#pane alle rose | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amoeganism · 1 month ago

Text

UNFORTUNATELY INTERESTED michael kaiser

That weird regular with blond and blue hair stopped showing up to the cafe you work at and coping by watching every clip you find of him online isn't enough. Lucky for you, he's also a weirdo freak who missed you.

tags: birthday special!! crack, loser x loser, ness doesnt ask questions, ness third wheels, ness STAND UP, mentions of circumcisions if you dont fuck with that, reader is a freak, michael is a freak, it cancels out (no it doesnt), 2.6k words of slop, i'm lazy and am going to nap now

A man named Michael orders two drinks from your cafe each morning at seven. It’s a simple order of a mug of hot black coffee and a to-go order of black tea. He sits down at a table farthest from the entrance but still next to a large window pane, sipping on his coffee until it’s gone. Then, he’ll place the empty mug on the shelf with all the other dishes to be washed and take his tea with him, disappearing until the following morning. He isn’t the only morning regular that you encounter but the blond and blue mullet along with the tattoos of intertwining blue rose vines are intriguingly beautiful; every person has a uniqueness intangible by another but Michael’s haunting blue eyes leaves you with uncomfortable curiosity that’s seemingly impossible to be satiated.

He stops showing up three months after his first visit. It kind of freaks you out since you had just come to terms with how you’ve been anticipating his appearance every morning for you to observe him like a scientist observing bacteria under a microscope. Part of you assumes it’s because he caught onto your weird staring and finally rationalized that there’s a creepy barista that’s a little too interested in his ritual of blowing his piping hot coffee four times before drinking or how they’ve caught onto the way he delicately trails his fingertips around the ceramic rim of the mug between every sip. Fortunately for your pride, your question as to why he disappeared was answered by a viral post on your social media feed of your more interesting customer shirtless and calling a group of teens dumb, ugly pieces of shit or something like that. You laughed at the clip before realizing that you really did look forward to seeing him again.

It freaks you out a little bit when a different man shows up at seven in the morning ordering the exact same thing Michael did: a black coffee and black tea but this time, they’re both to-go. He gives his name as Alexis and you can’t help but think his face looks rather familiar. As he waits for his order, he scrolls on his phone and furiously types something before perking up when you call his name.

“Thank you!” he chirps, putting his phone into his pants pocket. “My teammate really likes it here. He asked me to get this for him because he can’t make it. Uh, his name is Michael?”

Your mind clicks into place at the mention of your former customer’s name. The man in front of you is Alexis Ness, the funny little guy that Michael, or rather Michael Kaiser, would exclusively pass to on the field. You’d rather die than admit that you spent a little too long stalking any and all videos of the man you could find—his awful personality was oddly entertaining. “Yeah! He used to come by every morning before falling off the grid.”

You were tempted to ask about Blue Lock, but you didn’t want to expose yourself as a freakish stalker that does background checks on their customers as a hobby. Before you can fall victim to temptation, Ness pushes the glass door open with his back and leaves with a short “have a nice day!”, leaving you with a new guy to dig up info on.

The next morning at seven, you expected to see Ness return to order drinks for Michael, but you were greeted with two men instead of one. One of which, being Michael himself. His hair was put up with a gold claw clip rather than let down and he mindlessly nodded along to the nonsense rambling of Ness. The shirt he wore was loose around the collar, exposing a blue rose tattooed onto his neck and collarbone, a painful yet beautiful placement. Each line and stretch of color was beginning to bloom into his skin as it settled and spread, leaving slightly blurred edges as a result of aging. You had read that he was the same age as you, nineteen, and that made you wonder when he had gotten it done.

“Good morning,” you greeted with a small smile, standing in front of the register with your hands in front, ready to take their order. Directing your attention to the blond man, you attempt to start some kind of small talk, “It’s been a while since you’ve been here. It’s good to see you back. Black coffee here and black tea to-go?”

“I’m impressed that you remembered my order,” he teased, reaching into his pocket for a black wallet and pulling out a credit card. “Have I really made such a big impression on you?”

Slightly irked but also amused, you take his card to slide on the side of the register. “You came here every day for months straight. I think it’d be embarrassing for you if I didn’t remember who you are. It’s not often someone like you comes around and stays.”

“Someone like me?” Michael asks with a raised brow.

“Y’know, tatted up and choppy, dyed hair. You kinda remind me of a peacock; I fuck with it.”

“Nice to know someone appreciates it,” with an exaggerated sigh, he combs his fingers through a loose lock of hair framing his face. “It’s a shame people tend to be so boring and unappreciative of what I bring. Peacocks you say? When I cut my hair, I can put the scraps together and make a custom peacock feather just for you.”

“Oh…I’m so glad to hear that you’re creative and confident? I think this is why you’re a soccer player and not a business owner…or pickup artist…or a customer service worker…or a respected individual.”

The mention of his athletic career catches Michael off guard for a brief moment, ignoring everything else you said like a guy stuck in delusion limbo with selective hearing, but he was quick to recover from the initial shock. “You know about me? I never knew you were such a fan. Do you want me to sign a napkin for you? I don’t offer this to just anyone.”

“I’m good, you can leave my napkins alone. And I think it’s reasonable to see what happened to my former superfan.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, I was here for the superb drinks, not you.”

“Ouch? Be careful what you say, I’m the one making your order.”

As Michael laughed at your interaction, you suddenly remember that Ness was still there, having long been done with reading the menu. Whatever embarrassment you had was replaced by judgement with how Ness was perfectly content and joyful about being left out like a cuck. Athletes are weird, you conclude.

“What can I get for you?” you direct towards Ness, opening up a new order.

“Um, I’ll get a cold brew to-go.”

“Sounds good! Cash or card?”

Shortly after, all three drinks were made and you called both Michael and Ness to the pickup area where Ness grabbed a straw and found a table for the two to sit at. Michael, however, stayed behind, not even bothering to touch his two drinks before talking to you.

“What time does this place close?”

“Six in the afternoon every day except for some special holidays where we either close early or don’t open at all. I can never remember which is which so I bother the owner for every one.”

“Is it just you who takes the opening shifts?”

“Yeah, I work the first hour alone and then my coworkers come in. I get off at three so it’s not too bad ‘cause I get the afternoons and evenings to myself.”

“That’s nice,” Michael muses, slowly nodding to himself. He slides his coffee over to himself and looks at you with a sly smile. “So if I were to take you out for dinner, it wouldn’t be a problem?”

“If you’re gonna kill me? Yeah that’d kinda suck, but if you’re talking about a date…sure,” you laugh at your unfunny joke. Thankfully, Michael either also shares a bad sense of humor, or laughs at you and is mocking you. If it’s the latter, you’ll find a way to get back at him (and it doesn’t have to be ethical). “Um, do you want my number or…?”

“That’d be wonderful, thank you.”

You quickly grab a ballpoint pen and scribble your contact information on a napkin from next to the sugar and sweetener packets, handing it to Michael. His slender hand brushes yours, sending goosebumps down your arm from his cold skin. Outwardly, you don’t show your surprise at the unexpected sensation but the rush it brought made you embarrassingly giddy.

His sharp blue eyes crease along with a teasing smirk on his smooth lips. “And here I was thinking I’d be the one signing a napkin for you. How nice of you to prove me wrong, love.”

“Already starting with the pet names? That’s bold.”

“Should I stop?”

“Do whatever you want. It’s kinda funny how eager you are to be with me.”

“I can’t deny that.”

Michael carefully folds the napkin with your phone number, placing it in his wallet and meets Ness at the table he chose, bringing his beverages along with him. It didn’t take long for the pair to finish and leave, but not without Michael sending you a sly wink your way. The gesture was kind of goofy and if it were anyone else, would give you second hand embarrassment from its corniness. From how your heart skipped a beat, you silently cursed him out for bypassing your bitterness and working his way into managing to fluster you.

—

“Hey, a customer asked for my number this morning,” you tell your coworker, Yui, as she ties an apron around her waist. Her brown eyes lit up at the news as she whipped her head around to face you. One of the first traits you learned about her was her nosiness and although it could easily become aggravating, you had always found it entertaining, making her one of your favorite people to work with. Her schedule, unlike yours, alternated between working morning shifts and afternoon shifts, making you see her a couple days a week. Yui finishes her uniform by putting on a baseball cap with the cafe logo on it, something you learned that she would take off within an hour from how sweaty it’d make her.

“Who?! Did you give it to them?! Did they text you yet?! That’s so exciting unless they're creepy and weird and in that case, I hope they get pushed in front of a subway,” Yui fires at you, her eyebrows raised with intrigue. “Well?”

“It’s the soccer guy that I told you about. The one who used to come here every day and then dropped off the face of the Earth.”

“Oh! Michael Kaiser? Wait—he asked you out?! Holy shit. That’s insane! Did you say yes? Did he text you yet? You should text first—wait you can’t because he’s the one with your number.”

“I guess he technically asked me out? I mean, he just said ‘hey, what if I took you out for dinner’. If he doesn’t text me I’m going to kill him.”

“Fair, fair.”

You got a notification from an unknown number on your way home, asking you if you were the barista at your cafe. Relief flooded your body, overriding the tension you didn’t know you had. After shooting a text back, confirming your identity and asking if the message was from who you think it is, it takes five seconds too long for him to reply and in that time you consider buying a pair of scissors for a surprise circumcision.

MICHAEL: How do you feel about 6 P.M. tomorrow?

YOU: fine with me

YOU: where should we meet

MICHAEL: I can pick you up

MICHAEL: Consider it a surprise

YOU: can you even drive

YOU: are you going to kidnap me

MICHAEL: NO

MICHAEL: PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

YOU: omfg you want me so bad

YOU: [address]

YOU: https://www.wikihow.com/Neuter-a-Dog (this is a warning)

An alarm indicating you have ten minutes before Michael picks you up blares from your phone but you stay put, stupidly blinking into your vanity mirror as if it’s going to do anything to your appearance or do anything to turn your phone off. The gum you were chewing served as a stress reliever and something to make sure your breath wasn’t rancid but it quickly turned into garbage bin gunk as soon as you bit your tongue. Everything was starting to piss you off and you suppose you’d start with silencing your phone.

Even though you’ve worn this outfit before, you twirl around like a dog chasing its own tail, trying to find any uncut tags or a seam that magically broke in the few minutes it spent putting it on. Several stabs to your ego outweighed the taste of blood in your mouth as you realized you were losing your cool over a guy named Michael so in an attempt to calm yourself down, you disregard any advice of breathing exercises and imagine Michael picking his nose while loudly grunting as he takes a shit. To your utmost horror, you don’t get the ick.

Exactly one minute before the clock hits six, you get a text from Michael saying that he’s outside your apartment. You stumble to get your keys, making sure your bag and everything you need is with you. Despite not spending any time wondering what his car would look like, the obnoxious electric blue car had you blinking several times and pinching yourself to confirm if what you’re seeing is real. One part of you feared that the literal beacon would attract a violent mob of paparazzi or creepy fans and it’ll end up in all your private information being leaked with a box of shit on your doorstep but another self-absorbed part of you thought the gesture was flattering and that deep down, you were thoroughly enjoying the attention. Match made in hell or whatever.

“Nice car, you planning on totaling it anytime soon?” you ask, sliding into the passenger’s seat.

“Not yet, unless you’d like me to. I can put a blindfold on and press the gas as hard as I can if you ask,” he gleefully fantasizes. It’s a little cute how smug he is talking about ways he would cause a car accident for you. Maybe chivalry isn’t dead or maybe you’re both doing the world a favor by going off the market. “I’m a man of many talents, after all.”

“Wow. I’ve never been more attracted to a man in my life.”

You don’t know if Michael’s playing along to your deadpan comment or if he’s choosing to ignore it with the way he drives all the way to the restaurant with a smile on his face. The sight of him with such a proud expression on his face combined with the misplaced confidence is embarrassing but endearing. If you were to ask yourself why you decided to smile along with him, you’d tell yourself it’s because you’re making fun of him in your head, but in your heart, you know it’s for a different reason—one you’re too stubborn to admit.

To spend months observing Michael Kaiser only for him to disappear without a trace, leaving you longing for a reunion you thought only you would anticipate is more shameful than admitting to yourself you had fallen for him first. As Michael parks his car and extends a hand out for you and opens your door, extending a tattooed hand out for you, you suppose you’ll share your affections with him the same time you share it with yourself.

#blue lock #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #michael kaiser #kaiser #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser blue lock #bllk michael kaiser

378 notes · View notes

calumfmu · 7 months ago

Text

all in your head, but I want nonfiction.

You knew who you married to at this point, you really couldn't be mad at him for handling his affairs overseas. He was responsible for everything and more you could've wanted. Everything except his time.

You were the woman of the house, responsible for the affairs over here. And the tattooed man lingering in the yard was the perfect thing to start with.

or; Steddie x reader. (business man!Steve, worker!Eddie, stay at home wife!reader) cw: 18+, mdni, pure smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (female and male receiving), fingering, back shots (yes pls), creampie, nipple sucking, threesome, mutual masturbation, slight hair pulling kink, use of the nickname Stevie, brief mentions of alcoholism and drug abuse, (7.7k+ words of pure smut)

It was three months this time, he had been gone. Six total, if you didn't count the two weeks that he was home in between trips. You were really starting to miss your husband, craving his presence, beginning to feel the emptiness of the house you were in.

"Greece is good this time of year," Steve commented, face blurred on the FaceTime call. You hummed, swirling the glass of Cabernet in your hand.

"Yeah, I wouldn't know," you teased, smacking your tongue against your teeth. A quirk of his eyebrow thrown in your direction, the screen lagging slightly as his mouth moved before the words could come out. You often did this, poked fun at the situation, but as of late, the truth has started to leak through the cracks of your words.

"Babe, you know I have to-"

And in that second, the call ended in three abrupt beeps, 'Called Failed' appearing in his place. With a sigh, you threw your phone aside, used to this type of instance occurring. As much money as your husband made, you could barely get the time to speak to him during this time of the year, his service always being the worst or calls being rushed or interruptions always happening.

You knew who you married at this point, you really couldn't be mad at him for handling his affairs overseas. He was responsible for the roof of the mansion over your head, making you a stay at home wife, supplying you with everything you could ever want without even having to voice that. Everything except his time. In the mean time, you’ve buried your time with drinking, book clubs on top of book clubs, expensive dinners alone, and loads of ogling at the men in town you could look at, but not touch.

Seeing your husband, touching your husband only a total of three times in the past half year was an aching feeling, loneliness creeping in at the worst times of the day. Time passed so slowly, it was hard to imagine even seeing him again some days.

You started at the window, gripping the wine glass at your hand as you reached for the decanter perched on the window sill. The sound of the alcohol pouring into the glass filled the room, your wandering eyes searching through the yard for anything to entertain you.

Bingo.

A tall man, curly hair long and pulled back into a bun. Short sleeved, white shirt tight against his frame as he paraded through the grass, boots stopping every now and then as he glanced at the plants in the garden. Your brow furrowed as the confusion set in, wondering who this man was in your yard and yet so interested in learning who he is.

You tapped on the window loudly, knuckles rapping against the pane of the glass as you tried getting his attention.

“Hey!” You called, waving your arm in the air in between knocks.

The man in your yard heard something, his own face turning up as he looked around himself. His eyes searched the grass area before glancing up, settling on your figure displayed through the glass.

“What are you doing?” You shouted, aware that there wasn’t a chance he heard what you were saying. To confirm your suspicions, his hand rose to shield his eyes, the sun glaring down at him as he stared up at you.

He mouthed something, shrugging his shoulders as the two of you held eye contact.

“What are you-” You cut yourself off with a huff, turning on one heel to march downstairs, intent on swearing up a storm, telling him to get off of your property before your husband has something to say about it. And even if the likelihood of getting said husband even on the phone was low, this stranger truly didn’t have to know.

The silk robe you wore flowed in the air as you made yourself way down the stairs, one hand still gripping your wine glass, the other pinching it closed, lounge wear not exactly appropriate for the interaction you were about to have. The four minutes it took you to trek through the house and out the door had you praying he had disappeared, become a figment of your imagination by now.

Double doors swinging open, you stepped out onto the porch, your own hand raising above your eyebrows to block out the UV rays.

To your luck (or despair), he was still there, crouched down as he looked at the array of sprinkler systems.

“What are you doing?” You accused, stepping out further of the house as he shot up in your direction. Surprise was written all over his face, deep lines appearing on his forehead.

“Hi, ma’am, I’m—”

“You have about three seconds to get off of my property,” you tightened the robe around your chest, noticing the way his eyes dipped to explore the expanse of your chest shown.

“Ma’am, I’m—”

“My husband’s going to be home any moment,” A lie. And you both knew it by the way his eyes squinted a little. You doubled down. The wine was starting to take effect. “And he’ll have you arrested. We know the chief.”

An amused smirk passed on his face, smugness oozing from his features. He waited a beat, eyes twinkling with humor.

“Are you finished?”

Your mouth dropped open, shock written all your face. The mocking, you definitely weren’t used to it. You hated to lean into the spoiled stay at home wife trope, but you were used to people folding at you, kissing your ass based on the family that you happened to marry into.

“Excuse m—”

“I’m friends with Steve,” he spit out, smiling even wider at the wide eyes you gave him. “Eddie. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

His hand shot out to shake yours, dropping slowly as you just stared down at it. You could drop the act now, realizing that this man had to have been telling the truth. You hadn’t heard anyone call your husband by his first name in years, ‘Harrington’ being the only calling card.

You took a sip of the dark alcohol in your grasp, glancing away from him as you rested a hand on your hip. His eyes chose to linger over your body, cleavage exposed through your lounge wear. Huffing, you pulled the cover up closed once more, warmth tinging your cheeks.

“And your business here is? If you knew Steve, you would know he doesn’t just invite friends over.”

“Oh, uhm,” Eddie took a step closer to you, standing side to side as he began to point over the yard. You suddenly noticed the clipboard and phone in his other hand. “I’m the new groundsman, taking over the landscaping, plans for the new yard, the whole lot.”

Ah. That did sound somewhat familiar, mentioned somewhere between the bottles of Dom Perignon you and your best friend shared the other week over a FaceTime call with Steve.

He turned towards you again, his eyes wandering for the thousandth time. You couldn’t tell if the heat was making your robe slip a little looser or if the wine was truly getting to you.

“You must be the wife,” Eddie smiled, toothy grin settling over his face as he held eye contact. In the length of this interaction, the sun has began to dip lower in the sky. You got a good look at him, not seeing any obvious similarities on how he would be friends with your husband, in any universe. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Define a lot,” another sip of your wine down the hatch. The double pour was nearly gone by now.

“Woman of the house.” He took a step closer to you, pushing the clipboard down in front of him. “Takes care of things for Stevie over here.” The tone of his voice shifted. “Could get terribly lonely sometimes.”

The concept of looking and not touching was getting a little harder for you. Gasping, you turned towards the house, downing the last of your beverage.

“I’m going to get more.”

You took a few steps towards the house before briefly turning your body to him. He was watching your movements, head tilted to the side slightly as he stared down at the sway of your hips.

“Are you coming or not?”

He was quick on his feet, tracking you on your heels as the two of you made your way up the grand entrance. The coolness of the house, covered in marble and white instantly taming the heat taking over your body. Eddie let out a low whistle, his neck craning up to stare at the high ceilings, chandelier hanging above the entry way. Everything about the place was pristine and huge, money screaming even the gloss of paint covering from the walls.

The sound of his boots were loud following your bare feet, making his way into the kitchen behind you.

“Nice one, Steve,” Eddie laughed to himself, shaking his head. You went over to the wine rack on one end of the kitchen, ripping off a bottle without even glancing at the label. Another crystal glass followed, you placing it in front of the man before you.

His finger was running along the marble countertops, his eyes wide as he studied the detail. Just as you went to pour a glass for him, his hand shot out.

“Oh no, hun. I can’t do wine,” he rushed, a smile on his face. You ignored the nickname, hand paused as the bottle was tilted in the air. Staring up at him, your face was emotionless.

“Sober?”

He opened his mouth to speak, cutting himself off with a laugh. “Not exactly. Just makes me… a little reckless,” he finished, placing the clipboard down on the counter.

A smirk of your own crossed your lips before you poured the glass anyways, sliding it over to him once a hefty serving was in front of you. He shook his head as he reached for it despite his own words, swallowing down a gulp.

The two of you stood in silence, devious looks in your eyes. You let your eyes wander over him, taking in the white shirt he wore, how it hugged him just right. It felt wrong, thinking of your husband’s friend like this. It had been so long since any type of male interaction, you couldn’t help but feel tempted.

“Babe?”

You jumped where you stood, your topped off glass fumbling in your fingertips. Your best friend appearing around the corner, her loafers sounding out through the corridors.

“Robin, Jesus Christ—”

She stopped just as she rounded the corner, eyes darting in between the two of you. The look she gave you made you speechless, her all knowing eyes saying everything she needed to.

“And you are…?”

Eddie put down his glass, a glance thrown in your direction once more before he took a few steps towards Robin. She squared up her shoulders, amusement on her face.

“Leaving,” he smiled, passing her. You and the other girl in the room watched him making his way over to the main corridor. He turned to you one last time before disappearing. “Mrs. Harrington, it was a pleasure, hun.”

He disappeared, a wink thrown in your direction. Your breath caught in your throat at his last move, shaky hands bringing the glass of alcohol to your lips.

“Hun??” Robin questioned once the front door slammed behind him. She came to your side, eyebrows raised behind her wispy bangs. “Hun!”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed the fingers away from you as she pulled on the hem of your robe.

“Rob—please.”

“Uh uh, babe. We’re going to talk about this,” she laughed, taking the glass from your fingertips. She took her own swig, grimacing at the bitter taste.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

A dead pan look covered her. “All I’m saying is Harrington better watch out. He’s got some competition.”

You laughed bitterly at her words, taking a seat at one of the bar chairs. It was cool against your exposed legs, the heat from the moment finally drifting from them.

“Well, Harrington,” you mocked the last name she used, the both of you realizing if anyone had the right to call him Steve, it was her. “Was the one who hired him, new house job or whatever.”

“Consider that a gift,” she shrugged, laughing loudly as you shoved her shoulder. Heat pooled at your cheeks (and between your legs).

“Robin!”

“I’m just saying! He probably put an ad in the paper or something: Lonely Housewife Looking to Fuck.”

You dropped your head in your hands, laughter bubbling out at her words. She couldn’t get more ridiculous than this. A gasp left your mouth, your eyes peaking between the spaces of your fingers as you looked at her.

She was looking at the clipboard he had forgotten, a scrap of paper on top of the various items.

“I’d dust off the cobwebs, babe,” she giggled, sliding over the board to you. You peaked down at what was written, your heart racing at the scribble next to his number.

‘For the lonely wife. We could talk business. xx Eddie.’

It had gotten interesting the last few weeks, the second story window becoming your favorite spot to watch Eddie work in the yard. The sweltering heat was your best friend behind the AC of your home, choosing to enjoy the way Eddie looked in the Indiana heat. Tight tank tops, tattoos exposed, hair pulled to the back of his head with loose curls framing his face.

He barked off orders to his crew, always cracking jokes with them, teeth bared in a grin. He was clearly a joy to be around, spreading humor to even you from yards away.

It was a cat and mouse game you could call it, Eddie clearly showing off his muscles and sex appeal while you played the other side, risking just how little of clothing you could get away with inside the comfort of your own home. You passed in front of windows, dropping the shoulders of your silk robes as you pretended to get distracted, bending over to grab ‘forgotten’ items on the floor.

You knew he knew what you were doing. He was aware of it the entire time, his own smiles thrown in your direction as you began to push your limits of what could be acceptable for looking, and not touching.

The shrill ringing of the FaceTime call brought you out of your observations, Steve’s contact appearing on screen. You slid open the call, smiling brightly when his face appeared, styled hair, button down open, exposing that silver chain and his chest full of hair.

“There’s my handsome boy,” you beamed, blowing a kiss to the screen. Steve smiled brightly, pressing his lips to the camera.

“And my beautiful wife,” he cooed, holding up the camera wide to give you a view of him. He was on a coast somewhere, Mediterranean. The view was beautiful, waves crashing as the sun was nearly gone from the sky.

“What are you up to, my love?”

You glanced out the window at Eddie, noticing his crew was gone. He stood alone in the center of the yard, taking a look at the landscaping design prints.

“Just… relaxing,” you let the camera show you resting against the window seat in your room, lingerie on display. The camera only showed a flash of your cleavage before you brought the camera back up, a shy, yet devious look on your face.

“What do y—oh.”

It was quick, the way Steve moved. Your phone screen showed a blur of Steve’s clothing, the sound of his footsteps, and the sliding of a glass door before he was shown again on the screen, his hair fanning out on a pillow on a bed.

“Tell me more.”

From the angle, you could tell that Steve had began to touch himself at the thought of you. You showed more of yourself, manicured hand beginning to run down your chest, trailing down your stomach to rest on the front of your panties.

It had been months since you last did this over the phone, the timing always so wrong or one of you not in the mood or always something.

“Thinking of you, Steve.”

It couldn’t be a lie if you were omitting part of the truth. He didn’t need to know you were thinking about Eddie as well.

“Fuck.”

The phone dropped against his chest, showing black before he picked it up again, a flushed look on his face. You giggled slightly, spreading your legs against the window bench as you showed more of yourself. Your hand slipped down the front of your underwear, teasing slightly as you ran the pads of your fingertips against your clit.

“Wish I was there with you, baby,” Steve sighed, eyes closed as slick noise began to be heard through the phone. You brushed your clit harder, whimpering as you thought of your husband touching himself to the thought of you.

Glancing out the window, Eddie was still distracted, back turned towards you. Your eyes squeezed shut as you dipped a finger lower, entering yourself.

“I miss you so much, Steve,” a whine left your throat. He let out a shuddered moan.

“You miss me, baby?”

Nodding, you pushed in another finger, the sound of your own slick filling your eyes. Pleasure began to course through you, an ache settling at your core.

“What do you miss the most?”

His tooth was dug into his bottom lip, a fucked out look on his face from his own hand. You could only imagine how he was feeling, achingly hard across the world from his wife who just looked so tempting.

“I miss your—fuck Steve—I miss your cock,” a whimper fell from you, your chest heaving as your fingers crooked against that spot deep inside you. You weren’t going to last long, this feeling had been building inside you for weeks.

“Oh my G—”

Steve’s side of the phone fell once again, a loud groan heard before the call dropped, the dial tone loud in the room. Tears pricked in your eyes as you tossed your phone to the side, leaning your head against the window as you looked down in the yard once more, fingers moving swiftly in and out of your wetness.

You had an audience now.

Eddie was staring up at you, look of shock on his face as he held the plans in his hand. A look from him alone was all you needed before coming, pussy throbbing around your digits, legs squeezing shut.

It was the most intense orgasm you had in a while, your body tensing up with release as pleasure washed over you. It took a moment before you came to, fingers leaving your core as you brushed once, twice more over your clit, riding out the feeling.

You didn’t have the nerve to look outside again, shame washing over you as you realized what had just happened.

Phone ringing once again, your shaky hand reached over the grab it, answering it to see Steve, face flushed and lip bitten red on the other end.

“I’m sorry, baby—This fucking service over here, I’m sorry,” he rushed, eyes apologetic. That puppy dog look you fell for was staring at you, grainy as his phone struggled to keep up. “Did you—”

You barely nodded, eyes hooded while you came down from your high.

“Babe, it’s okay.”

“No, I just—I’m sorry.”

“Steve,” he cut off his rambling as you gave him a stern look. You really did run things around the Harrington home. “I’m okay, really.”

“I love you.”

You smiled, blowing him another kiss. “I love you t-”

A male’s voice called from his end of the phone, immediately distracting both you and your husband. Sighing, you knew what was coming.

His face was sincere as he turned back to you, lips fixed in a pout.

“I gotta—”

You waved him off, sitting up slightly as you closed the silk around your frame. “Yeah, yeah, go handle business, Harrington.”

That’s why he loved you. No matter how much this truly did affect you, and how much you wished you could have more than a 10 minute call, you always were so supportive. He did support the lifestyle that you always dreamed of, even if it did come with certain circumstances that weren’t ideal.

“I love you, baby.” He moved to hang up the phone, pausing before ending the call. “Tell Ed I said hey, by the way.”

You swore your heart stopped beating in that moment as he left.

You had resorted to staying inside, avoiding Eddie and his crew that occupied your lawns during the day hours. The deep insides of your home without windows facing them became your isolation points. It was everything and more for you to avoid him, guilt creeping into the pit of your stomach.

You'd even gone as far as avoiding Robin and her prying eyes. She had known something was going on with you, felt it deep in her soul. That woman knew you like the back of her hand, could recognize every shift of emotion you'd experience, knew something had gone down between the two of you even if touching wasn't necessarily involved.

("Is there something wrong, babe? You've barely touched your Pomerol." The eye roll you gave her could win awards.)

It was like something shifted in the air, grey clouds pulling in and thunder rumbling so hard, you could feel it in your chest. The next time you happened to pass in front of the foyer window you had seen that Eddie and his crew were quickly gone, not expecting the change in weather events.

Relaxation began to sag its relief at your shoulders, no longer feeling like a prisoner in your own home. It was a long time coming, you hadn't felt this much relief in your system since that after that Hargrove heir you briefly dated back in '06.

A knock pulled you out of your thoughts, Robin's image immediately popping up into your mind. It was probably time for her to finally confront you, bring Steve into it somehow and blame the Benzos for acting the way you had been lately. (It had nothing to do with it.)

You threw open the door, the weight of it slightly swinging your body. Your eyes didn't meet the person at first, an infamous eye roll already on the verge, "Rob, I don’t want to t—Oh."

It was Eddie in all his glory, T-shirt glued to his body from the rain that began to pour, curls beginning to hang loosely from the bun he wore, cheeks red and flushed. He breathed heavy upon seeing you, a smile ghosting his lips.

"Hi, hun," his voice was low, a slight hint of something in it.

You didn't know what to say, glancing behind you as if there was anyone to catch you for even thinking terrible thoughts. His eyes followed yours.

"Well, can I come in?"

"Oh." You swung the door a little wider, cringing at the way his work boots tracked in water from outside.

He shook out his hair like a dog, the droplets dampening you from afar. You didn't have the nerve to say anything to him, gobsmacked from the fact he was in front of you like a Greek God, beautiful as ever, but tempting in the worst way possible.

"I got stuck outside... truck wouldn't start," he explained, looking around the house as if it were the first time that he was in here. The realization of the scene in front of you finally caught up, you rushing to action to try and be the welcoming host that you always were.

"I think... here, come, Steve should have something you could change into," you said, beginning to lead him upstairs. You stopped at the base of the spiral staircase, pointing at his boots. "You better not."

He beamed at your words, quirking his eyebrow at you as if you said the funniest thing ever. Toeing them off quietly, he then followed your lead to your upstairs bedroom. He stared at you all while doing it, the tension in the room growing even at the thought of him undressing even slightly.

The track there felt like you were walking the green mile, Eddie close behind you as you lead him to the walk-in closet. He was silent, the only sounds of his breathing giving him away.

Back to him, you opened the panel hiding Steve's lounging clothes, rows of white and creme and pastel materials appearing. You felt his presence behind you, something like a predator creeping on its prey.

"I think he's—what are you, a size f—" Your breath hitched on your throat as you felt his fingers touch your forearms, guiding your hands down from the clothing.

His lips brushed the cartilage of your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Tilting your head to the side, your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of him finally touching you.

His hand trailed up your arm, snaking around your exposed neck, a light kiss being pressed to the skin in front of your ear. You leaned your head back against him, a cut off groan leaving you as you relished in this moment.

"I've been waiting on this, hun," He whispered, reaching one hand down to your waist to pull you flush against him.

You gasped at the feeling of him against your backside, his body just as firm as you expected. The other hand cupped against the bottom of your chin, tilting your head back even further so his lips could press into the junction of your neck.

"You've looked so good," he continued. "So tempting."

Your hands reached up to grab at his arm, your ass pushing even further into him. He walked backwards with you in his grasp, falling against the large ottoman in the center of the closet. It was big enough to seat the two of you, his large frame sprawled in the center of it while you sat petite in his lap, legs on either side of his, back pressed into his chest.

"I can't believe Stevie leaves you here. All alone. So vulnerable."

