.”

You look around the room, everything as you left it when you went to sleep, but the bed is a mess. Pillows have been ripped, and the sheets are strewn about as though a tornado had passed through.

You glance back at him and suddenly become aware that you’re only wearing your underwear. You rush to pull the blankets up around yourself, the wool feeling immediately too warm. The male reaches for the armchair and hands you your shirt, which you gratefully pull over your head, pushing the blanket off of you.

He looks at you again, his hazel eyes scanning your incredibly red, puffy face. “Has this happened before?” he finally asks.

You swallow and nod, licking your cracked lips. In truth, it had happened many times before, whenever you had run. In sleep, when the bond opened up, he wormed his way back into your mind and tormented you. You had replayed this scene so many times: you and the babe you wished you had, sprinting through the woods to get away, only to find the babe missing. Normally, he made it all the way to you and brought you back to the cabin, finding your scent and coming for you. But not this time.

You wipe another rogue tear from your eye, pushing the snot from your face where it pooled above your lips. You sniffle as he takes your hand again, rubbing soothing circles into the back.

“I really am sorry,” you say, the words coming out broken.

He just shakes his head. “Like I said, I was already awake.” Then he smiles slightly at you. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod, trying desperately to clean your face.

“I’m going to grab you a wash rag, okay?” he offers.

You shake your head. “That’s okay. You can go back to bed. I’m alright.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve heard less intense screaming on the battlefield.” You look down, shameful. “Let me at least get you a washcloth.” With that, he stands slowly and makes his way to the washbasin, running a rag through the water and bringing it back to you. You look up at him, your eyelashes clumping together from the tears as he props your chin up and runs the cloth delicately over your cheeks and eyes, giving you a soft smile. When he’s finished, and the cool water has soothed the burning on your skin, he pushes your hair back behind your ear.

He hands you the cloth as he takes his place next to you on the bed again. You run the cloth over your face and chest as he watches.

Your head feels heavy, your body like you’ve run miles. Everything feels sore. You let out a sigh, wiggling your nose slightly as it finally clears.

“I am genuinely sorry,” you say, looking down at the bed, hands in your lap.

“And I genuinely don’t want you to worry about it,” he responds, chuckling slightly. “It sounds like whatever’s going on in your head is much worse than losing a few hours of sleep, if I was sleeping at all.”

You chuckle slightly as well, then look up at him. His eyes meet yours. It’s so strange. This whole interaction is very strange.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He smiles at you, a genuine smile, laced with a tinge of pity.

“I think I’m okay now.”

He nods, his smile fading slightly. “Are you going back to sleep?” he asks.

You nod, even though you’re sure you’ll spend the rest of the night with your eyes wide open, too afraid to let your guard down again.

He slowly stands, reaching out to take the wash rag, which he brings back to the basin to wring out. He turns, looking at you again, and opens his mouth as if to say something but stops himself. He makes his way to the door of the adjoining room, still flung open from when he crashed through earlier.

“If it’s alright with you, I’m just going to keep this cracked,” he says, one hand on the door.

You nod.

“Just in case you need anything,” he says again, “not that you do, but,” he pauses and smiles, “for my sake.”

You smile, the dried tears on your cheeks making your skin feel tight, and chuckle slightly, “Sure.”

With that, he closes the door to a crack. You hear him through the wall as he crosses his own room, the rustling of blankets being pulled back and the creak of the bed as he lies down. You wait until it goes quiet before pulling the sheets back up, resting your head on the last pillow that isn’t shredded, and stare at the window, waiting for the sun to come up.

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kikyoupdates · 5 months ago

Text

Tears of a Villainess ⭑˚🗡️⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒: 𝑎 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒

yandere!ocs x reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?

story masterlist | next

Nobody likes the villainess.

This is because in virtually every novel, anime, or game, she is designed to be the heroine’s adversary. She is given little to no redeemable qualities, so that people will sympathize with the heroine that much more. While people root for the heroine to succeed, they also root for the villainess to fail—and inevitably, she does.

The game you’ve just finished playing is no exception.

“Wow. The villainess died in this ending too, huh?”

You rub your eyes. It’s late, nearly halfway through the night already. You have a bad habit of getting sucked into the games you play and losing track of time. You’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow, but you suppose that’s nothing special. At least you managed to clear all the major routes. There might’ve been some secret endings you missed, but you’ll go back and find those another day.

A heavy yawn falls from your lips. You lean back and stretch your arms out before closing your laptop and standing up from your desk.

As far as dating sims go, this one wasn’t too bad. The plot was predictable enough, but the characters were a lot more interesting than you were expecting. The heroine was perhaps a bit more naive than you would’ve liked, but you enjoyed her dynamic with each of the love interests, and all in all, it made for a likable cast.

Except for the villainess, of course. Nobody ever likes the villainess.

You start washing up and getting ready for bed, thoughts lingering all the while. If only the villainess had more depth to her. It’s a common trend in all of these fantasy-themed dating sims. Like, you understand that she’s meant to be an antagonist, but she’s still human, at the end of the day. Isn’t she allowed to have any sympathetic traits? Anything that could possibly make the player understand why she behaves the way that she does?

It’s practically an unwritten rule that villainess characters are required to be devoid of any actual substance. Their purpose is simply to torment the heroine, and somewhere down the road, face penance for their crimes.

The whole trope has been done to death by this point. Just once, can’t they come up with a more realistic villainess, who isn’t pure evil and has the capacity for normal human emotion? It’s true that antagonists are meant to be disliked, but you would still be much more appreciative of a credible and well-developed adversary. It would definitely enrich the story.

If you were ever to be put in charge of the villainess character, you’d like to think that you would do her justice.

But, well, that obviously won’t happen.

You get into bed, pile on some blankets, then flick your nightstand lamp off. Darkness comes quickly, signaling your weary eyelids to fall shut. Exhausted from a long night, you fall asleep right away.

Blissfully unaware.

Shit… it’s so bright.

As always, it takes a while for your eyes to open, and they do so with remarkable reluctance. You would think that since you’re not at all a morning person, you would get into the habit of going to bed early, but no, you’re determined to make the experience as painful as possible every time.

“G-Good morning, Lady [Name]. It’s time to wake up now. Did you sleep well?”

There’s a voice in the room. There’s a voice in the room, and it isn’t yours, which is kind of a big deal, because you live alone.

You jolt upright in bed, suddenly wide awake. “The fuck?! Who are you?”

It takes a few seconds for the blurriness to fade from your eyes, but when it finally does, you find yourself staring at a young woman you most certainly do not recognize. She has a meek, almost fearful expression, and her shoulders seem to be trembling a bit.

Why does she look so scared? You’re the one who’s supposed to be scared in this situation. After all, you just woke up with a goddamn stranger in your room.

Except… is this even your room?

On second glance, you realize that this doesn’t look anything like your bedroom. It’s countless times bigger, for one, not to mention how extravagantly decorated it is. Rather than a bedroom for a debt-addled university student, it looks more like the kind of chambers a princess might sleep in.

“I-I’m not sure what you mean, my lady,” the woman stammers in response. “Please forgive my rudeness. I was told to wake you at this hour because your fiancé is coming to visit this morning.”

“Huh…?”

You’re still gaping from having looked around the room, which is without a doubt, not the same old crappy bedroom you’re used to. But now that you finally look back at her, you realize that she’s equally as strange as the surroundings you find yourself in.

“Is that a maid outfit?” you ask.

She blinks twice, then casts a quick glance towards her attire. Obviously, she must not understand the purpose of the question, because her brows knit together in visible confusion.

“Yes, it is,” she nods hastily. There’s a pause, and then she looks scared again. “Does it… displease you? You said before you didn’t like the previous design. I-I can run down to the seamstress and have her come up with a different uniform that’s more to your tastes. Please forgive me for upsetting you this early in the morning.”

She bows deeply, as if she’s seeking to be absolved for some grave sin. You still don’t understand what the hell is going on, but based on how she’s dressed, and the way she keeps referring to you, it seems unlikely that she’s here to cause you any harm.

Actually, what did she call you earlier?”

“[Name],” you repeat, pointing to yourself. The maid cautiously raises her head and looks up at you, and you proceed to point again. “When you say that, are you… referring to me?”

Once again, she looks confused beyond belief, but despite that, she nods in agreement.

Well, then. This is awkward. Because as far as you remember, that is not your name.

You’re not sure what else to do but jump out of bed, and you run to the first mirror you can spot. As it so happens, there’s a massive vanity in the room, and it quickly confirms your greatest fears.

“Holy fuck.”

This isn’t your body. For as many years as you’ve lived, you have never looked like this. Even your voice sounds a bit different than usual, but you initially chalked that up to morning grogginess.

Slowly but surely, it’s all coming together, and you can’t even believe just how absurd this situation is.

You know who you are now. Having gotten a good look at yourself, but not only that, having heard how that maid referred to you, there’s no longer any doubt in your mind.

[Name]. You know that name all too well.

It’s none other than the villainess from the goddamn dating sim you just played.

You pinch your cheeks, and much to your horror, you can feel the pain. All of this is far too realistic and far too lucid for it to be a simple dream. The more time passes, the more you become viscerally aware of that fact.

This has seriously got to be a fucking joke.

When you said you had a tendency to get sucked into the games you played, you didn’t mean it literally!

“My lady,” the maid mumbles hesitantly. You notice that she’s incredibly wary of you, and is mindful of keeping as much distance as possible. “Is everything… alright? I-I’m very sorry if I’m overstepping. I just worry that… you might not be feeling well. Should I call for a doctor?”

Now you understand why she’s so skittish around you. In the game, the villainess treated everyone around her cruelly, including the maids and servants who’d waited on her for years. She was a true bitch in every sense of the word, just like every other one of her villainess predecessors, but now, it falls on you to take her place.

This is a big problem.

Because as far as you know, the only fate that awaits you in this world is death.

“I’m fine,” you reassure, smiling for good measure. Right. There’s no sense in panicking right off the bat. You’re sure there must be a solution. For the time being, you need to come to terms with everything. “Um… I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name. Anyways, would you please step out of the room so I can change? I'm still a bit drowsy. I’ll feel better once you give me a few minutes.”

The maid tries—but fails—to hide her shock. Something about what you just said must have tripped her up. The part about forgetting what to call her, maybe? Or perhaps your overall demeanor is off. It’s true that you’ve been acting kind of crazy, like questioning your own name and whatnot.

Well, hopefully she doesn’t read into it too much.

While the maid scampers off and shuts the door behind her, you start pacing around the room. It’s massive, so it actually feels less like pacing and more like walking laps around a field, but that’s neither here nor there.

You’ve been reincarnated into a dating sim, as the villainess who is destined to die in all of the game’s major endings. No matter who the heroine ends up with, her happy ending will come at the expense of your life.

But that’s only if you actually adhere to the plot, right?

You don’t know how the mechanics of this universe function. Even though this is a video game, it feels every bit the same as living in the real world. Of course, this fictional world was constructed around the plot, and you have no way of knowing if the world will continue to exist should things go awry.

Still, you’re willing to bet that it should. After all, the villainess is just a bland, disposable character. Her only purpose is to create conflict and add pressure to the heroine’s life. If you deliberately avoid crucial stages of the plot, doesn’t that mean that the heroine will naturally fall in love with one of her suitors and get her happily ever after? There doesn’t need to be a villainess in this story. Or in any story, for that matter.

You turn back towards the vanity to get another look at yourself. It feels so strange to stare back into a reflection that isn’t truly your own. But you don’t know how you’ll ever get back to your old world, and if such a thing is even possible anymore.

For better or worse, you will have to live on.

