#OBSESSED with these. beautiful. wish I could burn them into the back of my eyelids and look at them whenever my eyes close | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

insomniac-dot-ink · 3 years

Text

Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

My book 🌸 Ko-fi 🌸 Patreon

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

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me.

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it.

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost.

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl?

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own.

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

If you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my ko-fi or supporting me on patreon (even a dollar helps!), check out my Sapphic fantasy book as well!

#wlw #sapphic #found family #urban fantasy #writeblr #magical realism #fantasy stories #short story #writing #lesbian romance #patreon late release #femslash #f/f #8k #my work #long post #long post cw

411 notes · View notes

sugawara-sweetheart · 3 years

Text

𝔞𝔭𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔱𝔢 (𝔪)

❥sugawara kōshi x ta fem!reader

❥summary: sugawara can’t stop thinking about the pretty ta and what a wonderful mother she’d be

❥warnings: dubcon/noncon, forced breeding, brief lactation kink, yandere/obsessive behaviour, delusion

❥word count: 2.4k

❦note: miss nads (@obscureamor) <3333 gave me this idea like she literally said bitch fuck takeda x student (i came for her man) write this instead so here it is!!! nads if you see this (which you shouldn't bc I told you not to read my work) ily <3

whether it was sheer luck or destiny that you were the new teaching assistant for sugawara’s class of thirty-something little five year olds, he didn’t know but either way sugawara woke every morning with a bright smile, your face burning in the back of his eyelids, and a thankful prayer on his tongue that god had placed you in his life.

you were absolutely radiant. beautiful, feminine, elegant yet so tender, you were a bundle of warmth and goodness that made his day so much brighter. every day at work was pure joy when you were around it was no surprise he’d fallen in love with you so quickly, how could he not? so delicate and so sweet, his students weren’t the only one completely captivated by you.

he’d watch every morning when the students came into the classroom, beaming toothy grins on their chubby, flushed faces as they ran to you, hugging your legs as they clamoured to tell you about their weekends, how they got a new pet and went to the park and got new toys. any sane adult would go insane surrounded by a gaggle of loud, squealing children but not you. so patient and lovely, you crouch down to be eye level with the children, smiling as you laugh at their stories. and so angelic, sugawara is sure you’ve fallen straight from heaven with how beautiful your laugh is when it rings through the classroom and he can’t resist fluttering his eyes shut, searing it into memory like he does with everything of you. your sweet scent of jasmine perfume and lotion that lingers in his nose every time you step close to him is the same scent he’s filled his home with- jasmine candles and diffusers and plants along the window sills and patio- so that he can imagine he’s surrounded by you, that you’re with him when he’s cooking and bathing and eating, when he’s humping his pillow and groaning into his hand, wishing it was your plush body he was rutting into, that it’s your lips swallowing his moans instead of his clammy palms.

there’s no doubt about it. sugawara knows his future lies with you, it’s all he thinks about. he sees how you speak so gently to the shy kid who tucks themselves away in the corner of the classroom, how your eyes soften and you smile so encouragingly. he sees how much the children adore you, and he knows you adore them too, that you’re always ready to read to them and compliment their brightly-coloured, blobby drawings of stickmen and you sound so genuine, so happy. and you’re so beautiful too- you look so pretty in your clothes that accentuate all your curves and compliment your skin tone, that you always smell so fresh and clean with your hair perfectly styled, your lips that alluring crimson shade of red that always has sugawara’s eyes dipping down to gaze at them. he wants to know how they taste, how you taste, how you feel, how you’d moan his name, how beautiful you’d look swollen with his child.

it’s fate, sugawara decides. it’s fate that you became his TA and you’re just his perfect, wonderful woman. he knows that he doesn’t have to seek for a soulmate anymore because he’s already found you.

a smile grows on his face as he watches you clean up the scraps of paper the children have left littered all over the table and floor. it’s past four, the school quiet with the sky outside darkening into indigo, the tangerine sun setting in the distance. you’re so helpful and all throughout the arts and crafts session you helped the students so well. you’d make such a perfect mother, sugawara knows you would. he can see it, he can see how well you’d raise his child, how he could come home from work to have you, the love of his life, greet him at the door with his child, how you’d kiss him and show him the beautiful drawing your child did. a little stickman drawing of mummy and daddy and baby and the family pet cat all outside a little cartoonish house with the yellow sun in the corner, complete with a smiley face.