A whimper left your mouth as he leaned back slightly, pulling you with him. The hand that was once around your waist snaked down to your front, dipping down into the front of your silk sleep shorts.

"Eddie." You whimpered, his name coming out in a choke as he ghosted over your clit.

He was teasing in his movements, bringing you right to the precipice of pleasure. The second he got close to pressing down firm and just right, he would remove his touch, only to ghost down lower to tease your dampening hole.

"What do you need?"

You groaned, spreading your legs further as he continued in his movements. Knowing exactly what he wanted, you wanted to refuse to give in, refuse to have yourself beg for him. But it had been months after all, the only human touch you'd experience was from yourself.

"I need you."

It was a quiet whine into the room, almost inaudible behind the heavy breathing. That one word was all that he needed, his hand fully pressing into your cunt, swirling your clit in a way that had your head spinning.

The choked sob that left your mouth earned a groan of his own, loud and just as wanting as your own. Your head was leaned back against him, your neck exposed, mouth wide open and turned towards the ceiling.

Eddie's mouth was sucking and licking along your neck, his heavy breathing tickling at your spine as he dipped a finger to press into you, thumb circling your clit. The digit stretched you wide, wetness pooling down onto his hand.

"You get this wet just for me?"

Your hips were grinding against his hand, wanting more from him as he finger fucked you.

"Eddie please."

"I know, hun, I know." He removed his hand from you, standing you up and off his lap. You whimpered at the loss of contact, squeezing your legs together as he was sprawled in front of you.

He reached his hands towards you, stopping at the hem of your tank top to pull it up and over you, exposing your naked breasts to him. A glimmer of arousal appeared in his eyes, his teeth dug into his bottom lip as he stared at your chest, hand reaching up to cup at the globes. Leaning up, he took one nipple into his mouth from his seated position, licking and sucking at the hardened nub.

It was like you found yourself in heaven, sudden pleasure finding you all at once. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pulled him into your chest even further, whining at the contact of his mouth on your skin.

He traded onto the other nipple, squeezing the abandoned one between his fingers. He moaned in between the loud sucking, making a show of how much he loved the taste of you.

Pulling away, his fingers found the hem of your shorts. The material pooled down at your feet, your stark nakedness becoming apparent in the giant room against his clothed body.

He drank you in, his eyes roaming your body as you stood in front of him.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he groaned, shaking his head in disbelief.

He reached down to his pants, unbuttoning the jeans and sliding down the zipper ever so slowly. It was torture, watching him undress himself, the slide of his jeans down his legs, dropping down to his ankles with his boxers to follow.

He pulled his shirt over his head, spreading his legs wide as he leaned back on the ottoman. His cock was fully free, springing to full attention as he took a hold of it. Dropping your eyes down to ogle at the sheer beauty of it, head dripping wet with precum, long and thick with a vein running down the middle.

Eddie smirked at your fascination, ushering you closer to him with the curve of his finger.

You took a seat on his lap, legs caging him in as you settled over his cock, head pressing at your entrance. As he pressed in slightly, your eyes bulged slightly, realizing that in no way you were not prepared for his size.

His lips pursed into a shushing motion, "Shh, hun, it's okay."

He guided your hips down onto him, pressing deep into you. The feeling of his cock split you wide open, a strained moan pouring out of you. Your fingers wrapped around his neck, gripping at him to ease the stretch you were feeling.

Giving you only a second of breathing time, he gripped at your waist, urging you up and down on his shaft, thrusting into you shallowly.

He hit you deep, hitting every spot you forgot was inside of you, pleasure creeping through your body.

"F-fuck Eddie," your moans were load in the room, the sound of his balls hitting against your ass growing louder as he became more brutal in his movement.

Pulling you against him, he slotted his lips with yours, harshly nipping at the skin, sinking his teeth into your lips, sucking your tongue into his mouth. You were lost in the pleasure, soaking wet around him as he fucked into you.

His fingers were splayed across your hips, dipping onto the curve of your ass as you bounced on his cock. Your orgasm was approaching quick, a lot quicker than you had imagined.

"You wanna cum for me, babe?" He mouthed against you, lips not leaving yours as your vision began to fog.

The curve of his cock hit your spongey wall repeatedly, urging completion suddenly. Your body began to tense up, legs shaking as you approached your high, cock-drunk on this feeling.

"Eds, I'm go—"

Your orgasm washed over you, tensing your spine as he fucked you through it, clit throbbing as it brushed that thatch of hair as the base of his cock. He was quick to follow, pulling out just in time to come over you, painting white over the bottom of your stomach.

It was messy, dripping over the two of you as the come down approached you. You took a moment, breathing deeply as your eyes briefly shut, head falling against his shoulder while you relaxed into him.

He was breathless, wrapping his arms around you to settle into your lap.

"I've been waiting on this a while," he admitted, sighing deep into your neck. You nodded at his words, agreeing, yet speechless for the mind-blowing orgasm you had just experienced.

He leaned back, pressing a small kiss to your mouth before looking into your eyes, head leaning against your own.

"Round two? I could use a shower."

He laughed at your words, shock evident in his eyes at your boldness, but jumping at the opportunity, throwing your body over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

As the dreary weather settled outside, you couldn't be more thankful for the turn of events. There was a long night ahead of you.

The morning light crept through the drawn curtains, your naked body sprawled out against the white sheets. Drawing slowly into consciousness, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, reaching beside you.

The bed was cold, Eddie's figure obviously missing from your side for who knows how long.

Memories of last night came flooding back to you, the positions that he had you in bringing out the soreness in your body. There were visions of you propped up against the shower wall, your legs thrown over his shoulders, pressed to your chest, orgasm after orgasm pulled from you, until you couldn't give any more.

Draping the bed sheet around your naked body, you sat up in bed, perking up at the smell of fresh coffee brewing. There was a skip in his step as you heard him coming down the hall, energy coming back to you as you imagined what was to come, breakfast in bed, getting bent in between courses.

Your smile dropped from your face as you saw him, large cup in hand as he made his way into the room. Steve.

His perfectly styled brown hair, that charming smile as he stared at you, raising his eyebrows as he saw you relaxed in bed. Your nakedness seemed like a lot, even in the privacy of your own shared bedroom.

"There's my girl," he smiled, placing the mug down on the bedside table before leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead. Your hand subconsciously came up to cover the side of your neck, dark purple bruises had to have been there from the events of last night.

"S-Steve, what are you doing here?"

He fake pouted, a scoff leaving his mouth. "Three months, and that's all you got?"

The sudden realization that your husband was right here hit you, a smile crossing your features as you wrapped your arms around him. He collapsed on top of you, laughing loudly as you attacked him with kisses, your lips covering every inch of skin that you could find.

"Relax, relax," he cackled, pressing his own kisses to you in between attacks.

Pulling away, he took a good look at you, the most loving smile covering his face. Guilt found you, pooling deep in your chest and the pit of your stomach. Your loving husband, being away to support you, only to come home and find his wife in this position, a classic case of infidelity.

"Steve," your voice fell short as you stared into his auburn eyes. His brow furrowed, his thumb coming up to swipe at your eyebrow, smoothing the crinkled skin.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"I just—" Cue the dramatics. Tears began to well in your eyes as you processed the situation, he didn't deserve this. There was nothing he could do to calm you down, the hitching of your breath in your throat, the choked sob leaving your mouth as you struggled over the words to say.

"Did you miss me that much?"

You choked even harder at his words, pulling you into his arms as your vision became blurry. It was getting even worse for you.

"Baby..." There was a warning tone in his words, his patience growing thin as you wouldn't let up. You brought yourself together, hiccuping slightly as you stared up into his eyes. Your mouth opened and closed, the words to say leaving you.

You didn't need to say anything as his eyes finally decided to trail lower than your face, noticing the dark bruises forming along the side of your neck. His eyebrows raised slightly as the rest of his face remained emotionless, his thumb tracing over the skin.

"I don't know what to say," you said, hanging your head away from him. You couldn't look him in the eyes as he studied the hickies left behind from Eddie.

"I see you got my present," he whispered, running the pad of his finger over your neck.

Your head shot up to look at him, eyes wide and confused.

"You-what are you...? Steve—what?" You didn't know what to say to him, confused on what was even happening right now. He was so stoic, you couldn't read him. His eyes found yours, humor in his eyes.

"Eddie. My present."

There was a moment of silence as you processed his words, memories of the past few weeks knowing the mentioned man passing through your mind. Realization hit you, knowing that this man in front of you was so calculated, everything had to have been him.

"Why didn't you say anything!" You wanted to kill him, but wanted to kiss him at the same time.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he shrugged, smirking at you as relief crossed over your face. You wiped the hot tears that had streaked your cheeks, embarrassed of the thought you could even betray him.

"How did you even—are you sure this wasn't a test I just failed?"

He laughed at your words, shaking his head as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "I promise, baby."

You sighed in relief as he kissed you, fingers underneath your chin to pull you closer into him. Kissing this man felt like a dream that would've never came true, a surprise of your life time brought to its fullest extent.

His mouth was as soft as you remembered, taste as sweet as the last time. All those months of anticipation were worth the wait, feeling like it was truly nothing.

He leaned over your body, pressing you down into the mattress as the sheet began to fall away from your body. With your fingers pulling open the button down he wore, his chest became exposed, firm muscle rippling underneath your touch.

"You beat me to it, Stevie."

A gasp left you as you pulled away from your husband, head craning towards the door. Eddie stood in the frame, white bath towel draped loosely over his hips, hair dripping wet from a shower. He took in the sight of the two of you tangled on the bed, Steve's shirt hanging half off of him, the sheet gone from your body.

Glancing up at the man above you, you saw the smirk he was giving Eddie, canines exposed. It was like you were looking at someone completely different from the man you've known for years, an evil, sexually driven person in front of you.

"You going to stand there, Munson or...?"

With a smirk of his own, he was headed over to you two, towel dropping from his body. His cock was already hard and heavy between his legs, dripping with anticipation as he threw himself on the bed. Immediately, his hands found your body, headed straight towards your hard nipples with his mouth quick to follow.

A strangled moan escaped you as the shock settled over, Steve leaning up on his knees to get rid of his pants.

The belt was thrown across the room, his eyes not leaving the two of you once as he undressed.

"Wait—" You breathed, pushing Eddie off of you. The two men stared down at you, scared of your next move, that you would end whatever this was right now. You looked towards Steve, eyebrows raised. "Are you okay with this?"

Steve's eyebrows raised as he glanced in between the two of you, his hand pulling his dick out of his boxers, pushed down to his thigh. Your eyes dropped down to take view, mouth watering at the sight.

"Let's just say... we have a history of sharing."

He winked at Eddie before diving between your legs, nose immediately pressed to your cunt. You didn't have time to even think about what he said, figuring that it was a topic to explore at a much later time.

His tongue quickly found your clit, circling the nub before licking up the length of your slit. Your thighs squeezed the side of his head, a whine filling the room as Eddie sat up to stare at the show. His own hand tangled in Steve's mane, pulling him closer to you as he sopped you up. The groan he let out vibrated against your core, urging another wave of wetness out of you.

"F-fuck Ste-"

You couldn't even get the words out as his finger pressed at your hole, pushing in a single digit. It curled against your wall, pressing into your pleasure point. Your head was thrown back into the pillows against the headboard, white hot pleasure tingling at your spine.

Eddie leaned down to lick at your nipple, eyes intently watching Steve suck at your cunt, chin growing more wet from your juices.

"Baby-please-"

He nodded, glancing up to make eye contact with the two of you. Not moving, he inserted another finger into you, moving at a faster pace. You whimpered even louder, spreading your legs wider to get him deeper inside of you.

"You want to share?" Eddie laughed, sitting up to stroke at his hard cock. A pearl of white beaded at the tip, squeezed out by the cuff of his hand.

Steve smirked around your clit, pulling away at the retort as he pulled you up to meet him. Turning you around, you were maneuvered to your hands and knees, ass pressed into the air. He ran the head of his cock against your hole, dragging it up over your ass and back down to your cunt, pressing at the sensitive hole.

Hissing at the feeling, you were still sore from the multiple rounds you went with Eddie the previous night.

"You had her all night, 's my turn, Munson," Steve breathed, pressing to the hilt in a smooth motion. The two of you groaned as he fully pressed into you. He paused in his movements, hand pressed to the small of your back as you both adjusted.

Eddie shrugged, moving in front of you with his legs splayed wide open, hand stroking his shaft.

You knew what to do, leaning down onto your elbows to take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking at it. His hand gripped the back of your head, pushing you down farther than you expected. The gag that left your mouth filled the room, catching Steve off guard as his hips stuttered inside of you.

"Watch it," he hissed, pausing only slightly before pulling out and pressing back in all the way. His cock had a curve in it, damn near pressing into your cervix as he fucked you.

Eddie was smirking, hand still on your head as you began to bob your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks.

You were so filled on both ends, you were seeing stars. Both men in your presence were making you feel like you had lost it, the heavy alcohol consumption over the past few months maybe had really gotten to you.

Your hand trailed off of Eddie's dick, dropping down to cup at his balls, rolling them between your fingers. Eddie's head fell against the headboard, his hips stuttering as you took him into your mouth.

With every thrust of Steve's hips, you were rocked into the tattooed man in front of you, choking down further and further. It was all becoming a little too much, both holes being filled beyond your limits.

"Just like that, baby, fuck," Steve moaned, hand inching up your spine to rest at the top of your spine. He leaned over, forcing your legs a little wider so his cock pressed even further into you. His hand found the base of your neck, pushing your head even further onto Eddie.

The motion had Eddie groaning, hips suddenly spilling as he came, warm liquid spurting down your throat. It had you choking, pulling off of him in time for it to spill out of your mouth, dripping back down onto him. The entire moment was so dirty, so filthy, it caused a chain reaction, Steve pressing into you once, twice more before cumming deep.

You pulsed around him, squeezing tight as your own orgasm took over you. For a split moment, you think you passed out, vision blurring, going black briefly before you came to, laying down on your stomach, legs shaking.

Your hand came to wipe at your eyes, tears pooling at the corners from the high you just experienced. There was no way you were coming down from this, the purest form of pleasure you think you'd ever experienced.

Eddie was leaning against the headboard, cock swelling down after his spend, his hand running over your skin as you leaned against his thigh. Steve was half way on you, his own breath catching from the high.

"You okay there, hun?"

Eddie's voice was raspy, his eyes wandering over you and your husband. Nodding, you threw him a shaky thumbs up, not finding the words to even utter a syllable.

Steve laughed, running his hand over your spine. It found the base of your spine, squeezing the globe of your ass.

"I think she will be after a few more rounds."

nothing more. all I have to say on this. hope you guys enjoyed this lengthy piece of pure smut. lol xx

masterlist. <3

1K notes · View notes

celestialowlbear · 1 year ago

Text

Give You Everything

Pairing: Halsin x Fem!Reader (Tav)

Summary: Halsin gives you some morning loving. No plot. Just fluffy smut. 💕

Warnings: NSFW, 18+. Oral (fem receiving), mentions of m receiving.

WC: ~1300

A/N: My hand slipped. Oops. 😏 I have no reason for this besides Halsin consuming my thoughts by being the big sexy romantic he is. This takes place years after the end of BG3, however you may imagine it. Maybe Tav and Halsin live in a cottage in the woods? Anyway, I hope you all enjoy. Let me know what you think!

You wake to Halsin’s lips on yours, tasting vaguely of honey and figs he must have snacked on before gently rousing you.

You stirred, eyes opening as you stretched under the animal furs you were tucked into.

“No need to rise, my love.” Halsin kissed your exposed shoulder. “I’m coming back to join you.”

Halsin often woke with the sun, greeting the day with a stroll in his bear form. You usually joined him, but he must have let you sleep this morning.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” You mumbled, turning toward him, realizing the sun had already risen based on the bright light speckling through the paned window.

“You looked so peaceful, I did not want to disturb your dreams.”

Halsin huddled his face into your neck, inhaling your scent, gently tracing his large hand up your arm.

“Not to mention, I wanted to keep you in bed.”

Halsin’s hand lazily trailed up your torso, reverently cupping your breast and giving it a light squeeze.

“Is that right, my bear?” You chuckled, a faint sigh departing your lips immediately after as Halsin brushed his thumb over your hardening nipple.

“Why, oh why, would you want to keep me in bed on such a lovely morning?” You hovered your lips close to his in a teasing manner, catching his eye that was tinted with a familiar hunger.

“It is best I show you, my heart.” Halsin rumbled as he maneuvered himself on top of you momentarily, pulling the furs off your body.

You were naked, as that is how you slept together. He was naked as well, shedding his clothing from his morning walkabout to join you once again in bed.

Halsin ran his hands down your thighs, taking worshipful handfuls of your supple skin.

He paused, gazing over you.

“Always so perfect. Nothing, nothing in all of nature could ever compare to you.”

Halsin brought his lips down to your inner thigh, maintaining eye contact as he kissed your flushed skin.

“As the sun rose, I was reminded of you.” He slowly made his way up toward your core, dampening with anticipation.

“A bright light to guide me to new beginnings. Through any hardship or affliction, I know you will always be my rising sun.”

You still blushed at his words, even after years together.

Halsin never held back on his feelings for you, constantly reminding you how deeply he loved you, and how thankful he was to have you by his side.

You reminded him as well, holding dear the bashful look that always crossed his face when doing so. He was a gentle soul at heart. All the more reason to remind him of your love, and let him care for you.

“Was that all you were thinking of this morning?” You whispered, a coy smile turning up your lips, watching him make his way to your center.

Halsin chuckled deeply against your skin, his breath now ghosting over your center, the smell of your arousal stirring the beast within him.

“Perhaps not…I was also reminiscing of the night before last…the sounds that left your lips that evening have not left my mind.”

Halsin brought a finger between your folds, gently circling and exploring.

“I would greatly enjoy hearing those sounds again. If you permit me…” Halsin kissed your clit, his tongue softly probing, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he felt your body squirm and legs tremble by his head.

“Yes, Halsin, always for you…”

You threaded your fingers in his hair as he went to work, slowly licking and sucking at your now thoroughly soaked pussy.

Halsin was in no rush, enjoying every gasp and soft mewl and twitch of your legs as he feasted.

He carefully moved your legs over his massive shoulders to gain better access, holding you in place.

At this point, Halsin knew your body even better than you did.

He knew exactly what made you squirm, what made you beg for more, what made you get intensely lost in pleasure.

You knew the same of his body, knowing his most sensitive parts, what pushed him to the limit of his control.

Halsin had never truly been as vulnerable with anyone else in his long life as he is with you.

You knew every part of him, his deepest fears, the darkest corners of his mind. You helped him through his anguish all that time ago, helped him see clearly for the first time in his life.

You held and protected his heart as delicately as one would a newly hatched bird.

He owed everything to you.

“Halsin…” your grip on his hair tightened, tugging in just the way he liked. “More, please…”

Halsin hummed into you in response, knowing he was teasing you by going slowly. He treasured tasting you like this, the sweetest nectar in nature could never compare.

It was a taste he craved daily.

He didn’t want to be too selfish, though. He knew you were desperate for release.

How could he ever deny you such ecstasy?

Halsin picked up his pace, switching between circling your clit with his tongue and fucking you as deep as he could go with his warm muscle.

You cried out, the fire in your belly growing. You knew Halsin was aching between his legs, his body begging for his release.

Sometimes, getting you off like this was enough, coming to his end without touch.

You hoped you could taste him, though, to give back what he so selflessly offers to you.

The sounds were obscene as he lost himself between your legs, mixing with your trembling moans and cries. He was wildly lapping and licking and stroking with his tongue, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs.

“H-Halsin I’m-I’m so close, don’t stop!” You managed to coherently string together one sentence, the molten coil in your belly threatening to explode with each pass of his tongue.

You were gripping his hair with both hands now, bucking up at him to get the most pressure possible as your climax was rushing toward you.

Halsin was growling against your pussy, his chin dripping with your slick, his hips instinctually bucking for any type of friction against his cock.

Your body was shaking and Halsin knew you were about to explode.

You came with a cry of his name, chanting it like a prayer to the Gods as you fell over the precipice of bliss. Halsin didn’t let up, keeping up his ministrations, drinking up your essence.

Halsin didn’t want to waste one drop of your pleasure.

Your body spasmed, toes curling as your mind went blank.

Soon, the flicks of his tongue were becoming too much, coming down from your heaven.

You gently pushed him away and Halsin lifted his head, his eyes flashing gold momentarily as his eyes locked on your body, licking his lips, savoring your taste.

“Beautiful, my heart. Perfection.”

You were trying to catch your breath, your body gelatinous. You motioned for him to come back on top of you.

Halsin crawled up your body, hovering over you. You lifted your head, capturing his lips to yours in a fervent kiss of thanks. Your tongues danced, Halsin immediately submitting to your passion. Your hands grasped at his back, pulling him down into you.

Halsin let out a deep groan as you rubbed your sensitive pussy on his throbbing cock.

“Take me, my love. Take your pleasure, too.” You nibbled at his bottom lip, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Believe me when I say I get my greatest pleasure from watching you come undone on my tongue.” He replied, breaking the kiss momentarily.

“Let me do the same, then.” You smiled against his lips, bringing a hand down to grasp his rigid, thick length. “Come undone on my tongue.”

Halsin shuddered and let out a low moan at your touch, your hand gliding over his hot, velvety skin.

Halsin nipped at your chin, flipping you both so you were on top of him, your legs barely able to straddle his wide body.

“You know I cannot deny you anything, my heart.”

You smiled sweetly, sliding down his body, watching his eyes glow gold at the anticipation of your touch, ready to return him the favor.

-ˏˋ⋆ Thanks for reading, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! ⋆ˊˎ-

#Halsin x reader #halsin x tav #halsin bg3 #halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 #halsin smut #x reader #owlwrites #bg3 halsin #Bg3 fanfiction #halsin x fem!reader #Halsin x fem!tav

2K notes · View notes

girlrotterr · 5 months ago

Text

Oath.

knight!abby x fem!reader x assasin!ellie summary: In a kingdom on the brink of new leadership, tensions run high as a coronation draws near. a/n: my apologies if this is all over the place! (wrote this while sleep-deprived..)

The grand hall of the palace was draped in regal tapestries, each one heavy with stories of past rulers, their deep, rich colors glowing under the soft light of chandeliers that hung like constellations above. The crystal fixtures sparkled like stars, casting delicate rays that danced along the polished marble floors. The fragrance of fresh roses filled the room, mingling with the sharp scent of recently cleaned stone, yet you barely noticed the elegance, your thoughts too distant to care.

You stood before the large, arched window, the panes of glass cool against your fingertips. Outside, the sun sank slowly, painting the kingdom in golden light that blended into the soft hues of amber and rose. The sky, streaked with the dying colors of the day, was beautiful—achingly so—but it felt distant. Just like everything else.

Your face remained impassive, cold, as you gazed across the horizon. Today was the day of your coronation, the day you would become queen. Yet the weight of the moment, its significance, felt strangely hollow. The echoes of excitement from the kingdom beyond the palace walls barely reached you. The crowd outside, buzzing with anticipation, their voices and footfalls merging into a dull roar, seemed as distant as the horizon itself. You were aware of the world outside, but none of it felt real.

Two maids worked around you in practiced silence, their hands quick, delicate, and efficient. One was at your side, fastening gold earrings into place, each one set with gemstones that glinted under the light. Her movements were precise, careful, though you barely registered the cool metal brushing your skin. The other maid stood behind, her fingers weaving through your hair, creating an intricate design worthy of the crown that would soon rest upon your head. They were skillful, and yet, their presence barely existed in your mind, your thoughts far beyond this room, slipping through the palace corridors like a shadow.

The maid by your side fumbled slightly as she fastened the last earring, her fingers trembling as they touched your neck. You didn’t flinch. You barely blinked. But you could sense her nervousness, feel the tension rolling off her in waves. Perhaps it was the gravity of the day, the immense pressure of serving the soon-to-be queen.

Behind you, standing just inside the doorway, was Abby Anderson—your most trusted knight, your oldest friend. Her armor gleamed in the chandelier’s soft light, the metal polished to a mirror-like shine, each plate a testament to her dedication and discipline. But Abby wasn’t watching the door or the crowd beyond the palace gates. Her focus was solely on you. It always was.

She had been by your side since childhood, her loyalty as unwavering as the steel she carried. You both had shared so much—moments of joy, of sorrow, of quiet understanding. But today, her presence felt heavier, her gaze more intense. There was something in the air between you both, something unsaid, as if she could sense the quiet storm brewing within you, the unease you hadn’t spoken aloud.

Abby’s eyes traced your face, searching for something, though you gave nothing away. The years had made her keen; she could read you like no one else could, and yet, today, there was a barrier even she could not penetrate. You were a queen in waiting, but in that moment, you felt more like a pawn—moved by forces unseen, drawn into a game far beyond your control.

At last, the maids completed their work, their fingers delicately smoothing the final strands of your hair into perfect alignment. They moved with practiced grace, their hands lingering for just a moment before they stepped back, retreating as if fearful that any further motion might shatter the silence that had settled over the room. The soft rustle of their skirts was barely audible, and their presence faded into the background entirely.

Abby’s presence lingered behind you, ever watchful. You could feel her gaze, piercing through the room’s stillness. Her armored boots softly scuffed the marble floor as she shifted, the slight sound making your spine stiffen, though you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“You’re prepared for this.” Abby said at last, her voice cutting through the quiet with a firm conviction. It was not a question; there was no room for doubt in her words. It was a truth—her truth—a decision she had already made for you. It wasn’t just encouragement; it was certainty.

For a moment, you remained silent, letting her words hang in the air like a blade unsheathed. Your fingers idly traced the cool glass of the window, the faint lines fogging slightly under your touch. The smooth, cold texture grounded you in the present, a fleeting comfort against the storm inside your mind.

“Do you remember how angry the servants would get at us?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking through your own silence, but softer than you expected. The memory flashed in your mind, stark against the dread of the present.

Abby looked at you, her eyes flickering with a hint of warmth as she recognized the moment you were recalling.

“We’d sneak into the kitchens,” you continued, “stealing bread, fruits—whatever we could grab. And we’d feed it to the stray animals outside the castle walls.”

Abby smiled faintly, just for a moment, her features softening in the memory. “They’d scold us for it,” she replied, her voice softer now, a distant echo of your childhood, “trying to hide the food on higher shelves or locking it away in pantries. But somehow, we always managed to find something.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you turned slightly, your gaze still distant, but now filled with the shadow of nostalgia. “And now those same servants quiver in my presence.” The words left your mouth like a quiet, bitter confession, their truth sinking deeper than you’d intended. “They bow when they see me. They fear me, Abby.”

The weight of your own words settled between you both, the warmth of the past quickly vanishing, replaced by the icy reality of the present.

Abby’s hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, her thumb brushing its pommel in a gesture that was as much instinct as it was protection. “They respect you,” she said quietly, her voice steady, though there was something deeper there, something unsaid. “They may tremble, but they will follow you, just as I do.”

Your eyes flicked back to her, meeting her gaze. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke.

Abby, your oldest friend, had always been there, her unwavering loyalty a constant in your life. Yet today, that loyalty felt like a shield you might need more than ever.

The chill in your chest only deepened. This wasn’t about respect or loyalty—it was about survival, about strength in a world where softness was weakness. You knew the truth Abby didn’t speak. Your reign would demand coldness. It would demand sacrifice.

The crown, though it had yet to rest upon your head, already cast a heavy shadow over your soul. Its weight had not yet made contact with your brow, but you could already feel its burden pressing deeply into your very essence, seeping into your bones and shaping your thoughts.

───────

Ellie sat in the cool shadows beneath the canopy of trees, her back pressed against the rough bark, the familiar weight of her knife resting comfortably in her hand. With slow, deliberate movements, she ran the blade along the surface of an apple, peeling it in thin, spiraling ribbons. The soft scrape of metal against fruit was steady, almost meditative, and each curl of skin fell to the forest floor in a neat pile. Jesse and Dina stood a few feet away, their voices a low murmur as they discussed the crowd. Ellie didn’t bother listening. Their words were just a distant hum, like the wind rustling through the leaves above.

In the clearing beyond, the crowd surged and swayed, a restless sea of bodies gathered at the palace gates. From their hidden vantage point, Ellie could see the mass of people stretching far beyond what any of them had anticipated. The coronation had drawn the entire kingdom, it seemed, and the air was thick with the buzz of excitement, the occasional roar of cheers rising up like waves crashing against rocks. The sunlight flickered through the trees, casting dappled patterns across the forest floor, but Ellie’s focus remained on the apple in her hands, her knife carving each slice with practiced precision.

“They’re packed in there tight,” Jesse muttered, his brow furrowed as he leaned against a low-hanging branch. His eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the sheer number of people. “Getting close to the princess won’t be easy. Not with this many eyes on her.”

Dina sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at the bustling mass. “This is insane. Look at them. How are we supposed to get anywhere near her with this many people watching? We’d be lucky if we even make it to the gates without being noticed.”

Ellie didn’t respond. The blade continued its slow dance along the apple’s flesh, peeling away another thin ribbon. She could feel Dina’s frustration simmering, could sense her impatience like a crackling fire, but she wasn’t interested in engaging.

Dina’s patience snapped, her gaze shifting to Ellie with evident irritation. “And you,” she snapped, “you don’t even seem to care. You’ve been quiet the whole time. Don’t you have anything to contribute?”

Ellie’s hand paused mid-motion, her fingers tightening slightly around the knife handle. She looked up slowly, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “If you’ve got something to say, Dina, just say it. Or maybe you should focus on the task at hand instead of whining.”

Dina’s eyes flashed with anger. “Whining? You’ve been sitting here like this doesn’t matter. Do you even know what’s at stake? Or are you too busy with your little apple to care?”

Ellie rose to her feet, her movements deliberate and controlled. The knife still glinted in her hand, the apple now stripped of its skin. She fixed Dina with a steady gaze. “I know exactly what’s at stake. You think I got this job because by some mistake?”

Before Dina could say anything, Jesse stepped between them, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “Alright, enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “Both of you, just stop. This isn’t the time for bickering.”

Dina huffed, her gaze still directed at Ellie but with less venom. Jesse turned to Ellie, his expression softening slightly. “Ellie’s here because Maria trusts her. She’s new to the group, sure, but she’s not new to the work.”

Ellie observed Dina’s expression shift from anger to reluctant acceptance, the tension still hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Jesse’s voice took on a firmer tone. “ If we’re going to make this plan work, we need to support eachother, stick to the plan, and cut out these pointless arguments. Got it?”

Dina didn’t immediately respond, but the rigid set of her shoulders softened slightly. She gave a grudging nod, still clearly annoyed but willing to cooperate. Jesse turned back to Ellie, offering her a brief, understanding glance

Ellie nodded in return, her eyes scanning the crowd, “There’s no way we pull this off in front of all these people. There’s no clean escape, no cover. We’d be exposed, and the guards would have us before we even got within striking distance.”

“So what? We just give up?” Dina said, “Go back to Maria and tell her we couldn’t handle it?”

Ellie shook her head, the faint smirk returning to her lips. “No, Dina. We don’t give up. We adapt. We do this the right way. We go in slow.”

“Slow?” Dina scoffed. “We don’t have time for slow.”

“We make time,” Ellie countered, stepping closer. Her voice dropped, cold and deliberate. “If we want this to work, we have to get inside. We need to learn everything—the layout of the town, the routines of the guards, how the people move, how they think. We slip into their lives like shadows. We blend in, become part of the scenery, and when the time’s right, we make our move.”

Dina shook her head, her arms still crossed defensively. “And how long is this supposed to take? A week? A month? We don’t have that kind of time.”

Ellie’s gaze flickered back to the palace, the sun casting long shadows across the stone walls. “As long as it takes,” she said quietly. “You’ve done this longer than I have, Dina, but you know this isn’t a regular kill. This is the queen-to-be. We don’t get a second shot at this. We do it right, or we don’t do it at all.”

Jesse finally spoke up, his voice calm but firm. “She’s got a point, Dina. If we rush this, we’re asking for trouble. We need to know what we’re dealing with before we act.”

Dina’s frustration was clear, but after a long moment of silence, she exhaled sharply, her shoulders dropping in reluctant acceptance. “Fine. We do it your way. But if this goes sideways, Ellie, it’s on you.”

Ellie nodded, her expression unreadable. “It won’t.”