Lady [Name]. The villainess who attempted to thwart the heroine at every turn, and who made it her life’s mission to bring nothing but misfortune to those around her.

That is who you’ve been reborn as, and needless to say, it’s going to take a lot of getting used to.

“...think she must have eaten something rotten last night,” you can just vaguely hear someone whispering. “She even said sorry to me! And she acted like she didn’t know her own name!”

When you step out into the hallway after getting dressed, you aren’t at all surprised to hear people gossiping about you. As you surmised, it’s the same maid from earlier, the one who woke you up, and she’s chatting up a storm to practically anyone who’s willing to listen.

However, everyone’s faces turn pale when they see you approaching, and the poor maid snaps her lips shut as if she’s a clam. It seriously looks like she just saw her life flash before her eyes.

The servants all seem to fear you, and rightfully so. In the game, even though nothing was ever shown from the villainess’ perspective, it was still common knowledge that she mistreated her housestaff. She was a pompous, spoiled brat who clearly thought she was above everyone else. That cruel attitude of hers naturally carried over to her treatment of the heroine, and to far greater extremes.

It’s true that you’ve been reborn as the villainess, but that doesn’t mean that you have to be a villainess. In fact, you think it would be in your best interest to turn your reputation around. Surely then, you’ll have no way of getting caught up in nasty business with the heroine. You don’t want anyone to take issue with you. After all, the more enemies you have, the more likely you are to be killed.

Besides, it’s also just common decency to not act like a bitch.

“L-Lady [Name],” the same maid blanches. She’s clearly horrified to have been caught gossiping, and she brings her hands together, already begging to be forgiven. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I just—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you dismiss, letting slip a chuckle. “I was acting pretty strange this morning, huh? I guess I just didn’t get a good night’s sleep. But I’m feeling much better now. Anyways, I hope all of you are having a lovely morning so far!”

You walk off confidently, feeling as though you’ve taken yet another step towards restoring the villainess’ horrible reputation.

It’s not going to be that easy, though.

“She must have been possessed by a spirit…”

While everyone is losing their heads due to your sudden change in demeanor, you take the opportunity to walk through the manor and familiarize yourself with your surroundings. From what you remember, [Name] is the daughter of wealthy, reputable nobles. Her father is an affluent man with many connections, and it follows that she would grow up to be incredibly full of herself, used to always getting whatever she wants.

Seriously. Can’t these villainesses ever have more inspired backstories?

You shake your head in disbelief. Well, whatever. Perhaps it’s better that you don’t come from a tragic background. If there’s one benefit to being transported to this world, it’s the fact that you at least don’t have any more debts or student loans to worry about.

Then again, none of that will matter if you end up dead. You need to remember that every decision you make from now on could end up impacting your future in a big way.

Amongst the chaos of waking up in a completely new body, however, you’ve forgotten a very crucial piece of information. Something the maid mentioned earlier, which has since slipped your mind.

“[Name]!” someone suddenly exclaims. It’s a woman you don’t recognize, but she’s dressed immaculately and bears a striking resemblance to you, so you assume she must be your mother.

“Good morning,” you greet. You’re not sure what the right etiquette is for whenever nobles greet their parents, so you curtsy awkwardly.

Your mother just stares at you, and the silence is palpable.

Looks like that was a swing and a miss.

“What’s the matter with you?” she then frowns, gesturing towards your general appearance. “Why do you look so unkempt? I thought I reminded you last night that your fiancé would be visiting today. He’s just arrived and will be joining us for breakfast. And you expect to greet him in such a state?”

“I look nice,” you say simply.

“You aren’t even properly zipped up in the back. And did you even put on any makeup? Good grief. Which incompetent maid dressed you this morning? I’ll need to have a word with her.”

You’d rather not get anyone in trouble, especially since that one maid in particular looked like she was fighting for her life.

“I dressed myself today,” you confess.

Your mother’s eyes widen. “What? Why in the world would you do that when you have countless servants to do it for you?”

“Um… I don't know. Just for fun, I guess.”

She proceeds to give you that same quiet yet judgmental look from earlier, but after a heavy sigh, she relents.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore,” she grumbles, fiddling with the zippers of your dress and adjusting everything in place. She fusses over you for a while, but finally, she appears satisfied. Well, somewhat, at least. “That will have to do. You wouldn’t want to keep your guest waiting. Come along.”

She gestures for you to follow, which is actually a lucky break, because you were pretty much lost before she showed up.

Your mother walks for a while, then stops before a large door.

“He’s already waiting inside,” she tells you. “Make sure to be on your best behavior. We want this arrangement to go well. Alright?”

You nod in agreement. You’re not sure whether the villainess was well-behaved or not, but surely it can’t hurt to have your parents’ approval. You’ll need their resources and support if you ever land yourself in hot water.

Thus, you step inside the room to meet with your fiancé. But you’ve been so caught up in all the craziness that you actually forgot exactly who that fiancé was.

Soon enough, he’s looking you dead in the eye.

“Good morning, [Name]. I’m truly fortunate to meet with you so early in the day.”

The young man bows politely, and when he raises his head, there’s a subtle, practiced smile on his lips. It’s the smile of someone who is well-versed in etiquette and knows how to behave around others, but it isn’t a genuine smile, and certainly not the smile of someone who is happy to see their fiancée.

After all, he has no interest in you. He will never have any interest in you.

He is Alistair Calderwood, and he is destined to fall in love with the heroine.

You don’t respond. His was the first route you ever played in the game, so you’d almost forgotten that technically speaking, he was the villainess’ fiancé to start. It was one of the main reasons she harassed the heroine. Because their engagement fell through.

“[Name]?” your mother frowns. She chuckles weakly, unsettled by your silence, then outright jabs you in the ribs. “What are you doing? Hurry up and greet him!”

Greet him. Right, you have to greet him. It’s the normal thing to do. You’re meant to greet your fiancé, then enjoy a nice breakfast together.

But if you stick to normalcy, to the way things are supposed to go, you’ll end up dead faster than you know it.

So, fuck being normal. You’ve already decided what the right course of action is.

“Hello, Alistair,” you say, responding to his bow with a polite curtsy. “It’s nice to see you too. Thank you for coming all this way, but…”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to finish your sentence, but nothing could have prepared him for what you’re about to say.

“...I think we should break off our engagement.”

Alistair’s jaw drops open. So does your mother’s, for that matter. Even the servant standing idle in the corner of the room lets out a quiet gasp and covers their mouth with the palm of their hand.

As for you?

You can hardly contain your smile.

More chapters are available on Quotev!

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yandere-yearnings · 3 months ago

Text

Absume. (Yandere!Best Friend x GN!Reader)

feat. sui's ai

♡ oneshot, approx. 1k words

♡ post-specific warnings: melancholy (?), angst (??), angst w/o happy ending (???)

♡ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML SUIIIIIII❤️ i did not have as much time on this as i would've liked but no matter, i wasn't gonna exist on suiday w/o a suiday celebration dar style. i present to you ai angst❗❗(it was meant to be fluff but i'm a fucking dumbass who can't write lmao) ai belongs to @suiana and is from her stellar, absolutely fantastic game, Anything Will Do. sui i want you to know you make everything worth it and i wouldn't still be here on tumblr if it weren't for you. all my love to you mwah mwah <333 unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

This life was strange to you.

Sometimes it went by so fast, you’d wake up with no recollection of the days passed; staring at the ceiling with open eyes. It’s the same crack in the paint that had always been there, long and thin and unnoticeable if it weren’t for the fact you sought it out unconsciously. You remembered it, even if you didn’t remember crawling into bed that night, or having dinner at the table, and what exactly it was that your mother fussed over.

There was a growing emptiness since you first noticed. No matter what you did, or how many people you were surrounded by, inside of you something was caving in. You didn’t know who you were. You didn’t know your place in this world without landmarking it by your achievements — and yet, when you looked back, there were none. How had you gone on so long? What had you been doing all this time?

Perhaps you lived in your head a little too much. Everything could be a little lighter if only you’d let it be. Sweeping every thought aside, you rolled, trapped your arm under your own weight and looked at your reflection in your mirrored bedside table. You were as you had always been. This was you, and this — whatever it was — was yours.

Lukewarm air, no temperature gradient, it should’ve made it easier for you to leave your bed, but you stayed there some long minutes before moving. Your clock was broken. Not conventionally. It only moved by the hour. Time was yours and you could waste it. There was security in the feeling that you had a choice to not start your day.

Morning, mundane as always, slathered you in its hues. Washed browns jittery under your feet, like there was no ground beneath you from wood to tile. The bathroom mirror had your fingerprints. You’d touched it many a time. Left a mark. This too, belonged to you. You could no longer believe this wasn’t real. Maybe it was that you were sensationless at your soles, treading carefully over loosely carpeted steps, trying to feel the tickle of those familiar fibres. When had you lost it all?

Your mother was in the kitchen, you don’t remember a time when she wasn't. It’s as if she can’t leave this lower floor, like she cannot rest, like her duties do not end. The door to her room never opens or closes, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen her without that plaid apron. She never notices you unless you speak to her. She never says anything different.

At the table it’s fruit, and it tastes like nothing. No texture, nothing to chew. It feels like you’re eating air. Play-pretend at a plastic table with a plastic knife and fork. You’re young again and your sister ropes you into her fake kitchen. You don’t have a sister. Not here, at least.

There’s a knock at your front door. It’s light, like the person on the other side is afraid to be heard, but wants your attention still. When you open it, there he stands — the only thing in this world that you can reach out and touch, that thrummed beneath your fingertips, as alive as you were desperate to feel.

Ai takes your hand, and the breeze picks up just like that. Ever so easy. You watch your feet and every step they take to the pavement, nothing skips; you can commit it to memory. He’s speaking to you but you can’t hear the words just yet, there is only wind and the rustle of leaves. His hair billows, bleeds out heavy cyprus that blends into the backdrop of trees. He has always given you these beautiful bits of him, and you had let yourself go blind.

Letting go was something you should’ve done long, long ago, but you guessed he was your comfort. Solace. A shelter you could run to. Leaving never felt right, not when you knew he’d stay waiting. Ai told you once, he loved you beyond all of this. Outside the street lights would flicker, and in the flashes it was his face illuminated, tucking you in after a dreary day. You could never hold onto those scenes, in your mind they were fragmented, and you forgot about them as quick as they came. If you asked him why, you knew he’d tell you that this was the price, whether either of you could pay it, whether either of you could even endure it anymore.

On a deep inhale, you finally resolved that it was no fairer to him as you found it was to you, that now was the only right time. Now would be the only time you’d have him by your side like this again. This moment alone, he was real and he would not slip through your fingers.

You had set out for school, but with your textbooks weighing what your heart could not, you had no intention of going there with him. Instead these empty streets faded, and quickly noon set over the park you ended up at. The swings did not creak, but they were old. You wondered how they could carry the two of you — you and Ai, and everything you’d both been piling up inside.

Back and forth you went, here and in your head, trying to find the words to say you don’t think you could do this anymore. If you said sorry, would it make him mad? His due returns weren’t meant to be apologies. You were meant to fill him up just as he had done for you, you were meant to make everything worth it, every sacrifice, every stilted interaction from the day you understood that you were losing him. It was meant to get better. All this was meant to pass. Your mind was blank, and you were waiting for something but your clock was still broken, so nothing would ever come. You wanted to say I love you. You wanted those to at least be your final words — you just didn’t know how.

Ai was kind to you. He had always been. So he took your head in his hands, didn’t cry a single tear though it should’ve gone with that smile, and made the cut clean.

He said: “anything will do.”