“you do so much for me, y/n.” sugawara smiles as he gets to his feet from his desk, strolling over towards you. you laugh as he approaches, glancing back from where you’re stood leaning over the table and trying to wipe glitter off the wood.

“i’m just doing my job, sugawara sensei.” your pure, radiant smile and crinkled eyes sends blood rushing to his cock, and from the way you’re half bent your skirt hugs your ass so well he knows he can’t hold back anymore. you tense slightly as he stands behind you, close enough that you’re almost pressed against him and your smile falters as he gently places his hands over your shoulders.

“you always do it so well. you’re always so good with the kids. i know you’ll make a brilliant mother.” his words sound sweet but you don’t quite smile at them, your body stilling even more and an anxious laugh falls from your lips as sugawara brushes your hair out of your way, sweeping it over one shoulder.

“thanks, sensei, i appreciate that but-” he doesn’t see the look of discomfort on your face, not when his cock throbs as he pushes it against your ass, eliciting a sharp gasp from you as your mouth drops open with startled surprise.

“please, call me kōshi.” he almost wanted to laugh- there’s no need for formalities here, not when he was ready to secure his love with you, just like he’d been waiting for months. “i think we’re ready to be on first name basis.”

you swallow, eyes clenching shut when his lips press against your jaw. your skin is soft and your scent is so sweet it just makes sugawara hungrier as his kisses grow heavier. he pushes you into the table, sucking and nibbling on your sensitive skin as you shudder in his hold, but you don’t resist his hands that roam your body till they reach your hips, grasping them tight. you’re just frozen, eyes wide and your bottom lip trembling.

“sugawa- k-kōshi, what are you doing- this isn’t profes-” you glance worriedly at the door and sugawara just chuckles as he turns you around, nudging you onto the desk as he gently holds your chin, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

“don’t worry, nobody will see. and even if they do,” his smile grows as he leans in closer, his lips ghosting yours as his eyes sparkle. “what does it matter when we’re in love?” he doesn’t see the confusion, the panic, etched on your face as his lips meet yours, his kiss passionate and ferverous as his fingers thread through your hair, holding you in place. he moans into your lips when your hands slide up his chest, pressing against him and like an aphrodisiac, it just makes him hungrier as he ruts his clothed erection against you.

“y/n,” he groans when you push him away, your face crumpling but sugawara just snatches your hand, pressing it against his painfully hard cock. “look what you do to me, i need you so bad.” all he’s been thinking about for months is this moment- this chance to fuck you and fill your warm cunt with his cum, pump you so full of his seed you’ll definitely be swollen with his child. he can already see it; your glowing skin and heavy breasts and how he’d massage your sore nipples for you, maybe even taste the droplets of white milk they leak. you’d taste so good and your stomach would be so round and swollen with his child.

“we can’t do this, please.” your voice is a meek little whimper, cutting through his fantasies but easily silenced as he kisses you hungrily, swallowing your protesting whines.

“yes we can,” he breaks apart for a moment, lips wet with your mixed salivas to wink at you cheekily. you don’t even smile. “it’s kind of exciting to do it where we could get caught.”

shock paints over your face as you squirm, your nails clinging to his wrists when he pushes you flat onto the desk but you’re no match for his strength as he readily unbuttons your shirt, rutting into your clothed cunt as he settles between your leg.

“su- kōshi- wait-” your skirt rides up, bunching up around your waist as your cheeks burn with embarrassment, sugawara’s body blocking you from pressing your legs shut and with his clothed erection rubbing against your folds you can’t deny the slick beginning to build.

“it’s okay, let’s just be quick.” sugawara laughs as his fingers tug down the cups of your bra. you gasp as your tits fall out, hands moving to cover yourself up but he’s quicker, his fingers twining with yours as he presses them to the desk and wraps his lips around the pebbling buds, lapping and sucking on them. one day they’ll be filled with milk, enough to sustain his child and it’ll taste so sweet, so wonderful coming from you.