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting an amber glow over the town as the crowd continued to swell. The distant cheers grew louder, the anticipation in the air thickening as the coronation ceremony drew closer. Ellie watched the scene unfold, her mind already working, planning, calculating each move.

They would become part of this place—unseen, unnoticed—until the moment was right. And when it was, they would strike from the shadows, swift and lethal.

There was no room for mistakes.

───────

You jolted awake, your lungs burning as if they were being scorched from the inside. Coughs wracked your body, each spasm sending searing pain through your chest. Blinking rapidly to clear the haze from your vision, you realized the room was shrouded in thick, acrid smoke. The dim light that filtered through the dense fog was ghostly and indistinct, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

With your heart racing, you struggled to sit up, your movements slow and unsteady. The smoke clung to your skin, making it difficult to breathe, and you could feel your head growing light as if it were floating away from your body. Your eyes watered uncontrollably, and the oppressive weight of the smoke made every breath a laborious effort.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you staggered out of bed, your legs weak and uncooperative. The smoke seemed to thicken the longer you stayed in the room, and the oppressive heat made the air feel almost molten. You stumbled towards the door, each step a monumental task as you tried to shield your face with the crook of your arm, hoping to avoid inhaling more of the choking smoke.

You emerged from your bedroom, the palace engulfed in chaos. The once-grand hallways were now a nightmarish landscape of flickering flames and billowing smoke. The once-polished marble floors were now slick with soot, and the ornate tapestries that once adorned the walls were reduced to smoldering husks. The flames crackled hungrily, consuming everything in their path with an insatiable fury.

You pushed through the haze, your eyes watering, your throat raw from coughing. Your mind raced as you made your way towards your parents' quarters, the thought of them being trapped in the inferno spurring you on. The corridor twisted and turned, and the smoke grew denser, each breath feeling like it might be your last.

You reached their door, but your heart sank as you saw the chains wrapped around it. The metal glinted ominously in the firelight, each lock fastened tightly as if mocking your desperation. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you grasped at the chains, yanking and pulling with all the force you could muster. The locks resisted stubbornly, their mechanisms cold and unyielding against your frantic efforts.

The smoke was getting thicker, searing your lungs with every inhale, and your vision was beginning to narrow as you struggled to stay conscious. You coughed violently, the sound echoing harshly in the confined space, but you didn’t stop. Your fingers clawed at the chains, your voice a ragged plea as you strained against the cold metal.

“Help! Somebody—please!” Your voice was a mere whisper against the roar of the flames, barely carrying over the din of the burning palace. The locks seemed to mock you, their resistance only heightening your sense of helplessness.

Just as the smoke began to envelop you completely, your vision dimming to a suffocating blur, a figure appeared through the haze. Abby, her armor glinting in the flickering light, burst into view. Her expression was a mix of determination and fear as she dashed towards you, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Come on, we have to get out!” Abby shouted over the roar of the flames, her voice cutting through the smoke like a lifeline.

Before you could react, Abby grabbed you by the arm with a grip that was both firm and unyielding. The intensity in her eyes brooked no argument. She began dragging you towards the corridor, her strength propelling you forward even as you struggled against her.

“No!” you yelled, your voice cracking from the strain. “My parents—please, Abby! They’re still in there! You have to save them!”

Your protests were met with a resolute silence as Abby continued to pull you away from the door. Her pace was relentless, driven by a single-minded focus on getting you to safety. You flailed against her, trying to wrench free, your fists landing weakly against her armor.

“Let me go!” you cried out, hitting her with all the strength you could muster, but Abby remained unmoved. Her face was set in a grim line, her eyes fixed ahead as she navigated the treacherous path through the burning palace.

“I can’t!” Abby shouted back, her voice carrying an edge of desperation. “We’re not safe here!”

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly as Abby dragged you away, each step pulling you farther from the locked door and your parents. The smoke thickened, wrapping around you like a choking shroud, and the heat became unbearable. You could see the door now, its chains glinting through the smoke, but it was growing smaller and smaller with each passing second.

“Abby, stop!” you pleaded, your voice a strained whisper. “We need to go back!”

Abby’s grip tightened, her determination unwavering. “It’s too late,” she said firmly. “The fire’s spreading too fast!”

You could feel the heat intensify as the flames roared closer, the walls of the palace crumbling around you. The inferno’s glow painted the walls in flickering hues of orange and red, and the once-familiar corridors were now a labyrinth of destruction.

Your parents’ door was now a distant memory, the vision of it being consumed by the flames etched in your mind. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the sweat and smoke as Abby continued to pull you away, her determination a beacon in the chaos.

“Don’t—don’t leave them!” you sobbed, your strength waning as the fire grew fiercer. Your struggles became weaker, your body exhausted by the smoke and the frantic escape.

───────

“We must go now, Your Majesty.” A maid’s voice echoed through the room. She stood at the doorway, her head peeking in cautiously as if unsure whether to intrude on the final moments of your preparation. Her uniform was impeccably crisp, and her eyes darted nervously between you and the room, her posture stiff and formal.

You blinked, the trance you had been in dissolving as you scanned the room with renewed focus. The reflection in the mirror caught your eye. For a moment, the reflection seemed almost foreign, a ghostly echo of the queen you were about to become.

You turned to face Abby, who stood steadfast near the door. Her presence was as constant and reassuring as ever, her armor gleaming softly in the dim light. She hadn’t moved an inch from her post, her gaze locked on you with an intensity that was both protective and unwavering. It was as if she was willing to stand there for an eternity if it meant ensuring your safety and success.

You met her eyes, holding the gaze with a mixture of determination and an unspoken bond that had been forged over years of friendship and loyalty. The moment stretched, silent and weighty, a silent conversation passing between the two of you.

With a final, lingering look at the mirror, you straightened your posture and adjusted the layers of your gown, the fabric rustling softly with the movement. The intricate embroidery glinted in the light, the gold threads catching the soft glow and accentuating the grandeur of the ensemble. You took a deep breath, gathering the last of your composure.

“Shall we go?” you asked Abby, your voice steady but carrying a hint of the gravity of the occasion.

Abby’s expression softened, though her stance remained resolute. She nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting both pride and a hint of anxiety. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said softly, her voice carrying the unspoken promise of her protection.

The maid stepped aside, allowing you and Abby to pass. As you walked towards the door, the echo of your footsteps seemed louder than usual, the soft click of your heels against the marble floor punctuating the stillness of the room. The grand hall awaited, filled with the thrumming anticipation of the crowd, the culmination of everything you had worked towards.

You took one last deep breath, feeling the weight of the crown and the enormity of your impending role settle over you. With a final, resolute glance back at the room—the sanctuary you were leaving behind—you stepped through the door and into the corridor beyond. The sounds of the cheering crowd and the distant murmur of the kingdom’s voices grew louder as you approached the grand hall, each step bringing you closer to your fate.

#ellie williams #abby anderson #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie fanfic #ellie x y/n #abby anderson x reader #abby fanfiction #abby x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson au #ellie williams au

460 notes · View notes

gureumz · 1 year ago

Text

wide open

rating: explicit

member: heeseung

premise: forced to marry a dictator king of a nearby kingdom, you're advised to shut up and take whatever king heeseung gives you and give him everything you have in return. in truth, you'd rather kill yourself than be married to this monster, but he has a way of changing people's minds

notes: fem!reader, dom!heeseung, royalty au, very slight angst, marriage of convenience/forced marriage, hate-ish sex, breeding, mentions of impregnation, use of pet names, unprotected sex, strangers to sort-of-lovers, mentions and descriptions of death and injury, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: sixth and final entry for my 1k follower special! this is the end for my two-month 1k event! i'm so thankful for the love this received and i'm excited to start my new series/anthology! i can't wait to write your other requests as well and bring you more stories you can enjoy!

it's making your stomach churn.

the way your father looks at you right now, as if he's sorry but not really. apologetic only because shouting in delight would hardly seem appropriate at a time like this.

you can practically see the sparkle in the East king's eyes.

"the decree says so," your father says with a sigh like he regrets to inform you of such news. you bite down on your tongue to keep yourself from flinging the pewter cup filled with wine in front of you at him.

"the decree can say one thing but we can do exactly the opposite of it," you challenge, balling your fists in your lap. your father turns to you sharply.

"and then what, my love?" your father coos condescendingly. "race to see which one of our heads rolls off the gallows first when the new king of the West chops them off?"

you stare at your father, clad in his deep velvet garb, the lines on his forehead pronounced in the flickering firelight in his solar. you feel your whole face stiffen as you stare back at the spitting image of yourself, the exact source of the flame raging within you. you love your father and you know him. know him enough that it's no use arguing with him now. he would fling whatever words you had right back at you with double the force.

"you're lucky he didn't snatch you in the dead of night once he proclaimed victory," your father presses on. "you're lucky he's being diplomatic about it, issuing decrees so that all the four kingdoms are bonded legally to his whims."

"it hardly feels lucky being the sole maiden of royal blood fit enough to wed him," you spit back, turning away.

you hear your father lets out a breath and you can feel him walk away towards the large window that adorns the north side of his solar. you watch as he gazes out the glass panes, his back to you.

"he's a strapping young man, a talented general as he's proven, and truly the royal seed of his father before him," your father says, something unfamiliar in his voice. he turns back to you and you see, for the first time, the fear in his eyes.

"he turned on his own father, just as his father did with his father, took over that poor dead man's kingdom, and waged a war against his neighbors."

your father's voice trembles now.

"refusal would not only mean death, my rose," your father points out quietly, slipping in the endearment he so often used with you since you were a child.

"he would make sure you wished you were dead," he warns.

you swallow, letting his words sink in.

you think back on the past year, the months of hiding, the weeks spent banged up in the highest tower of your castle, the days of weeping as you waited for your father to come back, the minutes of terror as you were told the West king had emerged triumphant.

the second you saw your father, the Almighty Blessed King of the East, staggering through the palace gates, bloodied and broken.

that wretched tyrant from the West almost took your father away from you. giving yourself to him willingly hardly seems like the right move. but not doing so would mean a fate worse than death.

"is he really that terrible?" you ask, almost in a whisper.

your father walks up to where you're seated at his dining table. he reaches down and takes your hands in his calloused, war-scarred ones.

"i couldn't give you an answer to that if i tried," he explains. "i surrendered before i could get the chance to meet him."

"then how are you so ready to give away your only daughter, your only reminder of the woman you loved?" you implore, looking desperately into your father's eyes.

he shakes his head.

"this is how i want to remember you before you're whisked away into that cruel man's arms," your father says tenderly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"feisty, with the zeal only your mother could pass on to you."

your eyes sting with tears at hearing your father mention his late queen.

your own mother feels like someone from a dream to you. she was there one moment and gone the next. much like yourself.

you let yourself cry silently, rising to let your father hold you in his arms.

---

the trip from the East to the West typically took a little over two weeks if no hiccups are encountered along the way. but you realized, merely two days in, that this whole marriage was cursed from the beginning.

it's as if the whole world conspired against this union, and you would have been grateful for it, but after days of running into problems (thieves and hunters and sudden thunderstorms and a pack of wild boars), the only thing you wanted was to be sheltered inside a warm castle room with a cup of spiced wine on your bedside.

so unbridled was your happiness when you heard a sudden shout from outside your carriage announcing your arrival at the gates of the West Kingdom castle. your two ladies-in-waiting riding with you had equally relieved faces, your hands immediately reaching out to grasp theirs.

"we're here, your grace," the younger of the two, yuna, whispers excitedly.

olivia, the older and more cynical one, swats at yuna's arm.

"don't sound so happy," olivia berates. "this is a dictator's castle we're entering."

yuna shrinks back in her seat and you reach over to clasp her hand reassuringly.

"i'm the only one fit enough to marry him," you remind. "he should know better than to lay a single finger on me."

olivia eyes you worriedly while yuna nods in agreement.

"i'll be alright," you say. whether it's to them or to yourself, you're not entirely sure.

the entirety of your royal party comes to a halt after what you felt was an hour's worth of treading on a steep incline and only then do you allow yourself to peek through the curtains of your carriage.

you gasp as you see the fog all around. you're aware that the West was the mountainous region of the four kingdoms but seeing the clouds form beneath the castle grounds made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

"let's hope he doesn't throw me down the ravine," you mutter quietly. olivia and yuna exchange looks before giggling quietly.

you alight from your carriage a few more minutes later, the sudden light nearly blinding you. the sun is covered in dark clouds but the lack of any greenery to shield your field of view has you squinting to see in front of you.

"good morrow, your grace," a voice greets. you turn and see a smartly-dressed man approach, bowing deeply. he's adorned in the West king's court colors and it's then you notice the pin affixed on his chest.

"i'm lord jake, the royal chamberlain," he adds, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your skin. he straightens up and gestures behind him.

your eyes follow where he's pointing and you see a grand staircase leading up to the heavy wooden doors at the entrance to the castle.

"let me assist you to the throne room," jake offers, holding out his arm to you. you take it, fixing a firm grip on his bicep.

"the king is waiting," he adds.

---

you let yourself be pulled through the towering hallways, resisting the urge to gape at the lavishly adorned walls. portraits of Western monarchs, legendary shields and swords owned by said monarchs, heavy purple drapery. jake seems to understand, walking at a pace that hardly indicates that you're in any rush.

you turn behind you to see olivia and yuna following dutifully, your other ladies and servants following close behind, flanked by guards both from your party and from the West King's.

you turn back ahead of you, catching sight of the heavy doors to what you can only guess is the throne room.

"if i may speak freely, your grace." jake turns to you slightly. you return his gaze and nod.

"of course," you say.

"you need not be nervous," jake reassures. "i know of the tales you might have heard about our king. but i've been a companion of his since we were boys. he does not hurt those who are not deserving to be hurt."

you remain silent for a few seconds as you continue to approach the throne room. after a while, you respond to jake.

"i appreciate the words of comfort, my lord," you begin. "but what indication do you have that i'm nervous?"

jake smiles warmly at you just as you reach the doors.

"you've been squeezing my arm since you've arrived, your grace," jake points out.

a pause. your face breaks out into a smile and jake mirrors your expression, both of you allowing yourselves a moment to laugh.

the guards by the throne room doors heave them open and you stand, stiff but adorning your face with a look of resolve. jake pulls his arm away and steps in front of you. just as the doors fully open, jake bows to the throne and then to you.

"my most revered King of the West, this is Princess _________ of the East and her royal household," jake announces in a booming voice that startles you slightly.

"princess," jake continues, turning to you once more.

"i present to you, the Most Royal King of the West, King Heeseung,."

---

everything was a blur after that.

you do, however, remember the silver shock of hair atop the king's head. the deep purple of his doublet. the tight black breeches and black boots laced up around his ankles.

you could see King Heeseung's lips remain unmoving as you curtsied deeply in front of him. you remember the feeling of fear, humiliation, and embarrassment at having to bow in front of a cruel tyrant.

you remember the hint of a smile grace his mouth as you straighten up. you remember the sweat gathering on your palms.

you remember muffled words being exchanged between the king and jake. you couldn't make out what they were saying with the blood rushing in your ears. you remember curtsying one more time before jake takes your hand and leads you and your people out of the throne room.

now, hours later, seated in front of a mirror in an airy room somewhere on the north wing of the castle, you remember to breathe, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"your grace, are you alright?" olivia asks from behind you, her hand pausing mid-brush as she gathers your hair in her other hand.

you meet her eyes through the mirror and nod.

"yes," you answer. "just a little...tired."

"i would assume so," yuna speaks up from the other side of the room, her slender figure bent over the numerous chests containing your belongings.

"i asked and it turns out we traveled close to a month," yuna rambles. "a month! who takes a month to get from the East to the West?"

you smile at yuna's shrill voice, a comfort from the eerie silence that seems to surround the castle.

"how are you two liking it here so far?" you ask, addressing your two ladies. a palpable pause comes over the room as you wait for their response.

"it's...alright," olivia begins. "better than i expected. i pictured brutes and barbarians to litter the halls but that's a misjudgment on my part, your grace."

"everyone seems kind enough," yuna chimes in. "the king barely said a word so i'm not sure how to feel about him yet."

"better to hold your tongue when speaking of the King of the West, child," you lightly berate. "we don't know who's listening."

olivia and yuna both nod in understanding.

a knock from the door to your room interrupts your discussion.

"come in," you call out. you turn to see another one of your ladies poke their head in before straightening up and bowing.

"your grace," jen, a sprightly lady-in-waiting of yours addresses you.

"i've been informed that the king asks for your presence in his study," jen relays, hands folded in front of her.

time seems to stop as you hear these words. you feel olivia grip your shoulder and you hear a clatter of something as yuna drops it. jen avoids your eyes as the four of you soak in her words.

"well," you say after a moment. "i better make haste, then.

you meet olivia's eyes through the mirror once more and she smiles encouragingly.

---

you ask jen to accompany you this time to give olivia and yuna time for their own personal needs. jen readily agreed, not more than five paces behind you as you make your way to where you were told the king's study is.

the castle is bathed in late afternoon light, a gentle breeze fluttering through the hallways. hardly any noise can be heard save for the occasional footsteps of servants and soft chatter from some of the rooms. your heart hammering against your chest is the only thing that fills your ears constantly.

"this is it, right?" you turn to ask jen. she nods as you two stop in front of an intricately carved door with a heavy golden stag knocker.

"you may take your leave," you tell jen.

"your grace?" jen asks, voice meek. "should i not wait for you out here?"

you shake your head. "i have a feeling neither of us knows how long the king will keep me in there."

jen opens her mouth as if to say something more but she stops, sighing. she nods and bows to you before starting down the hallway.

you turn away from jen's disappearing form, hand grasping at the stag knocker. you pound the heavy metal against the door three times before stepping back, waiting to be let in.

"enter," comes a voice from inside.

you swallow, reaching for the door handle. you give it a turn, the door easily swinging inward. you step through the gap, pressing your lips in a thin line as you anticipate what you might see.

the study is a respectable size, with bookcases adorning nearly every wall. a fireplace crackles with flames at the far left end of the room and a large desk rests in the middle of it all.

hunched over a stack of parchment is King Heeseung himself, a quill twirling lazily between his fingers.

your eyes meet and the king straightens in his seat.

"your grace—"

you pause, having both said the same thing at the same time. to your surprise, King Heeseung offers a smile. not knowing what else to do, you force an uneasy smile back.

"sit with me, my lady," he says, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. you gather your skirts and perch yourself at the very edge of the seat.

no one speaks for what feels like an eternity. the king has paused in his perusing of the parchment in front of him and you've busied yourself with staring at your hands resting on your lap.

"there will be a welcome banquet tonight," King Heeseung's voice cuts through the silence.

"to celebrate your arrival," he continues.

you dip your head low.

"you have my gratitude, your grace," you say mechanically.

King Heeseung clears his throat. "i also arranged for the wedding feast to take place a week from now."

you allow yourself to gaze upon the King of the West, your eyebrows pinching together.

the king sees your expression and pauses.

"but if you wish to either hasten or push back the ceremony, then i'll take it into consideration," King Heeseung hurriedly adds, his sharp eyes rounding into a softer form.

you realize that sitting here, eye level with the king, that he's merely a man like any other. a man who smiles and startles and laughs.

your mind flashes back to your father's beaten and bruised face. your expression falls.

"no, your grace. a week from now is fine," you concede.

a long stretch of silence follows. you avert your eyes to the window to your right, gazing at the vibrant sky painted in the colors of the sunset.

"heeseung," comes the king's voice. you turn to him, a questioning look on your face.

"you can call me heeseung," he clarifies.

your face must have been of utter confusion because the king smiles again.

"we are to be wed, are we not? i would assume that you'd prefer a much more relaxed method of addressing each other." heeseung leans back in his plush seat, awaiting a response.

"of course," you agree. "and you may address me however you wish."

"my betrothed."

the two words roll smoothly off heeseung's tongue and a strange tug pulls at your chest. you nod silently as if to grant permission.

heeseung clears his throat again, pushing himself off his chair. you rise as well but you make no move to look at his face.

you see from the corner of your eye his hand reaching out to you.

"come. the banquet should be starting soon."

you shakily place your hand in his and he gently wraps his fingers around yours.

"after you, my dear betrothed," he says, motioning towards the door.

---

it turns out, a week flies by extremely fast.

you've managed to meet all of the people of importance in heeseung's court in that time, memorizing names and faces and feasting with a number of them.

heeseung hovers around, greeting you as you go about your day but ultimately keeping his distance. you wonder if you should be doing more to prepare for your wedding but you don't dare question any of heeseung's or his council's plans.

in a blink of an eye, the week is over and you're standing in the throne room, draped in your finest garments, practically glittering from head to toe with the jewelry you've brought from home.

heeseung stands tall and regal beside you, his hair perfectly done and his royal regalia adorning his broad frame. strangely enough, his face is what you anchor on for most of the ceremony—a blur of vows and prayers and oaths and finally, a restrained brush of lips to make things official.

the feast may as well have not happened with how blurry your memory of it is. you sat at the high table, watching the festivities but not really seeing anything.

that is, until a particular loud courtier knocks over a chair, bringing down plates and utensils as collateral damage in his drunken state. the noise jars you for a moment but heeseung lays a warm hand on yours to steady you.

and now, sitting on the edge of your bed, stripped down to your undergarments by your reluctant ladies, you shiver at the thought of what your wedding night may bring.

you've heard stories from your ladies and you've been taught enough by the tutors you've had over the years. but to lay with a man such as heeseung, it chills you down to the bone. would he hurt you? would he demand things from you? perhaps kill you?

you shake your head. it would do no good for him to kill you now. you're both in dire need of heirs for your respective domains, him especially now that he's deposited himself as the supreme ruler of all the kingdoms in your land. and even without taking children into consideration, would he really drive in his image as a tyrant? slaying his wife on their wedding night?

your thoughts are dissolved when you hear a knock come from the door. a second later, heeseung walks in, his cape and gloves amiss, and so are the tightly-laced hunting boots, leaving him in his doublet and breeches, wool boots covering his feet.

he almost looks...nervous.

"my b—"

heeseung pauses, taking in a sharp breath.

"my wife."

your head spins as heeseung says these words. you can physically feel the color draining from your face. when heeseung says it like that, it makes it more real, your fate looming over you like an impregnable fortress caging you in.

"yes, your grace?" you respond, trying to sound composed amidst your anxiety.

heeseung studies you for a second before sighing. he tugs his boots off, undoing his doublet right after. he shrugs the garment off, leaving him bare from the waist up. you gasp softly, abruptly turning away.

"you need not address me like that, remember?" heeseung reminds, trudging carefully before coming to a stop in front of you.

he reaches a hand out, attempting to hold a side of your face but you flinch, your whole body lurching at the feeling of his skin against yours.

your heart pounds as you quickly realize the fault in what you just did. you peer up at heeseung, eyes shaking with fear.

you expected anger, annoyance, or even confusion.

but all you see is a pair of despondent eyes looking down at you.

"why are you afraid? why do you fear me?" heeseung asks, voice quiet, defeated.

your insides churn as you try to find the right words. in a moment, the whole ordeal comes crashing down on you, the day's events flashing in your mind, a reminder that this is your life now. you're married to a dictator for the rest of your days.

"shouldn't i be?" you reply, voice stony. "i'd be a fool to not be scared of someone who murdered their own father and waged a war against the entire world."

heeseung remains silent. he heaves a sigh, turning away from you.

"it seems as if it was a mistake to ask for your hand in marriage," heeseung says.

a flicker sparks inside you.

"you didn't ask!" you cry out, voice accusatory. you stand, pulling yourself to your full height. this outrage has sprung from nowhere, seized you fully, summoning all the anger within you.

"you commanded me here, you took me away from my family, my home! i came all the way here to marry an evil man and he suddenly decides that marrying me was a mistake?"

"i gave up everything i had to fulfill a duty i was called to, that you called me to," you continue, placing yourself right in front of heeseung.

"i need you to prove to me that all this is worth it. that i did not come here to be some poor slave to a tyrant! show me and prove me wrong that you're not just some monster that nearly killed my father!"

you feel the air knocked out of you as a pair of lips press against your own. you cry out in surprise but something snaps within you, the final branch needed to let the fire catch and spread.

heeseung is kissing you and you're kissing him, your hands clawing at any part of him you could reach. his own fingers tug at your chemise, pulling it down your shoulders until it slips off your body completely.

"you're sick, forcing yourself on your wife like this," you pant against heeseung's mouth. he undoes his breeches, letting them fall.

"my wife is free to leave if she pleases," heeseung retaliates, kicking off the last of his clothes.

both of you are stark naked now.

you stand there, breathing heavily as you look into each other's eyes.

"your wife will not leave until you've bedded her and put an heir in her womb," you seethe. "that's all she came here for, after all."

heeseung grunts lowly, attacking your lips once more. he shoves you down on the bed, caging you in easily with his firm body. he runs his hands up and down your sides, squeezing and fondling at every piece of flesh he can dig his fingers into. you moan and squirm under his touch, an ache growing between your legs.

"you'll give me as many heirs as i wish," heeseung says as he kisses his way down to your neck. he suckles on a spot just beneath your jaw and the sound of defiance that you originally wanted to let out is caught in your throat.

"of course, so they can usurp you when it's your time," you say through your teeth.

heeseung says nothing, only looks at you, his face pulled down in an angry frown.

"listen here, darling," heeseung commands, voice dipping even lower. he pulls you by your thighs to the edge of the bed, pushing your legs open.

he glances down and you stare at his face as it turns into a look of intrigue, his eyes transfixed on your core.

you're soaking wet, clenching around nothing as your husband continues to survey what's between your legs. he looks back up at you, a hand reaching over to grasp your jaw in one large hand.

"my father was a madman and so was his father before him," heeseung begins and you feel something prod at your entrance. you gasp as half of him is pushed in with a single swivel of heeseung's hips.

"maybe i'll turn out to be one too, but right now, all i did was clean up the mess he made," heeseung continues, fully burying himself inside you. your legs tremble at the painful stretch and all you want is to hide your face away in the sheets but heeseung's firm grip on your face won't let you.

"he started this war," heeseung says accusingly. he draws back, allowing you momentary relief before thrusting back in, a half cry, half moan escaping you.

"yeah, my sweet?" heeseung pauses to address you momentarily, his eyes dark and evidently hungry.

"feel good?"

he doesn't wait for an answer as he lets go of your face in favor of holding your hips tightly between his hands. heeseung sets up a ruthless pace, mouth hanging open as he watches himself slide in and out of you.

you grit your teeth and refuse to look away yourself, gazing upon the face of what might be another in a line of mad kings. your husband, half of who you are now, half of what your children will be.

the thought sickens you to your stomach.

but the delicious fill of his cock deep in you has you quivering with want, breathless with desire. if this is how good it feels to fuck a mad king, then maybe you are the perfect maiden to wed him.

well, not so much a maiden now that he's buried in you to the hilt, one of his hands grabbing at your breast.

his words 'he started this war' echo in your brain, but a shift of heeseung's hips has your eyes rolling back in your head, that thought forgotten momentarily.

"come on my sweet, look at me," heeseung pleads gently. he leans down, nearly flattening his form over your own. he continues to fuck you, thursts shallow in this new position

you hook your own arms around heeseung's neck, meeting his eyes.

"you don't fear me, do you?" heeseung asks laboriously through heavy breaths. "you never did."

you withhold an answer, leaning in to press your lips roughly against heeseung's instead. he growls low in his chest, his hips moving even faster than they already were.

you keep your mouths together, tongues lapping over every expanse of each other. a shiver runs through you as you feel the friction against your core increase, turning rougher and rougher as heeseung seems to lose himself in you.

you pull away, running your fingers through the hair on the back of heeseung's head. you tighten your grip on the strands and heeseung hisses.

"no," you finally answer. "i'm not scared of you so fuck me like you mean it."

the world seems to give out from all around you as the last words escape you, your hips pinned down painfully against the bed. your legs quiver as you feel heeseung pound into you, faster, rougher, harder. you let a sob rip out of you, your whole body seizing as your release slams down on you.

heeseung looks at you and only you, eyes wide and ravenous.

you clench around heeseung and he collapses over you, hands braced on either side of your head, his face scrunched up in pleasure as you feel him throb deep in you. you feel his thick seed warm up your walls and you gasp softly, your body finally relaxing.

you lay there, weak and unmoving, as heeseung pulls out and rolls off you. he comes to rest on one side of you, his hair tickling your shoulder. without another word, heeseung pushes himself up and retrieves his discarded breeches off the floor.

your heart sinks as you think that he's about to leave. your throat tightens, the thought of being used just like that, despite being his wife, his queen, repulsing you so badly.

but heeseung doesn't walk out the door. he loosely strings up his breeches and walks over to the vanity on the other side of the room. you failed to notice when you came in the first time the bowl of water and washcloth resting beside it.

heeseung wets the cloth, wringing it momentarily before walking back over to you. you've propped yourself on your elbows now, watching his every move.

"sit up, my sweet," heeseung implores gently, seating himself beside you.

you oblige, wincing at the slight sting between your legs as you shift into a more comfortable position. heeseung starts with your face, smoothing over your cheeks with the cloth, the cooled water bringing out a sigh of relief.

he moves to wipe at your neck, then your chest. he peers down at you, laying a gentle hand on your thigh.

"let me clean down there too," heeseung says. you nod, feeling vulnerable under his watch. you part your sore thighs, letting heeseung swipe away at the stickiness.

heeseung finishes and returns the washcloth to the bowl. he picks your chemise up on the way back to you, placing it in your hands. you wordlessly stand, pulling the thin fabric over you, overtly aware of heeseung watching you from where he sits on the bed.

you turn back to him and he's gazing up at you, expression softer than all of the other times. he reaches a hand out shakily, as if hesitant, and you take it, stepping between his parted knees.

he places his hands on our lower back as if to cradle you. before you could stop yourself, you let your hand smooth back some of his silvery locks of hair.

"he—my father—sent those decrees of war out when he realized i was on to him," heeseung mumbles.

you nod gently, signaling him to go on.

"i found out he'd been plotting this war for years right under my nose. i was brought up to command my father's army but i never knew it was for this," he continues.

"i begged him to stop but you can't reason with someone mad," heeseung says, voice shaking.

looking at him now, eyes so doe-like and piercing straight through your own, you realize that underneath what you called a tyrant, he was just a boy willing his father to do right.

"i had to end it one way or another," heeseung continues, head bowing.

you pull him to you, cradling him against your chest. you feel heeseng's arms tighten around your torso.

"but by the time i had dealt the final blow, it was too late. the decrees were sent and i had no choice but to fight the war he left me with."

your chest constricts.

"why not just take the decrees back, admit surrender?" you ask quietly. heeseung looks up at you and you're struck by how handsome he looks when he's not acting like the king he is.

soft lips, the delicate turn of his nose, fluttering eyelashes.

"i was already a kinslayer and a kingslayer. i couldn't lose everything after that," heeseung whispers, brows pinched together as if begging you to believe him.

a flurry of emotions course through you. despite this, you smile apologetically.

you bend down slightly, placing a gentle kiss on heeseung's forehead.

"i don't fear you," you whisper against his skin. you feel him deflate beneath your touch.

"but there is so much more i need to understand about you, husband."

heeseung pulls away and nods. he takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles.

"and i'll try my hardest to make you understand. i don't expect forgiveness, just your open heart and open eyes to see who i really am."

you afford yourself another smile. you lean down once more, kissing heeseung softly.

"they're wide open, my King."

#enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #w: heeseung

2K notes · View notes

sweetly-yours-and-mine · 6 days ago

Text

The Band Played On

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Summary: You'd never met someone who loved the way Joel Miller did.

Warnings: talk of death of a spouse and child, age gap (less than ten years), brief suicidal thoughts, mentions of depression, yEaRnInG, author is very sensitive pls be nice, i was listening to the song of the same name by Guy Lombardo,

A/N: She's back baby! This one has been in the works for over a year (eep), and is basically just a love letter to @mirrormauve and I'm so glad she's back now and I've finally finished it. Becs, I love you with all my heart <3.

I don't own photos, dividers, or characters.

You’d never met someone who loved the way Joel Miller did.

His severe, violent dedication to it, bits of soul laid down on the ground as offerings to the gods. Cracking open his chest, tearing off each rib and handing it over, not to say here is my heart but to say, here is the thing that protects my heart, it reminds me of you.

You thought this love was only talked about, only dreamt up.