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incognit0slut · 2 years ago

Text

Right Kind of Wrong (3)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation. She also never thought she’d encounter her one-night-stand again—the awkward stranger who isn’t exactly that good in bed… Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong. But the more he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, the more he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: she gets involved in a murder case she least expected as a familiar face greets her. wc: 3,7k

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, blood, graphic details of murder

A/n: this part is kind of slow but it’s very important for the plot

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Y/N WAS GOING TO QUIT. She was sure of it. Her mind was constantly trying to plan how she would execute the idea without making a scene because she considered slamming her resignation letter on Jamison's desk, dramatically claiming him as a disgusting, chauvinistic bitter old man who only got laid because his wife took pity on him.

She was walking back to her desk after bearing another one of his, "I don't think you can do the job, L/n. Let the men go out to the field and cover the story."

She was also a journalist, for god's sake. And a good one at that. What made that old man think she wasn't as capable as any other male peers around her? Was she too much of a woman to go out on the field and cover stories that were judged as too dangerous for her?

She let out a scoff. The Jamison Lynch worried about her safety? That sounded even more absurd.

"He did it again, didn't he?" Y/n found Sandy, the closest friend she had in this male-dominated agency, peering over her cubicle. She was from the finance department and would often come to entertain her whenever she needed an ear to cry out her frustration. "What is it this time?"

She cleared her throat and made an attempt of lowering her voice into a deeper pitch. "L/n, I don't think you understand how dangerous it is for you to be out there. Let the men do the job."

Sandy laughed. "That's actually a good impression. What work was he talking about?"

"Kevin Marshall's case." Y/n sat back in her chair and frowned. "The ironic thing is, I was the one who found out about this case. I told him about doing a story of it before he snitched this opportunity and gave it to Eric."

"So Eric's covering the story now?"

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "They're still talking about it in his office."

Sandy blew a low whistle. "That sucks."

She felt beyond frustrated. It seemed so unfair how she always got the bad end of the stick just because she wasn't born with a penis. She told Sandy exactly that which she cackled in return.

"On a serious note," Sandy muttered after her fits of laughter died down and leaned closer. "What happened to Mr. Marshall was terrible."

"You didn't hear this from me, but the police found him stabbed to death and..." she looked around their surroundings, motioning her friend to inch closer. "...there was some writing carved on his body."

Sandy's eyes went wide. "No way."

She nodded. "A friend of a friend of a friend of mine heard it from the forensic team."

"What were the words?"

"Well, if I were to be the one assigned to this case, we would've found out." She shook her head and let out another frustrated cry. "I'm going to quit this job."

"You said that last month," Sandy reminded her. "And the month before that, also, the month before that. Oh, did I mention you also said that several months ago—"

She held out her hand. "Alright, I got it." She glanced over the closed door at the end of the hallway, her mind drifting towards the two men discussing her supposedly case behind it. "I really mean it this time."

"Sure," Sandy absentmindedly agreed. "Wait, didn't you know Mr. Marshall?"

"Not really. I only met him once for work." She winced as her thought traveled to the time she encountered the man who was brutally murdered two days ago. "Let's just say he wasn’t exactly the greatest person to interview."

"No kidding."

She dismissed the topic by waving her hand. "It happened a long time ago, let's not bring that up. I'd feel terrible bad-mouthing him after what happened." She then let out a sigh. "It would be quite a story to cover though."

"Yeah, well, screw Jamison for taking it away for you." Sandy's eyes suddenly gleamed as they narrowed towards the automatic door at the corner of the room. "At least your boyfriend is here."

Y/n spotted the young man walking their way and laughed. "He's not my boyfriend."

"I don't think he got the memo," Sandy whispered before straightening herself, giving the man a huge grin as he stopped at her desk. "Hey, Oliver."

"Hi, Sandy." He greeted slowly. "How are you?"

"Better now that I've seen your pretty face."

Oliver Walsh was indeed an absolutely stunning man. He was tall and lean with broad shoulders and a very defined face. He was a little mysterious and reserved, but underneath that veneer was someone who was kind and caring.

He might not be the most outgoing person, but he had a genuine sweetness that made him attractive and likable. He also happened to have the hugest crush on Y/n the moment he first stepped foot inside this building.

Oliver gave Sandy a smile. "You look beautiful yourself."

Sandy rolled her eyes playfully. "We know I'm not the one you should be sweeping off her feet." She then gave Y/n a pointed look. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"What? You're going home already?"

"Got a hot date tonight!" Sandy overly shared before sauntering out of their sight. Y/n shook her head at her friend's antics before glancing up to see Oliver staring at her with the same look he had been giving her ever since the moment he had introduced himself.

His clear affection didn't go unnoticed. It somehow managed to be a public assumption that he was head over heels for her, something that was often discussed between their peers. As much as she wanted to reciprocate his feelings because she understood how difficult it was to be on the other side of unrequited love, she merely saw him as a guy she often worked with.

"Can I help you, Oliver?" She asked, already weary of the grin plastered on his face.

"No, I just wanted to see how you were doing."

Her face fell at his words. "How I'm doing?"

"I heard Jamison snatched a very important job from you."

"Wow," she gasped, not understanding how he knew this information already. But then again, people had the tendency to share things they overheard. "News really does travel fast around here."

"There's no such thing as secrets in this place. But seriously, how are you holding up?"

She simply shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Angry? Frustrated? Like I want to strangle Jamison myself?"

"Y/n, there's no such thing as a bad bone in your body."

"What? You don't think I'm capable of hurting him?"

"Nope. You're the sweetest person I know."

She snorted. "That's because you keep seeing me through rose-tinted glass."

"Maybe." Oliver crossed his arms and leaned his hips over her desk. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She shook her head. He raised his brows. "Really? You can't think of anything?" She shook her head again. "Perhaps something to appease your frustration? Chocolate? You do love chocolate."

"I do, but I don't think anything sweet can even calm me down."

"Then how about a drink? Coffee? Beer? You and me? Together? Tonight?"

She let out a disbelief laugh as she stood up, making an attempt to gather her things. "Don't be so sly, Oliver."

He merely gave her a bashful smile. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

"It's never going to work between us." She paused dramatically. "Do you want to know why?"

He slowly nodded, eying her with earnest interest.

"Because you see, Oliver," she drawled as she closed the distance between them. She peered up at him through her lashes and threw him a grin. "I never mix business with pleasure."

She gave him a playful wink before turning around, leaving him dumbfounded and speechless as he stood there where she had left him. He let out an amused laugh before calling out, "I'm going to make you change your mind!”

She lifted her hand and waved at him without looking back. "Goodnight, Walsh."

His laughter was the last thing she heard before she turned around the corner, heading towards the parking area.

Turning him down was the right thing to do. She was not in the right place to be emotionally involved with other people right now. After going through so many heartbreaks and disappointments in the past, she couldn't take any more of the dating scene. It was just a bunch of awkward interactions and unmet expectations while feeling worn down by the whole process. She couldn't even remember the last time she was involved with a man.

A sudden mock laughter rang at the back of her head. You were involved with a complete stranger two nights ago!

Romantically, she corrected. She couldn't remember the last time she was involved with a man romantically.

Oh, great. Now she was fighting with herself upon what had happened that night. That... overwhelming and embarrassing night which she did not want to speak of. Overwhelming because of how much she wanted to see him again, embarrassing because she knew he did not feel the same.

She groaned as her mind somehow drifted to memory, her mind reminiscing that intoxicating feeling of his tongue inside her mouth for the first time. Or that moment before he settled above her, sinking between her legs as the tip of his hard, throbbing length squeezed into her warm entrance—

No! Don't even go there!

She stopped her pace and stood by the entryway of the parking lot, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat. She needed a moment to breathe. Between her frustration toward her boss, the constant interest from her fellow colleague, and the rush of sexual heat at that core memory, her head was starting to spin.

It wasn't until a sudden weight shoved her from the back that she woke from her trance. She jolted forward from the impact before her bag fell onto the ground, the remnants of her things spilling out, and scattered along her feet. "What the hell?"

She looked up to see the back side of a man moving forward in a hurry, not even sparing her a glance.

"Hey!" She shouted, clearly annoyed by the fact an unidentified man wearing a dark hoodie covering his face didn't have the decency to apologize. When he turned around the corner and escaped her line of vision, she realized she wasn't going to get the apology she desired.

She picked up her belongings while muttering curses under her breath. Her phone which lay a few inches away from her feet suddenly vibrated, the loud sound of an incoming call echoing throughout the open space of the lot. She peered over towards the screen and groaned.

She shoved the phone inside her bag and went on her way as she spotted her car. "Now's not the time, Jamison," she mumbled to herself, already irritated by how the night had turned out.

Her phone went silent again. It wasn't until she was a few feet away from her car that it began its chime a second time. The sound felt heavy in her ears and she finally got to her car, leaned against it, and reluctantly dug into her bag to retrieve the device.

She clutched onto it with disdain because Jamison was known to be persistent while also being inconsiderate and thoughtless. If she ignored him he would find another way to get under her skin. She slumped against the cool material of her car and slowly took a deep, aggravating breath before receiving the call. "Yes, Jamison—"

There was heavy breathing at the end of the line. A static sound greeted her before a loud crash echoed in the background. She looked over her phone screen before pressing it back against her ear. "Jamison?"

"...help..."

His croaked voice shot shivers down her spine. She straightened herself as panic washed over her body. Her boss was known for being very loud as he loved being the center of attention. But his voice sounded so quiet now. It didn't have that hint of self-centered confidence he liked to portray. It even sounded as if he were... in pain?

"Jamison?" She gulped and without thinking of her actions, her feet somehow moved on their own, navigating her back to where she had left. "Jamison, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Can you hear me?"

"...Y/n..." Crash. Cough. Gasp. "...help—"

The line went dead.

Y/n wasn't exactly a fit person. Her only form of physical activity would be the number of stairs she climbed up and down in her apartment building. But her feet were moving very fast on its own right now. She didn't care how running in a pair of flats wasn't the best idea, the mortification of something awful happening to someone asking for her assistance was gnawing into her consciousness.

The moment she was on her office floor, she took notice of how nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. The place was exactly how she had left minus all the people hanging by their respective desks. Because it was very, very quiet and the silence felt oddly eerie to her. Half of the lights were off and her steps halted for a moment as she entered her cubicle space, suddenly self-aware of the possibility of how something dangerous might occur.

Then she heard a scream. A deep, dreadful scream followed by a train of curses came from what she assumed was Jamison's office. Her feet moved again and her frightened demeanor was replaced by concern as she increased her pace, turning to the hallway towards his office.

Her movement faltered when she realized she wasn't alone. A very frightened-looking Eric Adler stood by Jamison's door before he turned around at the sound of her footsteps.

"Eric?"

His voice was etched with panic and horror as he rushed forward and held her by the arms. "No, Y/n."

"...what?" Her eyes shot behind him, noticing Jamison's door jarred open. She tried to escape his grip. "You don't understand. He called me—"

"No. Please. You don't want to see him in there—"

"Let go of me! He called—"

"Y/n." His grip tightened. "He's—he's... gone."

She looked up to see her coworker, the same man who simply stood in silence this evening as he took the job she had wanted. The confused look in his eyes from the sudden responsibility he had to take on that particular moment was now replaced by terror; a look of sheer horror, one which conveyed utter fear and panic. It was a look of complete devastation and utter helplessness, a look that made his soul seem to have been just sucked out of his body. It was the kind of look that conveyed the deepest despair one could possibly feel.

He's gone.

Gone could mean a lot of things. It could mean disappearance. It could mean an emotional state of feeling disconnected from the world. But this gone... she understood what it meant. She understood the weight of the word the moment her eyes spotted the surge of blood coming from Jamison's office.