“but i don’t think-” a soft sigh falls from your lips despite the look of anguish painted on your face but it just makes sugawara groan, his cock throbbing as his fingers find your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub through your dampening panties.

“shush, it’s okay, angel.” he grins. “i know your pussy’s going to feel so good around my cock. i know you will.” your hand tightens around his entwined fingers as the coil tightens in the pit of your stomach, your toes curling in your shoes as the pleasure builds but before you can come, sugawara pulls away, chuckling when your mouth falls open with surprise.

“you can cum on my cock, sweetie.” he coos, kissing you sweetly as his fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down as you squirm.

“w-wait but- but you need a condom-” you’re cut off with a pained moan when he slaps his fingers against your pussy, your hips jerking before he tugs down his pants.

“aw, let me fuck you properly, my angel.” his hard cock slaps against his clothed stomach, painfully hard with the flushed head leaking beads of precum. you struggle slightly but the hand on his hip does nothing to prevent sugawara from sliding his cock along your folds before he plunges it into your hole, head falling back with a heavy moan.

it feels like heaven for him. your warm walls cling to his throbbing length, slick squelching as he fills up your cunt, stretching out your tight walls. your pussy tightens around him when you squirm, a string of soft moans falling from your lips and despite the tears building in your eyes, despite your bottom lip quivering and your body shaking as nothing but utter fear and pain is etched across your face, all sugawara can think about is how right this feels.

“oh, baby, you’re so beautiful.” he coos, rolling your nipples between his fingers as a small sob escapes you. “you’re taking my cock so well. your pussy’s so good,” his smile grows as he leans close to you. “just like you were made for me.” he pulls out of you, his length coated in a thick sheen of your wetness before he slams back in, eliciting loud moans from you both. your eyes clench shut as sugawara fucks you, each thrust a deep stroke with his cockhead nudging towards your cervix, letting you feel every inch of his veiny length.

“such a good girl.” he murmurs, grinding his pubic bone against your clit with every thrust and flicking his tongue against your nipples. “you’re taking my cock so well.” your moan is choked with a sob at his words, one of your hands clawing into the table and the other trapped in sugawara’s, your nails piercing crescents into the back of his hand.

“k-kōshi- hurts!” each thrust slams against your cervix, a dull ache rushing through you as you jerk but sugawara just shushes you gently, groaning as his fingers find your clit, swirling the bud slowly.

“sh, it’s okay- fuck-” his thrusts become sloppier and harder, wetness squelching lewdly, when he brushes against a sensitive spot that has your walls tightening around him. beads of sweat glisten off his flushed face as he fucks you faster. “i’ll make you cum, and then i’ll fill up this pretty cunt with my cum.”

your eyes shoot open, red and filled with tears and rounded with shock as you shake your head wildly.

“no! i’m- i’m not on the pill- you can’t-” your feeble protests are drowned out by sugawara’s deep groan, a manic gleam in his eyes as he pounds into you harder. his thrusts are hard, pain shooting through you and panic overriding the pleasure as you squirm desperately, trying to pull away from his cock but with his chest pressed against yours, you’re trapped.

“you’ll look so pretty swollen with my child. i’ll cum so deep in you i’ll fuck a baby in you.” he pants heavily against your face between the sloppy kisses he presses to your skin, looking dizzy with the pleasure rushing through him.

“s-stop, i’m begging you!” the tears streaming down your face and the weak kick of your legs should’ve evoked pity in sugawara but for some reason, it just makes the throbbing in his cock harder, the pressure building in the pit of his stomach as he groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“you’ll be all mine.”

his teeth bite into the soft skin of your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark when his cock twitches, thrusts staggering. you gasp, stilling as his cum floods your cunt, warm sticky ropes of it filling you up and your heart sinks as you realise there’s so much of it. but sugawara just pins you against the table, his softening cock keeping the cum plugged in your cunt as he traces kisses along your jaw, caressing your soft cheeks and not minding about the tears rolling down them.