But then you’d been on a walk, in the early spring with the Earth vibrating with promise and you’d seen Joel, the worn, well-loved brown of his leather jacket, greying, long strands of his hair brushing against its collar, and you’d seen Joel, beside a tree, wrapping rope around its broken limp, saying soft things under his breath. You’ll be alright, yeah. That’s okay, I’ll be back soon, his voice heavy and measured with his drawl, warm. His fingers drifting over new buds, still tightly curled like a clenched fist, and cooing out his pride like a lullaby.

Joel loved fiercely, savage and primal. There was nothing beautiful about the way he did it, but it was simple, it was honest and true and gentle. It was his work-roughened hands catching against fabric, his prickly stubble against his niece’s soft skin, the smell of whiskey on his breath and leather on his skin.

His love wasn’t that of the ocean to the shore, the sun to the moon, the moon to the ocean. A tiring push and pull, illusive and fickle.

He loved the way the soil loved the roots, giving over chunks of himself for nourishment and food.

He loved the way the roots loved the soil, wooden fingers clutching tight against dirt and turning it dewy and tender with love. Constant, reliable, never changing. A tried and true dance that would continue to the end of time.

He drew you to him unknowingly. Unravelled your affection for him like a ball of yarn, stringing it around everywhere he went, lighting up street corners and houses the way lamplighters used to do each evening in a world before you, Joel, and the slow thing he was knitting inside of you, row after patient row.

Your eyes followed him like a magnet to the North, unknowingly, intrinsically, like breathing, drinking water. You found grooves and corners in Joel Miller that you revelled in, that you painted up inside your mind and took home with you to hang on your empty walls.

The way he holds his spoon, wipes his mouth. The gnarled knots of his fingers’ joints. The rose-like curling of the skin around his eyes and mouth when he laughs, the way he touches and does so deliberately with intent and purpose.

You walk by his house in the evenings, catching the glint of his eyes from the yellow porch light as he strums his guitar, the one he pieced together the way he did that tree. Ellie running home at all hours of the day, the trust held between them branching out towards Jackson like coconut, the aroma subtle, blink and you’ll miss it. But it hangs in the air like humidity, like frost on window panes or the fog of your breath against glass during the harsh Wyoming winters.

You crave more, you’re starving for it. You want Joel’s love, and you want it because you’re selfish, because you don’t like the empty half of your bed, and you think he’d look nice in it, his golden skin and grey hair against floral sheets. You long more than anything to be part of the souls he holds up to the light and plops into his pocket like a marble collection.

Whenever you are where Joel is, you look at him, fleeting glances in his direction like a heartbeat, over and over, rhythmic and regular. You’re eager to see more of him, to see him when he doesn’t know you’re watching so you can trace the curve of his neck with your eyes and pretend it’s your hands instead, to feel the soft hairs that grow there like peach fuzz.

Joel loves in spades, in heaping bucketfuls of it. It strains throughout Jackson like a liquid heavier than water, curling around each corner in a warm embrace. You can’t go anywhere without being faced by it, the door hinge he’d fixed, the chairs he’d stacked, the floors he’d swept. The love he’s spread around soaking into your shoes and through your socks, drifting up towards your ankles and making your bones ache.

It’s hard to deal with it. Its constant, uncompromising presence. The true reality of the man that he was, is.

It’s even harder to deal with your craving for it, the way your skin sings for it, the way your lungs chase each trace of it they find in the air.

Maria finds you one day in the gardens, asks, gently hesitant, for you to come over for dinner. You wonder if it was out of concern or pity for the life you lead alone, the simple, yet tried and true routine you occupy your days with.

Worse than that, you begin to fear that she’s picked up on the fascination you’ve grown for her brother-in-law and the way his worn belt sits on his hips.

And so to not aggravate it anymore, you agree to spend an evening close to Joel.

Not alone with him, Tommy and Maria are at the table as well, Ellie coming and going, breaking conversation into brittle pieces of Sohan, but still you’re close and he gives you a brief taste of what sharing love with him could look like.

His voice is rumbly and deep, river-like as it streams and trips over smooth rocks. The whiskey has loosened him up a bit, the straight, hard edges of his body softening over with comfort, the weight of survival lifted off of him.

He’s pretty. You want him to reach inside of you and grab your heart, start pumping it for you and press his mouth against yours so you can share air together.

It’s hard to focus around him, your eyes not wanting to work in tandem whenever they look in his direction, as if protecting you from what might happen if you manage to see him clearly, his peppering of a beard and moustache, the engravings of smile lines on his face.

To abate the beating inside your chest, you get up for some water, go to refill Maria’s glass while you’re at it. Out of fear of the emotions he’s drawing out of you and your chest.

You want to calm down, be normal about him and this growing obsession inside of you for an older man. Yet your body and mind refuse to do so vehemently, almost to seek vengeance on you for wanting to quell it, pour water over the burning fire.

As you stand at the counter, waiting for the water to boil and tracing the top button of your jeans round and round with the pad of your finger, you hear Joel and his lopsided walk follow you, his left foot dragging more than his right.

“Hey.”

The word falls at the end of itself, stretches against the ground. You follow the trails it leaves in the air, like citrus oil that sparks out of a freshly-peeled orange, bursting out like dust motes in a vibrant sunbeam.

“Hi,” you turn around, smile at him as best as you can through the tangling of your lungs and stomach.

Joel looks over his shoulder, back at Tommy and Maria, at Ellie, nudged into her uncle’s side, then he turns to you, “Nice evening.”

You agree with him, though to yourself you think it’s only because of him, because of the cloud that hangs humid about him, makes the edges of his body go soft and blurry, grainy like all photos are, incapable of catching the true essence of what made them photo-worthy.

He comes and leans against the counter beside you, hands folded on top of each other. A lock of his hair falls into his forehead and you think if he’d let it, you’d brush it away and go straight to the graveyard so you could die happy, dragging your stone along with you like a blanket.

It takes everything inside of you to not inch closer to him.

Despite the community and support that surrounds you everyday, you’re still lonely, still aching for something else. Something to come home to. To be something for someone to come home to.

You have faint visions of Joel in the doorway of your house, revel in the way he’d drape his jacket over the couch. You want to see him basked in the glow of an early morning, to see his sleep-rumpled shirt and press your face into it and take in greedy lungfuls of his smell.

Ellie’s laugh rings out around the room. You think of the future she was going to have and the one she will have now, and you’re glad that she’s in Jackson away from the dark holes that are the QZs.

You gaze up at Joel, at the cords rising in his neck like bread dough. Some depraved sprout shoots up inside you and longs to trace your nose against them and their engravings on his skin. You force yourself to look away, down at the glass of water in your hand.

You ache to move your feet forward and away from him, for the betterment of the both of you and the cage you keep around your chest, the key of which you want to press into Joel’s hands.

“You should come by more often.”

He talks to you the same way he talked to the sapling. You wonder if he would rope you up the same way if you broke your arm too, in the same way. It sows dreams inside of you and you rub them away a couple seconds later, thinking of Maria’s sudden invitation asking you over tonight.

“Thanks,” you murmur it. You’re not going to give him a rebuttal about being a bother so you won’t fall into the push and pull dance with him.

To your surprise, he straightens up, ducks his head until you look up at him. “M’serious, honey. Really,” you see his hand reach forward before it falls back to place. It flinches and fidgets before it returns to normal. Here all the hair on his skin is grey. “We’ll do this more.” The condition has dropped from his voice.

Despite your suspicions and reluctance, a bruised, battered thing weeps out inside of you, stops you from turning down his offer again, after he’s pressed it with you. It sits smooth and heavy in the palm of your hand, you run your thumb over it, pretend to mull it over.

“Well, how about it? Me ‘n Ellie do board games a night each week, you should come,” There’s a swing to his voice, a soft gravel in it. If you could bask in it you’d never leave.

He chuckles at your lack of response, “Now don’t you be tellin’ me you don’t like to play at cards.”

Finally, you collect yourself enough to shake your head, laugh a little though it’s hard when your lungs are turning themselves inside out at the thought that Joel Miller has invited you to spend more time with him, that he’s deemed you worthy of it.

Tonight, you play Dutch Blitz. They’re not real Dutch Blitz cards, but with the mixing of yours and his decks, the picture cards tossed aside, there’s enough to play with.

Joel brings you hot water with some whiskey slipped in, his hand resting deliberately on top of yours when he gives it to you. He sits opposite you, Ellie at the head, his owl mug beside him, close enough that you long to trace with your fingers, follow the curves and valleys of it, and wonder if you can get it to talk to you the same way Joel talks to trees, close enough that you can see the splattering of spots ceramics often have.

When he takes a drink, you have to look away from him and the wave-like motion of his throat for fear of doing something stupid and falling in love.

He’s terrible at the game.

After the first couple of rounds, he’d said it was because he didn’t have his glasses and went into the living room to rummage around for them. You could hear his voice sometimes, filtering in back to his kitchen. Not there, some rustling, a drawer being closed, no, I’m sure I ain’t left’em here. His voice is grumbly with aggravation and it makes you and Ellie giggle.

It had been a long time since you’d laughed like that. Light and childish. The boulder of your personhood lifted off.

When he does find them, he places them on the edge of his nose, but they don’t help him at all. With the sudden addition of a third player, the flick and slam of cards on the table, quickly adding up to a cap, it’s hard for him to focus. Ellie says that though he never does win, he doesn’t lose so abysmally either when she plays him one-on-one.

He murmurs to himself when he’s playing, like the gentle hum of a honeybee and it distracts you as well, giving Ellie yet another set of wins under her belt.

“Face it, Joel,” she’s grinning now, shuffling up her hand of cards. “You’re fucking horrible at this.”

He huffs, “You’re not giving me a fair fightin’ chance, that’s what.” The slope of his neck is just the right angle. He gathers his cards up, does an expert riffle shuffle. “And what’s more I ain’t playin’ no more. Go grab somethin’ else.”

You’re surprised at how easily Ellie gives into him now, teasing only slightly before she goes away, back to the closet where Joel stores the board games he’s managed to piece together over the years. Monopoly, The Game of Life, Scrabble. There are Jenga blocks as well, ones he’s made himself, and that he’s sanded away at patiently, night after night on his porch.

It’s your favourite game to play with him, Jenga. It’s tense, but quiet and calm. It gives you time to study his face intently, shade in the scar on his nose and the subtle way he favours the right edge of his mouth to his left when he’s talking. You like it even more because it means you can touch things his hands have touched, the ones he’s worked at patiently, each one a labour of love.

Even kids come over to his house now, particularly during the summer, and play in his backyard with his Jenga blocks, Joel’s place an extension of the worlds they play in, the juniper trees at the edge perfect for games of hide-and-seek and tag.

“She’s right,” he sighs, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “I am horrible at this.”

With his glasses in his hand he gestures to the cards. The action pulls at your liver, you may as well have drunk a whole bottle of whiskey.

“Nonsense,” there’s a strange tendril of confidence wrapping around your throat, drawing out words before you knew what they were. “It’s a hard game. Fast-paced.”

He laughs to himself, softly. It sounds like molasses, deep and rich and velvety. “That’s just a fancy way of calling me old, darlin’.”

“I don’t mind,” the words surprise you, the emotion and conviction behind them and you drop them as soon as you can.

“You don’t mind what?”

Looking down at your hands, “That you’re old.” You don’t like how you’re bringing attention to it and meekly, you string behind it, “If it matters any.”

Silence hangs around you, presses hard against your chest and breaks a rib.

“Thanks, sweetheart. It matters much…more’n you could know.”

A being lies behind his words, unknown and ominous. You don’t want to touch it, break the beehive and let the honey pour onto the grass, the bees angry and furious ready to sting.

You offer instead to wash the dishes to be able to touch his special mug, finally trace the curve of the owl’s body, embroidered into baked clay. You wonder where Joel found this mug. If it came with the house, how it morphed into his favourite one, if it was a certain thing, from first sight, or if it was a slow and steady climb.

Ellie comes back a few moments later, the Jenga blocks in her hands. You feel his eyes against your back and you hold your hands under the hot water until they’re irritated and sensitive.

Joel shows up at your door unannounced. In his hands is a bowl of strawberries, his fingers stained red from picking up, that soft gentle smile on his face.

“Howdy,” He invites himself in, says the words for you and hands over the bowl. “For you.”

You think about jam and honey, imagine the feel of granulated sugar clicking under your teeth.

It’s the late afternoon, a lazy sun stretching into your open window, highlighting dust motes in the air in a stream of light. You place the strawberries on the table, Joel takes one and pops it in his mouth, the hinge of his jaw moving up and down as he chews.

Laughing, he tells you quietly, “They’re supposed to be for you, I had a stomachful pickin’em.”

Something twists and knots inside of you at the thought of Joel in the gardens, bending down beside the strawberry plants, choosing fruit for you and bringing it to your door. You wonder if he talked to them the way he seems to do anything, whether or not it can respond to him.

“They’re good,” he pushes them towards you. “Have some.”

The berries are a ruby red, vibrant with survival. They press against you as you roll their tiny bodies between your fingers, your nail catching on the seeds pressed into the skins. Biting down into one, you find it intimate to know that you and Joel are tasting the same flavour, tart and sweet, that he has a belly filled with this, that he’d filled his belly behind the soft of his waistline because he was picking you a gift.

It’s hard to tear your eyes from him, from where he’s looking at you. The sun kisses his shoulder, curls up and around his ear. The strange need you have for him grows and reaches its peak, overwhelming you. You wonder what the soft behind his ear will feel like if you took his with your teeth and soothed the bite over with your tongue, what his hair will smell like.

You want to ask him, demand him, to kiss you. To press you against the strawberries and not let you go until you’re covered in red juice.

“Thank you for these,” you say instead, get up to put on some hot water.

“‘Course, honey.”

You think that Joel may consider you a friend. His friend.

You like the possession that lies inside the words. The heady things they imply, how they hold your heart in a clenched fist and promise to never let go.

The other night, he’d invited you over for dinner. Just you. Had been clear about it as well. Ellie’s at Dina’s, Tommy and Maria have date night together. Like he could read your mind and knew the riptides you were apt to fall into if you weren’t careful.

He’d talked to you, low and soft like he always does. Whiskey had been poured into your coffee and the sunset had lit up the sky in much the same manner as his voice, muted and tender, the air tinted golden like saffron.

You think that that was the night you realised you couldn’t run from it anymore, had fallen, arms extended but helpless in catching you, towards him and how the sole of his left shoe is smoother than his right.

The strawberries spark conversation in him about the upcoming harvest, and he analyses the weather with severity, concerned about the apples and squashes if it were to stay the way it was. You pour two cups of hot water, wishing you could give him something he likes more than that, whiskey or wine, and think of what you could trade to get a bottle for your kitchen.

“...don’t know how we’ll make it through the winter at this rate.”

Steam curls up from your cup, the heat of the summer day already fading with the sunlight.

“We’ll make it, one way or the other,” you say. His worries are endearing, parts and pieces of him that you think he’ll never learn to let go of, not even if there was fresh fruit on the table, hot water in the pipes.

Joel from before.

He fascinates you, in every form you think of him.

With your words, you see something in his eyes, something young and untamed. You think he’s going to press it with you, show you why the amount of rain and sun the settlement’s been getting will be its exact downfall. But it dies down, calms back into the soft burnt toffee you know them to be, and the ever-present smiling not-smile returns to his face.

Finally, he nods his head towards the strawberries and winks at you. You start eating them again, trying to paint up images of him in the gardens, of the strawberries looking even smaller beside his hands. His voice, mellowed and soft, Yeah, yeah, you’re good, that’s alright now, okay?

Joel’s hand brushes against yours as you reach in for another one, lighting a match against your skin, flames bursting up and down your body. He doesn’t seem to give it much mind, his unshakable calm draped against him like always.

With a chuckle, he looks down at the one in his hand, “My mama used to make these inta jams.” He eats it, eyes fluttering shut at the taste. Your body pulls at itself and you take one for yourself as well, flavour oozing out into your mouth, tasting like love because you’re sharing it with him.

“Loved’em with a fresh biscuit,” pausing, he breaks out of his memories to look at you. “You ever had jam ‘n biscuits?”

“Sure, sometimes.”

He tilts his head, “Homemade ones?” You shake your head and he waves you off in response, “Oh, then you hadn’t had jam ‘n biscuits. Lemme tell ya, my mama made’em mean. Nothin’ like a hot jar of strawberry jam.”

Eyes going a little misty he keeps on, “Now, Tommy?” he laughs soft and low, mainly to himself, shakes his head some more. “Tommy he’d scarf’em down the moment they were outta the oven, boy’s got no patience. Couldn’t even wait to take out the jam and then he’d-” the words had been pouring out of his mouth like honey, soothing to your ears but he cuts them off abruptly, “-Ah, would you look at that. I’m borin’ yer head off.”

It sounds like he is getting ready to leave, his eyes flicking around, on the table, back to you, to the strawberries. You rush forward without thinking about it to get him to stay, “No, no. I-I like talking with you…s’nice.” You finish with a helpless little shrug.

You don’t know where this sudden confidence has come from and you’re scared you’ve gripped too tight on the bar of soap and Joel will slip out of your grasp and into the sink, that you have to scramble to take it back. To your surprise, you haven’t.

The discomfort starts to fade away from Joel’s face and you fear what’s going to be put in its place and how similar it might be to what you hold in the farthest corner of your heart, closely guarded away from him. He melts down back into his seat, eats a strawberry.

If you look closely, the greyer hairs in his moustache are stained red.

“Well, there ya have it,” he chuckles, deep and warm. “The story of my mama’s biscuits.”

“Lovely.”

It stands in front of you, a bunny rabbit of a story, her nose twitching, ears flicking back and forth and incredibly small. You remember the first baby rabbit you ever saw, when you were sixteen over thirty years ago. You hadn’t thought something could be so tiny and also be able to move. It had scampered away the moment it caught sight of you, the bushes bristling into silence in its wake, but behind it one of your lungs and one of your kidneys followed dutifully, leaving you alive but just barely.

Right now, you cup Joel’s story in your palm, tuck it away in some safe pocket and delight each time you brush against it, a knotted ball of heat and innocence.

Gaze still fixed on the button-like eyes in front of you, you get surprised when he moves to sit in the chair at your side. His shoulders are broad and mighty still, and you have to look just slightly up to be able to see him fully.

You see him struggle with his words. Maybe he always does, and you’ve never been this close enough to see it, thoughts breaking on the shore of his mouth, the twitch around his nose, the ever changing colour of his eyes not even quivering still for a moment.

“You’re-” he clears his throat, it rumbles gently like an earthquake from your feet to your head, shaking your heart in the middle, reminding you of the ache inside it. “You’ve been lonely here…in Jackson.”

There’s not much to say, and you shrug, “I’m alive.”

“Not what I said.”

It stings through you, sharp with truth and a keen observation. You’d thought you’d manage to hide it well, that people had bigger problems than to worry about you, and the emotions running in you that you’ve forgotten what they are and how they’re supposed to feel like. You don’t know what to say, looking down at your hands, starting digging into your cuticles for something to do with them.

He hums softly, and on instinct you turn your gaze to him, watching his front profile bent forward. “These years…they’ve been hard,” he almost hears your thoughts. “On us all.”

You think of your husband. The one who’d married you young, though you’d felt like you were anything but at the time, and cradled your heart gently and coaxed you out of moods as if it was the only thing he was made for and wanted to do. He doesn’t come to your mind often anymore, having lost him several years before the world blew up. Together, you’d lived a quiet life. Defined by soothing, soft sunlight and lazy afternoons.

Truly, you’ve felt lonely your whole life. It didn’t really start twenty years ago, or two years ago when you arrived in Jackson. Had been a quiet and almost ignored child. There’s not much you remember from your childhood, but the knoll of a memory rings true every time. Standing in line for a whole afternoon, a worksheet grasped in your sweaty palms, feeling that soon, soon, you’d be rewarded for listening, for being quiet.

How interminable that afternoon had seemed to you, long and drawn out, testing your patience at each turn, and how you’d risen up to each defiantly, child-like sense of justice still strong and unfailable.

You learnt your lesson too late, when your soul and essence had already hardened into unchangeable patterns. So, you got used to getting hurt, tears springing at your eyes and burning through your lungs.

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t always like this.” The corners of Joel’s eyes crinkle, fold up into themselves like fabric. He chuckles softly and you feel your face press into a smile. “I was real angry…and mean. People wouldn’t come within a square mile of me if they could help it.”

His eyes glisten when he hears you laugh, and he holds up his hands, “I ain’t lyin’, I swear. Ask anyone you want, I was the town grump, yellin’ at kids to get off my lawn.” The words make you laugh even more, hiding it behind your hand and maybe the energy sparks in the air, because Joel starts to laugh too. A deep, gentle, belly laugh that seems to have come from another world. Of soft grey hair and tender eyes. It’s hard to imagine Joel as mean, a grump.

The perpetuity of time weighs down on you heavily. How separated you feel from yourself at sixteen, twenty, thirty. The decades rolling past you like boulders. It scares you that you and Joel remember a world, a life, that doesn’t exist anymore and soon the two of you will be gone, the memories falling off into the air like they’ve done for generation upon generation.

You wonder how so little time, in the grand scheme of things, can feel so long and tiresome. How you’re not even fifty yet and still, the thought of having to fall asleep and wake up the next day to do it all again exhausts you to the point of tears. The thought of having to do this for one more day even seems impossible, leave alone for years.

When you were younger, and you’d first started feeling like this, you’d thought it would pass when you got married, when you got older. When the world fell apart you’d thought you would snap out of it, yet it never happened. The only time you’d felt happy waking up was from nightmares, panting and struggling to orient yourself.

It had been better since you arrived at Jackson, found some semblance of routine and stability that you’d craved since you were a child.

Joel sighs, drawing you out of your thoughts, and focusing you in again to see him rub at his beard, the movement tugging at the insides of you. “Don’t know why I’m telling you this really,” he lets out a quiet breath, and it washes over you, ocean-like. “I-I…” He swallows thickly, and you’re alarmed to see him gather himself as if to move to go. “Been botherin’ you really-”

You cut him off by saying his name. It tolls inside you, flashes of hospitals and the dark green carpet of the funeral home coming to the forefront of your mind.

You think about your husband's eyes, the soft slope of them, so similar and yet so different to Joel’s. You wonder if Joel would have liked him, if in another world the two of them would drink beer together and play poker, while you complained about them to friends you’ve never truly, properly had.

The image is domestic, tugs at you and you know soon you’re going to cry if you’re not careful. You start talking, how the two of you had met, the sudden and then slow fall.

The ache in you grows and grows, till it’s fit to burst. Talking about him to Joel feels like emptying out an abscess, makes you feel both guilty and relieved.

He talks in turn. Of a daughter. The pulsing, too-hot blood covering his forearms and screaming until he’d lost his voice and spat red for a week later. Hot, bright flashes of anger that never truly went away.

You wonder if that’s what had drawn you to Joel in the first place, that gaping, weeping hole inside of him that reflected so tenderly back into your stomach. He laughs a couple of times, telling you about Ellie. Then he cries and despite everything, you envy him for how he does it so rightfully, well-timed.

You can’t remember a time you’d talked so much. The sun sets over his back, beside his ear.

There’s a fatigue in your bone marrow, a deep, strong ache that ripples through your back and muscles. Joel looks a different person to you know, the ghost of a girl standing behind him, her hand placed on his forearm, gentle features in her face ringing true to her father’s and that of a woman you don’t know. You’re seized with the urge to turn back time, to see if you would have found Joel in the old world just like you have this one. If you would have liked his daughter, found companionship in her the way you do with all women.

Joel smiles at you, eyes glistening, murmuring something about the time. The day comes back to you at once, and you feel you’ve taken a breath after hours of holding it in. You wonder at the way Joel’s drawn all this out of you, patient and with no rush at all. How he’d deemed you worthy of time and attention.

You walk with him to your front door, feeling as if it was years since he’d shown up at it, bowl in hand.

“Hey, honey?” The back of Joel’s shirt is wrinkled from the way he was sitting at your table. He turns back to you, the sun fully set now.

You have a strange need to offer to walk him home. Then you hope he’d offer to walk you home and you’d do the same and then you could spend the rest of your life walking with him home.

“Yeah?”

The pull he has terrifies you. There’s a subconscious ache in your muscles to be closer to him, to right what seems to have been wronged.

He does it for you, takes a step away from the door and barely a few breaths of space between you. From here, you can see the sunspots in his beard, flecked onto tanned and weathered skin and you think about a time when Joel was so young he didn’t have a beard.

“There’s a-uh…ah, ” he goes gravelly and clears his throat, running a hand up and down his beard comfortingly. Something inside him renews and the insecurity falls away, it’s fascinating and addicting to watch. You’re sure there isn’t a more interesting person on the Earth. “You wanna come with me? To the dance next week?”

You swallow and it does nothing to help the feeling inside you that you’re being torn into two. “Oh, Joel I…” you fumble for an excuse out of all the well-used and well-rehearsed ones you have. “I-uh…I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Hell,” he laughs, and his eyes go to the size of slivered almonds. “Neither am I. But they play some fancy records. I go for the music.”

“What kind?”

You’re not going to go, you’re certain of this, already feeling like you’ve imposed far too much on him, but this is another part of Joel, the music he listens to each week at the community dance. There’s no harm in taking it for yourself.

“Real old stuff,” his eyes twinkle. “You think me old? Wait ‘til ya hear it, it’s stuff my grandparents listened to growin’ up.” A beat, something drops in his tone, “M’serious.” He sounds nervous even, “I want you to go with me.”

You don’t know how to tell Joel this is the first time someone’s asked you out in a long, long, while. If ever. Your husband was the only man who ever loved you and he’d always been there. Had proposed to you in the low light of his kitchen, matter-of-fact sort of, I suppose we should get married.

You don’t know how much of your story Joel’s gratuitously, much to the contradiction of your character, filled in. You want to have led the life he’s envisioned for you, so kindly and tenderly, eating strawberries at your kitchen table, rather than the cold, lonely one you’ve led instead.

Through the sudden twisting and turning inside you, a cold pang stops it at your foolishness to assume that this is what you’d thought it was. That you’d taken the opaque words and read through them, leading yourself astray and susceptible to getting hurt.

“Darlin’? Makes me real nervous when you take so long to answer questions like this,” he coos softly, you think again of the way he talks to everything, as if he can see through it to the marrow and essence, trace it with his finger. You see his hand twitch and this time he does touch you, holding onto your forearm, a soft fire burning on your skin. “What’s wrong, hm?”

“I don’t know how to dance, Joel,” you say finally. You feel and see yourself leaning close to his touch, the warmth of his body spilling into your own, but you’re helpless to stop it. You want to feel his chest on your bare back, the prickle of his beard against your skin, roughened palms against your stomach. So much roughness pressing on you with love.

He lets out a tender breath, as if to say, that’s all? “Well, I’ll teach ya if ya want. And if not, we’ll have a drink and listen to some Guy Lombardo, alright?”

You know you should protest again, keep pushing it with him until he drops the act, keeps this where it ought to remain. But your yearning for him is overwhelming and tiring to fight against, “Alright.”

“Alright?” His thumb brushes back and forth against your skin. You look up at him and you fear that now there’s no hiding from him anymore, behind quiet and excuses. You feel his eyes hit the back of your lungs. “Alright, honey,” he smiles at you, his skin folding up like intricate origami, stealing your breath away at seeing it up so close.

“I’ll see you soon, then,” he murmurs. Then he’s leaning down towards you to kiss your cheek. A rough brush of slightly chapped lips before he’s straightened up and the door clicking shut behind him, a trail of blood following him from where your chest is, gaping empty, your heart trudging along unknowingly behind him and his broad shoulders like slug.

For two years you fought against it, pushing it aside as it continued to grow like an untamed weed, growing a strong, unbreakable net of roots only for you to lose all of it in close to five minutes, to show you how fragile and fallible you were when it came to Joel Miller.

The community centre in Jackson is one of the only buildings left nearly intact. The floors were still original wood, and creaked and groaned with each step. With the fall of summer, the harvest close to over, the nights were coming earlier, quicker, and colder. As you walk towards the building, the lights glow from the windows flickering some strange sense of nostalgia in you, twinging at a corner you’d thought was long gone inside your heart.

Joel is standing at the entryway, hair brushed back in a way that, in the fickle light, almost makes him unrecognizable. You’ve never seen him like this, not just his hair, but his appearance. Your heart stutters when it sees itself reflected, nervous and trembling in Joel’s face. The thought of him making himself all pretty-like for you in the glow of his bathroom makes you feel faint, makes you feel young in a way you don’t ever remember feeling. That maybe, the thought of you has him nervous and stumbling and anxious, how you so often feel around him.

“Hey, honey.”

You stammer a little smile, say you hope you hadn’t kept him too long. A record scratch comes from inside and the soft drone of trumpets and crooning filters out to the two of you like fairy dust.

Putting his hand on the small of your back, Joel leads you inside.

True to his word, he doesn’t do any dancing. You’re not sure if you can handle such close proximity to him, feeling the gentle wash of his breath, to breathe him in so deeply the push outwards strains your lungs without the promise of being able to do it again whenever you want to.

He gets you two a drink and sways with you, arm around your shoulders, talking in soothing tones that rival the one he uses with his niece. When he pretends to not notice you looking, you gaze at him, his profile glowing in the lights of the hall, the wrinkles in his face like those of a tree trunk.

You’d been nervous to be seen out like this with Joel, worried to hear rumours fly and nervous that your reaction to them would give away inner corners of your heart that you don’t even dare graze in the safety of the early morning darkness, alone, in your own bed and house. Even more, you didn’t want him hearing them, the malicious tongues of Jackson picking you apart any more than they already had had.

Yet to your surprise, people only smile at you, ask you to join them at the Tipsy Bison, Joel agreeing readily for you as you struggle to find the words.

You and Joel, it seems, are no great news.

You wonder how much time has been wasted just because of your broken mind, thoughts from your childhood running through it constantly chiming truth-like when they were only supposed to light laughing matters now.

The weight of Joel’s hand grows suddenly, and it drops onto your chest. The subtle, comforting smell of wood turns stifling, dust floating up and stinging your eyes. With a quiet word, you slip out from under Joel’s arm as he’s talking to Tommy, head back outside and start taking greedy gulps of air.

The normalcy of it, the quiet indifference and accepting looks around you had taken you aghast. At how quickly you’d lost the rules you’d set in place for when you were around Joel. At how quickly you’d managed to fool yourself into thinking that you could do this, be normal and sound, at how you’d tricked Joel into thinking the same and now it felt that everything was suspended in the balance.

The whole unworthiness of it. How you’d managed to outsmart the world time and time again into staying alive for whole decades after you’d thought you would, and how you couldn’t do the same for your husband, a man so worthy of life compared to you. How he’d worked at you patiently, tenderly. Made you believe, for brief, fleeting moments that maybe you were wrong, that you can think wrong thoughts and yet there was nothing wrong with that, and that nobody had been tricked and everyone was deserving.

And how quickly that had all been torn away from you in a torturous six months.

Some days, you feel you’ve gotten better, the tug of black tar lighter, only to drown even worse the next.

He’d been the only person ever to convince you otherwise. And he’d been wrong.

Until now.

The back porch creaks softly under Joel’s shoes, and by now you’ve given up wondering why you can recognize the way the world around him reacts to his presence. You turn to face him, to see the angel-like glow around his silhouette for the half-instant it’s there.

You look down quickly at your feet, hoping it hides the sudden heat rising to your face and calms it down.

In so many ways, you feel older than you are, ready to lay down in the ground and surrender to the dirt and grass, and in others you still feel like a child, helpless and naive. Joel shouldn’t be finding you out here, staring into the night for answers you know won’t be there.

“There ya are,” you’ve never heard his voice this way before, the many nuances and inflections that you’ve studied like a religion.

Your shame is so great you can’t even bring yourself to apologize, an annoying habit your mother always lashed out at you for, your apparent insolence and indifference.

There’s the same shuffling step of his, the left favoured over the right. There’s a loud round of laughter from inside and you flinch at it as Joel comes to stand beside you.

“Needed some air?”

If you could, you would crawl into his chest, burrow down there so he’d lull you to sleep with the rumble of his voice. Though he’s only inches from you, he feels much farther away.

You nod quietly and you wonder how you can tell Joel that the outbreak hadn’t made you like this, that Jackson had brought it out of you again after years of a toughened, fraud outside you’d held to yourself protectively like a blanket. That there wasn’t anything more to peel away, and you couldn’t be fixed with rope or soft words like the plants he loves and the wood he whittles away into gifts.