There was so much blood that she should've felt disgusted by the amount of it, but her mind was too busy trying to convince herself that it was real. It wasn't until her eyes spotted a hand sprawled lifelessly across the floor that her stomach started to churn. The stone rings circling around the fingers were the exact rings she often saw on her boss.

The realization on her face had Eric pulling her away. But before he could drag her, she saw a glimpse of the lifeless body, and what she caught had her completely stunned. More than feeling mortified by the scene, a sense of bewilderment settled in. The disbelief of such a coincidence happening etched her mind as she peered over the body one last time.

Because something was carved along his arm.

There was a lot of waiting. Feeling impatient was one of the most frustrating things to ever exist, it made her feel anxious and restless about the lack of progress after Eric had called the authorities. He had guided her to the front area of the receptionist, given her a blanket he had found somewhere in the office—which she wasn't sure who it even belonged to—and given her a cup of warm tea as he made some calls.

She sat there, watching her coworker pace back and forth along the marble floor. She could tell Eric's mind was secretly all over the place with his disheveled hair and dark circles underneath his eyes, but somehow he managed to keep his calm.

He was steady, still a little fazed with the whole ordeal, but managed to keep checking up on her every five minutes. He even had the time to apologize for taking her job before she merely shook it off. It wasn't his decision to snatch away the opportunity. Though it felt inappropriate to point fingers at the person who actually did decide on the matter when he was lying in the other room covered in his own blood.

She shuddered again. There were so many questions running through her mind. What kind of person would do a terrible, gruesome thing to another human being? It was always the same question she had whenever she encountered such devastating news. She once read in an article that there were roughly 300,000 people who were killed by murder each year worldwide, and to think that one of them happened to somebody she knew felt so surreal.

The authorities finally came an hour later followed by a group of people wearing protective suits. The waiting for their arrival was very long, but everything happened so fast the moment they introduced themselves. A detective in an oversized suit talked to her and Eric separately, asking what happened prior to finding the body.

She suddenly felt nauseous as she recalled Jamison's phone call, how pained and desperate his voice sounded. It wasn't until she heard herself say it out loud that she realized the possibility of the killer being in the same room on that phone call. Or even in the same room as her as she entered the vicinity of their office.

"Ms. L/n?" Y/n looked up to see the detective watching her with worry. "Are you alright?"

No, she wasn't. But she merely nodded and gave him a smile. "I will be."

He returned the smile with a genuine one of his own and glanced at his watch. "You should get some sleep, Ms. L/n. If you have any more information please don't hesitate to contact us."

Then he left her standing there alone, watching people bustling around her with different equipment. She could hear the faint sound of the ambulance from the distance, smell the intoxicating scent of chemicals coming from the medics, and sense her fatigue creeping along her body as her eyes noted the time showed on the massive clock plastered on the wall.

"Ms. L/n?"

Y/n turned to see a man standing close, his dark eyes watching her cautiously. There was a sense of confidence in his posture that she couldn't help but notice. "Yes?"

"Mr. Adler told me where to find you." She frowned at the mention of Eric before her confusion deepened at the badge presented in front of her. "I'm SSA Derek Morgan from the FBI."

"FBI?"

"Yes," he confirmed, shoving his badge back into his pocket. "I'd like to ask you a few questions regarding this past event."

She crossed her arms. "I don't think my boss being brutally killed should be called an event." She steadied her gaze on him. "And I've already talked to the detective."

"My apologies, and I'm terribly sorry for your loss." He gave her an apologetic smile. "Although I would appreciate it if you can spare a few minutes of your time."

She observed him, watching him hesitantly before letting out a heavy sigh. "I guess so."

"Is there anywhere private we can talk?"

His attempt at keeping their conversation confidential from all the people swarming by had her quirking an eyebrow. She nodded and guided him toward the closest space that could provide them some privacy. "Sure... We can use the conference room down here."

"Thank you. My partner will also be present with us if you don't mind."

She looked him up and down. "There's two of you?"

"There's two of us," Agent Morgan confirmed, slightly smiling at the condescending tone of her voice. "Dr. Reid will shortly join us."

The silence after that statement was very, very palpable. The sudden stillness was one that typically left her feeling completely baffled, a state of total shock and disbelief over a familiar name unexpectedly mentioned. The uncertainty of her ability to hear left her frozen in her tracks, waiting for her brain to catch up with the sudden information. "Doctor... Reid?"

"Dr. Spencer Reid. He was talking to Mr. Adler a while ago—wait, there he is." Agent Morgan's voice grew louder as his eyes focused on the man behind them. "Reid! Over here!"

He surely couldn't be...?

She shook her head. The world wasn't that small, was it? Even though she was very bad at remembering names, how could she forget the exact same one she wrongly called as a result of her pettiness? And besides, there must be a lot of people possessing the same name, surely it was a different person.

Though the deafening lack of sound was jarring as if every other sound had been sucked out of the room. It almost felt like everything was frozen in time as her eyes settled on the man standing a few feet away from her. Because there he was, the same man who awkwardly flirted with her two days ago.

The same man who grabbed her by the waist the moment she looked up at him with need. The same man who leaned in closer, the tension charged with anticipation and desire before it lead to an explosion of passion that couldn't be quelled.

But the desperate longing in his eyes from that night was changed into mortification, and when she thought her night couldn’t go more terrible than it already was, it had gotten even worse.

>> NEXT PART

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thedropsofblood · 1 year ago

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You are my liberty

T/W: Imply human trafficking, alcohol abuse, mlm relationship, no direct mention of consent, minors/fem aligned DNI, angst/comfort + smut.

To him, you were a fever dream, a beautiful white rose blooming under the moonlight in a garden of wilting wild flowers, a cold gust of wind in the middle of a hot summer night. You make him wonder if you ever existed at all, or if it's just another hallucination he had during his dark times, when he was struggling to live day by day.

The memories of your first encounter had long engraved itself into his soul. It was a snowy day, right in the middle of September just a few decades ago when he was a child. Forced to watch as the pedestrians walk by him, ignore him, trample him while he slowly dies from hunger and cold inside a dark alleyway, he calls that moment one of the luckiest in his miserable life.

Because, it's when you laid your eyes on him for the first time. He wished he could've travelled back in time and embraced you right then and there instead of halting for a moment like an idiot, but he couldn't blame his past self, you are the most beautiful person he has ever witnessed. Can you blame him for smiling stupidly like a puppy when you offered him a loaf of bread?

He really did love you at first sight, if not love, then what could explain his emotions whenever he talks to you?

His dreams were brutally cut off by the sound of his glass of whisky falling from his work desk. This was the third time that he fell asleep while doing paperwork, by the emperor's words, "A commander shall not halt the empire's progress with his personal troubles", thus, here he is, forced to finish his paperwork while being depressed.

He struggles with paperwork every single day after your disappearance, saying that he was worried was an understatement, the world didn't even have colours when you left. He refused to even go into any taverns during his day off as a commander, just because whenever he looked at the wall, he might be greeted with a missing poster with your face on it, smiling as beautifully as he first remembered you.

He wouldn't call you his soulmate, soulmates can live a life without each other, while without you, he just wants to drown himself in liquor so he could continue seeing you in his dreams. He needed you to live, not just exist.

It didn't take him that long to find a lead about you, after all, everything can be purchased by money. Just a few hundred gold coins and he had already managed to find out where you are. To his surprise, you were kidnapped and are going to be auctioned off soon.

So, he simply killed off the owner of the auction house and stole you before anyone else could even think of getting their pesky hands on your body :)

The bastard had the audacity to lock you in a cage, you even felt skinnier than the last time he hugged you! He should've made the death slower, but he was too excited to see you again. He quickly wrapped his cape around your body and hugged you tightly, at least you're back in his arms again.

;

Fearing that you'll find a way to leave him again, he has decided, why not make you his little husband? It's too cruel to lock you up physically and he doesn't want you to be depressed, you won't be able to get away when you're legally bound to him anyways.

So, without much of a thought, he literally begged you to marry him, hugging your waist while whining to your already flustered self, it took him days if not weeks just to convince you, but in the end, he managed and almost pinned you down and did you right then and there. But he held back, he wanted to wait for you guys' honeymoon, for you to have a proper wedding instead of acting by his own desires, he might've been a cruel person but he's not an asshole.

;

How many times was this already?

Counting just today, a total of three times. He had made love with you three times in a single day during your 2 weeks long honeymoon, and this is just the first day.

The first time was quite- no, very long. At first, he was very gentle, he didn't tore off your white suit the moment you both got on the bed, instead he went slow and made sure to prepare you thoroughly. He promptly fucked you in a mating press position right after you have adjusted though, only slowing down slightly when you sobbed and digged your nails into his back, he kept having that annoying sly smirk on his face, proud to be the one taking your first time and making it worthwhile. The total amount of rounds you've both gone in one night? 15 times, with breaks in-between, of course.

The second time, it was a little more tame compared to the first time. Well, if you count fucking in a garden, anything close to being tame. He bent you over the bench and rearranged your insides right then and there. Your body was still sore from yesterday, so he tried going gentle this time, but he had to grip onto your hips for dear life to refrain from losing his mind. You managed to keep your sounds fairly quiet, so no unfortunate servants passing by would have to hear the embarrassing sounds coming out of your mouth.

The third time, he held the grudges from the second time and let all of them out on you after dinner. You were forced to wear a pair of laced underwear, the provocative kind that shouldn't be seen by any children whatsoever. Your wrists tied together by his tie while he makes out with you and fucks you at the same time. The marks before haven't even completely disappeared from your body, yet they've been replaced with a new one, littered from your inner thighs to your neck.

All of that horny stuff aside, you had to give your little husband a kiss on the forehead after all the rounds you both have gone through. He fell asleep almost immediately afterwards, hugging your waist and resting his head on your chest, without any sort of defence whatsoever. Letting out a sigh, at this point, you don't know if your husband is secretly a golden retriever in disguise or not.

A/N: The end was a bit rushed, if you couldn't tell. The golden retriever thingy is a reference to one of my work that's still a work-in-progress. Thanks for reading, I hope you like this post :b

#idk what tags to add #orginal post #bottom male reader #male reader #vel fic #original character #marriage #historical #original character x reader #nfst #oc x male reader #male reader smut #x male reader #male reader insert

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tightjeansjavi · 4 months ago

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I am humbly asking that original character inserts receive the same amount of love and affection as reader inserts pls. 🥺 👉🏻👈🏻 sometimes it is not feasible to write a reader insert into a super complex story with plot, and I know that reader inserts are favored by far, but please leave a seat at the table for original characters because those fics are just as valid and deserve love too

#pls don’t take this the wrong way #all fics are valid #I just wish that original character inserts were loved more #that’s all #original characters #fics #fanfiction #everyone deserves a seat at the table #🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

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nightingalescall · 2 months ago

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The Devil and Angel's Waltz

Kingdom of Ebreau:

prologue|part 1|part 2|part 3(you are here)

"Are you disfigured?"

"What?"

"Nevermind."

You stared at the maid as she walked away, stunned.

What in the...

"Something the matter, Messiah?" Marika's voice rang from across the table. You turned your gaze back and blinked.

"It's nothing, your highness." You smiled politely as you raised the teacup to your lips, eager to taste the drink. The smell wafted into your nose first before it even reached your tongue.

Jasmine tea.

You swallowed.

With honey.

You placed the cup back down on the coaster. The tea was well balanced. If not steeped for too long, Jasmine tea is quite flavourless with only its aroma to remind you of the kind of drink it was. The honey mixed in afterward added a nice subtle tone of sweetness to the otherwise bland tea.

It's good.