“so beautiful, you’ll look so beautiful with my child.” he smiles tenderly. “we’re going to be such a happy family.”

1K notes · View notes

littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Ezra’s Journal Entries #1-3

Fandom: Prospect / Pedro Pascal

Pairing: Ezra x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,269

Summary: You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe.

Warnings: angsty fluff, Ezra’s dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics because that’s just how I chose to do it, no beta so all mistakes are mine

Author Note: I know I said Death and Angel would come out next, but I got such a inspiration high and the words came out so quickly I just told myself screw it and decided to share what I have. If anyone thinks this is a series worth pursuing, let me know. If you don’t, well, just be gentle please 💖

Cross-posted on AO3

Entries #4-6

Look for additional notes at the bottom.

My name is Ezra.

I have my mama to thank for that. Time has erased her face from my memory, but her voice is ingrained into the tissue of my brain the same way these words are inked on this parchment. She was a bonafide believer that the meaning of a child’s name influenced the course of their destiny. When I was no taller than the height of her waist I learned my own name’s denotation: help.

It’s just a tick too ironic, isn’t it? To be destined to help others when I can’t help my own self. I gave the Green far too little credit. It didn’t just pilfer my arm to satisfy its ravenousness, it greedily stole my sense of purpose too.

Every night I thank the deities you didn’t accompany me there. If the Green had taken you...

I know how worried you are about me, little love of mine. When I look at you, I find you already looking back, a sweet smile gracing your lips even as concern burns in your eyes as an eternal flame. From day one you’ve always been looking at me, seeing every disgraced flaw and scar—even the invisible ones carved into the darkest edges of my soul. Kevva knows I’ve never been capable of concealing anything from you, but fuck if I don’t wish I could sometimes.

You’re asleep now as I write this, tucked against my side in the vacant space my arm once occupied, drooling on my shirt. I love you so much it hurts. A black hole in my chest perpetually aching to be filled by your presence. And as we venture once more into the starry sea, our ship gliding past the imaginary wings of Noctua, I find myself recalling a theory you once told me many cycles ago about humans being made in the womb with stardust infused in their bones, linking them to the universe. You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe.

And it’s undoubtedly selfish, but all I could think of in that tender moment beyond kissing you was how I didn’t want an eternity spent together with our cosmic bodies intertwined.

I want longer.

Soon after we awoke and each consumed a slice of bush bread bought during our recent docking at Kamrea, you fiddled with the channels on the ship’s radio, hoping to hear news from your homeworld but cursing when you only heard static. Then, without an ounce of forewarning, music burst out with an almighty scream through the speakers at full volume, flooding the whole compartment with a woman’s warbling. It was the same crusted Vayok song that merc Inumon blared in my ears during my last night on the Green, every note an individual needle piercing my skull, impossible to ignore.

Reality deserted me, leaving me to sink to the depths of the abyss within my mind where all I could see was Cee’s pale, disturbed expression as she looked to me for guidance. I remembered how my tongue felt clumsy in my mouth as I tried my damnedest to negotiate our transport, thinking if I could just piece together the right sequence of words, if I could just get their lingering eyes off of her, then maybe, maybe we’d have a chance at salvation.

The memories coalesced, overlapping and blurring and mixing out of order. Each one was drenched in spilt blood.

Then your pinky wrapped around mine. The touch was soft yet firm, the action childlike in its innocence. It was such a jarring contradiction to my mind’s violent narrative, my consciousness was hurtled back into the living quarters of our ship as a result. You didn’t say anything when you saw I returned to you. Instead, you swallowed down the questions lodged in your throat and led me by our entwined fingers back to our bed.

There’s a plant back home called a dandelion, you told me with my head resting in your lap, a far better comfort than any pillow could provide me. It’s the only plant in the galaxy you can see the sun, the moon and the stars when you look at it. That’s not why it’s my favorite though.