“Joel…” you lick your lips, bite down on the inside of your cheek until you bleed. His name feels right, shaped out of your voice, and you marvel at how well-trained your mind is, after almost fifty years of feeding you lies and your fighting right back against it, to find the cracks in your armour and press and press until it gives out. “I’m sorry.”

Words so familiar to you they should be written on your gravestone.

He tsks, waving at the air dismissively, “Now, stop with all that.” It’s the harshest he’s ever spoken to you yet it’s still quiet and kind. He comes to face you, the light inside falling on his face and into the deep groves of it.

Despite yourself, you gaze into his eyes, to peer at the earnestness in them, dreadfully familiar.

“I’m sorry.” A frozen clock, stuck on the same time, the seconds hand beating and beating and going nowhere, as the world around it covers itself in dust and death.

Pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris.

He smiles, eyes still feather-soft and honey-sweet. A strand of hair comes loose, falling into his face and you see the Joel you’ve come to love, despite any and all precautions.

You say his name quietly, “He was the only one who…” It’s hard to describe what your husband had done for you, even if you hadn’t felt so stunted with words since you started learning them. His earnest and pure love that had flowed through him for you and the whole world while he was alive, how you’d thwarted it away, the black, rotten core inside of you screaming out, and how, wave after wave, he’d returned to you.

“And you think there’s only one person for you in this world?” There’s nothing patronizing in his voice, which makes it all the worse for you. You wish it had been that simple, that you had seen yourself worthy of only your husband’s love, had seen something in his relentless pursuit of giving it over to you with no hope of return. How it had been only stronger on the days it had been hard to eat, and sleep, and wake up.

Your voice breaks, “I wasn’t even supposed to get the one.”

“Oh, honey,” he coos. The heel of his palm is rough as it brushes against your jaw. Coaxing, he tilts your head up to face his. The second time only you’ve been so close to him and it seems your body still hasn’t gotten used to it.

The darkness of the night is enshrouding, humidity pressing against your lungs. Joel’s jacket is on top of your shoulders, his presence drowning out the darkness, leaving sunlight and trees instead. You feel his roots claw down into your chest, latch onto your liver and heart.

“You know…” he swallows and you’re too close to the motion because you’re dangerously close to your knees giving out underneath you. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

It’s not judgmental, Joel could never be that. But you shrink inside nonetheless, embarrassed and feeling smaller than ever.

Ghosts swarm around the two of you, stirring the air and making a soft breeze and goosebumps rise against your skin.

You go to look away but he wills it not and what is the turning of the Earth if not for the wants of Joel Miller?

“Real flattered, if I could say so. Didn’t think-” he clears his throat and this time he looks away, shy and young, a bird hiding its beak in its wing. “Didn’t think you’d fancy an old man like me.”

The truth behind his words amazes you, how it’s something he seems to have considered time and time again relentlessly, from all angles, and still decided it to be his reality.

“How-how…could I not?”

There’s the deep, soothing rumble of his laugh again. It rings clear with tradition and home, and baked clay and spotted ceramic owls. “You’re a bit hard to read sometimes, honey.”

Inside of you, your veins seize up, heart quivering at his words. He smiles down at you in that gentle, Joel way of his, quieting your thoughts. The soft drone of music drifts out from the open window, the slow murmur of a content crowd of happy people.

His arm wraps around your waist, testing, eyes flitting back and forth on you. With each pass of his gaze, you feel the soft patter-like feet of butterflies resting against your cheeks, wings flapping slowly, measured as if to show your heart how to beat again, properly.

Daringly, you inch closer to him. His nose comes down to meet yours.

“Hey, darlin’...honey?”

He’s whispering and he’s never whispered with you before.

His breath is warm against your face, if you could, you would tuck your head under his shirt and never come up again.

“Can I kiss ya? Would ya let me?”

It’s hard to think that this is where you’ve ended up with Joel, from the first time you saw him those handful of years ago, where he’d been standing off to the side talking with someone, standing over a pile of wood, until now. His weight leaned on one leg, hip popped out making you lose your breath at the sight of it.

Like a blossoming tea he’s unfurled for you. Had stretched and arched in hot water, catching your eye for it never to be let go of again.

He traces your hairline with his finger, murmurs your name. “Can I?” His eyes are only on your mouth now, sometimes coming up to blink and meet yours.

Joel seems close to as nervous as you, seems as if he sees you to be precious the same way you do him. It’s equally surprising and comforting, gives you the final push forward, your foot slipping against a grainy edge and plummeting you towards the bottom, wind beating against your ears.

“Yeah.” You sound strong, certain. The sturdy trunk of an oak tree. Even more daring, you press your palm against his tummy, a few fingers under the edge of his ribs, enjoying the give of his flesh as you lean up into him even more.

His voice rumbles against your lips, the whispering lost to the wind now, “Ain’t you the sweetest thing.”

Thanks so much for reading, hopefully I haven't lost my edge after a year off. If you liked this please consider leaving me some feedback, I obsess over it constantly!

287 notes · View notes

this-lovely-universe · 3 months ago

Text

Open starter: Best Friend

Anastasia

Anastasia definitely 100% did not like Finley.

She only got butterflies when she laughed, but everyone felt that with their best friends.

She only felt fuzzy feeling in her chest whenever she would brush hands with her, or give her a hug, but that was normal.

It was all normal.

Right?

She was waiting for Finley to finish sword practice, which wasn't out of the ordinary for them.

She watched her, as she swung. She was so good at it, it took Anastasia's breath away.

We're at the denial stage ladies and gents

@arisdaughter @childofthewargod @dianedantedominic @theorphicforest

@this-rose-has-thornes @ithacas-prince @daonedaonlyskh @hispanic-child-of-hermes @aria-pane @unhinged-waterlilly

@chaos-pers0nified @ariathemortal @i-was-never-sane @gaygirldoodles @smileyalater

@if-i-could-cry-i-wouldnt @hellincarnation

If you want to be added, removed or if I forgot to tag you, let me know :)

#camp half blood #pjo roleplay #percy jackson #pjo #pjo rp #percy jackson oc #percy jackson rp #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #percy series #pjo series #pjo fandom

236 notes · View notes

slaytheusurper · 4 months ago

Text

⭑ Separate Worlds, Chapter One ⭑

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Michael Gavey x Popular!rich!reader

A/N: It took a while as I wanted to write some chapters ahead but the first part of my first longer fanfiction is here! Please give me feedback I need to know if it's any good :)

Summary: Living two completely separate lives you and Michael had never really crossed paths and you’ve never really looked at him before. But when your worlds collide, affections arise.

Word count: 1.8k

Wednesday, October 12th 2006

The sound of rain hitting your thin single paned window woke you from your usual noon nap. Waking up with a groan, you checked your watch. A beautiful watch from Cartier, one you’ve always wanted. Another gift from your beloved father, who would rather send you gifts to apologise than actually say the words. He would once again miss your birthday, this year he would fly to Turkey, for a 'very important business trip'.

You didn’t even care where the fucker would run away to this time, he’d do anything to get away from your mum, and from your family. Anytime you would meet someone and tell them your name they’d immediately perk up, your family was quite an old one and when the first cars were invented your ancestor was there, right with Benz himself. In current day your father ran the family company, manufacturing and transporting cars all over the world, and soon your brother would join him.

You never had much of a thing for cars, but luckily for you your older brother did. He wasn’t going to be there either though. He was accepted into Harvard, and was currently studying abroad in America. A loud knock fully awakened you and you rose from your bed, you were so tired you didn’t even change into comfier clothes, you just napped in your cute fall outfit of the day instead.

Opening the door, Farleigh almost immediately bursted into your room. He seemed angry, but he usually was. You met him in your first year, of course upon hearing your name called on in a lecture, he partnered up with you after class. So your first project was with him, he was nice enough but sometimes he could be really annoying and above himself.

You took a deep breath as Farleigh made himself comfortable in your bed, you did not have the energy to tell him to sit on the couch instead so you silently joined him, waiting for him to start his rant. “So? What happened?” You asked, since he was still moping on your bed in silence. “That fucking rat Oliver! He lends his bike to Felix ONCE and now they’re besties! He is literally a dirt poor cunt that has no personality or anything interesting about him!”

Great so that’s what this was going to be. “Christ Far, what did he do?” You had to hold back a chuckle, you felt bad for him but when Farleigh was mad he made this really funny face. “Don’t fucking laugh! It’s not funny! You know how Felix and I were going to go to that new coffee place that just opened, and you and Eloise were going to join us after your maths class? Well fuck that apparently! Because Felix just messaged me that Oliver and him are doing an assignment together and he had to cancel!”

“Don’t get me wrong Far, that really sucks but if it’s for school I don’t really-” He cut you off before you could even explain yourself. “The fucking assignment is not until next monday! It’s wednesday for fucks sake!” You so did not have energy for this. “Okay Far, please calm down, if you do think that Oliver is doing it on purpose the last thing you want is to give him the satisfaction of pissing you off. Just stay calm about this and we’ll ask if Maisie is free this afternoon to join us.”

Farleigh seemed to cool off and now instead looked a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah you’re right. Sorry for barging in like this, didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll message Maisie then, grab a coffee with me? As an apology for waking you up?” You gave him a smile and nodded. “Let’s drink it in the library, it’ll be so cosy with the rain and I need to finish some homework really quick before maths today. Should I message Eloise if she wants in?”

“Yeah sounds good, put on your shoes and let's go!” Farleigh was all back to his normal energised self again and you did as he said. Eloise replied that she would join you later. You and Farleigh jogged to the library, him with your coffee’s and you trying to hold the umbrella over both of your heads. Both of you couldn’t help but giggle as Farleigh almost spilled the coffee at the entrance, while you shook off the umbrella.

You both strolled in and walked over to a free table in the back, with a big beautiful window that showed the autumn weather outside. Farleigh slid over your iced coffee to you while he drank his hot cappuccino with way too much sugar. Farleigh grabbed his laptop to work on some essay he had due tonight and you grabbed your maths homework. After about thirty minutes of work, you both couldn’t help but talk about Eloise’s new boyfriend.

A loud snort accidently left your lips when Farleigh imitated the poor boy's smile, which was all teeth and kind of creepy, when you flinched at the sight of a guy peering at the two of you behind a bookshelf. Farleigh’s brow furrowed and he turned to see what you were looking at behind him. Once he saw the guy he turned back to you and mouthed ‘what the fuck?’ which made you laugh again.

This seemed to be the final straw for the guy and he walked over. “Could the two of you shut up. You do realise that this is a library? People are trying to actually study.” The guy sneered. You looked at him with wide eyes, where had you seen him before? He didn’t seem like the guy to take literature…also not any of your other classes- oh… Maths. You definitely saw him there.

You’ve never really looked at him before. He was quite handsome if you took away the classes, khaki pants, tucked in blouse and the keys hanging from his belt, not bad. Farleigh spoke up before you could apologise. “Aren't you the guy who screamed at Oliver during O week?” He looked at the guy with an expression you knew all too well, he was about to rip this guy a new one. And of course the poor guy’s face goes red as a tomato.

You felt bad and gave Farleigh a look, anything to stop this awful moment. Luckily Farleigh gave it a rest and the guy opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. He walked away instead. “What the actual fuck was that.” You laughed, the whole interaction was absurd. “I have no idea- Oh, El just messaged me. She is… on her way and will be here soon.” Farleigh read as he scanned his eyes over his phone.

“Good, but don’t make that face again in front of her. It’ll only start something between the two of you." Then your eyes noticed something, the guy from just now, sitting all alone, fervently writing down notes. Hm, kind of sad. Only five minutes later did Eloise stumble into the library, dripping wet, with her books under her coat. “Fuck me, that rain is just getting worse.” She said a little loudly as she dropped her books on the table. Earning a look from that guy from before.

“You don’t have an umbrella?” Farleigh chuckled. “No I don’t, who remembers to bring an umbrella to uni?” She scoffed. You raised your brows and smiled at Farleigh. He laughed and Eloise sat down, copying some of your already finished homework. “Hurry up, we only have ten minutes until maths start.”

“Yeah yeah I’ll be quick. I can easily do this in five and then we be there ‘bout three minutes before, that’s plenty of time.” You rolled your eyes and watched as Eloise hurriedly scrabbled on the paper. When she was done, Farleigh went back to his dorm to watch a movie, while you and Eloise headed the other way to maths, laughing when she saw you open the umbrella for the two of you.

Eloise always preferred to sit in the back, so that’s where you went. Felix and Oliver were already there. To be honest you didn’t know if you liked Oliver just yet, he hadn’t been around for long but you just got weird vibes from him. But if Felix liked you that’s all it takes to ‘get in’. You hadn’t realised when you were walking in front of Eloise that you would be seated right next to Felix.

You didn’t mind him, but he had this sort of weird thing with girls. As if he needed to prove to himself that he could get anyone, except for you. You had no interest in him, you were more the type to have a friendship and deep connection with someone rather than hooking up. But that was exactly what Felix was, a quick fuck. You gave him an awkward smile when he grinned at you, and a small nod from Oliver.

Time for small talk was impossible as your professor already cleared his throat, silencing the hall. But for some reason your eyes were scanning the room. That kind of looked like- oh, nope not him. He kind of looks similar- also not him, oh, there he is. All the way to the bottom left. You instantly recognised that nose, that jaw, his soft blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes- okay, that was a lot. You had no idea what overcame you but you would definitely be thinking about him later, when you were alone. And it was the daydreams of him that got you through the boring lecture.

Thursday, October 13th 2006

‘Saying what you gon’ do to me’ ‘But I ain’t seen nothing’ ‘Typical ain’t hardly the type I fall for’ ‘I like when the physical-’ You were so engrossed in the song coming from your headphones that you bumped into someone. Oh god- it was him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You said as you ripped your headphones out of your ears. “Whatever.” He mumbled, about to just step around you and move along into the building but you stopped him, grabbing his arm. Which made him turn around and look at you surprised.

“I’m so sorry about yesterday, I wanted to apologise then, but Farleigh can be so rude.” You smiled. He didn’t respond but looked at your hand on his arm instead, which you then quickly let go. “Uhm, what’s your name?” His mouth was slightly opened as he stumbled out, “M-Michael Gavey.” He stuck out his hand and you shook it as you told him your name. “Nice to meet you Michael, and again so sorry about yesterday.” He only nodded and then walked away. You subconsciously smiled and put your headphones back in, heading to your next lecture of the day.

#michael gavey x fem reader smut #michael gavey x fem reader #michael gavey x reader smut #michael gavey x reader #saltburn fanfic #saltburn smut #michael gavey saltburn

230 notes · View notes

khywren · 10 months ago

Text

Ravenous

pairing: Astarion/f!reader rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 4.4k tags/warnings: shameless smut, piv sex, oral sex, fingering, blood drinking, praise kink, multiple orgasms/overstimulation

summary: You part your legs for him without hesitation, wetness pooling between your thighs. Astarion hasn't even touched you yet and already you are dizzy with need, obedient without him even needing to ask for you to accommodate him. You would beg him for it if he asked you to. Astarion's voice has fallen to a conspiratorial whisper when he brings his lips close to your ear and asks, “You want to feel more than my fangs inside you, don't you?” ────────── Astarion is feeling particularly hungry tonight. And this time, he's craving more than just your blood.

AO3 ┊ masterlist

Pale light filters through the frost-encrusted windows, the panes of glass rattling as the winds outside buffet the tiny inn you and Astarion have chosen to take refuge in for the evening. Despite the raging storm outside your room, your senses are deafened to anything beyond your immediate vicinity; you hear only the steady, rhythmic drumbeat of your heart and the quiet sounds of pleasure Astarion makes as he takes his fill of you.

A satisfied sigh, a low hum of approval. The eager lap of his tongue against your heated skin. Tame by most standards, but unmistakable evidence of the sheer indulgence that is your blood and the satisfaction it brings him.

By now, the presence of his fangs barely register as anything more than a dull, familiar ache. You sit comfortably on the bed between his thighs, braced against his chest as he cradles the side of your head with an open palm. The fingers of his other hand lay entwined with your own and comfortably in your lap, anchoring you to one another.

Ever since the first time you offered Astarion your blood, the act has had a distinct intimacy about it, one that has grown even more profound as your relationship has developed.

What once were quiet, stolen moments of comfort in camp have become the foundation of your devotion to one another, the one thing you can provide him that no one and nothing else can – at least, not in this particular way.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't immediately notice the shift in your awareness, or the fatigue that ebbs through your body as Astarion continues to drink deeply from you. The feeling almost borders on euphoria, beckoning you to let go and sink into a deep slumber, but you manage to reign yourself in just before your eyes close completely.

He's probably taken more than he should, but you can't spare the effort that it would take to care. Astarion needs blood, and you are more than happy to provide it for him. A gentle squeeze of his hand is all it takes to alert him, and he swallows audibly one last time as he pulls away from your throat.

With eyes half-hooded and dark as the wine you had downstairs, he looks as though he has just been roused from a deep sleep.

Your heart constricts in your chest as you catch a glance at him from the corner of your eye and turn to watch him. Even now, you still find yourself mesmerized by how beautiful he is, like a pale rose in bloom beneath the full moon.

The corners of his mouth are tinged a subtle pink, the same shade now creeping across the rest of his pallid complexion. You particularly notice the flush that colors the tips of his ears, a stark contrast against the soft white curls of his hair. Pressed up against him as you are, you can feel the change your blood brings to his body, little tendrils of the life and warmth you have so eagerly given him.

Astarion brushes a thumb over the remaining blood on his lips and licks it clean, turning his attention on you.

“You pilfered the extra sweetrolls.”

You're not sure what to make of the flatness of his tone, and when you meet his gaze his expression betrays very little of what he's thinking.

“The barkeep was closing up for the night,” you assert, “and they were just going to go to waste.”

The arts of stealth and sleight of hand have never quite been your strong suits, but during your travels with Astarion, you had come to realize their merits. He had been teaching you the proper ways of remaining undetected, though to somewhat mixed results. But you were trying your best – that even he had to admit.

And if you had happened to put his teaching to good use to steal yourself a couple extra snacks, what harm was there in that?

“And besides,” you add, “I thought you might enjoy the extra treat too.”

Astarion weaves his fingers through your hair, guiding your face up towards his own. His lips are soft against yours when he murmurs, “I'm not chastising you, darling. Merely observing.” You feel him grin as he says, “I'm honestly just impressed that you didn't get caught. Maybe you're not a lost cause after all.”

Before you can protest, he kisses you properly, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. Your part your lips with a heavy sigh, and you detect the distinct flavor of iron still lingering on his tongue as he explores your mouth. There's nothing else significant about the taste of your blood that you can detect, of course, but Astarion must have known the difference the moment he bit you.

When he pulls away, his eyes never leave your face, and you know him well enough by now to sense the thinly-veiled hunger in his gaze.

“You must know that your blood is always a treat.”

He says it almost absently, as if his thoughts are elsewhere. The tempo of your heart rises on instinct, and you know he can hear it when his hand slips from your own and travels over the hem of your nightgown, impossibly warm through the thin cotton fabric.

You swallow thickly, mouth parched as his fingers slip beneath the nightgown and begin to travel up, up, up.

“Although, I must admit, it's hardly the only part of you worth savoring.”

You part your legs for him without hesitation, wetness pooling between your thighs. Astarion hasn't even touched you yet and already you are dizzy with need, obedient without him even needing to ask for you to accommodate him.

You are aware of the press of his cock just below the small of your back, already half-hard beneath his pants. It only serves to excite you that much more, and when you adjust your hips slightly to allow him better access, the friction coaxes a low groan from him that sends a wave of arousal straight through your center.

It must only take moments for his hand to glide up the length of your thigh, but it feels like ages, anticipation building in you like a tightly wound spring about to snap. But instead of relief, you feel even more tense as his fingers press up against your soaked underwear, a maddening barrier between your bodies that you want nothing more than to tear away so that he might finally give you what you need.

You would beg him for it if he asked you to.

Astarion's voice has fallen to a conspiratorial whisper when he brings his lips close to your ear and asks, “You want to feel more than my fangs inside you, don't you?”

You moan wantonly, rolling your hips against his hand.

“Y-yes…”

Your voice cracks around the single syllable, betraying your desperation.

"I thought so,” Astarion remarks with a low, rumbling laugh. He seems quite pleased with how easily he's gotten you worked up, the smug bastard. But gods, do you want him.

“How many fingers?”

Your breath hitches, and you clench around nothing at the thought alone.

"Two."

Astarion clicks his tongue in what sounds like admonishment, but his hand mercifully slips beneath your underwear nevertheless. He rewards you with a tantalizingly slow drag of his fingers between your slick folds, finally sliding the tip of one single finger inside you. You are so wet and aching for him that he meets little resistance, and you can't help but cry out in pleasure.

“I do so adore your enthusiasm,” he muses. “But you can take more for me, can't you?”

Despite the fog clouding your thoughts all but robbing you of your ability to speak, you manage to tell him, “I... I can try.”

Astarion presses a second finger into you, burying himself to the second knuckle.

“Good girl.”

Your head falls back against his shoulder as his fingers slowly pump inside you in a steady, deliberate rhythm, working you open with a tenderness he reserves only for you. The additional stimulation of the soft pad of his thumb against your clit has you seeing stars, and you instinctively buck your hips to seek more of that delicious friction.

“Astarion…”

Your tone implies so many things: your desire, your growing need for release, your adoration of how well he knows your body, an instrument he plays to perfection every time he touches you.

Astarion presses a third finger at your entrance, lavishing wet, open-mouthed kisses against the shell of your ear and the column of your neck.

“Are you ready, love? I want to hear you sing for me.”

“Yes,” you whine, spreading your legs a little wider and inhaling a bracing breath. You've yet to take him like this, but you know he will make it good for you. He always does.

“Just relax,” he coos. The stretch of his third finger is an unfamiliar ache, but he eases inside you slowly, patiently, making sure you are comfortable. The pain is only temporary, swiftly replaced with indescribable pleasure, and soon his fingers are buried as deep as they can go.

You moan for him between panting breaths, caged against his body by the hand between your legs and his other hand, which palms and kneads your breasts over your disheveled nightgown. Experimentally, he crooks his fingers inside you, grazing the spot that punches a high, keening whine from your open mouth.

“There... that's it,” he praises you, repeating the gesture again, and then a third time, leaving you dizzy and breathless. All the while, you grind against him, lost in your mounting pleasure.

“How's that?”

His voice cuts through your arousal, tethering you to the present moment. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to form a coherent thought, but you grin mischievously when you tell him:

“Feels... good... but not nearly as good as your cock.”

Astarion tenses, the arm that encircles your torso tightening and pulling you firmly against his body.

“Careful,” he growls. “You have no idea what that wicked little mouth of yours does to me. I have half a mind to take you right now, to show you just how good I can be.”

You don't tell him that you know exactly what it does to him. You can feel the evidence of your teasing against your back, the way his hips stutter against you, making you all too aware of how hard his cock has suddenly become.

Perhaps it's the blood loss that makes you bold, but you don't hesitate to push him just a little further, eager to make him feel even a fraction of the overwhelming desire you've already experienced for him. You know he loves it, that fiery spark of yours.

“Then do it.”

Your voice is low, almost breathless as you say it, and not entirely on purpose. Because as much as you enjoy knowing it's taking everything he has not to make good on his word, the thought of him replacing his fingers with that lovely cock of his threatens to unravel you completely.

A moment of tense silence passes as Astarion seems to consider your suggestion. His fingers have stopped moving, and you furrow your brows in frustration, earning you a huff of laughter for your efforts.

“And rob you of an unforgettable evening of pleasure?” Astarion asks, feigning offense. “You must think me cruel.”

His thumb teases slow, purposeful circles around your clit, coaxing another moan from your lips. He isn't entirely wrong – as desperate as you are for your release, it would almost be a shame to end it all so anticlimactically. Astarion seems to be in agreement when he murmurs, “No, I plan to take my time with you. I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece, until the only remaining thoughts you have are of me and me alone.”

He punctuates his words with a series of slow, deep thrusts of his fingers inside you, and your hands fumble for purchase on his thighs, gripping tightly as if it's the only thing keeping you from toppling completely over the edge. It's barely enough.

“I'm yours, Astarion,” you tell him.

"I know, love,” he says tenderly, capturing your mouth in a brief yet searing kiss. His eyes darken, fangs gleaming behind the smirk that plays effortlessly across his face.

“And soon everyone in this dusty little inn will know it too.”

The hand on your breast slips beneath your nightgown and brushes over your bare skin, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan as he pinches your nipple between his fingertips. Embarrassment floods through you when you remember how thin the walls are, and that anyone in the neighboring rooms must already have heard your cries of pleasure.

“Don't be shy,” he insists, returning his attention to your neck as he increases the pace of his fingers inside you, slotting his mouth over the place he fed from you only minutes ago. The wet slide of his tongue against your skin and the way your cunt flutters around his fingers crashes against you in a wave of pure ecstasy, and this time you don't hold back as you cry out his name, your hips bearing down against him as you chase your pleasure.

Astarion grins wickedly against your throat and makes a primal noise somewhere between a groan and a growl that ripples through your body.

“There you go. I knew you would be good for me.”

Heat pools low in your belly, enticing you closer and closer towards the sweet oblivion you seek. Every drag of his fingers makes you tremble, a messy string of whimpers tumbling from your lips.

You're thrusting against him now with only one thought on your mind, teetering on the razor thin edge between your desire for more of him and the overwhelming need to let him see just how good he makes you feel.

"You're close, aren't you?” Astarion purrs into your ear. “Let go – I've got you.”

It's all the encouragement you need, and you come hard around his fingers, even as they continue to thrust inside you. The walls of your cunt contract around him, and soon your body goes limp in his arms, your chest heaving as you surrender yourself completely to the current that washes away any thoughts that aren't Astarion, Astarion, Astarion.

Astarion murmurs praises against your skin as he kisses along your jaw, your shoulder, and when at last he slides his fingers out of you, you watch as he raises those same fingers to his mouth before slipping them past his lips to get a proper taste of you.

His eyes fall shut and he groans softly in your ear, cursing under his breath. He's drunk on the taste of you, and you know he wants more.

Reluctantly, Astarion untangles himself from you, and you lay back against the pillows expectantly. You watch him with rapt attention as he lifts his shirt over his head, exposing his pale, sculpted chest to your hungry gaze. His pants are discarded just as quickly, cast aside as soon as he can tug them off. Your eyes rove shamelessly over his body, and when at last they meet his, you almost lose yourself in the depths of his adoring gaze. A thousand shades of red you cannot name, roiling like the open ocean in a storm.

But there is one unmistakable thing you see: his hunger for you, so blatant in the way his eyes narrow and his mouth draws into a thin, taut line as he prowls towards you.

Within seconds he's straddling you on the mattress, pushing your nightgown up and over your thighs before he hooks his fingers beneath your underwear. He is growing impatient, and all but tears them off of you. You help him kick them aside, pinned by the intensity of his gaze as he admires your body and all the curves and imperfections he loves so much.

You manage to pull the nightgown over your head in the time it takes Astarion to sink between your thighs, propping himself up in his elbows as once again you part your legs for him. Overstimulated and exhausted as you are, you still ache with need, and when Astarion opens his mouth and runs his tongue over his fangs you clench hard enough that you feel the evidence of your arousal drip obscenely down your thighs.

“Gods above,” Astarion groans. “Look at you. You're absolutely soaking, aren't you?”

Your mouth falls slack, and you can't seem to find your voice. Your heart thunders as Astarion hooks his hand under the back of your knee and spreads you open, granting him unfettered access to you. You watch, almost hypnotic, as he presses his lips against the smooth expanse of your thigh, and you feel the distinct graze of his fangs as he nips at your skin.

You're trembling again. Astarion kisses slowly up your thigh, stopping right before he reaches your center. “I love you like this,” he murmurs. His tone is low, husky, dripping with want.

“So eager for me. Completely debauched.”

“Please, Astarion…” you whimper. “I want to feel your mouth on me.”

The last thing you see before Astarion buries his face between your slick folds is the sly, wolfish gleam in his eyes, and the instant his tongue touches you you throw your head back and ball your fists in the sheets. With your eyes closed, you become hyper-aware of him between your legs, every move he makes amplified exponentially.

It's simultaneously too much and not enough, and you moan his name obscenely as he teases your entrance, the tip of his nose rubbing against your oversensitive clit. You writhe beneath him, but he clamps a firm hand over your hips to hold you in place.

“Stay still,” he commands. You don't know how you find the willpower to obey, but you somehow manage, though only just. Every nerve ending in your body is alight; you feel weightless and unbound, helpless to do anything but whimper as Astarion feasts on you.

Astarion's tongue slips greedily inside your cunt, tasting your arousal, and he groans again as his hands grip you even tighter. His nails leave little crescent moons peppered across your skin, the grip he has on you nothing if not possessive.

He means to claim every inch of you.

Emboldened by your pleading moans, Astarion lavishes his attention on you, bringing you swiftly to the precipice of another orgasm. With the flat of his tongue pressed against your aching center, he drags himself slowly upwards, stopping only once he's reached your clit and wraps his lips around it. His tongue swirls around the taut bundle of nerves, and your entire body shudders, overcome with a sensation you lack the words to describe.

Vaguely, you feel the way his hips jerk forward, unable to stop himself from rutting into the mattress as he loses himself in the taste of you. He grunts with every thrust, a low rumble in his chest, and the sound alone nearly undoes you completely.

Your hands are in his hair, weaving through his soft curls as you give them a gentle tug.

“Astarion,” you pant, “I – I'm going to –”

His movements quicken, intensifying the pressure building up inside you. And just when you think you can't take anymore, he flicks his tongue against your clit one last time and you shatter completely, a guttural moan tearing itself from your lips. He lets you clamp your thighs around his head as you ride out your second orgasm of the evening, hips bucking wildly as he guides you through it.

Your vision is hazy when you open your eyes and strain to look down at him. The sight of him, pupils-blown and his face slick with your arousal, is an image you immediately commit to memory.

As he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, Astarion sits back on his calves, eyes trained on you. You can feel his gaze raking slowly over your body, admiration and his devotion to you barely concealing the insatiable desire he no longer has the patience to withhold.

You catch him reaching down to fist his cock, still flushed an enticing shade of pink from his earlier feeding. A fat bead of precum glistens at its tip, and he hisses softly as his fingers brush against it.

“You need it, don't you?” he says, pumping himself. “My cock, buried deep inside you, filling you with every thrust.”

He must be imagining it himself; every time his hand glides up his length, he hisses through clenched teeth, fangs digging into his lower lip as his eyes fall half-closed.

“And my mouth... What about that, darling? I'm not quite finished tasting you yet.”

You watch him reverently, transfixed by his every movement. Your voice is raw and strained when you reply, “Oh, gods... Anywhere. Everywhere.”

Astarion huffs a laugh and leans forward, his cock slipping through your slick folds. You can feel the blunt head teasing your entrance, not quite pushing inside, though at this point it would take no effort for him to do so. His willpower must be immense. It's far stronger than yours, at any rate, and you cant your hips upward, whimpering when the head of his cock slips inside you just far enough for you to feel how hard he really is.

“Greedy little thing aren't you?” he says, his eyes darkening. He steadies himself with a hand on your hip and hovers over you, lowering his mouth until he's just above your lips.

“How lucky for you that I'm feeling exceptionally generous tonight.”

He kisses you fiercely now, all tongue and teeth, and you taste yourself again as he coaxes your mouth open.

“How about here?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. You roll your hips against him again, but he remains infuriatingly still. When he tears his lips from yours, he peppers kisses along your jaw, tracing a searing path down the curve of your neck.

“Or here?”

His tongue sweeps over the bite on your neck, hard enough to reopen the wound he left before. He laps at the trickle of blood and swallows.

“Or perhaps…”

Astarion leaves more kisses across your bare skin, and you know well before he reaches his destination what he plans to do. Your entire body seizes with anticipation, amplifying the pleasure that lances through you like lightning when his mouth finds your nipple and he takes it into his mouth, biting gently on the taut bud.

“Yes!”