Under normal circumstances, you would have said it tasted great but the question the maid whispered into your ear earlier as she poured you this drink made the liquid not go down right. You'd even say it had an unusual bitter aftertaste.

"You may simply call me Marika, Messiah. You are no ordinary folk so no need for such formalities." Marika smiled as she reached for a cookie on the table. "T-that wouldn't be very polite of me, your highness." You declined her request, letting out an awkward laugh.

You glanced at Zephyr beside you. He hasn't said anything ever since you arrived at the palace. His cup of tea sat untouched on the table, growing colder by the minute. A slight smile was present on his lips as he listened but it felt different from the one you’re used to seeing.

It looked…superficial. Fake. Ingenuine.

Zephyr didn't want to be here.

That makes two of you then.

Actually, scratch that. That makes three of you.

You peaked at the silent white hair beside Marika from the corner of your eyes. This was the fourth time since the moment you two met. With the help of your veil, you managed to avoid detection by the prince whenever you snuck glances at him. You wished you didn't have to do this but Calerus' words still rang clear in your mind.

Beware the heretics.

It would be foolish of you to ignore this individual when even god himself tells you to be wary of him.

Thus, even with your whole body going into fight or flight mode, screaming at you to look away from his eyes, your mind was determined to keep tabs on him.

Xion was sitting with his legs crossed, one over the other. His hands placed neatly on his lap, occasionally patting down his silver uniform and smoothing out any creases. He kept his gaze on the table in front of him or off to the side throughout the entire conversation. His ruby eyes were distant and unfocused like he was thinking, plotting, scheming.

He was mentally elsewhere you concluded.

You looked away, not letting your gaze linger longer. You turned back towards Marika, who seems to be the only person who actually wanted to be here. She finished swallowing the bite of the cookie she had eaten before continuing. "I don't mind, Messiah. Please just call me that. If we are to rule together and protect Ebreau, putting so much importance on our statuses and titles will only obstruct our cooperation." She reasoned.

"I-I see..." You mumbled behind your cup as you took another sip of the tea to calm your nerves. Silence fell over the table. You looked up from your cup in confusion. Marika stared back at you, the same sweet smile on her face.

...?

You knitted your eyebrows together behind your veil.

What's going on...?

Xion's priecing gaze snapped towards you. Your body froze in place as he stared you down, like a predator does before pouncing on its prey. Your mind raced for words to say as the staring continued.

"The temple simply call her 'Messiah', your highness. However, if you must know, her name is (y/n)." Zephyr finally said his first words after getting here, helping you break the silence. "Ah, I see. Then, (y/n), I hope this will be a fruitful collaboration." Marika smiled.

Oh, she just wanted your name?

The realisation hit you and you breathed a sigh of relief, your hands relaxing their tight grip around your tea cup. You felt Xion's eyes also leave you as the tension that hung in the air dissipated. You internally thanked Zephyr for answering in your stead, not daring to think how long that silence would have lasted or how it would have been broken if he didn’t.

"Would you like to see the ballroom now, (y/n)?" Marika placed her cup down. "You may practice there while the servants are finishing up the preparations for tonight's ceremony. I will personally inform them if you wish." The queen offered. It would be a good idea to familiarise yourself with 'the stage' for tonight. Plus, extra practice could never hurt.

"I would like that, M-marika." You struggled to get the queen's name out your mouth. It felt wrong to call someone with such status by their first name. "Follow me then." Marika smiled and stood up, leading the way out of the room. Xion followed behind her, not bothering to toss you a glance. You and Zephyr walked at the back, side by side.

The palace's hallways were long. Not surprising there. With multiple twists and turns, up and down some stairs, the walk there seemed to stretch on forever. At least the walkways were decorated very nicely though. They provided some form of distraction from this boring excursion. The walls were painted in white with some kind of floral motive drawn on in silver near the bottom and top. Paintings of knights on horses, nobles in luxurious clothing, flowers in the wild and many more (including some abstract ones that didn't look like anything at all) hung on the wall. Some almost side by side, some few and far between. The carpet beneathe your feet was blue with golden edges as it paved the entire way to the ballroom, even the stairs had them. Plus, it looked surprisingly clean.

The servants here must work real hard.

You thought to yourself as a butler pushed open a large wooden door, allowing your little entourage to enter.

The room before you was spacious, to say the least. Just from one glance, you could tell this was the ballroom where nobles and commoners alike would gather during special occasions.

Just like your initiation tonight.

The ballroom was beautiful and extravagant even without any extra decorations. The floor was marble and it glistened. Looking down at it, you could see your reflection in it. No doubt the work of the maids mopping it on the other side of the ballroom. A small stage was placed to the side for the orchestra who will be responsible for the music of your dance tonight. Two long tables were placed opposing the stage, on the other side of the ballroom. You assumed it's for the food that will be served this evening. Several butlers were up on ladders, wiping away at the glass windows, determined to clean away any smudges.

You turned your gaze ahead of you.

A young maid was wiping down the thrones Marika and Xion would be seated on for tonight at the far end of the ballroom.

The servants here definitely work real hard.

"You may practice here for the afternoon, (y/n). I have informed the servants here to let you use the dance floor." Marika turned to you and said with a smile. Behind her, the butler who had helped open the door walked away and towards the directions of other servants, probably to inform them of the queen's order. "Thank you, your highness." You nodded your head at her before catching your error. "Marika." You corrected yourself.

Marika's smile grew even wider at that. "I will leave you to it then, (y/n). I still have matters to attend to before the ceremony starts tonight so I must excuse myself." Marika made her way back towards the door before stopping and turning back towards you one last time. "Please don't hesitant to call any of the servants if you need something. They'll be happy to serve you." The queen finally stepped out of the room.

Silence fell over your group for a moment as you stared Zephyr, Zephyr stared at you and...Xion stared at you both. To be honest, you were too scared to look at Xion but the current situation called for it so you slowly shifted your gaze to the prince.

Xion was still looking at you with those cold ruby eyes. His face blank and his body unmoving. It was unnerving how still he was. It was like he was simply observing you, waiting for the right time to make a move. But what that move is, you’re not sure.

You opened your mouth to speak but before any words came out, Xion bowed. "I will leave now too." He excused himself and within a few seconds, he was gone as well.

...

You watched as he left and as the door swung shut, you let out a sigh of relief, the tension in your body dissipating. It felt like you could finally breathe again.

"Are you alright, Lady (y/n)?" Zephyr's voice sounded beside you and you felt his hand on your back. His worried face came into view as he leaned down, his bangs falling to one side as he did so. "...That..." you started as you tried to find the right words to describe how you were feeling. The thumping of your heart, the sweat in your palms, the nauseousness and the dread. There really was only one answer.

"That was terrifying."

~✟~

What is this room for?

The thought flashed through your mind as you slipped on the ceremonial dress. The soft silky fabric rubbing against your face as you pulled it down your head and then body. Your hands patted down the bodice and skirt, smoothing out any creases and ensuring there were no folds.

You walked towards the full body mirror placed beside a bookshelf on the left side of the room. The room was nearly identical to the one you had tea with the queen and prince just now with only the arrangement of furniture slightly different and an extra mirror for some reason (maybe you're too poor to understand the taste rich people have in interior design). You stood in front of the mirror, admiring the details of the dress.

For the monumental ceremony tonight, the temple went all out with your clothes. Similar to your daily attire, the garment was in the shade of gold. The fabric metallic and shining. A clear statement of its high quality. The skirt reached down to the floor. Its hems brushing against the carpet beneathe your feet with every movement. The skirt was further accentuated with a few layers of sheer fabric in a similar colour, some longer, some shorter, creating patterns and adding volume to the skirt. Floral patterns were embroidered on parts of the fabric using gold thread and finally dusted with a small amount of glitter as a finishing touch.

The sleeves were long just as your usual clothing. The fabric was semi transparent and clung loosely to your arms. Not a bad choice considering how light and airy it was, not to mention soft. There was no collar, making it perfectly breathable and easy to move in.

You can't imagine how much money they spent to get something with such standard.

Better take care and not rip it.

You reminded yourself before slipping on the pair of black court shoes that were prepared for you.

Leather. Sturdy.

You clicked the heels of the shoes together twice. The sharp sound resounding loudly through the room.

"Alright, all done here... Time to head back." You mumbled to yourself as you folded your clothes and took them into hand. As you exited the room, you grabbed your veil on the table beside the door with your other hand and pushed the door shut using your foot once outside.

Back to the ballroom. Zephyr should be back with the new veil too.

You turned right and headed down the hallway, retracing the path the butler had shown you before to get here. The butler was kind enough to lead you to an empty room not far from the ballroom to allow you some privacy to get changed. Zephyr went to retrieve the modified veil in the meantime so it was just you for once.

With one hand, you twisted and turned the veil, trying to find the opening where your head was supposed to go. Once you do, you leaned down slightly and threw it on before securing it in place using a hair pin. You patted down the veil, especially the back side of it where you couldn't see, not wanting any of the fabric to fold or stick out.

Lowering your hand, you focused on getting back, your feet light with each step. You felt at ease, the boulder weighing on your heart there no more. Knowing that it was just going to be you and Zephyr for the rest of the morning and early afternoon, it relieved you. Just time for some last minute rehearsals and then rest. No more queens and princes-

"Messiah."

You froze in place and your blood ran cold. The tranquility beforehand vanishing into thin air and in its place, an agonising dread. Your heart pounded. Your anxiety spiked. Your muscles tensed as your mind went blank. Consumed by an all-devouring fear, you stood still in the middle of the hallway, unable to run from certain 'death'.

Footsteps thumped closer. You squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your fists, bracing yourself for what's to come.

You turned.

"Your highness?"

It was a miracle how your voice didn't crack.

Xion strode over, the same deadpan expression on his angular face. His boots clicking softly against the carpeted floor.

"I thought you left, your highness. Is there something else you have to take care of here?" You mustered all of your courage and spoke, trying to sound calm and composed but your voice still gave you away, wavering during the sentence.

Crap.

You cursed internally.

Steady thyself, lamb. This is thy chance to persuade this apostate.

Calerus' voice rumbled from deep within your mind again.

Your eyebrows twitched.

Persuade? What does that mean??

No response from the deity.

"..."

The people around you seemed to have a tendency of ignoring you. Xion, similar to Calerus, remained silent, not bothering to answer your question.

He got closer and closer until he was directly in front of you before...

Walking past.

You knitted your eyebrows in confusion before moving to turn to him.

"Your highne-"

"Don't move."

Every muscle in your body obeyed.

You stared ahead of you, frozen in place as Xion went around to your back.

His presence sent shivers down your spine as he stood behind you. Even with your back turned, you could feel him staring you down. It felt like daggers going straight into your head, making you feel numb and afraid.

You felt his breath hit your nape as your veil is gently lifted by him. It was warm, surprisingly. Considering his icy nature, you thought even his breath would be cold.

"Y-your highness, what are you doing?" You couldn't hold back the voice crack this time. In a similar fashion, your question gets ignored once more.

A light touch and all your hairs stand on end. His hands brushed against your nape as he reached for you from behind.

Was this it? Was he going to choke you? Suffocate you right here and now?

You clenched your fists and gritted your teeth, the only movement you were able to do in your frozen state. Alarms blared inside your mind, urging you to make a break for it, to run as far away as possible from the danger but something stopped you from doing so. Was it paralyzing fear? Or something more...divine?

You twitched. Sensation finally coming back to your limbs. The muscles in your legs tensed and contracted, ready to start sprinting any moment now.

You took a step forward.

And Xion put down his hands.

"..."