I asked how it had won your heart’s favor if not due to its resemblance to the celestial bodies, then immediately found myself mesmerized by the smile that lit up your face as you peered down at me. My chest cavity tightened as I was filled with the profound longing to be able to suspend time, if only so I could stretch this moment to match the length of our separation, if only so I could erase the old and replace it with the beautiful new.

Dandelions grant wishes, babe. Anything you wish for with your whole heart, it will be yours to have.

I told you I wouldn’t wish for anything—nothing else in the galaxy could compare to the prettiest, wisest soul I’d ever encountered in all my years traversing it. You saw right through that lie with the same confident ease you see through all my masks and diversions, but—for the second time in the span of an hour—you held your tongue.

This journal’s as good a place as any to admit the honest truth. So here it is: I wish with the entirety of my bloody, beating heart I could be the man you deserve, little love of mine.

When you read, whether it be a book or the flight manual, you have the precious habit of mouthing the words. I don’t think you have the faintest notion you’re even doing it, which makes it all the more endearing to watch.

My brother had a similar habit, always nose deep in the yellowing pages of classic literature, except he had a proclivity to spoil the plot when he talked in his sleep. I remember there was one particular novel he returned to often, sometimes reading from beginning to end, other times seeking out specific segments he’d underlined in bold, black pen. It was a rather dreary tale about war and rivalry and the process of determining one’s own identity. I became so exasperated with my brother’s obsession I considered shredding it on more than one occasion, only to immediately hate myself for entertaining the thought.

It was only after his death—twelve whole cycles, in fact—that I summoned up the will to open the front cover. Seeing his name scribbled in the corner, cursive and neat and so utterly him, nearly had me tearing the book in half, overcome with a vicious rage I had never known prior nor have I encountered since. But by the almighty grace of Kevva I reigned it in, chaining it to the agony and fear imprisoned within the confines of my rib cage, and turned the page.

There was one segment underlined not once, but three times, nearly bleeding ink onto the page behind it. When I close my eyes, the words are tattooed on the backs of my eyelids, as haunting as they are comforting.

So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.

The author lived and died centuries before my brother’s inception, that is an inarguable fact.

But I know those words were written for him all the same.

Notes:

There is an actual theory humans are made of stardust ✨

The Sater within Prospect mention the Currents as being responsible for bringing Ezra and Cee to them, so I imagine them as similar to the Fates/Moirai in Greek mythology.

Noctua is a real life, extinct constellation that is Latin for owl. I thought within this Prospect universe it could exist as a type of landmark or coordinate. Plus I love owls 🦉

Crusted is a term from Prospect Ezra uses. Equivalent of damn. I think there’s something funny about how they use creamy as a positive adjective and crusted as negative.

Vayok is the alien language Inumon speaks within the movie, so I decided to write the song she blares as being sung in the same language

Bush bread is referenced in a deleted scene by Ezra, but a google search revealed to me it’s also a real life type of bread too

In the same deleted scene Ezra references that he has a brother. I haven’t decided his name yet/if he will have one

The book and quote Ezra refers to in #3 is John Knowles’ A Separate Peace. One of the few required reading books I liked back in high school.

The quote about dandelions being the sun, moon and stars is based on the legend of how dandelions came into existence. I always thought it was beautiful.

Series Taglist: @insomniamamma

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan, @melobee, @randomness501, @absurdthirst, @captain-jebi, @artsymaddie, @happiestsparkleofall, @disgruntledspacedad, @gallowsjoker, @aerynwrites, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @chibi-yuki, @freeshavocadoooo, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @leilei-draws, @over300books, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @coaaster, @waywardmando, @thisshipwillsail316, @grogusmum, @asta-lily, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @tacticalsparkles

#ezra #ezra prospect #Prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ezra's journal #prospect fanfiction #ezra fanfic #my fic #my writing #pedrostories

219 notes · View notes

midnightmoonkiss · 4 years

Text

Sanguineous.

Vampire! Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: This would’ve happened eventually, after all, you did fall in love with a vampire. At least he’ll be there for you when you need him the most.

WARNINGS! Biting, oral (female receiving), fingering, blood, pain, crying, dom!Izuku

Category: Smut

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Yo I’m super nervous with this one.. let me know how it turned out!