Your back arches off the mattress as you cry out, and Astarion finally slams himself inside you, burying himself immediately to the hilt. He wastes no effort to be gentle with you, his hips snapping forward as he fucks into your tight, wet heat with almost reckless abandon. As you expected, his fingers were nothing compared to the delicious stretch of his cock as he bottoms out, again and again and again with each thrust. Every drag of his cock is pure ecstasy, and if not for your delirious state you know you might easily come again from just this alone.

You hear him moan, low and primal in the back of his throat, and you know he won't last long. His fangs are against your skin once more, pressed against the upper part of your breast, and you have only to whimper a quiet, “yes,” before he sinks them into you yet again.

It isn't about the blood – although you won't find him complaining. Rather, he's marking you as his, in a place that only you will see. It isn't the first time he has done so, but it never quite loses its thrill. You bear the marks of his passion all over your body, anywhere and everywhere he's put his hands or his mouth upon you.

“Astarion…” you breathe, wrapping your legs around the small of his back with what little strength you have left. Astarion pulls away from you just enough to grab your hands, interlacing your fingers as he lifts your hands to either side of your head.

“Again,” he growls. “Louder.” He pistons into you, hard and deep, the head of his cock hitting just the right spot to nearly drive you mad. It feels so good you almost forget your own name, let alone his.

“Astarion.” The sound of his name on your lips has a profound effect on him, as does the way your cunt clenches greedily around his cock, and his hands grip yours more tightly as he fucks you even harder. The wet slap of skin on skin intermingles with your shared pants and moans, and you've long since lost track of where your body ends and his begins.

“Astarion!”

The steady rhythm of his hips staggers only slightly, but you know he's all but reached his limit. A sheen of sweat glistens on his skin, his hair limply hanging over his face. But through it all, his eyes still find yours, burning intensely as the hells themselves.

“...fuck –!”

Your name is on his lips like a prayer as he tumbles headfirst into his release, groaning as he spends himself inside you and buries his face into your neck. His hips jerk forward sporadically as he rides out the rest of his climax, not quite willing to pull out even a moment too soon.

As exhausted as you are, you don't complain when he practically collapses on you, his stamina equally spent. All the while, he never lets go of your hands.

He has made good on his word, and you don't have the strength left even to pull him into your arms, and when you try to move it feels as though you're treading through deep water.

“You're going to be the death of me, darling,” you hear Astarion murmur, his face still pressed against the hollow of your throat.

You laugh quietly, and point out the obvious: “You're already dead, Astarion.”

With some effort, he lifts you up and into his lap, arms encircling you in a loose embrace that is the only thing still keeping you upright. You hook your arms clumsily over his shoulders, grinning as he leans forward to capture your lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

“And yet” he remarks, parting from your mouth only as far as he needs to for you to hear him speak. “I've never felt more alive than I do right now.”

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion smut #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #my writing #astarion

848 notes · View notes

jayaury · 1 month ago

Text

Hell of a Party

A short story from October! Tried to capture those autumn vibes. Plenty more you know where! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

. . .

Sid squinted through the windshield at what could generously be called a road. Damn thing was more rut than gravel, and the trees were so overgrown he could hear them scraping at the roof and sides of his old Chevy like groping hands. All of which made the midnight drive a risky thing

“Chris, are you sure there’s a house out here?” he asked as he tried to peer through the blackness. “We’re well outside town.”

“Sure, man,” Chris said affably from the passenger seat. “Just keep on a little further.”

Sid glanced over at his friend. He did like Chris, no question of that. They’d met in Folklore 102, and surprisingly hit it off. Where Sid was more withdrawn, Chris had been a party animal, embracing college life like a typical frat boy. Recently, he’d been going to some special parties. He’d been a bit vague on details, but had been badgering Sid to come with him for over a week. Sid had finally agreed just to shut him up.

That said, Sid was curious about those late-night parties. Because Chris had changed since he’d started going to them. For one, he started wearing those stupid sunglasses all the time like he was perpetually hung over. And he’d also become…

Well, stupider, to be honest.

Not that Chris had been terribly brilliant before. There was a reason he was taking folklore 102, which was notoriously easy. Well, one of two reasons. The other was that the female to male ratio was three to one. Sid stole a glance at Chris again, who was grinning, leaning back in the seat, those strange tinted glasses masking his eyes, lumberjack-style plaid jacked undone.

Chris suddenly jerked forward, grabbing the dash and pointing. “There! There it is!”

Sid jumped and swung his attention back to the road, peering ahead.

It took him a moment, but then he saw it. Jutting out of the tangled forest was a large house. Classically Victorian, it crouched among trees stripped to skeletal limbs by autumn’s chill. Tiled roofs rose in minarets and bay windows pushed forward, spilling out a brilliant yellow glow. Shadows flickered against the panes, and he could faintly hear the thud of music beating through the night.

Yet something felt… off about the house. Out of place. Sid had a hard time believing a building like that would be out in the middle of the boonies. Especially with the road in this condition. Yet, the evidence was before his eyes.

“How did you even find this place?” he asked.

“Got invited,” Chris said, practically bouncing in his seat, grinning like an idiot. His hands slapped the dash in eager drumming. “Come on, man. Bring us in! They got started without us, and you don’t wanna miss the fun!”

Still puzzled, Sid cruised closer, gravel crunching under the wheels as he brought them up. He parked among several other cars and got out, scanning the building. Again, he found the place odd. If felt like it should be more overgrown with the treeline so close. Instead, it looked like someone had just… plopped the house down in the middle of the woods.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Chris said, bounding out of the car and towards the porch. Sid followed more slowly, walking up the creaking steps and to the door, the sound of music growing. Weird stuff. Felt very instrumental and vibey. Flutes and horns with a pulsing beat that seemed to vibrate in his gut and throb in his groin.

Chris rang the bell, the chime nearly lost in the music. A moment later the door flew open, yellow light spilling out and illuminating a woman that made Sid stare.

She was simply gorgeous. Full figured and wearing a tight red dress that hugged every aching curve, her hair was a frizz of red whose style probably went out of date in the 70’s. Those hoop earrings surely had, but her face and body made you forget about anything else. She radiated gleeful fun, and the way her breasts strained the red fabric with her every breath riveted Sid’s attention.

“Beezie!” Chris cried, throwing his arms open.

“Baby!” Beezie replied in a sonorous, throaty voice that made Sid shiver and flush. Her arms enfolded Chris, pulling him in against her expansive chest, her lush red lips planting a kiss on his cheek. “Look at you. It’s so late! And this must be your friend!”

“Uh, hi,” Sid said, feeling hot just from her look. “Sid. Nice to-”

“How silly! We greet like this,” she said, and before Sid could respond her arms had enveloped him, tugged him in, and mashed him against her chest. The feel of her breasts made him flash hot, and that’s when her lips met his.

Sid jolted, sucking in a breath ladened with her flowery perfume. He couldn’t quite suppress a soft moan as her tongue slid against his lips, barely asking permission before pushing into his mouth. He’d never had a kiss like that, which seemed to last forever yet end far too soon when she broke apart with an audible pop, leaning back and admiring him as he blinked, dazed.

“Mmm, lovely to meet you!” Beezie said merrily. “I just know you’re going to be a big hit. And thank you, Chris. We always need more boys at these things. Just can’t get enough!”

Chris grinned stupidly, nodding eagerly. “Yes, Beezie. I was a good boy.”

“You certainly are. Such a good boy,” Beezie cooed, patting his cheek fondly.

Chris bit his lip, practically quivering with delight, much to Sid’s amazement.

“But come in! Come in out of the cold,” Beezie exclaimed as she stepped aside, ushering the both of them into the foyer, giving Sid a slight pat on his ass that made him start. “It’s nice and warm in here.”

Warm was right. No sooner had Sid stepped over the threshold it felt like the temperature went up twenty degrees.

“Put your coat anywhere, sweetie. And go check out the party! Chris? I think I should give you your reward, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes Beezie,” Chris panted. “Good boy!”

“A very good boy,” Beezie cooed before giving Sid another pat to urge him into the house.

He found himself being shooed into the living room, where the party was certainly in full swing, and it quickly became apparent that they really did need more men around. The place was absolutely filled with women. Practically three to every man. He could tell because every guy in there had at least two beautiful, flirty girls hanging off him.

Sid hesitated, then sidled into the room, trying to avoid attention. He was surprised to see pretty much every guy from his folklore class, and definitely every girl too. But there were others he didn’t recognize, and no one he was friends with.

In search of something to do, he hit up a large table at the back of the room filled with beer kegs and solo cups. He filled one, then drifted through the room uncertainly, eventually making his way to an empty spot against the lacquered wood wall.

He sighed, leaning there, watching the party from a distance. He swirled the beer he’d nabbed and glanced at the suds. He was never good at socializing at these things. Too bland. Too boring. He’d hoped that Chris would at least have introduced him a bit, but clearly that wasn’t happening. He grimaced. He shouldn’t of come. Was it too early to just… go home?

“Mind if I join you?”

He looked up in surprise. A woman stood before him. Beautiful, in a tight white top and a pair of cut off jeans that showed off her thighs. Her hair was a rich, thick mane of black and her eyes sparkled green. A pair of large glasses sat on her lovely face. Glasses that stirred some memory he couldn’t quite place.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

She giggled. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” she asked teasingly.

Sid flushed. “I uh…”

“It’s Millie.”

“Millie!”

She laughed, cocking a hip and resting her hand on it. “Surprised?” she asked.

He was. The Millie he knew was a mousey young woman from class, whose fashion tended towards bulky sweaters. Fairly popular, she’d often strike up conversations with him. He’d suspected she was interested in him, but never really believed it.

Now though…

She giggled. “Didn’t recognize me, did you?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted, and that was true enough. He couldn’t help but stare at her chest, her breasts absolutely straining her tight top. So that’s what those frumpy sweaters had hid. God damn…

“I bet,” she said, her hips cocking, the movement making her chest bounce. “In class I tend to go a bit more model student. Around here though?” she said, smiling as she tucked some black hair behind her ear, eying him through lidded lashes. “I can be a bit more… honest about myself.”

“You can?” he said, swallowing thickly.

“Oh yeah,” she whispered, stepping closer, her hand playing onto his thigh. “Very honest.”

Sid’s pulse jumped and his pants grew tight at that touch. How her fingers slid along his jeans, the heat of her palm radiating through the denim. Alright, so, looked like she had been interested in him after all. Very interested! More the fool him for fumbling that. Had to play it cool now though.

“You uh, come to these often?” he asked, and immediately mentally kicked himself.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, sliding in closer. “Quite often, actually. I’ve been telling Chris to get you to come for ages. Finally had to ask Momma Beezie to make that magic happen…”

“Oh, well, it’s… not really my scene,” he admitted.

“True,” she murmured, pressing still closer, her breasts squishing against his chest. “Shall we change that?”

Sid sucked in a breath, his pulse pounding, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the pungent perfume that surrounded her. Something thick. Spicy. Something that seemed to rush up his nose and into his head like a puff of pink smoke.

“Ch-change it?” he gasped.

She winked, her hand lacing with his. “This way.”

He didn’t resist as she pulled him out of the room and towards the stairs. He was honestly eager to get away from the living room with all the noise and sight of horny just-adults discovering each other’s bodies. Especially when it sounded a hell of a lot like he was about to make some fascinating discoveries about Millie’s body. He climbed the creaking wooden steps, eyes riveted to her ass. Rooms lined the hall up there, and Sid heard distinct sounds of thumping and… were those moans?

Oh.

Oh wow.

Sid felt his face warm again as he realized what was happening, and he tried to hide his excited expression as Millie dragged him to a particular door. Play it cool, Sid. Nice and cool. He took a deep breath and sucked in more of her perfume. He felt himself flush further, his eyes again trailing to her plush ass.

She glanced back at him, winked, her hand turning the doorknob. “Hope you’re ready for some real oh for fuck’s sake!”

Sid barely heard her. He was too busy staring at what was happening in the room. A man had been tied spreadeagle on the bed, a blindfold over his eyes and what looked like birthday candles semi-melted on his naked chest. A blonde was crouched in front of him, her head bobbing, her naked ass bared to them in a full and glorious moon.

At the sound of Millie’s voice the woman on the bed paused and raised her head with a slurping sound that made Sid’s legs wobble with sympathetic excitement. Turning, the naked blonde looked at them with innocent baby blues, a playful smile alighting her ruby lips before her tongue slid over them suggestively.

“Hey Millie,” she said.

“Jezebel, you fucking whore!” Millie growled. “I told everyone my room was off limits tonight.”

“Mmm,” Jezebel whined, arching a little, her plump breasts bouncing playfully on her chest, nipples jutting proudly. “But you have the biggest bed. And I needed a big bed for what I wanted to do.”

“That’s not… is that my organic honey?”

“Is it?” Jezebel said innocently, glancing at an empty squeeze bottle on the side table. “I found it in a drawer. I thought you were done with it.”

“You…” Millie seethed, and Sid stared at the livid anger of his fellow Folklore student. Even her hair seemed to be writhing in rage.

As he took a wary step back, Millie seemed to remember him and turned a sharply sweet smile on him.

“Sid. Could you wait out here for just a minute,” she said with strained politeness. “Just need to have a quick chat with my… friend…”

“Uh, sure. No problem.”

“Great,” Millie cooed and shut the door on him.

No sooner had it closed than he heard Millie’s muffled shouting as she chewed out Jezebel, who sounded like she was just laughing.

Bouncing on his heels, Sid uncertainly looked around the hallway. Awkward didn’t begin to describe the situation, and he dearly didn’t want to be a part of it further. But he couldn’t drag himself away. His body still zinged from Millie’s touch, and his pulse was warm and hot with lust. He looked around the hall for some distraction. There were a few pictures on the walls, but inevitably and unsurprisingly, his attention was drawn to the other rooms.

He stepped closer to the first one and heard whispered giggles and a man moaning. The one beside that had little more than the frantic creaking of bed springs.

His face grew warmer with every sound, yet he felt oddly compelled to continue. It wasn’t doing his erection any favours, and just the thought of Millie’s affection once she finished her little… argument more than kept him from wandering too far.

Then he reached a particular door. One that was unusually quiet. Surprised, he listened closer. There was… something. He pressed his ear to the wood. He heard a groan. Not one in pleasure though. It sounded a little like pain.

Sid looked around nervously. Was someone in trouble? It wouldn’t surprise him. At a party like this, who would notice? Hell, he doubted someone screaming bloody murder could be heard with the music downstairs on so loud. He could practically feel the floor vibrate from the bass.

He looked again at the door. Considered getting someone, but who? And he didn’t even know if something was wrong. How stupid would he look then?

He bit his lip. Well… he should at least take a look.

Grasping the knob, almost hoping to find it locked, he held his breath as it turned easily. He looked again around again. Then opened the door just a sliver and peered through.

The scent of booze was thick in the air. So heavy he felt a little light-headed just from the fumes. He squinted and saw a number of kegs all gathered about a mattress slumped in the corner. And sprawled among them, draped over some pillows like some empress with the worst hangover ever, was the bustiest woman he’d ever seen.

She was dressed in stockings and nothing else, her plump breasts bared, heaving with her slow breaths. Her head was thrown back against the slope of pillows arranged around the floor, her hair done up in a pair of pink pigtails.

“Ohhhh,” she groaned again, shifting listlessly.

Sid hesitated a moment more, then eased the door open and tiptoed inside. “Hey?” he called.

No response.

He moved over her, the scent of alcohol so strong it made his head spin again. He found his eyes wandering once more to those impressive breasts. Huge. Soft. Squeezable…

He shook his head, which momentarily cleared it. “Excuse me?” he said, nudging her shoulder.

“Mrrrrr,” she groaned, head lolling.

“Are… are you okay?” he asked.

“Mrph…” She blinked blearily and looked up at him. “Oh,” she said, her voice slurred and lazy, but a smile lit up her face. “Ohhhh. You’re… kinda cute…”

“Uh, thanks,” Sid said. “I was just… are you okay?”

“Nooooo,” she groaned, head tilting again, her feet kicking grumpily. “Ugh. My sisters are… are such bitches, you know?”

“Your sisters?”

“Yeeaaaaah. They said… they said I had to stay in here for the party. Right? Because I… because I always go after the boys too… too hard. And I mean, I mean it’s not my fault, right? If you don’t… you know, train ‘em properly, of course you’ll lose ‘em. I mean… I mean look at these,” she said, cupping her immense breasts. Hefting them. “Who wouldn’t… wouldn’t get addicted to these babies?”

Sid stared. Her breasts were truly massive. And they looked soaked with something. The smell implied liquor. But… but was it just him? Or did it look a bit like her nipples were… well, dripping?

“I uh…”

“Hey,” she said, looking at him closer, a lazy smile turning her lips. “Did you come here because you were, like, worried about me?”

“...Kinda,” he admitted. “You sounded… not good.”

“Mmm. That’s because I’m noooot,” she drawled, rolling forward and onto her hands and knees. “Not at all.”

Sid wasn’t sure he liked the look in her eyes. The gleam of wicked amusement. The hazy heat that burned in those dark orbs as she began to crawl towards him. “O-oh? Why uh, why is that?” he asked, retreating, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Because I haven’t eaten in just… daaaaays. I’m soooo hungry,” she said, her lower lip pushed out in a pout. But still those eyes burned. Still they hungered.

“I uh, think there was a chip bowl downstairs,” Sid stammered. Then his back hit the wall with a thump. “I could probably…”

“That’s so sweeeeeet,” she cooed, stopping in front of him, pushing her plush bum onto her heels, her heavy breasts bouncing as she straightened, level with his crotch. “But I’m hungry for something special.”

“S-special?” Sid squeaked, his mind understanding what was happening, yet unwilling to quite believe it.

“Oh yeaaaah,” she breathed, her hand rising, finger sliding along the unsubtle bulging at the front of his jeans. “Mmm. And got a feast… fit for a queen right here.”

“I… uh… miss, I don’t…”

“Call me Brandy,” she said, the tips of her fingers pinching his zipper.

“Brandy, I ah!”

He gasped as she tugged, his fly sliding down, his cock fairly bursting into the open, throbbing lewdly. Brandy gasped, her eyes lighting up and her tongue stroking her lips. “Oh fuck yeah,” she breathed, leaning in, inhaling deeply as she lovingly nuzzled his cock. “Oh fuck yesssss. Soooo good.”

Sid gasped, stiffening as her tongue slid from her lips, teasing the tip of his manhood. “B-Brandy! I uh, I don’t think…”

“That’s good,” Brandy breathed, her tongue stroking his throbbing tip, teasing with every lap. “Men don’t need to think. Just gotta fuck. Gotta cum. And Brandy’s gonna get herself a good taste…”

Sid knew he should tell her no. Push her away. Especially with Millie around. What would she think? What would she say? What if someone walked in?

Then, Brandy’s plush lips parted.

Slid over his head.

Down his length.

And every other thought just flew out of his mind.

“O-oh fuuuuuck!” Sid groaned, head falling back.

“Mmmm,” Brandy replied, her lips gliding over his shaft, slow and gentle. Savouring it like he was a fine glass of wine. Her free hand came up, pulling more of him out into the open, her fingers cradling his balls, spoiling his manhood with affections he hadn’t even dreamed were possible.

“Hooooly fuck,” Sid gasped, his hands groping for something to hold onto and finding her pigtails. He grabbed them like a pair of handlebars, and for an instant he thought again of pushing her away. Pushing her off.

But then her lips slid up him again.

Then down.

And instead he started to thrust.

“Mmmmm,” Brandy moaned, letting him set the pace. Letting him fuck her face, her breasts slapping lewdly against her chest and his legs. Sid groaned, lost in the sensations consuming him as he fucked the gorgeous coed’s mouth. Fucking hell! No wonder she kept stealing boyfriends. Lips that good were an utter sin!

“Fuck,” Sid gasped, knowing it was wrong what he was doing, but knowing only made it all the sweeter. “Oh fuck yes. Take it… take it deep. Use your tongue more. I… nnnnn!”

He groaned, head falling back. Fuuuuuck. It was unreal how good it was! He was primed pretty much as soon as he’d walked into the house, and it only made the sensation that much sweeter. He was absolutely losing himself in those lips. In that mouth. The feeling of her hot tongue sliding around his shaft driving him towards the brink!

He was hammering her now, pounding into her mouth, and her exertions easily matched his. If anything, she seemed more desperate to make him cum. More eager to taste his seed. Her fingers stroked and massaged his balls. Tender. Encouraging. Insistent. Practically pumping them. Massaging them. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, he wasn’t going to last. He just wasn’t going to last! He… he was… he was…

“F-fuuuuuuuuck!” Sid cried, legs quivering, a cry of helpless surrender escaping his lips as he came, pumping into Brandy’s mouth, feeling her adoringly guzzle his hot seed, moaning happily.

The pleasure was unlike anything he’d felt before. Strong. Heavy. He felt his head spin as he fell against the wall, weakness radiating through him as he basked in the afterglow, Brandy’s lips caressing his cock, milking out the last few drops she could.

“Holy… holy shit,” Sid breathed. Then he looked down and saw what was sprouting from Brandy’s bare back. “Holy shit!”

He stared at the pair of leathery bat wings in dull incomprehension. For a moment he thought they were some strange cosplay or props. But then he saw them flutter. Flex.

And noticed too the spaded tail sprouting right above her luscious ass.

“Mmm?” Brandy hummed, lifting her head, revealing the pair of horns growing from her brow. Not to mention the slits of her pupils giving him bedroom eyes that sent his cock throbbing despite his horror.

He gaped at her, for a moment too shocked to do anything but stare. Then he saw her notice his cock, and a hungry grin lit up her face again.

“I… I g-gotta go,” he gasped, cramming his shaft back into his pants, holding them shut with one hand as he staggered back to the door.

“Wha… hey! Waaaait!” Brandy wailed.

Sid didn’t. Even though her plaintive cry pulled at him like a leash, he stumbled out the room and slammed the door shut behind him. His hands fumbled with his fly and zipper as he thudded down the stairs. Something was wrong in the house. Something was so very wrong!

He reached the landing and looked up, and had the second shock of his night.

The room was awash in a sea of red and blacks. The lamps had been turned down, their glow casting deep shadows over writhing bodies. He saw his entire class there, rutting like animals. The drunken making out had progressed much further. Not a man there had less than three women grinding on him.

But they were far more than women.

Everywhere he looked, bat-like wings were fluttered. Spaded tails lashed with delight and horns glistened in the glow of the lamps. Clothing had been abandoned, leaving curves of unearthly perfection and tantalizing seduction on full display as men were drowned in kisses of delight. As breasts were massaged and bodies arched, throats moaning in sultry pleasure. The slap of flesh thumped to the music. Fangs gleamed between ruby lips, and men moaned, their eyes lidded, but what looked like pink hearts throbbing in their pupils.

Sid staggered back a step. He looked across the room at the exit and knew that was a lost cause. He dared not cross that orgiastic trap. He retreated another and his back hit something with a hollow thunk.

A door!

He reflexively reached down, his searching hand finding a handle. He turned it, and fairly tumbled backwards into darkness.

Getting his feet back under him he shut the door quickly. Darkness enveloped him and he groped about the walls. A light switch. There had to be a light switch! He sighed in relief as his finger found one and he flicked it on.

The buzz of the bulb illuminated some sort of study. He looked around with bewilderment at the bookcases filled with rotting tomes. The scattered shelves filled with jars and strange artifacts.

“What in the…” he murmured, though really, he shouldn’t be surprised. An occult side room was far from the strangest thing he’d seen tonight. And honestly, fit the whole thing pretty well. Especially given the rather large bed occupying a far corner, the sheets rumpled. Not much of a mystery what that had been used for lately.

As he surveyed the room, he suddenly heard the door creak. “Sid?”

He whipped around to find Millie standing in the doorway, peering down at him through her large glasses. “There you are,” she sighed, stepping inside. “I told you not to wander off. Ah,” she added, looking at his face, a pout pushing out her lips. “And you saw something you shouldn’t have.”

Sid retreated several steps. “S-stay back, demon!”

Millie’s pout deepened. “Oh dammit,” she growled. “Which of those dumb bitches told you? No, wait. It was Brandy, wasn’t it? That stupid bimbo. Is it any wonder we lock her up when the party gets started?”

“I-I’m not kidding,” Sid said, looking around. His eyes locked on a long knife carved with runes on a shelf. He snatched it up, brandishing it before him. “Seriously! Don’t come any closer!”

Millie sighed, looking more exasperated than angry. “Honestly. Makes me wonder why I bother putting all this work into the disguises,” she mused, and snapped her fingers.

Sid’s eyes bugged as her clothes seemed to burn away in a flash of fire. Plump breasts bounced into the open. Dark horns curled from her brow and long legs climbed to sensual thighs. She stood at ease, one hand resting on a lush hip, her breasts giving a teasing bounce as she shifted her weight, her skin tinting a rich red before his eyes.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped.

“There,” Millie said with a smirk. “Now that’s the look I was aiming for.”

“S-stay away!” he yelped, taking another step back. “You won’t… won’t have my soul!”

Millie giggled. “Oh,” she purred, taking a lazy step forward, her wings giving a beat, wafting the sweetness of her perfume into him again. “Is that what you think I’m after?”

“A-aren’t you?” Sid demanded, retreating again, his body tingling as he inhaled her scent. His cock throbbing in his pants again.

She gave him a pitying look. “Poor Sid,” she crooned. “Such a silly boy. Sure, maybe I’d eat the souls of the rest of those dummies in there. But not you. I wanted to save you for something extra… special…”

“What… what do you mean?”

“Do you like my breasts?” she asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“It’s not a hard question,” Millie asked, cupping those plump crimson orbs, hefting them teasingly. “Not hard like you are. Do you like them? Most do. They’re so big and soft and bouncy…”

Sid gaped, his eyes instantly riveted to those ample orbs as she gave them a teasing bounce. “I… I don’t…”

“They’re even bigger when I’m in my true form, aren’t they?” Millie crooned, squeezing them together, squishing them with another bounce. “So big and soft and bouncy. So firm. That’s the problem with playing human. You have to be more… realistic. More believable. But we all know what men really like, don’t we? They like them big. And soft. And bouncy!”

Catching himself staring, Sid jerked his attention back to her face. “Y-you won’t trick me!”

“Now Sid, don’t be silly,” Millie giggled, her eyes smoky, her smirk teasing. “I’m being more open with you than ever. I’m baring it all for you. My horns. My skin. My fat, bouncy tits.”

His gaze wavered. He was breathing hot and fast. Breathing in that perfume. That heavy, spicy perfume… “You… I…”

“Now now. Don’t pretend,” Millie cooed. “I know how much you love staring at them. I could feel you fighting not to look at them whenever we talked in the halls. So naughty of you trying to resist like that, Sid. Why, every time I took a deep breath, your eyes would just… pop!”

She gave her chest a sudden bounce. Sid felt his breath catch. His thoughts swirl and froth. He tried to shake it off, but his head felt strangely light. His hands shaking as they gripped the knife, its tip wavering.

“I… I don’t…”

“You were trying sooooo hard to be a good boy,” Millie cooed, stepping nearer. Nearer. Every movement punctuated by a swing of her hips. A flap of her wings. A bounce of her chest. “Being soooo polite. Soooo sweet. Sooooo caring. Never thinking that I wanted you to stare. That I wanted you to drool. That I wanted you to ask me out so I could ride that cock of yours and bury you under the tits you loved so much.”

Sid whimpered, his face burning hot. Flushed as she continued to lazily approach. Her wings fluttering, framing her, outlining her gorgeous figure, her hooves clicking on the floor.

Click.

“S-stay away,” Sid whimpered, suddenly recalling he should say that, yet the command lacked conviction. His head pounded with his pulse. Throbbing like his cock. His cock begging him to abandon reason. Abandon everything. Just fuck her. Touch her. Adore her. “I m-mean it!”

Millie smirked, and he knew she sensed his hesitation. Her eyes lidding in tantalizing hunger.

“You’re such a good boy,” Millie purred. “Always so sweet and nice. I’ve had my eye on you for weeks. But you just never seemed to come around. Always so shy and nervous around pretty girls. So I decided I’d better take the initiative. But not to date you. No no. I couldn’t stand that, Sid. Couldn’t stand you doing something silly like trying to be a gentleman and waiting for the fourth or fifth or sixth date before holding hands. I don’t have that kind of patience, Sid. I want you now. I want you to pound my pussy into pudding. To rut me like a fucking slut! To mold and squeeze my tits like dough and suck my nipples until I’m fucking putty!”

The fire in her eyes commanded Sid’s attention. Mostly. He still found it so hard to look away from her crimson breasts. How hard her nipples had become. How her fingers teased and rolled those buds in desperate arousal.

“I don’t just want your soul, Sid,” she continued, her words silken. Hot. Wrapping around him like the coils of a snake. Squeezing so sweetly. So lovingly. “I want you. I want to make you mine. All mine. Your silly mind. Your hot fucking body. And yeah,” she shrugged, her breasts again bouncing, “I want your soul too. But I want it all, Sid. I want you. I want to entrance you and love you and make you my adoring hunk of manmeat. I want to wrap you around my figure so we can make a whole new nest of hot succubi somewhere else.

“And I had the perfect evening set up for it,” she sighed dreamily. “A sweet little thing in my bedroom. Just you and me. We’d make out, and by the time I had you stripped and on my bed, you wouldn’t have noticed if I had two heads let alone wings and horns. But no,” she growled. “My idiot sisters had to ruin my evening. As always. So here we are.”

The back of his leg hit the bed frame, and Sid yelped as he toppled over and onto the sheets. The soft mattress bounced him, and he found Millie standing at the foot of the bed, smirking down at him, her golden eyes hungry and greedy.

“But then,” she purred. “There’s a certain appeal to this too.”

His hand flashed up belatedly, brandishing the knife. She glanced at it with amusement. “Oh Sid,” she hummed. “So defiant. So brave. But I have something I bet you’d much rather fill those hands with.”

His eyes returned to her breasts as she gave them another bounce. “I… I won’t,” he gasped.

“Just put it down, Sid,” she murmured, climbing onto the bed, straddling his legs, the heat of her body radiating through him and to his crotch. Her wings beat again, blasting his face with her perfume. His knife wavered as she loomed above him, smirking down, still cradling the plump orbs of her chest. “Just for a minute. Just to see if my big… soft… bouncy breasts are really as soft as they look. I promise,” she cooed, her hand stealing into his lap, opening his pants, “I’ll make it so… very… good…”

Sid wavered. Sweet fuck those breasts were so big. So soft. He inhaled deeply, and her perfume swam up his nose and into his head like pleasant pink clouds. Would it… would it really be so bad? Just for a bit? Those guys in the living room had seemed so happy.

Couldn’t he try?

Just for a moment?

“That’s it,” Millie murmured, her voice soothing, coaxing as the tip of the dagger dipped. “Just put it aside. Keep it close. You can snatch it up any time. I’m utterly at your mercy.”

That was a lie.

A bald faced lie.

But Sid slowly lowered his arm.

Set the knife down beside him.

“Such a good boy,” she said with a throaty, mocking note that made his cock twitch in his pants. Then she grabbed his belt, and hauled down both his pants and boxers.

His cock sprang up, twitching, thick and hard. Millie’s eyes flashed and a hungry smile worked onto her lips. “Finally,” she purred, sliding down him until her ass was lifted into the air, her tail winding above her bottom as she fairly drooled over his cock. She nuzzled his length, moaning, the feel of her tongue sliding up his manhood shooting through Sid like liquid lust.

“O-ohhhhh!” he groaned.

“Mmm. That’s… wait,” Millie said, a pout forming on her lips. “This tastes like… booze?” She gave him a sharp look. “Did that bitch Brandy already suck you off?”

“A… a bit” Sid whimpered.

Millie scowled. “Stupid slut,” she growled, her fingers wrapping around his length, starting to stroke him. “She’s always being such a brat! I swear, Beezie never should have brought her over.”

Sid failed to answer, only panting gasps escaping his lips as her fingers pumped him, sending aching pleasure throbbing to his balls.

“Guess that only choice is to thoroughly mark my territory,” Millie said with another playful smirk.

“Y-yeah?” Sid gasped.

“Oh yeah,” Millie purred, lifting her head to his cock and letting her tongue glide along his length.

Sid cried out in delight as her lips reached his tip, kissing the twitching head, her tongue lapping up the first drops of pre. She moaned at the taste, positively lavishing him with her affections before she began to slide down, down. Millie’s head dipping, taking more and more of him into her throat.