You took a deep breath and slowly...very slowly glanced behind you. Xion still had that deadpan look on his face as he stared at you. His ruby eyes shone like gems under the light that flooded in from the nearby window.

You tried to talk, to ask what all that was about but words fail you. Only shaky exhales come out when you open your mouth, a sign of the fear that still grasped you.

Xion looked on silently. You watched him, searching his face for any microexpression that could reveal what he was thinking or why he did what he did.

...A frown.

It was quick. Unnoticeable if you hadn't been paying attention. A small dip in the corners of his lips before it was gone and his mouth began to move.

"You’re staring, Messiah." Xion's voice snapped you out of it.

You immediately adverted your eyes as you tried to salvage the situation.

"Ah, I'm terribly sorry, your highness." You bowed and said quickly. "I didn't mean to. I was just....confused! About what you just did...?" You ended your sentence in a question. Unintentional but perhaps necessary since you didn't know if he even did anything to you.

Another brief silence. However, this time, the prince seemed gracious enough to answer your question.

"Your button was undone." Xion pointed out.

You blinked.

My button....?

Then a thought occured to you and you reached behind your back. There, at the opening for your head, just below your nape, you felt a little button that you had managed to miss when you were putting on the dress.

"I saw it before you put on your veil." Xion was being extra talkative right now, having just said two sentences back to back.

"I see. How did I miss that....Thank you, your highness." You smiled in embarrassment. The tension in your shoulders dissipated as you heaved a silent sigh of relief. Glad to know he wasn't planning on hurting you or anything of the sorts. You weren't sure why he was still here in the first place despite already excusing himself but then again, you're not familiar with the palace's layout so maybe there's something at the other end of this hallway or maybe even beyond it. It was hard to say.

"If nothing else, your highness, please excuse me. I need to get back to the ballroom." You quickly bowed and stepped aside, eager to leave and get away from him.

"Please wait, Messiah."

Xion's arm appeared before you, stopping you in your tracks.

You glanced at him in confusion.

What now...?

Xion was quiet as he stared at you and that's when you notice something swirling in his eyes. Something that wasn't there before. It wasn't devoid of emotions like earlier. You could see...

Caution.

He seemed...cautious of you.

But that doesn't make sense. Why would he be cautious of me?

Before your thoughts could go further, the prince opened his mouth. "Why were you staring at me?" He took a step towards you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, not expecting a question, much less a confrontation from him. "S-sorry?" You stuttered in response, your mind still in denial of what he was referring to, too afraid to accept the fact that he may have noticed.

"Back when you were having tea with the Queen. I noticed you looking at me. May I know why?" His voice was low and cold. He had asked a question but you knew that that didn't mean he gave you a choice.

You swallowed nervously as you looked up at him. You tried to think of a reason to excuse your suspicious behaviour. There was no way you could tell him the literal god this kingdom worships told you to be weary of him. You weren't even sure how he found out in the first place. You made sure to be discreet about it and you wore your veil to cover your eyes from view. The chances of catching you watching him were low and yet...

"..." You opened and closed your mouth, no words finding their way up your throat.

Crap, I'm blanking.

"Messiah..." Xion muttered under his breath and suddenly, his face appeared inches away from yours. His blood red eyes seemed to pierce through your veil as he gazed directly at you.

You instinctively took a step back in fear.

Bad move.

Noticing your retreat, Xion advanced towards you, making you back up until you finally neared the wall.

You gasped as you bumped into a vase placed beside the wall. Your hand shot towards the tall vase, grabbing it and stopping it from toppling over. It was heavy, having been filled with dirt to nurture the greenery planted within it. You gripped onto it hard, trying desperately to steady the wobbling vase.

Before you could even recover from the panic of almost breaking the royal family's belonging, Xion's hand slammed the wall beside him.

Bang!

You jumped, you feet accidentally kicking the vase. The vase slipped from your hands and came crashing down to the floor.

You winced as the vase shattered into pieces, the sound akin to a jab to your eardrums as you cringed. The dirt poured out and the plant laid on the floor, its roots exposed with the shards of the broken vase around it.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage, panic rising inside you. You held back the urge to curse as you swallowed, looking at the mess you created.

"Why were you staring at me, Messiah?" Your heart nearly jumped out from your chest when Xion whispered into your ear, his hot breath uncomfortably fanning it.

"..."

whatdoidowhatdoisaynonononononoidontwanttodiepleasegodsavemesomeonesavemezephyrcalerushelpidontwanttodieiwanttogohomeletmeleavedontkillmepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

I don't want to die.

"Messiah-ilikeyoursuit." Xion raised an eyebrow at your mumbling.

"Pardon?" "I like your suit." You repeated, your gaze still cast downwards at the ground.

Xion knitted his eyebrows.

"What does that mean?" He sounded skeptical.

"..." You were quiet and Xion was about to press you again when you let out a string of sentences, bombarding him with information.

"I think it's nice. I like the design. I like the style. The colour matches you. It looks good on you. It makes you look cool. I'd like something similar for myself." You blurted out in rapid succession.

Your mind had gone into autopilot mode when the fear overwhelmed all your senses, making you spew out random nonsense. You wanted to kick yourself for saying something so dumb but to your surprise, it seemed to have worked in your favour.

"..." Xion stared at you incredulously, his mouth slightly agaped.

He suddenly backed away, his hand on the wall returning to his side as he narrowed his eyes at you. You stared back silently, your mind still recovering from the intense moment beforehand. You breathed shakily as you waited for him to make his next move.

"..."

None of you said anything.

It wasn't a hard conclusion to make that the prince of Ebreau was a man of few words. Ever since your meeting this morning, he had been quiet, silently observing and listening from the sidelines as you interacted with other people in the palace. Even when he did talk, it was only a few short sentences. He was reserved but never at a lost for words.

However, for once, he seemed speechless.

For once, you could garner something from his expression. He was thinking. So very clearly thinking. He was considering what course of action to take.

You prayed he would consider letting you off the hook.

The prince looked away briefly before meeting your eyes once more...

A small smirk spreading across his lips.

Blood drained from your face.

"You are...quite humourous, Messiah." Xion scoffed as he shook his head. "Unfortunately, this uniform was custom made for me and me only so you can't get one yourself." He explained coldly before turning away.

"I wish you a good afternoon, Messiah. I await your performance tonight." With a few short sentences, he was gone again, leaving you alone in the hallway with your thoughts and the thumping of your heart in your chest.

You watched as his silhouette got smaller and smaller down the hallway before finally disappearing. You clenched your fists by your side.

Xion...

Just what are you planning?

Another voice rang in you head alongside yours.

"Well done, lamb."

~✟~

You flopped down on the comfy bed, your legs hung over the edge as you sighed.

This was it. The ceremony was just another 2 hours or so away. The sun dipped below the horizon outside the window of the guest room, dying the evening sky orange. Your last practice session had gone well with you doing the entire dance while in full ceremonial attire.

Your hands reached up to rub your eyes before blinking multiple times in quick succession to get the exhaustion out of them. Looking through your veil put a lot of strain on your eyes. The pixelated world seen from within your veil made your eyes constantly work overtime just to ensure you could see everything around you and make correct judgements in situations. Times like these when you didn't have it on were a blessing for your eyes, like a long awaited and very overdued vacation from their job.

You turned your head towards the clothing rack beside the dresser. Your ceremonial robe hung neatly on a hanger and beside it, your new modified veil. The veil was made shorter in front, covering only until just above your lips and long in the back like usual. Golden brown tassels were sewn on at the ends of the veil, both front and back to add some weight to the fabric.

Zephyr really was a life saver. You're not sure how or where he managed to get a tailor to accept such a sudden commission but somehow he did and you're grateful he returned with a much more practical veil for dancing. It made the dance that much easier now that you weren't constantly struggling to just breathe.

You were escorted out of the ballroom at around 3 in the afternoon. The workers in the palace had to get the last bit of the decorations set up and preparations done before guests arrived so you needed to get out of there around then or else you'd risk making their job harder. It was about time you get some rest too before your big night so you complied without much thought.

And thus, you have been spending the past hour or so fretting over the ceremony tonight. This was a big deal and no matter how much preparation you've done, it just didn't feel enough.

Maybe your footwork could use some more polishing or maybe your arms needn't be so stiff or maybe you could smile a bit more or maybe-

"Ugghhhh!" You huffed out loud in frustration as your hands went to your face. This was so nerve-wrecking.

Can I just bail tonight? I'm sure Zephyr can help me come up with an excuse.

You looked towards the opened window, peeping through the gaps between your fingers. Perhaps you could jump out? The entrance gate is just across the palace garden. Wait, no. You're on the 3rd level. You'd die if you vaulted out of here.

A soft breeze blew through the window, fluttering the curtains as another idea popped into your head.

Maybe I could tie together the curtains to make a rope, do this the Hollywood way. Ah, but it won't be long enough... Oh, oh! Maybe I could use the bed sheets and carpet and-

Your grand escape plan was suddenly interrupted by a knocking on the door.

That must be the maid.

You got up from the bed. Marika had assigned a maid of hers to help with dressing you up for the ceremony tonight. Even if it was kinda redundant since you can dress yourself just fine and don't really need any make-up or hair styling (you were going to be wearing a veil so nobody would see it anyway), it wouldn't hurt to have someone do it for you while you did some final mental preparation for later.

Your hand reached for the door and pulled it open.

"Hello, Messiah."

The girl's silky voice greeted your ears as the top of her head came into view the moment you swung open the door. Her black bangs hung over her eyes and framed the side of her face, obscuring her face from your gaze.

"Hello. Please come in." You greeted back and gestured for her to come in. The maid rose to a standing position but continued to keep her head low as she stepped into the room, her hands gripping a brown bag in front of her, which you assumed to contain the make-up she'll use.

She walked towards the dressing table and placed the bag on the surface before standing aside, head still bowed as she stood in wait for you to sit down. You quickly shut the door and scurried over, taking a seat at the dressing table.

The maid reached into her bag before circling around to your back and began to comb your hair using a brush, getting all the knots out. After that, she took out a small bottle and sprayed some of the liquid inside onto her hand before rubbing it into your hair. The sweet fragrance wafted from behind you and into your nostrils.

Lavender.

You played with your fingers as you sat still, letting the maid do her work. No words were exchanged between the two of you. Out of boredom and perhaps some curiousity, you decided to start a conversation.

"What's your name by the way?" You looked at her reflection behind you in the mirror. She was looking down, focusing on your hair as she began styling it. Her hands worked diligently, twisting and tying your strands.

She paused, not expecting you to strike up a conversation.

"...I'm Erna."

She replied softly, her gaze still casted downwards.

Silence fell over you two again as the conversation ended as soon as it started.

"..."

She's so quiet.

You felt her continuing to do your hair, making no effort to carry on with the conversation. You sighed quietly as you hung your head, ultimately deciding to just keep to yourself and let her work in silence.

What's Zephyr doing right now...?

Your thought drifted to the saint as you tried to find something to ponder about. It's rare that he's not with you right now. Wherever you went, he always seemed to be by your side and ready to assist you in any way he can. In fact, it was weirder now without him around.

He will be attending tonight's ceremony too, right?

He probably will. Unless there's something he has to attend to in the background as the initiation proceeded, he'll watch...hopefully.

You really hope he does. You can't promise you'll do well during the dance. Heck, you can't even guarantee you won't collapse from the sheer stress. You needed him to save you if the worse came to pass, save you from the embarrassment and/or potential concussion.

Crap, I really don't want to do this...

You fidgeted nervously in your seat, rubbing your hands together as you suppressed the nausea bubbling inside. You took a deep breath.

In and out. In and out. In-

Your thoughts were cut short when you suddenly felt a breath hit your neck. Instinctively, you turned your head and you jumped in your seat at the foreign face in front of you.