Sid’s eyes rolled back. A moan of pure, undiluted ecstasy escaping him as the possessive succubi’s head began to bob, those sinfully perfect lips gliding up and down his manhood, taking him deep into the warm tightness of her throat.

“Oh f-fuuuuuuck,” Sid moaned, his hands clutching the rumpled sheets as Millie did her work, masterfully sucking him off, her fingers stroking the twitching orbs of his balls. It was a world of difference from Brandy’s work. Soft, tender, adoring, he could feel her love for him in every movement of her lips. His whole body trembled with pleasure. Surged with ecstasy.

“Oh… oh… Oh f-fuck yesssss!” Sid cried out, arching on the bed, his balls tightening as he surrendered his load at last.

“Mmmm,” the succubus groaned as she gulped down his hot seed, her lips dragging off his cock with an audible pop. Millie arched up, smirking down at him with smoky, lidded eyes.

“Mmm. Delish,” she purred.

“Holy… holy fuck,” Sid gasped.

“See?” she said playfully as she crawled above him, her tail swirling above her, forming lazy hearts. “Told you it would be good, my sexy stud. And I’m going to make you so happy, my pretty boy. When I’m done, you are going to be so in love with me. So obsessed with me. You’ll never stop thinking about my tits. My ass. Never stop wanting to taste my lips and kiss my pussy.

“And then,” she purred, planting her hands on either side of his head, smirking down at him. “You and I are gonna go out there and make ourselves a love nest. We’re going to summon up more succubi. Conjure up even more cuties like me to enthrall some hot boys. But not you,” she cooed, kissing his cheek, the feel of her lips shooting through him like liquid fire. His mind squeezed in delight. “Not you, my pretty stud. Sure, I’ll let some of the girls have a taste if they’re very good. But you’re all mine, Sid. My pretty thrall. My sexy dumb stud. And doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I-”

Her hips rocked back, and Sid gasped as the soft heat and slickness of her pussy brushed his shaft, stirring him again to aching hardness.

“What’s that? Didn’t quite catch it,” Millie cooed as she swung forward.

Her breasts bouncing.

Bouncing.

“I um… I…”

“You want to be mine?” Millie cooed, her rocking hips going a little lower, the tip of his cock rubbing her slit. Her perfume surrounding him in pink softness. Loving submission. “You wanna be my stud? My brainless boytoy? My hot, sexy plaything for me to corrupt and fuck and play with for ever and ever? Is that what you want? More of this?” she breathed, her breasts swaying above him, her pussy rubbing against his twitching cock. “More of me? More… of… my… tits?”

Sid panted, whimpering, almost whining in animalistic need for more of the beautiful succubus. More of her pussy. More of her breasts. He couldn’t look away. They enthralled him. The bounce. The sway. He caught her eyes, glowing hot like fire. Her smile filled with lust and amusement and knowing exactly what he would decide. Exactly what he would admit. Exactly what he would do for her.

Anything.

Anything at all.

“Y-yeah,” he gasped. “Y-yesss! Sounds… sounds gooood.”

Millie giggled. “Sure does,” she purred. “And that means you’re mine!”

Her hips dropped, her velvety pussy devouring his cock in a single stroke. Sid cried out beneath her as her hips met his, Millie moaning in ecstasy as she began to bounce, riding his cock with slow, loving strokes.

“Ohhhhhh,” she moaned. “Oh fuuuuck! My breasts. Oh fuck, Sid, grab my breasts. Grab your nnn… grab your biiiiig priiiiize!”

As if his hands were magnetized, they shot up and cupped those impressive orbs. He groaned in delight as he felt how soft they were. How plump. How absolutely perfect. Everything he’d dreamed they were. Even better than he could have imagined.

And his.

All his.

And he was all hers.

“Yes!” Millie cried, her pace increasing, the bed creaking under them as she fucked him. “Oh hells yes! Squeeze my tits. Kiss them. Lick them! Oh Sid. Oh hells, Sid, yes! Good boy. Oh gooood stud! Keep nnnn… keep going. I’m gonna cum. Ah. Yes. Yes! Gonna cum! And you’re gonna… you’re gonna gimme that mind. Make yourself mine. Give it all up to be mine! Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Sid! You can’t… I won’t l-let you cum until you say it! Until you beg me! Beg me to m-make you my stud!”

Sid didn’t hesitate a second. Almost before she finished speaking he was moaning, “Please! Please, Millie!” he cried, voice muffled by her expansive titflesh. “N-need to be yours! Gotta be yours! T-take it! Take anything! Just… just… just let me cuuuuum!”

A squeal of delight escaped Millie as her arms wrapped around his head, pulled him deep into her breasts, smothering him in her enthralling bosom. “Yes! Yes! Yesssss!” she wailed.

Sid felt her inner walls clamp around him, squeeze him in a shudder of rippling ecstasy. He groaned in pathetic pleasure as she came, her own orgasm milking his out of him. White light seemed to burst in his eyes as his balls tightened, cock pulsing as he gave her his seed in great, throbbing bursts. As he surrendered to the joy of her. To her breasts. To her pleasure.

The dagger was forgotten. His fear was forgotten. Everything was forgotten, sucked away in that moment of hedonistic bliss. Drained away like his seed. Sucked away by the gorgeous succubus above him. Taking his will. His soul.

Everything but her.

Everything but love for Millie.

Gorgeous Millie.

His perfect, beautiful mistress…

#brainwashing #mind control #mindless #brainless #hypnosis #hypnotized #mind corruption #jay aury #brain drain #demon girls #demon girl #gentle fdom #gentle domination #ai artwork #short story

165 notes · View notes

focusonkayjay · 2 months ago

Text

between the ride and the roses (14)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 7.2k+

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: breaking in, mentions of blood, cuts, injuries, stitches, physical fight, violence, strong language

A/N: heyyy bbies, how are you all doing? jungkook went live yesterday, and I swear, I cried when I got the notification. it literally felt like life was worth living again. I missed him so much. anyways, this year is almost over, and next year, all the members will be together again. I can’t wait !!!

part 14: gearshift to wilting petals

5:46 am You yawn softly as you unlock the door to your shop, the faint chill of the early morning curling around you. The streets are still cloaked in quietness, a gentle hush lingering in the air as if the world itself hasn’t quite woken up yet. You slip inside, flipping on the lights one by one, their warm glow slowly illuminating your shop.

It’s unusual for you to be here this early. But today’s an exception, an urgent order for the school fair nearby has you here hours before your usual routine. The arrangements still need finishing touches and you want everything to be perfect.

Sitting down at your workbench, you roll up your sleeves, the familiar scent of fresh blooms calming you instantly. As your hands move with practiced precision, carefully arranging delicate petals, a small smile creeps onto your lips.

It’s unbidden, but welcomed as you immediately think of Jungkook. Somehow, even in the stillness of dawn, his face, his voice, the way he laughs... it all occupies the edges of your mind.

Thinking of him has become almost habitual now, slipping into your thoughts during moments like this... when the world is still, and your heart has room to breathe. The thought of him anchors you, a quiet comfort in the early hours.

A soft chuckle escapes as you tie a ribbon around a bundle of daisies, your mind wandering to him. Maybe he’s still asleep, hair tousled, soft snores slipping past his lips, one leg inevitably thrown off the bed like always.

But then just as your thoughts begin to drift, a loud crash interrupts you out of nowhere. The sharp sound shatters your calm, like a mirror dropped from a great height. Your fingers freeze, the flowers slipping from your hands as your head jerks towards the source.

A cold chill washes over you as your eyes land on the huge front window of your shop. The glass, once pristine and clear, now has a jagged, gaping hole right in its center. Shards glitter on the floor like cruel stars scattered across the surface, and lying amongst them, lifeless and heavy, is a rock.

And before you can process the moment, another rock comes flying through the broken pane, the violent impact splintering the remaining glass further. The sound is deafening, a crack of thunder in the stillness. Instinct takes over and you quickly cover your ears, squeezing your eyes shut as you flinch back.

Your heart plummets, sinking to the pit of your stomach, a hollow weight of dread pressing against your ribs.

After a few agonizing seconds, you cautiously open your eyes, your breath shallow as you take in the chaos before you. The giant broken window now yawns like an open wound, letting the chill of the dark morning seep into your shop.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, each thud louder than the last, as your trembling fingers hover above the workbench. Your mind races, spiraling into a panic that your body can barely keep up with.

Your eyes dart towards the door, a fleeting thought of escape flashing through your mind, but the sound of crunching glass snaps your attention back to the shattered window.

Three men step out of the shadows, their figures looming larger than life as they approach. They're tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably menacing, each of them casually resting a baseball bat against their shoulder. The dim light of your shop catches on the jagged edges of the glass, framing their sinister grins in a way that sends a chill down your spine.

They don't hesitate. With practiced ease, one of them vaults through the broken window, the others following close behind, their boots crunching on the scattered pieces of glass. Your legs tremble as you instinctively stand up, your knees threatening to give away beneath you.

You don’t know these men... you’ve never seen them before. But their presence is oppressive, their sharp, predatory gazes pinning you in place. Their leather jackets are heavy, their style loud and aggressive, mirroring the wicked expressions carved into their faces.

Despite the faint glow of dawn creeping in, they seem to bring darkness with them, filling your shop with a suffocating sense of danger.

"Well, well, well…” the man in front drawls, his voice smooth and venomous, laced with an undercurrent of malice. He steps closer as his dark eyes rake over you, lingering too long, and your stomach twists in revulsion. You want to turn away, to retreat, but fear roots you to the spot.

"Didn’t know Jungkook’s little girlfriend was this pretty." he sneers, his grin stretching too wide, too cruel. The men behind him chuckle, a low, guttural sound that feels like claws dragging across your skin. But when you hear Jungkook's name, it cuts through your panic, your mind stumbling over the implications. These men knew him?

The air feels heavy, as if the shadows in the room are closing in around you. You take a cautious step back, your pulse thundering in your ears, but the man only smirks wider, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. He’s savoring this, feeding off your fear.

"Who… who are you?" you stammer, your voice trembling like a fragile thread about to snap. “Oh, how terribly rude of me..." he quickly says, mockery dripping from his tone as he places a hand dramatically over his chest.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. I forgot my manners." His sarcasm is a knife, twisting deep with every word. He takes another step closer, and your instincts scream at you to run, but you’re frozen, trapped by the weight of his presence.

“I’m Mingyu.” he says finally, his grin sharpening as he gestures lazily over his shoulder. “And these fine gentlemen are... Kihyun… and Jaemin.” He names them like they’re old friends, but the glint in his eyes is anything but friendly.

You glance at the others. Kihyun leans casually against one of your displays, his gaze cold and calculating, while Jaemin’s smile is twisted, his hand firmly gripping the baseball bat that glints ominously under the faint light of your shop.

"What... do you want?" you demand, trying to sound braver than you feel, but your voice wavers, betraying you. Mingyu tilts his head, feigning curiosity. “What do we want?” he echoes. "Didn’t Jungkook ever tell you about us?” He arches a brow, his smirk growing darker. You curtly shake your head, your throat tightening.

“No?” he questions, pretending to be surprised. "Well, that’s a shame. We’re his… let's just say... his very good friends." The way he says it makes your blood run cold.

You don't respond, you don't know how to respond but before you can even process everything, you suddenly notice Jaemin moving. Without a word, he lifts his bat and swings it with terrifying force, smashing into the wooden shelves against the wall behind him. The sound is deafening, splintering wood and shattering pottery echoing like gunfire in the small space.

You flinch violently, caught completely off guard by his sudden actions. The delicate plants you’d lovingly cared for tumble to the ground, their pots exploding into shards, soil spilling like blood across the floor.

“Stop… STOP IT!” you scream, your voice cracking as you lurch forward, desperation overpowering your fear. But before you can reach Jaemin, Mingyu’s hand snaps out, gripping your arm like a steel trap and yanking you back.

His fingers dig into your arm with bruising force, and you gasp, struggling against his hold. “Oh, sweetheart...” Mingyu says in a low, taunting voice, leaning in closer. The heat of his breath brushes against your cheek, and you shudder. “We didn’t want to do this, you know.”

His words are laced with venom, and your heart pounds in your chest as his gaze pins you in place. “But your boyfriend...” he spits the word like it’s poison, his smirk twisting into something darker. “He doesn’t know how to stay out of my way.”

Tears blur your vision as you stare at him, your mind racing to make sense of what he's saying. “He’s always picking fights...” Mingyu continues, his tone growing colder with every word. “Always thinking he can win. Like some kind of hero. But heroes…”” He leans closer, his face inches from yours now. “Heroes make the worst enemies.”

Behind him, Jaemin swings his bat again, sending another shelf crashing down. The sound shatters what’s left of your composure, and you choke back a sob as you watch your shop... the place you’d poured your heart into, reduce to ruins.

"Jungkook brought this on you." Mingyu hisses, his voice a venomous promise as his grip tightens “And if he doesn’t learn his lesson soon…” His words trail off, and his grin transforms into something grotesque, almost close to a nightmare. “Well, let’s just say this is only the beginning.”

The unspoken threat lingers in the air, oppressive and choking, like the weight of a storm ready to burst. Tears spill hot and unchecked down your cheeks as Mingyu shoves you backwards. You stumble, your knees buckling, the ground seeming to tilt beneath you.

For a moment, the world blurs with your tears, but the sound of splintering wood snaps you back. Kihyun moves like a shadow, his boots crunching over broken pots as he kicks a large ceramic planter. The crash echoes in your chest like a hammer against your ribs.

You don’t hesitate. Fueled by desperation again, you lunge towards Kihyun, grabbing at his arm with trembling hands. “Stop !!” you cry, your voice raw and broken. But he barely acknowledges you, his strength overwhelming yours as he harshly shrugs you off like you’re nothing more than a fly.

The force of his shove sends you sprawling backwards. The edge of the workbench hits your head as you fall, pain lancing through your skull like a hot knife. A sharp hiss escapes your lips as your palm lands on a jagged shard of glass on the ground, slicing through your skin.

You gasp, the sting of the cut mingling with the wet warmth of blood trickling down the side of your face. Your vision blurs, but not enough to fade the destruction unfolding around you. The sound of your beloved shop, the place you’d built with love and care, being torn apart is a symphony of horrors.

“Please.” you breathe out, your voice barely audible over the chaos. But they don’t hear you. Or worse, they don’t care. The men laugh and hoot, their voices cruel and mocking as they wreck everything in sight.

Your chest heaves with sobs as you press your uninjured hand to the ground, trying to steady yourself, trying to stand, but your legs tremble beneath you.

From the corner of your eye, you see Mingyu approaching, his bat swinging with terrifying precision as he breaks more pots. He doesn't even spare the lamp that stands near your counter. He’s grinning and so focused, as if destruction is his art.

Your head throbs, the glass shard in your palm burns, and the crushing weight in your heart feels like you're going to stop breathing. The tears come faster now, mixing with the blood dripping down your face.

You’re gasping, choking on sobs, your hands trembling as you try to stand up, but it's like all the strength in your body is gone. Everything hurts... your body, your heart, your very soul as you helplessly watch your world crumble into ruins right in front of you.

Above the ringing in your ears, the laughter of the men echoes, cruel and victorious. The destruction of your sanctuary is their triumph, and you, broken and bleeding on the floor, are their prize.

Thankfully, Yoongi’s got his car today, a rare stroke of convenience Jungkook barely registers in his rush to get to the hospital. He throws himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door with a force that rattles the frame. His elbow presses against the window, fingers tugging restlessly at his lower lip as his thoughts churn like a relentless storm, each wave crashing harder than the last.

He can’t stop thinking about you. How terrified you must have been, how much pain you must be in, and then there’s also your shop. Your haven, the place you poured your heart into. Now in ruins.

The image grips his chest like a vice, tightening with every thought. His breaths grow shallow, each one scraping against the ache that claws at him, raw and unrelenting. It’s not just the destruction of a place... it’s the invasion of your world, your safety, and a sharp reminder of the danger you never deserved to face.

"You okay, Kook?" Hoseok’s voice comes from the backseat, hesitant, like he already knows the answer. Jungkook doesn’t respond. His jaw clenches so tightly it aches, his nails digging crescents into his palms. Whoever did this crossed a line they’ll wish they hadn’t. And when he finds out who it was, he’s not going to hold back.

"This is insane." Hoseok mutters, louder this time. "Who the hell would do something like this?" The question lingers in the air, unanswered, heavy. The hum of the engine is the only sound for a moment, its monotony doing nothing to ease the tension coiled in the car.

Yoongi grips the wheel tighter, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. He exhales, the sound cutting through the silence like a warning. "I think it’s Mingyu and his gang." he says, his voice low. Jimin’s sharp intake of breath is immediate. "Mingyu?" he echoes, the pieces clicking together in real time. "Holy shit. That actually makes sense."

Hoseok leans forward, his brows knitted together. "Why would they go after Y/n though? She has nothing to do with them."

Jimin shakes his head, frustration bleeding into his tone. "Come on, Hobi. Mingyu’s not stupid. He probably saw Kook and Y/n together and figured out she’s important to him. So, what does he do? He goes after her to provoke Jungkook. Classic move."

Hoseok leans back, the weight of the realization settling over him. "That’s so fucking messed up."

Jungkook’s grip on his knee tightens as the conversation continues. His mind spirals deeper into the truth, piecing together the fragments with a clarity that only fuels his anger. Of course, it’s Mingyu. It had to be. Their rivalry has simmered for years, a powder keg of animosity threatening to explode at the slightest spark.

Since that day at the beach, when you’d looked at him with those pleading eyes and told him to stop getting into fights, he’d done his best to stay out of trouble. For you. Almost three weeks without a single fight, no retaliations, no confrontations. He thought it would be enough to keep the peace.

But Mingyu couldn’t leave it alone. And now you’ve paid the price for Jungkook’s history.

The enmity between them? Petty, childish even, born from the sort of ego-driven posturing that only bikers like them could indulge in. It started over something laughably insignificant... a race at the local strip, where Jungkook’s sleek, custom-built bike had left Mingyu’s way behind in a trail of dust.

It should’ve been a one time thing, but Mingyu couldn’t let it go. Accusations of foul play, whispered insults about engines and riding skills... what should’ve been harmless banter escalated into full-blown hostility.

Then there were the encounters at the garage... a neutral ground that turned into a battlefield. Jungkook’s gang and Mingyu’s gang would throw thinly veiled barbs at each other while tuning up their bikes, always on the edge of a brawl.

There was the infamous night when Mingyu “accidentally” tipped over Jungkook’s bike during a meet-up, scratching the custom paint job Jungkook had painstakingly worked on for weeks. Retaliation came swiftly, with Jungkook swapping Mingyu’s high-octane fuel for regular gas before a major race.

It was a constant game of one-upmanship, a cycle of pranks and punches that spiraled into something darker over time. What began as silly biker squabbles grew into a deep-seated hatred, their clashes no longer confined to the track or the garage.

Jungkook’s lost count of how many times they’ve fought... fists flying, adrenaline pumping, bruises and bloody knuckles carried home like badges of pride. Each altercation was a declaration of dominance, neither willing to back down, each fight feeding the fire between them. But this... this is different.

This isn’t about scratched paint jobs or petty insults. This is calculated, cruel... a planned attack meant to hurt not just him, but you. Mingyu’s crossed a line, dragging you into their feud, and the thought is enough to make Jungkook’s jaw tighten, his breath coming short and sharp.

He’s never felt this kind of fury before, not even in their ugliest moments. It’s not the usual anger that comes from a bruised ego or a lost fight. It’s deeper, heavier, a protective rage that simmers just beneath his skin, threatening to boil over.

Jungkook leans his head back against the seat, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Mingyu might have thought this was just another move in their twisted game, another way to provoke him. But this isn’t just a game anymore.

This is war.

"Stop the car." Jungkook suddenly demands, his voice low but carrying the weight of a storm brewing inside him.

Yoongi’s head snaps towards him, his hands tightening on the wheel as he glances at Jungkook in alarm. “Kook—?” he starts, but the look in Jungkook’s eyes silences him, his sharp glare cutting through the space between them. “Stop the damn car, hyung.” His voice is deeper now, rough with barely contained rage.

Yoongi swallows hard, inhaling sharply before checking the mirrors. Reluctantly, he signals and pulls over, the tires crunching against the pavement.

The car barely comes to a halt before Jungkook throws the door open, stepping out without a word. His strides are long and purposeful, his body radiating with a kind of anger that demands release.

“Jungkook!” Yoongi shouts, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out as well. He jogs after him, his shoes scraping against the uneven ground. “Kook, stop!” But Jungkook doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even glance back, his shoulders set, his focus sharp.

“Where the hell are you going?” Yoongi yells, his voice filled with frustration as he quickens his pace. Finally, he reaches out, grabbing Jungkook’s arm and spinning him around.

Jungkook's jaw is clenched, his eyes burning with fury that seems to pulse under his skin. “I’m going to Mingyu.” he states flatly, his tone devoid of hesitation or remorse. Yoongi’s eyes widen, his grip on Jungkook’s arm tightening.

“Kook, no.” he says firmly, his voice laced with urgency. “What about Y/n? You need to see her first. She’s hurt, Jungkook. You can’t just—”

“How the hell am I supposed to face her?” Jungkook cuts him off, his voice loud and raw, his chest heaving as he steps closer to Yoongi.

Yoongi’s breath catches, startled by the sudden outburst, his gaze searching Jungkook’s face. The younger man’s features are tight, his lips trembling just slightly, betraying the storm of emotion threatening to consume him.

"How can I face her, hyung?" he asks again, quieter now, the rage giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable. "How can I see her and pretend like it’s not my fault she went through something like this?" His voice wavers, thick with guilt. "How can I act like I’m not responsible for her injuries? For her shop getting destroyed?"

Yoongi’s heart aches at the sight of his friend, the usually unshakable Jungkook now on the verge of breaking. He tightens his grip on Jungkook’s arm, grounding him as he searches for the right words.

"Kook, this isn’t your fault." Yoongi says firmly, his voice steady, each word carefully chosen to pierce through the storm of guilt swirling around Jungkook. "Mingyu did this... he’s the one to blame. Not you."

Jungkook shakes his head, his jaw tightening, lips pressing into a thin line as if trying to physically hold back the wave of emotion threatening to take over him. "But if I wasn’t in her life..." His voice falters, raw and unsteady. "If Mingyu didn’t have a reason to target her, none of this would’ve happened."

Yoongi steps closer, his eyes softening, but his tone remains resolute, unwavering. "Don’t do that." he says quietly, yet there’s a firmness that anchors his words. "Don’t let Mingyu’s actions make you question your worth in her life. Y/N needs you now more than ever, Kook—"

"I can’t, hyung." Jungkook cuts him off, his voice cracking under the weight of his turmoil. He looks away, fists clenched at his sides as he battles the war raging within. "I just... I can’t." His chest heaves as he takes a shaky breath, forcing his gaze back to Yoongi, resolve hardening in his eyes. "I need to go to Mingyu first."

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh, a mix of frustration and resignation etched into his features. He knows there’s no stopping Jungkook when he’s like this... when his emotions burn too brightly, blinding him to anything else. "Kook..." he tries again, softer this time, but Jungkook is already turning on his heels.

Without another word, Jungkook walks away. Yoongi watches him go, his hand falling limply to his side, the weight of helplessness settling over him. He knows he can’t follow, knows that right now, Jungkook needs to burn through his rage before anything or anyone can reach him.

You sit on the hospital bed, your fingers absentmindedly twisting the hem of the thin blanket draped over your legs. Your gaze is fixed on the sterile white wall ahead, but your mind is far from the confines of the hospital room.

The doctors have done their part... stitched the gash on your head and cleaned the cut on your hand. Nothing serious, they said, but the dull ache lingers, a reminder of the chaos you just survived.

The cops had come not long after, their questions forcing you to relive the nightmare. You had described everything, each word had felt like reopening a wound. The images play on a loop in your head petals scattered like confetti among shards of glass, shelves overturned, your sanctuary turned into ruins.

But your physical injuries and the investigation feel like background noise compared to the turmoil inside you. Your thoughts keep circling back to Jungkook. Where is he? Is he okay?

You replay his voice in your mind, his touch, the way his presence always makes you feel safe. You miss him, desperately. The fear from earlier still clings to you like a shadow, refusing to let go, and you know nothing would feel right until you see him.

The sound of the door creaking open breaks through your spiral of thoughts. Your heart leaps, and you snap your head towards the door, expecting him. Your chest tightens in anticipation, only for it to deflate when you see your friends step in.

Seokjin, Namjoon, Taehyung, and Juwon rush in, their faces etched with panic and concern. “Y/n !!” Seokjin exclaims, his voice strained as he strides towards you with quick steps.

His sharp gaze sweeps over you, lingering on the bandage wrapped around your head and the way your injured hand rests gingerly on your lap. His lips press into a thin line, betraying the anger and worry simmering beneath the surface.

“We came as soon as Mr. Kwon called and told us about the break-in.” Juwon says, her voice trembling slightly. She steps closer, her hands clutching the strap of her bag tightly, as though grounding herself. The others nod in silent agreement, their faces reflecting the same whirlwind of emotions... shock, worry, and relief that you’re still here.

You offer them a faint smile, the corners of your lips barely lifting. It’s small and fragile, weighed down by exhaustion and the lingering fear that coils tightly around your chest. Words seem unnecessary, you don’t know what to say that could make the moment any less heavy.

Taehyung moves to sit beside your legs, careful not to jostle the bed. His hand gently rests on your knee, his touch warm and soothing. “We’re sorry this happened to you, Y/n.” he says gently, his deep voice carrying a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. His dark eyes search for yours, silently offering comfort and understanding.

Your friends exchange glances, their unspoken agreement clear. They won’t overwhelm you with questions, not now. They don’t need to hear every detail to see the toll the day has taken on you. For now, they’re just thankful that you’re here, alive and whole, and that nothing worse has happened.

Namjoon pulls up a chair, sitting across from you. “You don’t have to say anything.” he says carefully, his calm voice like a steady anchor. “We’re just here for you, okay?” Seokjin nods, his stern demeanor softening as he stands at the foot of your bed. “We’ll figure this out together... we'll get your shop fixed and take care of everything. You’re not alone in this.”

Their presence fills the room with a sense of warmth and safety, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital walls and the cold reality of everything you’ve endured. But even as they surround you with their love and reassurance, a hollow ache persists in your chest, growing with each passing second.

Because unfortunately, they’re not the person you've been waiting for.

Jungkook stops by the familiar garage, the scent of motor oil and burnt rubber instantly hitting him. The dimly lit space is alive with a raucous energy... Jaemin and Kihyun are horsing around by a row of bikes, Kihyun laughing as he sprays Jaemin with a hose meant for cleaning the vehicles.

Jaemin swats at him, water splattering across the concrete floor as their voices echo off the walls. Mingyu lounges casually on a sleek black bike, his posture oozing arrogance as he scrolls through his phone, entirely unbothered by the chaos around him.

Jungkook’s rage flares at the sight of them, his vision narrowing on Mingyu like a predator locking onto its prey. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jungkook strides towards him, his steps echoing with purpose.

Mingyu glances up, sensing a presence approaching him, but he’s too slow to react. Jungkook’s hand shoots out, grabbing Mingyu by the collar and yanking him upright with a force that makes the bike creak behind him.

The sound startles Jaemin and Kihyun, their playful banter cut off as they turn to see their leader in Jungkook’s grasp. They spring into action, fists clenching as they move towards Jungkook, their expressions dark with intent. But before they can get too close, Mingyu raises a hand, signaling them to stop.

Jaemin hesitates, his jaw tightening as he looks to Kihyun for confirmation. Kihyun, equally tense, eventually takes a step back, though his sharp gaze remains locked on Jungkook, ready to jump in at the slightest provocation.

Mingyu meets Jungkook’s furious glare with an infuriatingly calm expression, his lips curling into a smirk. “Well, well...” he drawls, his voice dripping with mockery. “What’s the occasion, Jeon? Finally decided to drop by for a friendly chat?”

The smugness in Mingyu’s tone and the amused glint in his eyes only fuel Jungkook’s fury. His grip tightens on Mingyu’s collar, pulling him closer. “Cut the crap.” he snarls, his voice low. “You think I wouldn’t find out it was you? What the hell were you trying to prove?”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he tilts his head, almost uninterested. “You’re going to have to be more specific. I’ve been very busy lately.”

Jungkook’s patience snaps. He slams Mingyu back against the bike, the impact making the metal groan under the force. “Don’t play dumb with me, Mingyu!!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the garage like thunder.

“You went after Y/n. You hurt her... you destroyed... you destroyed her shop!” His voice cracks slightly, the raw pain seeping through his otherwise firm tone. Mingyu doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he smirks, a cold expression that only fuels Jungkook’s rage.

“Yeah, and?” Mingyu asks, his voice calm and almost mocking, as if Jungkook’s accusations were trivial.

Jungkook grabs Mingyu's collar again, his knuckles whitening with the effort to hold back. “You’ve gone too far this time, Mingyu!” he barks, his breath hitching. “You couldn’t get to me, so you used her? You dragged her into our feud?!” The veins in his arms bulge as his fists curl even tighter.

It’s taking everything in him to not just drop everything and swing a punch across Mingyu’s smug face, but he remembers the promise he made to you... the one thing keeping him from unleashing the storm brewing inside.

Mingyu scoffs and with a quick shove, pushes Jungkook back. The smirk on his face deepens as he adjusts his jacket, standing straighter. “You’re wrong, Jungkook.” he says, his voice laced with mockery. “I didn’t get her in between us. You did.”

Jungkook freezes, his chest heaving as Mingyu takes a step closer, the smirk on his face as smug as ever. “You’re always acting so high and mighty...” Mingyu continues, his words dripping with venom.

“Like you’re untouchable, like the world revolves around you. But here’s the truth, Jungkook... you’re predictable. You’re weak. All it took to shake your world was her... your little girlfriend. One small push, and you’re crumbling.” he laughs.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, his breaths coming out in short, ragged bursts as Mingyu circles him like a predator savoring his victory. “Damn, biker boy got too soft, huh?” Mingyu taunts, leaning in closer, his voice low and mocking.

“The great Jungkook, protector of the weak, savior of the helpless... brought to his knees because of one girl. And for what? To prove a point? To show you how easily I can get under your skin?” he scoffs.

Jungkook’s fists tremble, every fiber of his being screaming at him to swing, to hit, to make Mingyu regret every word spilling from his mouth. But he clenches his jaw, trying to control himself.

But then Mingyu tilts his head, his voice low and venomous, cutting through the air like a blade. "You should’ve seen her face…" he starts, his tone dripping with malice.

"The way she cried, the way she trembled when I kicked over her stupid pots. Smashed her shelves. Oh, the look in her eyes when she begged me to stop... it was priceless." he giggles like he's telling something funny.

Jungkook freezes, the world narrowing to Mingyu’s face and those cruel words. His vision blurs, red creeping into the edges of his sight. The storm he’s been holding back finally roars to life, shattering the fragile restraint he clung to.

"You son of a bitch !!" Jungkook yells, his voice raw with fury as he lunges forward. His fist connects with Mingyu’s jaw, the force sending the man stumbling back against the bike. The metallic crash echoes through the garage as tools scatter to the ground. Mingyu groans, clutching his face, but Jungkook doesn’t stop.

"You think this is a game?" Jungkook shouts, grabbing Mingyu by the collar again and slamming him against the bike once more. His knuckles ache, blood smeared across his hand, he doesn’t even know if it’s his or Mingyu’s. "She begged you to stop, and you kept going? You’re nothing but a fucking coward Mingyu, using her to get to me !!"

Kihyun and Jaemin exchange uneasy glances, their instincts screaming to intervene, but Mingyu raises a trembling hand yet again, his bloodied smirk unwavering. “Stand down.” he mutters, his voice laced with defiance despite the crimson streak trailing from his lips.

The air crackles with tension, and his gaze locks on Jungkook. “There he is.” Mingyu rasps. “That’s the Jungkook I’ve been waiting for. Knew you couldn’t keep the beast caged for too long.”

Every ounce of self-restraint dissolves as Jungkook lunges forward again, his fist colliding with Mingyu’s jaw with a sickening crack. Mingyu staggers but barely has time to recover before another punch lands, followed by another. The garage echoes with the sounds of brutal impact, knuckles against flesh, the crunch of bone, and Mingyu’s muffled grunts of pain.

Jungkook doesn’t stop. He’s lost in the storm of his anger, each punch fueled by the image of your tears, your trembling hands, and the shattered remnants of your beloved shop. But the movement behind him pulls him back to reality... Kihyun and Jaemin. They can’t stay idle any longer.

“Enough!” Jaemin shouts, springing into action alongside Kihyun. They grab Jungkook from behind, dragging him away. Jaemin lands a blow to the side of Jungkook’s face, causing him to stumble, while Kihyun strikes his ribs, knocking the breath out of him.

But Jungkook fights back, his movements fueled by pure adrenaline. He elbows Jaemin in the chest, sending him reeling, and swings a swift kick at Kihyun, who dodges just in time.

The fight descends into chaos. Jungkook takes hits from every direction but keeps charging forward, his sheer determination to make Mingyu pay outweighing the searing pain in his body. Blood drips from a split lip, his knuckles are raw, and his breathing is ragged, but he refuses to fall.

Finally, with a burst of strength, Jungkook shoves Kihyun aside, his glare pinning Mingyu in place. "This ends now." Jungkook states, his voice shaking with a dangerous edge. He steps back, his entire body trembling as he takes a moment to collect himself, his fists curling at his sides.

Mingyu groans as he pushes himself off the ground with his elbows, blood streaking his face. Despite his battered state, his smirk remains, a mocking ghost of triumph. “This isn’t over.” he croaks, his words barely audible over his labored breathing. “You think I’m going to let her off that easily? You think this little tantrum changes anything?”

Jungkook freezes, his breath hitching. Slowly, he turns back to face Mingyu. “Don’t you dare touch her again.” he warns, his voice low but laced with venom. Mingyu chuckles, spitting blood onto the ground. “Ah, ah, ah.” he drawls, his words slurred.

"Not so easily." he sneers, the corners of his bloodied lips curling into a triumphant smirk. Jungkook's breath stills, his fists clenching as he glares at the man in front of him. For a moment, the only sound is the faint echo of their ragged breathing in the dimly lit space, the weight of unspoken tension suffocating.

“You want her safe?” Mingyu questions, his eyes glinting like a predator savoring its prey. “Fine.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, his breath hitching as he processes the words. He doesn’t break eye contact, his gaze fixed on the smug figure before him, trying to decipher his next move.

“Give me your bike, then.” Mingyu finally demands, his voice sharper now, the smirk on his face growing wider as he watches the flicker of hesitation cross Jungkook's features.

Jungkook freezes, the words crashing over him like a thunderclap. His bike. The one thing he held close, his most prized possession. Memories rush forward... scraping together allowances, working grueling hours, enduring the endless grind just to afford it. That bike wasn’t just metal and wheels... it was freedom, pride, and a testament to everything he had fought for.

But then, your face eclipses it all... your smile, your warmth, your safety. Somehow, even in this moment, as blood drips from his split lip and his body aches from the fight, all he can think about is you.

The memory of your laugh filters through his mind like a lifeline, grounding him in the chaos. If giving up his bike guarantees your safety, if it means sparing you even a fraction of pain, then there’s no question. The bike he worked so hard for... the sacrifices, the late nights, the endless grind, it all pales in comparison to what you mean to him.

Jungkook swallows hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him, but he doesn’t let the weight of the moment linger. He digs into his pocket without a word, pulling out the keys to his most cherished possession.

With a flick of his wrist, he throws them towards Mingyu on the floor, the sound of the metal clattering against the concrete echoing in the tense stillness. Mingyu’s smirk widens as he looks down at the keys, the glint of victory in his eyes unmistakable.

“Didn’t think she meant that much to you.” Mingyu sneers but Jungkook doesn’t answer as he finally walks away and doesn’t look back.

With each step away, his heart grows heavier... not because of the pain radiating through his body or the loss of his bike but because of the crushing realization that as long as Mingyu exists and as long as you’re part of Jungkook’s world, you’ll never truly be safe.

"Here." Juwon says softly, guiding you carefully to your couch. Her grip is steady, her expression lined with worry. Finally back from the hospital, you sink into the cushions, exhaustion pulling at every muscle. The day has drained you... physically, mentally, emotionally. Every moment felt like a battle, and now that you're home, the weight of it all feels unbearable.

Your friends linger, their eyes filled with unspoken concern. Namjoon hesitates by the door, his reluctance mirrored by the others. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" he asks for the third time, his voice low, almost pleading.

You force a small smile, trying to reassure them even though your heart isn’t in it. "I'll be fine." you mutter, your voice barely audible. "I just need some rest."

With heavy hearts and reluctant nods, they eventually leave, each of them urging you to call if you need anything. The door clicks shut behind them, and for the first time in hours, you're alone again.

The quietness of your apartment wraps around you like a heavy blanket, the silence amplifying the whirlwind in your mind. You sit there for a moment, staring at nothing, the events of the day replaying in a loop. The fear, the pain, the worry... all of it feels suffocating.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your phone. Scrolling through the unanswered texts and missed calls you've made to Jungkook, the ache in your chest deepens. Did he not know what happened to you today? Or worse, did he know and choose not to come?

The thought tugs sharply at your heart. At the hospital, every sound of approaching footsteps, every faint knock on the door, had sparked a flicker of hope. You kept anticipating his arrival, imagining his face breaking through the chaos to bring you the comfort you so desperately needed. But he never came.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss the hurt that creeps in. Maybe it’s not a big deal, you tell yourself. Maybe he had a reason.

But even as you try to convince yourself, your fingers betray you, dialing his number again. Pressing the phone against your ear, you hold your breath, clinging to a sliver of hope that this time, he’ll pick up. But like every other call before, there’s no answer.

The emptiness of the line mirrors the void in your chest, and finally, the tears you’ve held back all day spill over, hot and relentless. You miss him so much it feels like a physical ache, a wound that refuses to heal. All you need, to forget the horrors of the day is to hear his voice, to feel the comfort of his arms wrapped around you, grounding you in a way only he can.

Your resolve crumbles, and before you know it, you’re rising from the couch. The stillness of your apartment feels unbearable, the walls closing in with every passing second. Moving on instinct, you shuffle across the living room, your hands fumbling to grab your coat from the hook by the door.

The fabric is cold as you drape it hastily over your shoulders, but the chill doesn’t register. Your mind is already miles ahead, focused on one thing. Him.

You step out of your apartment, the quiet click of the door behind you echoing in the hallway. The night air greets you, sharp and biting, but it barely matters. Your legs carry you forward as if they have a will of their own, a magnetic pull guiding you straight to the one place you know you need to go.

Jungkook stands under the relentless cascade of cold water, the chill biting into his bruised skin. His eyes are tightly shut, the shower a harsh contrast to the storm swirling inside him. The events of the day repeat in his mind like an endless loop, each image sharper than the last.

He doesn't think he can ever face you again. Not with the way he's failed you, not with the guilt that’s suffocating him. He feels responsible for everything, as if every bad thing in your life has somehow traced back to him. He thinks of the walk he took after leaving the garage, stopping by your flower shop.

It was still the same, nothing but destruction. The windows were shattered, the shelves smashed, petals scattered across the floor. Caution tape blocked the entrance, a painful reminder of how his presence had only ever brought disaster.

He stood there, at the threshold of your shop, staring at the wreckage, and all he could think about was how much of this was his fault.

He had been the chaos in your life from the moment he moved in next to your shop. He remembers how he disrupted your peace when you were just trying to get by, how he was rude to you at the town fair meetings, how he pushed you away despite wanting nothing more than to get close.

He remembers every harsh word, every inconsiderate act, and now this... the one thing he never could have imagined. His fists clench in frustration as he curses himself. He wanted to protect you, to shield you from harm, but all he’s done is drag you deeper into a mess that has nothing to do with you.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Jungkook steps out of the shower, the water dripping from his hair as he grabs for his usual tshirt and sweatpants. He glances at his reflection in the mirror, noting the bruises still visible on his face, the cuts that refuse to heal. His body aches, but it’s the weight in his chest that hurts the most... the guilt, the shame. His own reflection seems to mock him.

He hears the familiar buzz of his phone vibrating on the nightstand. He doesn’t need to check to know it’s you. His heart clenches as he stares at the phone, each vibration a painful reminder of the distance he’s created between you and him.

He should be comforting you right now, he should be easing your fears, yet here he is... avoiding you, unable to face you without feeling like the one who’s hurt you the most.

He lets the phone continue to buzz, drowning in the weight of his own failure. His hands tremble as he looks down at the floor, wondering if you’ll ever forgive him, if there’s even a chance for him to make things right.

The silence in his apartment is deafening, the kind of silence that gnaws at the edges of his thoughts, until there's a series of bangs on his front door. The sound rips through the stillness of his apartment like a thunderclap, shaking him from his spiral.

Jungkook’s heart stammers in his chest as he walks out of his room, his mind racing. As he stares at the front door, the banging resumes. It’s frantic now. "Kook..." your voice pierces through the chaos, fragile but clear. "Please.... please open the door, Kook."

<- part 13 // part 15 ->

series masterlist

taglist:@kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey @shellyyy177 @daskewl @blackswan18 @korian97 @minimoninini @ericawantstoescape @rpwprpwprpwprw @tokkiggukie @jaytheatiny

167 notes · View notes

jar0fhoney · 28 days ago

Text

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 - PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

Content Warning: Description of death, blood, pregnancy

Something was off.

The daily walk home from the shop felt like a marathon, everything just felt so exhausting lately. This earned many concerned glances from Khargaad as the two of you reached the end of the season’s harvest. You spent many a moment slumped on your knees, hands folded in your lap.

“You haven’t seemed yourself lately.” He tilted his canteen to your lips, letting you take a sip of his water. You wiped your brow, “I know, I’m just… so tired all the time.”

“Hmmm...” He stroked the back of your head, ignoring how sweaty and gross you were from working, “Let’s finish up for today, does that sound good?”

You nodded weakly, shouting no protest as he scooped you up in his arms. Before you knew it you were sitting in the grass outside of his tent. You almost fell asleep right there before you heard the lighting of a fire, and sloshing of water from the creek. You opened your eyes, seeing him filling a large washbasin.

Before long steam rose from the surface of the basin and you felt hands pulling at the strings of your tunic. “Let me take care of this.” Khargaad’s voice cooed in that special way that could melt you. He undressed you and led you by your hand to the basin, letting you step in to the deliciously hot water before undressing himself. He settled behind you in the water, pulling you onto his lap.

There was nothing sexual or suggestive about the way his touch landed on your skin. Just tender and caring. He lathered you in soap and massaged your muscles, eventually letting you sink your back into his chest. He rested one hand on your tummy, rubbing therapeutic circles into you.

“Maybe you should take it easier?” He leaned down to kiss your shoulder. You huffed, “I’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” His tone did not sound entirely confident in your statement, but he accepted it nonetheless. That night he walked you home, clothed in his shirt that fit you like a dress. Tucked into bed, you could hear him and your mother chatting outside but their words were undecipherable.

It wasn’t just you that was off now. Every day of the following week you found your mother waking up before you to making breakfast.

“Oh my darling, I don’t want to hear it. Sleep in and get some rest.”

Khargaad now consistently walked you to and from the town square, making sure to come and give you a kiss on the cheek in the mornings before leaving to hunt.

Today, you were clearing out a junk closet in the shop, too busy to hear the door open behind you.

“Now this really is low, y/n.”

You hadn’t heard that voice in ages. Not since Khargaad had scared Milo out of your shop all those weeks ago. You shot up, looking behind you to see Milo with a rather sickened look on his face.

“Surely you haven’t been fucking that orc?”

You clenched your fists, wrapping a tighter grip on the pocket knife you already had in your hand. “Get the fuck out of my shop.”

“Won’t be yours for long. You won’t make it through winter.”

“Guess you’re right because we’ll be long gone by then.” You retorted with a cocky confidence.

“Excuse me?” His eyes narrowed.

Perhaps you should shut your big mouth now. “Nothing.” Your voice wavered unconvincingly. He took a step towards you.

“No, not nothing. You have something planned. You and that mother of yours. Maybe even that big stupid orc, whore.”

You raised the knife threateningly, “Milo, you need to leave now.” You tried your best to put on an air of confidence, but you had quite possibly put all of the plans in jeopardy. Milo lacked the honor and dignity which would stop a regular person from doing a terrible thing in the name of vengeance.

He huffed, turning around to leave. On his way out, he slammed the door with such force that it shattered a pane of glass on the door. You turned your head just slightly, seeing Khargaad standing on the other end of the square. It seemed as if he had just returned from his hunt to catch Milo storming out, and based on his heaving shoulders he was fuming.

It was a tense walk home.

“Are you… angry with me?” You were bewildered by his demeanor. He stopped in his tracks, getting down on one knee to get on your level.

“No. No no no. How… could I be angry with you?” He was so sweet, so calm. You sighed, cupping his cheek, “You’re just so tense, so angry-“

“I’m scared, y/n.” He cut you off. You didn’t like seeing him like this. He was shaking a little bit, “I’m scared of him. Before I met you, we happened to frequent the same taverns every now and then. I’ve heard him say things that frighten me. I don’t think he would hesitate to hurt you or your mother.”

You knew this just as well as he did. Khargaad had brought his hand up to your waist, thumbing over your stomach. It seemed soothing to him.

“We need to develop a plan. Now.” You pulled on him to follow you. The sooner you were out of town the better, and didn’t like the idea of Milo possibly being clued in on that fact.

“Within the next two weeks, at the very least.” Your mother proclaimed at the dining table. Khargaad nodded, crossing his arms satisfiedly. You just sat there dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry. two weeks? Why does it seem like you two had this worked out before we even sat down!”

They were shooting nervous glances at each other.

“Well-“

“You've-“

They had both started at the same time, stumbling over each other’s words. There was something going on. You shot up, pointing two accusatory fingers at them, “Ma! You start first. Then Khargaad. Go.”

The woman stared down at her hands twiddling her thumbs, “Well… what I was going to say was… you sure you’ve been feeling alright lately sweetheart?” You stood there baffled, did they think you were about to be on your deathbed or something? Khargaad breathed out,

“You’ve missed a period.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but as you wracked your brain you realized, by the Gods, the orc was right. You disregarded the fact that he had seemingly been tracking your cycles in secret. A lot of things began making sense as the reality set in.

How daft did you have to be for these two to figure out you were pregnant before your own self. The bottom of your lip quivered as you tried to figure out a rational response to the situation. Maybe… maybe it was just a random fluke in your cycle. Maybe it was something else. This wasn’t a part of the plan. You hadn’t accounted for a baby at all.

A warm hand slipped around yours. Khargaad was staring at you with unbridled adoration, tears running down his face. You were so lost in thought, you hadn’t even noticed your mother leave the room.

“Talk to me.” His voice was shaking, it almost sounded like a plea. As if waiting for you to break your silence on this was his own personal form of torture.

“I- I- What are we going to-“ The words tried to clumsily fall from your lips. You lifted the edge of your tunic, staring down at the bare stomach, and sure enough there was the slight bump that hadn’t eased on its own. It was so subtle that you had been writing it off as merely bloat. But now, you looked down and couldn’t see it any other way.

“Oh my Gods.” You began to cry a confusing mixture of happy and scared tears. Clearly the pull-out method was not entirely dependable. You looked back at your lover, still with tears streaming down his own face.

“When I realized you might be… oh merciful gods I was terrified too.” He laughed weakly, squeezing your hand, “I can’t speak on how you must be feeling right now. But…” He sniffled, “…You’re not alone.”

It started with a low chuckle, then you broke into a full laugh. Khargaad looked at you, bewildered, as if maybe this was the (giant) straw that broke the camels back.

“We need to leave. Not even in two weeks. In one week. In a couple days. I need to close up the shop, we need to pack-“ You were rambling frantically.

“So… so you want to keep it?”

You almost choked on your own words, looking down at Khargaad who was still sitting in his chair. He was afraid to admit how thrilled he was, his worst fear was making you feel pressured by his own feelings. After all, it was your decision in the end.

“Oh Khargaad,” you took his hand and placed it on your stomach, “all I’m thinking is what kinda person they’re gonna be. Will they be an artist? A hunter? An explorer?”

He giggled through his tears, pulling you close to nuzzle his head into your stomach. The dull ends of his tucks grazed over your skin. “Whoever they may be, they will know the overwhelming love of their mother and father.”

This was surreal. You had been so caught up dealing with life, the thought of a baby was completely foreign to you. Yet here you were, being confronted by the idea in the most literal way possible. Then a thought struck you.

“Khargaad, we’re going to your home, right?”

He nodded, still practically purring into your stomach like a cat. “They won’t be… angry that you’re with a human?” He shook his head, “‘Course not, my brother Vakgar’s been with his husband Thierry for six years now. We love that guy.” His voice was muffled into your skin.

You sighed, coming down from the emotional high of this entire situation. “We’ll need a wagon, a big one. Probably one? No, two strong draft horses. And then-“ your mind was already picking up from where it left off, you scrambled for a piece of paper and quill to write it all down.

“Hush my love. Me and your Ma have it handled. Just say the word and we can be packed and ready in three days.”

“Well consider this the word. Let’s go. I… don’t want to stay around and wait for it to start showing.” He knew you were talking about Milo. The last thing you all needed was him finding out about this.

“Yes we agree. Definitely.” Khargaad replied, making his way to the door. “Will you need to go back into town again?” It was clear he wanted the answer to be no, but he would be disappointed unfortunately. “Just one more day.” You responded with a sorry look in your eyes. The two of you came to a compromise, you would do what you needed to do for that day, only if you didn't leave his sight for even on second. And you could only go into town once the lot of you were good and ready to leave. In case you needed to make a run for it.

He marched over to you, pulling you into a long deep kiss.

He pulled away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold chain. Hanging from it was an engraved gold ring.

“I’ve been holding on to this for… uhm. Hehe. I bought it a couple weeks ago. And I thought… I thought had gotten a good fit but then I slipped it on your finger in your sleep and it was like hilariously large and then all of this started and I didn’t want you to think I was only doing this because you’re pregnant. I was always going to-“

You cut him off with a giggle, letting the ring fall into the palm of your hand.

“Yes, I’ll marry you Khargaad.”

The next three days felt like a whirlwind. Khargaad FINALLY had a valid excuse to stop you from lifting heavy things and he was being entirely greedy about it.

“Don’t over-exert yourself love.”

You were carrying a basket of jars, probably not more than 15 pounds. You rolled your eyes playfully, “I can’t just sit around-“

He gently took the basket out of your hands, kissing you atop the head, “Now, this evening we’re gonna be in and out, as fast as possible right?”

You nodded, cradling your stomach. With a dress on it as impossible to notice.

As the sun began to set, Khargaad followed you into town. All you needed to do was put your remaining merchandise outside the door, writing a sign that said “free, please take.” It wasn’t much anyways, you could live without the small amount of coin you were gonna lose.

With the job done, the two of you hurried off. The path back to your cottage was a long dirt road, and eventually he just scooped you into his arms to pick up the pace. As a skilled hunter, Khargaad was very aware as to how vulnerable the two of you were right now.

And then he heard it. A clicking noise, frighteningly similar to the mechanical sound of someone loading a crossbow. Most would have never been able to distinguish the difference between this noise and any other normal forest sound.

He was reacting before you could register the sound of something whizzing through the air. You screamed, feeling yourself falling on your ass in the dirt. Khargaad clenched his shoulder, his dark thick blood beginning to bubble through his fingers. The two of you reeled around, seeing Milo standing in the middle of the path struggling to reload his crossbow.

The following moment which occurred felt like slow motion. Like one of those nightmares where no matter how hard you run, you can’t get your feet to move faster than a snail pace.

Khargaad hadn’t been directly hit, but the thick iron arrow from Milo’s weapon had grazed him leaving a nasty gash in his shoulder. The orc had a frenzied look in his eyes, like he was stuck in some sort of waking paralysis, unable to move his feet.

You looked back at Milo, still struggling and now yelling curses, and back to the serrated bowie knife Khargaad always kept on his waist.

As the classic saying goes: kill or be killed.

There were things you were always going to remember about this night, like the whites of Milo’s eyes as you hurled the knife into his thin sinewy neck, the heat of his blood spurting on your face, the taste of iron when it got into your mouth. His strangled final breaths, understanding leaving his eyes.

You were yanking Khargaad in a jog behind you, seeing the lights of the cottage ahead. The covered wagon was set to go, horses bridled. You thanked the Gods for his foresight to insist on having everything ready like this. Your mother was standing outside, lantern in hand. She nearly fainted when the two of you were close enough for her to register the scene.

“You’re bleeding!”

“He is.” You insisted, climbing into the back, “Ma, you need to take the reigns, we need to go. Now.”

She snapped her senses, clambering onto the front and balling her fists around the leather. If there were two things you could thank your father for, it was teaching your mother how to steer a horse-drawn wagon, and the years of practice you got out of dressing his wounds after bar fights. You pulled Khargaad into the back, drawing the folds closed and hanging the lantern above the two of you. The bottles and supplies in your first aid kit glinted menacingly

“This will be unpleasant, my love. I’m sorry.”

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123 @queenies1x1 @jellyslimesofficial @jasminedragoon @rangoismyname @the-queen-of-sorrows @the-dumber-scaramouche @heddaloddafun @swimmingrascalbatdragon @hellodollstuff @wingedghostpepper @pistachioinfernal @honeybaegle @sammehshark @dij-ology @forgemotherkestrel @wafflefries786 @sadsilver @shellyyyyy0000 @thecreativeblueberry-blog @lovingbadguys

161 notes · View notes

yiiyiiwrites · 2 months ago

Text

| Weight in gold |

Summary: Azriel's curious about the absence of your wings and if the loss of them is a heavier weight to carry. 2349words

Azriel x Seraphim reader (hurt/angst/comfort).

[Acotar masterlist]

With every century that passed, the same dull ache remained. The coldness of winter in Velaris rattled your bones and pushed against your spine. This time of year did nothing, but remind you of the part of you, you lost. The last part connecting you to your mother.

The only way to soothe the constant shooting pain down your shoulder blades was having a steaming bath. Windows fogged up that even Azriel's shadows fought to make themselves seen.

"How bad is it, my love?" Azriel asked, crouching down by the bath tub and slinging his arm behind you on the edge. He's careful not to touch you, even the dark wisps accompanying him hover beside him as if there’s a shield around you keeping them out.

You suck in a breath, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The scalding water lapping against your back, if you stayed sitting up the numb tingles would wither away to nothing, but it was not a total fix.

“It’s bearable,” you whispered, gaze cast down to the oils swirling on top of the surface of water.

Without looking at Azriel you can tell he doesn’t believe you. His pointer finger chasing the curls of oil in the bath, at times like this he’s more silent than ever. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, his face as hard as stone. A line setting between his thick brows and sharp line pulling his jaw.

You drew your legs closer to your chest, arms wrapping around them and chin resting on top of your knees. The cloudy glass of the window pane glistened as the warm glow of lights danced in the horizon.

Azriel had asked you many times about the Seraphim’s and Cretea, but you always withdrew. The light dwindling from your eyes and voice lowering that he did not push it further. You’d found history books tucked away between other books, parchments and rolled maps hiding the titles.

The only time your mate had caught a of glimpse of your past self was during training. You’d catch his lingering gaze as your Seraphim blades cut through the air, the thin light metal singing in the wind. He said you moved liked lightning, fast and powerful strikes.

“Would you prefer to go to summer? Or maybe dawn?” Azriel asked, wrapping a fluffy towel around you as you stepped out the bath. It’s warmth enveloping you, but you’d much rather your mates arms. He doesn’t touch you though, afraid you’ll shatter in his hold and maybe you think the same. Like a bird with a broken wing, you want to nurse yourself until you can’t feel the numbing pain.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, instantly regretting the abrupt movement. “I want to be here, with you.”

Azriel doesn’t miss a beat, his hands dug through the drawer retrieving your night clothes. “I know, but a warmer climate might help you.” He crouched down, helping you step into your nighty and pulled it up your legs and over your hips.

The silk glided over your skin, your arms easily slipping the thin straps over your shoulders. The fabric light and soft against your back. “I can handle the pain, what I can’t handle is being away a whole season without my mate.” You pressed your lips against his cheek as he rose from the floor.

“I can visit or work from…”

You shook your head, walking around the bed and rolling the duvet back on your designated side. A few books stacked on the side table, a dagger wedged into one particular hardback cover you hated.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you smoothed your palm over the lumpy pillow. You flinched as a sharp point pricked your finger, the tiniest bit of fluff sprouting through the soft weaved cotton. Plucking the feather, you traced curve of your palm.

Azriel had never seen you in all your glory. Your wings were once your greatest pride, before they were ripped away during the war. You’d spent centuries licking your wounds, pushing yourself to train harder on Cretea.

Wings as white as the clouds you used to skim with your fingertips during every flight. You wished you could feel the wind ruffling each feather, but did not miss the downpour of rain that clung to them. Once you hated the scent of rain, now you wanted to be able to complain about not being able to get rid of the stench.

Azriel made you love the rain, but part of you still loathed it. The way he’d fix your wet hair and shield you from the heavy downpour with his own wings, reminding you of the depths of a cave. Darkness swirling around you, but his eyes were like the sun at dusk peeking through the shadows.

Sometimes you caught yourself watching the rain racing down Azriel’s wings, his shadows chasing after them as if they knew you were looking. You wondered if he had noticed the way your gaze lingered on his wings, always tugging you forward so you never walked behind him.

A deep sigh pulled you out of your trance, Azriel knelt down in front of you, his hazel eyes followed the feather as you trailed it along his jaw line. Dark wisps twirled around your wrist, but they did not stop your movements.

“What are you thinking?” Azriel mused, a light chuckle rumbling his chest and blowing his shadows away from his face. His hands resting either side of your knees, thumbs brushing your thighs.

“I used to be great you know,” you whispered, not daring to meet his gaze.

The pain you carried otherworldly, like you’d died and been reborn again. The absence of weight on your back, set you off balance and rearranged everything in the world as you knew it. People looked at you differently, they offered you sympathy much more instead of awe.

It wasn’t just the loss of your wings, but the weight of gold. The shining armour you hadn’t worn since you left Cretea a few years ago and moved in with Azriel.

The only thing you could carry were your Seraphim blades, one still hidden under your pillow as if you were still sleeping in a war tent. Sometimes you’d wake covered in sweat, thinking you were still in midst of war. Shadows comforting you and bringing you back to the present.

“You still are great, arrows or not.”

Azriel’s voice firm and clear as his finger slipped the strap of your nighty to the side and tapped the cluster wounds on your right shoulder and chest. He’d once told you how they looked exactly like a constellation of stars he used to stare at in the Illyrian mountains.

Your breath trembled, feather escaping your grasp and hand thudding to the mattress. So, he had read of your history only now confessing what he knew. You wondered how far he’d gone, how detailed the text were based on the tales shared with others.

Did your mate see you like the other Seraphim warriors? Or the shell of the thing you had become?

“Seven arrows,” Azriel mused as he joined each wound together with his touch. “There’s texts about you crawling through battlefield and still tasting victory. Of all the things you’ve done it’s your courage and will that has been spoke of. Wings do not bestow that.”

The tears tumbling down your cheeks stung, but the sobs that rack your body pulled that tight string across your shoulder blades. The muscle memory wanting to curl your wings around your form and protect you, but they were not there. The emptiness felt like a dry well, a pebble dropping down and echoing against the depths of the grounds it fell to. And it took everything within you, to straighten your spine and wipe away the tears.

“My darkest days were on the ground, but then I met you.” You’d repeated the phrase to Azriel, his shadows tucking themselves behind him as if they did not want to darken your thoughts or your days.

The heights gave you no limits, but the earth beneath your feet did nothing but try to bury you.

His rough palm cupped your cheek and you leant into his warmth, savouring the gentle touch. Even though darkness surrounded you both, he remained as your beacon of light.

Your limbs felt heavy, the potent brewed tea Madja had made you finally working its magic. “My darkest days…” you mumbled, the warmth of Azriel’s hand left your cheek and you sunk into the pillow, eyelids fluttering shut. “On the ground, before you.”

·•✦•·

Azriel combed his fingers through your hair and tied it up in a knot.

“I wish I could have known you then, but now is enough. You are enough and more.” He whispered, hoping the pain had slid away for you. The past few nights you hadn’t slept well, he’d found you falling asleep at the desk in his office or at the dining table.

“Rhys knows.”

He couldn’t understand most of your slurred words as sleep pulled you away, but he knew what you meant. You’d told him the same thing every time during the coldest months and he was yet to ask Rhys to show him a memory of you back then.

Today was different though, you wanted him to know and part of him needed to meet you for the first time again. As someone he wouldn’t recognise, but it would help him understand the weight of your loss and hopefully he’d be able to lighten the load.

So Azriel found himself standing in the hallway of the townhouse, his shadows skimming the floor as if they were trying to drag him along with them. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see you in a different life, one of happiness he knew would be stolen from you.

“What are you doing here?” Rhys appeared ahead of him, halfway out of the kitchen. “Should I get Madja?” He raised a brow, stepping aside to allow Feyre space to pass him.

“Az, is everything all right?” Feyre’s hand lightly touched Azriel’s arm, her voice soft and low.

Nothing felt right, not for you as you tried to get used to the absence of your wings. Azriel was in awe in how you sought out the good, looked beyond the loss and lived again, chose another life. How you chose him even if it meant you were always reminded of flying.

“I need to know, will you show me?” Azriel said, his gaze fixed on Rhys and he nodded in agreement.

Bidding goodbye to Feyre, Azriel entered the office and sat in the large armchair. The back making him feel smaller as he clutched the armrests, wood groaning under his grasp.

Rhys had shared his memories a few times with Azriel, but this felt like his a blood had turned to lead. Tongue heavy and throat dry as Rhys mumbled words coaxed him to close his eyes.

Going into Rhys memory felt like wading through the depths of ice cold water. The deeper he went, the darkness around him gave way to light.

A warmth struck the side of Azriel’s face and he glanced over his shoulder. The sun glaring down on him, but he wasn’t looking to the skies he was staring at you.

Glowing, ethereal as if you were not meant to be of this world. Golden armour glistening in the sun, but it was your smile that made him stop. The curve of your lips dropping as you clenched your jaw.

You were glaring at him, fists clenched by your side and those twin blades that spoke to Azriel, greeted him like an old friend as the whistle of wind sent him leaning back.

Azriel’s heart hammered against his chest, his stance widening and mirroring yours. He felt that golden thread tighten in his chest, the bond burning beneath his flesh. Shadows nowhere to be seen, but he could hear their murmurs in his ears.

“Don’t let your guard down for every pretty face, Rhysand.”

And you were, so beautiful. Then and now. He just didn’t have the words to describe it. Nothing felt like it would live up to the way you looked, if he were to speak of it.

He touched the side of his cheek, staring down at the blood coating his fingers and palm. Not his though, Rhys’s hand.

You snapped your wings, the force knocking him back. Wings as white as snow, soft as the clouds in summer. Long feathers ruffling in the breeze, sand dusting the bottom half.

“See you’re taking on your new role well, but I’m not in need of training,” Rhys said, a chuckle rumbling Azriel’s chest, no Rhys’s.

Role? Ah yes, you were made general. The winged pin on the left part of your cape, he’d seen that stashed away in your drawer.

“I could teach you a thing or two.” You flicked your blade and lifted his chin, eyes on the wound weaving itself back together.

Wait were you flirting with Rhys? Azriel had seen that smile before, you’d lifted his chin with a blade or two many times.

The world around Azriel fell away like he’d walked through a waterfall. The heat of the sun on his back no longer burning. The springs of the armchair dug into the back of his wings, flickering candle drawing his shadows back to him as he glared at Rhys on the other side of the desk.

“Tell me you did not pursue her,” Azriel asked, rising from his chair and planting his hands on the desk.

Rhys didn’t move, smirk pulling the corner of his lips. He swatted the dark wisps out of his face and shook his head. “I did not. She was, is highly desired.”

Was. Azriel would make sure to summon that bout of flirtation as soon as winter passed. He missed training with you, swapping blades to see how much you’d learnt from each other.

“Show me again,” Azriel found himself asking.

I can just imagine Azriel and Cassian finding books on seraphim!reader and talking about all her battles. Hushed voices, books traded in the shadows. Cassian wanting to ask how true the stories are.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar #azriel acotar #acotar fic #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel x female!reader #azriel imagine #acotar azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff

317 notes · View notes