Erna's green eyes stared into your golden ones, stoic and cold was her gaze as she breathed down your neck.

!!!

You wanted to ask what she was doing but before any words left your mouth, you saw the blood drain from Erna's face and she suddenly collapsed onto the floor, screaming hysterically.

"AAAHHHHHH! NO! NO!" Erna's voice pierced through the silence, her hands on her face, grasping at her eyes almost like trying to gauge them out.

"T-there's no way! It can't be! NO!" The girl continued to babbled on. She was shaking, her entire body convulsing beside you on the floor. You were in shock but it didn't take long before your body leapt into action on its own, jumping out of your seat and kneeling down on the floor beside the (you assumed) fear-striken girl.

"Erna, what's-I'M SORRY! I'M SO SORRY!" You reached for her shoulder, wanting to comfort her and understand what the heck was going on but before you even made contact, Erna pressed her head to the ground as she screamed out apologies. Her sobs were clear as she took pauses between her words, breathing heavily in before choking out her sentences once more. As it went on, her yelling began more and more incoherent and her words muddled until unintelligible.

"Erna...!" You tried to snap her out of it, raising your voice, hoping she would stop. However, to your dismay, it seemed to trigger her even more as her sobs quickly became desperate cries.

"I'M SORRY! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! I DIDNT KNOW! I WAS MISLED! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! IM SORRY! I WAS WRONG!" The girl screamed her heart out as she continued to cry. Her nails digging into the carpet below her, causing her knuckles to turn white.

Thump, thump, thump!

Footsteps echoed from outside the doors, coming down the corridor and getting closer to your room. The commotion in here must have caught someone's attention.

You continued to try and calm Erna down from this sudden mental breakdown but to no avail. Anything you do, no matter how big or small, it always seemed to have the opposite effect of what you wanted. Erna continued to cry out, her voice becoming hoarse and raspy from the strain she put on it.

"I'M SORRY! PLEASE! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY...CALERU-What's going on in here!?" A guard bursted through the doors. His eyebrows knitted and his arms tensed, ready to strike any perpetrator on sight.

"I-I don't know! She just suddenly started screaming!" You tried to explain despite also being in shock at the situation. The guard looked at the curled up Erna on the floor before at you. You braced yourself, knowing how bad this looked. Two people in one room, the only exit and entry points being a door leading to a corridor that is guarded and a window that is 3 stories up, the logical conclusion that everyone would jump to is pretty cut and dry.

However, you didn't hear any "Hands where I can see them!" or "Back away from the girl!" or any other aggressive commands from the guard. The moment you two locked eyes, the guard froze, his eyes going wide just how like Erna's did moments ago but instead of falling down and screaming his head off, he just stood at the doorway, one hand over his mouth as he stared incredulously at you.

Oh no, what now?!?

You panicked. The intense gaze of the guard that seemed to bore into your soul paired with ear piercing screams of Erna were overloading your senses. Your heart raced inside of your chest, the sheer absurdity of the situation was making you blank once more. What should you do? What could you do?

Sweat beaded down your forehead as you contemplated what to do.

I...I...?!

Your train of thought was suddenly cut short as you were pulled onto your feet abruptly. Hands tugged at your upper arms as they hoisted you up, even making you stumble in the process from the sheer speed and force. Before you even recovered, you felt a warmth embrace you as the hands wrapped around your body. One of the hands even pressing your head against the soft fabric of its owner's clothes.

"Are you alright, Lady (y/n)?"

You craned your head up as you heard the all too familiar voice. The concerned face of the kingdom's beloved saint stared down at you, his eyebrows knitted gently and his lips turned downwards into a small frown as he held you close.

Saved!

You cheered internally as you buried your head into Zephyr's chest. Your hands shakily reached up and wrapped around him, returning the embrace as your fingers gripped onto the back of his robes for solace. The scent of Zephyr's hair wafted into your nostrils, calming your mind and slowing your pounding heart.

"Sir, please take this maid to get help. I'll stay with the Messiah and help her get ready." Zephyr said to what you assumed to be the guard at the door.

"I..y-yes, of course, Saint Zephyr." Footsteps came into the room and you heard some shuffling before shortly after, the footsteps led out again. Erna's crying still rang clear in your ears but they grew softer and softer as the the sound of soles clacking against the ground got further and further away before finally...

Silence.

"..."

Zephyr sighed.

You felt his hand gently caressing your head as he whispered.

"Let's get you ready, Lady (y/n)."

You nodded slowly against his chest.

You felt safe.

Zephyr was here.

There was nothing to be afraid anymore.

~✟~

The chatter of hundreds of guests came from within the ballroom, their voices muffled by the closed wooden door before you as you stood in wait for your time to enter. Beyond the closed doors, you could hear the clinking of champagne glasses, the sound of joyous laughter and the beautiful pieces of music performed by the orchestra the palace had hired. It was lively inside with every guest present eagerly awaiting the main attraction of this evening's ball.

You took a deep breath and exhaled.

The time was nigh.

You cracked your neck and rolled your shoulders, getting the tension out and helping you relax before your big performance. This was no time for stiff bones after all. As if on cue, you heard Queen Marika's voice boomed from beyond the door and you immediately straightened your back.

"Welcome, children of Ebreau. It is a wonderful night this evening for we shall be witnessing a monumental moment in our kingdom's long history..." The Queen gave her speech but you toned it out midway through (Sorry, Marika.). You did one final recall as you reconfirmed all of your dance steps and positions for each of them.

This is it. This is it.

You felt like you were gonna pass out with all the blood rushing to your head from the anxiety of everything but you couldn't deny you felt a tinge of...happiness and pride. With this ceremony, you would be officially heralded as Ebreau's Messiah and be one of the people who would lead it. You're not sure if this strong feeling of love for this nation that you didn't even originate from, heck, this nation that you didn't even want to live in in the first place, was false or not but you knew for a fact that you wanted to help it. Maybe you were being brainwashed by Calerus to love Ebreau so you'll sacrifice yourself for it or maybe you've just developed a saviour complex after being treated as such, you're not entirely sure. You just know that you want to make Ebreau better. You want to make the lives of the folks here better. You want to help Zephyr. Especially after all he's done for you. He gave you his all and you will do the same,

You must do the same.

"Do not let thyself be shackled by deeds of the past, lamb."

No matter how many times this has happened, you don't think you could ever get used to Calerus suddenly speaking to you out of nowhere.

"Intentions determine the nature of a deed, not the action itself."

You knitted your eyebrows.

Where did that come from?

You weren't not sure why Calerus decided to randomly give you a life lesson before your initiation. You wanted to ask for his reasoning but you held back. Based on past experiences, you know he won't reply anyway so you just kept it in mind for now. You can ponder about it later.

"...now, let us celebrate the coming of our prophesied Messiah!"

"That was your cue, Messiah." A pair of hands suddenly fell on your shoulders as Marika concluded her speech. You jolted in surprise as you turned your head back and were met face to face with red eyes.

Xion?!

The prince towered over you as he stared down intensely at you, seemingly searching for your eyes behind the cover of your veil. His breath fanned your face as he continued.

"Good luck."

Xion stepped back, leaving you confused in place. Why was he here? Shouldn't he also be in the ballroom right now? And why was he...

Smiling?

A chill went down your spine at the sight of Xion's lips curling ever so slightly upwards.

You had so many question you wanted to ask but in a similar fashion, they went unvoiced and unheard for the moment you opened your mouth, the doors to the ballroom creaked open and...

A hand pushed you in from behind.

~✟~

You stood in front of Marika. She was seated in her throne beside the king's which was left unoccupied. She smiled early at you as she nodded, acknowledging your presence.

"..."

You reminded quiet. Talking wasn't part of your initiation procedure. The walk to the thrones from the ballroom's entrance was a long one, made longer by the scrutinising gaze and hushed whispers of judgement from the attending guests. From the way their gaze would flicker back and forth from you and how they tried to hide their mouth when they spoke, it wasn't hard to surmise what they were doing.

You tried to ignore them.

Just do your part.

You bowed your head and curtsied slowly, paying your respects ot the queen. Picking up the sides of your dress and bending your knees, you held that position as you waited for the music yo start and for your cue to begin your performance.

Here goes nothing.

The first notes of the piece. Slow and melancholy, the piano sounded out.

You rose from your curtsy, unhurried and measured. Your head remained bowed, looking down at the ground before tilting it slowly to the side and then back up, facing forward once more.

Violins. Questly weaving themselves into the melody, accompanying the lone piano.

You lifted your right arm to your chest before turning to face the guests, stretching out your lifted arm as you did so, letting it lead your movements.

You returned your arm back to to its place before again, you bent your knees and curtsied in the direction of the guests.

The duet of the piano and violins softly faded out as they held the last note of the bar.

You rose from your curtsy one last time, counting the resting beats in your heart.

...6...7...8.

8 resting beats and then you jumped into action. Literally.

You hopped in place before doing a chassé forward and into first arabesque. Closing your feet back together, you followed the tune of the flutes as it carried you through your pas de valse, your eyes following the movement of your hands just as Zephyr had instructed you during practice.

The harmony of the music accompanied you as you glided across the floor, spinning with control and grace. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears and blood rushed to your face, both from the dancing and nervousness. You tried your best to stay calm as you performed an assemblé before slowly rising from the plié.

The music swelled as it slowly began to reach its climax.

Just a little more...

Another spin before you swung your arms up from your sides to beside your head as you lifted your gaze up towards the ceiling. The crystal chandelier dazzled brightly in the air almost as if it was a star in the night sky. If you were outside right now, you would be looking at the sky, perhaps even into the eyes of The Prosperous Lord himself. Maybe that was the point of this move. To lock eyes with the god of this kingdom and swear eternal servitude to him. Who truly knows?

A slight slow in the music and you dropped into a deep curtsy, arms resting at your sides as your head bowed in unspoken submission. The last note rang, low and long as tension permeated through the ballroom.

"..."

You held your breath as you stayed in your position.

Did...I mess up?

You swallowed nervously as the silence in the room nearly deafened you.

Then, a clap came from behind you. Followed by another to your side and among the audience. Slowly, more guests followed along and it wasn't long before the ballroom erupted into a thunderous applause.

You physically felt all the tension leave your body as you breathed a sigh of relief before standing back up.

I did it...it's done. It's finally done!

You couldn't help the smile that made it's way onto your face. All of your hardwork paid off! It didn't go to waste! You...you did it!

You were still high on the glory when Marika interrupted your celebration. "That was a beautiful performance, Messiah." She smiled at you as you turned to face her. "Thank you for your hardwork and here's to a fruitful collaboration in the futur-"

You were suddenly pulled onto the ground.

"Ahh!!" You screamed as you collided with the floor-

Wait, no.

Someone's chest.

You slid across the floor with the person beneathe you, shielding you from impact. Gasps and shouts of terror came from the audience around you as the two of you finally came to a stop on the floor.

You looked back at your original position. An arrow was lodged into the ground. Its tip buried into the now broken floor.

What on earth...?

You furrowed your eyebrows as confusion washed over you.

Realisation came late but only because you refused to acknowleged the truth.

Someone wanted to assassinate you.

Your breath hitched in your throat. If this person didn't pull you aside...

That might have been it for you.

The person beneathe you shifted, slowly sitting up as they continue to hold you close.

You finally turned your gaze back to your saviour, wanting to thank them. However, the words got caught in your throat as you locked eyes with them and realised who it was.

Ocril?!

The person who saved you just now....was your ex-boss?????

He's the captain of the Ordo and likely the one who gave the green light to allow you to work as the Ordo's errand girl. The few years you've been there, you've rarely ever seen him, let allow talk to him. He was at the pinnacle of the hierarchy while you were at rock bottom. There were never any situations where your paths would have crossed.

Though from what you heard from the other guards, he's a rather quiet person, distant even but not cold. He'll never refuse to help someone in need even if he may seem a bit apathetic.

This information has always been word of mouth so you were never able to confirm nor deny it but looking at the black haired man in front of you now, you saw the protectiveness behind his blue eyes as he hid you behind his back.

His gaze narrowed as he glared at a slightly opened window high on the wall, a glint of rage swirling in his eyes.

"Are you alright, Messiah?"

Ocril asked, eyes still glued to the high window.

"I-yes. T-thank you for saving me." You replied, still flustered and shocked by the current situation.

The captain glanced back at you briefly before standing up, his hand on the hilt of his sword fastened to his side.

"Guards!" Queen Marika shouted, standing up from her throne before rushing over to you. At the same time, another familiar voice called for you from behind.

"Lady (y/n)!" You felt Zephyr's arms wrapped around you as he hugged you tightly. "Are you alright?" Zephyr asked frantically. He seemed out of breath, probably from running over due to the commotion started.

"I'm okay." You nodded, reassuring Zephyr as you pushed yourself back onto your feet. Queen Marika arrived too as she helped you up despite your protests.

You felt Ocril's gaze on you the whole time, glancing back at you silently. If he had something to say to you, he never did.

Your disorientation was short-lived as your attention was immediately drawn back by the terrified screams of the guests in the ballroom. To your horror, masked figures began jumping down from the windows, weapons in hand. Some held bows, others held daggers as they landed on the floor of the ballroom.

Chaos ensued immediately.

The guests made mad dashes towards the doors, all wanting to escape before things got bloody or worse, before their lives were targeted. Royal guards were quick to crowd around you and your little group, swords drawn and ready to defend three of the most important figures in Ebreau.

The intruders began their attack. The archers stayed at the back as they aimed to thin out the defense and divert the focus of the surrounding guards, hoping to give an opening to their allies who held daggers to go in for the kill.

Cling!

Ocril deflected an arrow coming towards him with his sword. More royal guards came into the ballroom as they joined in to fend off the attackers. Metal clashed together as the guards around you swung at the enclosing figures but was blocked by the attackers' own weapons. The sharp sound pierced your eardrums, making your ears ring uncomfortably.

Zephyr held you close. His hand grasping yours in a death grip, afraid you'll get separated from him. Queen Marika gritted her teeth and knitted her eyebrows beside you. Her usually soft features hardening as she watched the onslaughts, mind racing with how to resolve this situation.

The guests continued to flee, their shoes clanking loudly against the floor as they tried to escape. However, they were not spared the fury of the intruders. Some of the hooded figures went after them, dragging them back into the ballroom and hurting them as they refused cooperation. Royal guards came to the rescue but not before the attackers had already injured them, splattering their blood on the marble floor.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you held back a gag, terrified by the sight.

"Lady (y/n)!"

Zephyr yanked you back by the hand, just in time as a knife swung at you but missed by an inch. Your eyes widened as you narrowly escaped potential death (or potential disfigurement).

You didn't even get the chance to thank Zephyr for saving you when he, himself came under attack. One of the hooded figures had broken through the guards' defense and swung their dagger at Zephyr. Fast on his feet, Zephyr dodged the attack, sidestepping the figure before swiftly kicking them in the back of their knees, causing them to fall and drop their dagger. He kicked the dagger away before the figure had a chance to pick it back up.

You couldn't help but be amazed. You didn't know Zephyr had moves like that.

The guards' defenses were strong but not impenetrable. Openings for a breakthrough were small and rare but the attackers took every opportunity. With enough tries, 2 of them managed to breach the line of guards and came towards you and Queen Marika.

They swung as you both dodged, though each with varying degree of ease. In a flash, Queen Marika's hand shot towards one of assailant's wrist, grabbing on tightly and stopping them from attacking before promptly disarming them with her other hand.

!!!

Did everyone here know self defense except for you?!??!

Another attacker broke through the defense and went for Zephyr. Left to your own devices, you raised your arms in front of you out of pure instinct as you desperately tried to protect yourself.

The hooded figure was relentless in their attack, swinging and slashing at you nonstop, leaving you with no choice but to keep backing away.

You felt something pierce the skin on your forearm before a sharp stinging pain began to spread from there.

You hissed in pain as your held your forearm, feeling warm blood oozing out of the cut and staining your sleeve. While you were distracted by the pain, the assailant took advantage of the moment and swung down at you.

You were running high on adrenaline, your instincts to survive going into overdrive mode as you grabbed their hand without even thinking, hoping to stop them from hurting you. Good news, it worked. Bad news, they retracted their hand before swinging again immediately and this time, you didn't have the chance to block.

Your attacker slashed upwards at your face. You tried to pull your head back from the blade but before you even knew what was happening, your veil had been slashed apart from the bottom near your lips up to your left eyebrow.

"Ah!"

You cried out in pain as your hands went to your face, feeling the same warmth and wetness from earlier dripping down your cheek and staining your fingers.

Blood.

You weren't sure where the wound was. Was it just around your eye or was your left eye now permanently messed up. You didn't know. The pain was agonising as you groaned and began to tear up from it.

This was messed up. Why was this happening?

What have you ever done to them to deserve this kind of treatment?

Who even were these people?

Why you?

Why the guests?

Why did they hurt everyone?

The figure raised their dagger high, aiming the point at your head.

"DIE!"

They plunged the dagger down to deal the final blow.

"!!!"

The dagger stopped in midair as the attacker froze.

You glared at the figure through the gaps between your fingers, teeth gritted and eyebrows knitted. Your blood dripped from your hand as you slowly staggered towards them.

You weren't thinking clearly. Your rationality having completely been thrown out the window as your emotions took over. A lump formed in your throat as you stifled the urge to scream and lash out. Your hands were shaking but not from fear.

You shook from pure, unadulterated rage.

These uninvited intruders dared to barge in and ruin your initiation that you prepared months for before proceeding to attack anyone and everyone on sight, not even sparing the innocent guests.

Perhaps if it had been just you who was targeted, you wouldn't have been so furious.

Perhaps you would have understood where they were coming from if no one else was hurted.

Perhaps you-

No.

Perhaps these people don't deserve your mercy.

Whatever grudge they had with you, however deep their hatred for you ran, it was no accuse to come for your neck. It was no accuse to jump the peace talks and resort to violence. It was no accuse to hurt others, innocent or not.

There was no accuse.

You raised your hand, curling your fingers into a fist.

I will cleanse this nation of its filth until only the beautiful remains. And until the garden of Eden appears once more, I will not stop, for the foundation of this paradise...

You swung your fist.

"Will be the blood of your kind."

You punched the figure in the face.

"Ack!"

You heard the figure gasped before falling to the ground.

"..."

Your senses came back to you as the rush of adrenaline passed. You backed away quickly, putting as much distance between you two as fast as you can before they can recover and attack again.

Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as you saw the figure pushed themselves onto their knees, one hand holding their face.

Suddenly, an arm appeared before you. You looked up and saw...Ocril. He shielded you behind him as he watched the figure scrambling on the ground in front of you, sword at the ready to defend you in his other hand should the figure attack again.

However, that seemed unnecessary.

The figure pressed their head to the ground as they started screaming.

"FORGIVE ME! I'M SORRY! PLEASE HAVE MERCY! HAVE MERCY!"

Everyone stopped and looked at the figure on the ground, including the other intruders. The figure continued to scream and you could hear the start of a nervous breakdown in their voice.

"I DIDNT KNOW! I WAS FOOLISH! FORGIVE ME! FORGIVE ME! MY LORD, PLEASE HAVE MERCY!"

Everyone stared on dumbfounded. The other intruders being especially confused by their ally's behaviour.

Another one of the hooded figures broke through the defenses of the guards and came to their ally's side.

You couldn't hear what they whispered to the other but you doubt they said much as they were immediately pushed to the ground by their ally.

The figure continued screaming and this time, you could tell they were crying.

"CALERUS, WE'RE SORRY FOR DOUBTING YOUR WILL! HAVE MERCY ON US! I BEG OF YOU! WE'RE SORRY!! HAVE MERCY!"

The figure's companion looked at them quizzically.

The stalemate between the guards and intruders was quickly broken soon after when a group of guards tackled some distracted figures and pinned them to the ground. The fight resumed but this time, the intruders seemed to be backing off.

The two figures in front of you scrambled to their feet(well, more like one of them dragged the other onto their feet) as they tried to fight their way out this time around. Ocril gave chase, leaving you in your place after a brief glance back at you to make sure you're alright.

Immediately after Ocril left, Zephyr rushed back to your side.

"(Y/N)!"

He hugged you tightly before noticing the blood on your face and gasping in horror.

"You're hurt! And what happened to your veil?!" Zephyr asked frantically as he held your face in his hands. He wiped some of the blood off your face with his fingers as he began to apologise profusely, "I'm sorry i didn't protect you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

As cold as this may seem, you couldn't help but wonder what was up with people apologising over and over again to you today. Zephyr was already the third one within the last 24 hours.

Looking up at him, you noticed tears beginning to form in his eyes. In a daze, you reached up and wiped his tears away with your sleeve. "You tried your best. I understand, Zephyr." you mumbled softly to him.

That seemed to have the opposite effect on Zephyr as more tears welled up in his eyes. He pulled you close and clung to you tightly, wrapping his arms around you as he silently cried. You felt his tears wetting your shoulder as he buried his face there.

You returned his hug and patted his back as you waited for him to calm down.

Zephyr must have been worried sick about you...

After a while, Zephyr reluctantly pulled away, breaking the hug. However, he still clung to your hand as he began to recompose himself.

The ballroom was a mess.

Although the intruders had already either fled or been captured, damage had still been done. Some unlucky guests who were targeted by the figures sat to the side of the ballroom as guards tended to their wounds, their sobs loud enough to be heard from the other side of the room. The floor was splattered with blood, belonging to both attacking intruders and defending guards alike. Swords and arrows laid scattered and broken on the ground, a stark reminder of what just transpired.

"..."

You couldn't believe this had happened.

"(Y/n)."

You weren't given much time to wallow in despair at the devastating events that just happened. Queen Marika snapped you out of your thoughts as she approached you. You noticed a small cut on her upper arm but besides from that, she seemed unscathed. "Marika, are you alright?" You nevertheless asked out of formality.

The queen nodded before replying, "Yes. Thank you for asking especially when you seem to be in a worse state than me." She gave you a worried look, "I'll call for the royal physician to look at your wound. Hopefully it's nothing too serious..."

You nodded and thanked her for it. Before you were escorted away to have your injury checked and treated, Queen Marika began speaking again. "(Y/n), I know it's been a long night but...I must request that you extend your stay just a bit longer." You cocked your head to one side at her words. You thought you would be going back to the temple after this.

"May i know why?" you expressed your confusion.

Queen Marika sighed deeply as she looked down momentarily. "The situation...may be worse than I thought. I don't wish to push this burden onto you so soon but..." She trailed off.

"We must bring forward our meeting."

~✟~

I. Am. So. Sorry. This was supposed to go up months ago but life got busy and i got stuck at the final ballroom scene T-T Im sorry to everyone who waited so long for this chapter!!! but at least, this chapter is extra long compared to the previous ones so hopefully it will be enough satiate the hunger and quell the anger ^^;(jk) Glad i finally got it done though. been feeling really guilty about postponing this chapter for so long.

Thank you for reading and please tell me if you find any errors so i can correct them!

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