Just To Clarify:

This is set in the Victorian Era

Izu and Reader have been together for a while

Izuku is a kind lover, nervous boy

Reader is a virgin

Perm. Tag List:

@coupsieddori @desia2 @strwbrry-lia

Wet lips molded together passionately, perfectly in sync as desire swirled on the tip of your tongue.

His soft, frigid fingers trailed up the warm sides of your naked body, leaving goosebumps in their wake as shivers trickled down your spine like water.

Tonight was a special yet nerve-wracking night.

One that was bound to happen eventually, since you fell in love with an immortal vampire.

How it happened was still fresh in your memory like soil deep in the heart of a forest, you’d never forget meeting or falling in love with the one you forever wanted to call your own.

You hadn’t a moment to reminisce, the feeling of his cold hands inching closer towards your bare breast derailed your train of thought.

If you weren’t blindfolded and tied to the bed, you would’ve been running your fingers through those soft green locks, losing yourself in his large, emerald eyes that held so much love in them you feared you’d drown.

But for now, you’d do without.

Your senses were heightened considerably, his light touches driving you mad.

“(Y/N)..” He whispered against your collarbone, ghosting kisses across your skin lit aflame as his palms rested on your ribs.

“You look so beautiful..” The candles burning around the room created a sensual atmosphere, their warm light dancing across your smooth skin. You almost looked like someone straight out of a renaissance painting, utterly breathtaking.

But anxiety and fear bubbled loosely in his gut, his movements slow and shaky. He was excited yet afraid.

Giddy.

Your skin against his own calms his nerves. He hummed when he saw that small smile on your addicting lips, moving to reclaim them once more, grounding himself with your eager love.

You gasped into his mouth once his hands finally cupped your breasts, thumb swiping over one of your perky nipples. Slipping his tongue into your wet cavern, he traced along all those sensitive parts of your mouth with the tip of his tongue, rolling your buds between his large fingers.

Your back arched off the bed at feeling such cold hands against such a sensitive place, your nipples growing impossibly harder, near painful, by the second as wetness pooled between your legs, dripping down your ass just to soak into the soft, white cotton sheets beneath you.

He pulled away all too soon, eliciting a soft whine of disapproval as he chuckled.

“Patience.”

His voice was deep, and sweet like honey, music you could play on repeat and never get tired of.

Pressing his lips to the corner of your own, he moved over your jawline, butterfly kisses being left behind. He exhaled heavily at your neck, nose pressing into the crook before inhaling deeply.

Your scent always overwhelmed him, made him lose the slightest bit of control.

He could hear your heart beat increasing, your blood pumping faster through the warm artery just below the skin where his freckled cheek lay snug.

It made him thirsty, desperate to sink his growing fangs into your flesh and to feel the warm liquid flow down his throat. It would be heavenly..

But he relented, pulling away to continue kissing down your body, praise slipping past his teeth as he marveled at your addicting beauty.

His words made your cheeks heat up, hips squirming once he pressed a peck below your naval.

You so desperately wished you could move your arms, but a soft rope kept you comfortably bound as he did to you what he desired. The very thought of having no control thrilled you to the very core, if the sudden throbbing had anything to say about it.

Your legs were then spread, and embarrassment flowed down your body like lava spewing from a volcano.

You had never been spread in such a way before, you were practically open wide like a sandwich waiting for the meat, you could even feel his eyes on your dripping core. Even if you were shy, seeing as this was your first time, you knew you had nothing to be ashamed of. Not with him.

The bed squeaked as he shifted, his hot breath soon fanning over your fresh womanhood as he kept you open for him.

You couldn't control the way your hips twitched, involuntarily bucking up once his tongue dipped in between your folds.

“H-ah.. Izuku..!”

His hair tickled your thighs as he spread your folds open with his fingers, diving in and devouring your very essence with lustful hunger that had you shaking and moaning for more.

His tongue flicked over your throbbing clit, circling around it before possessively tracing his name onto the cute little bud, marking you as his.

You would always be his.

He pulled you closer to his mouth, eager to slurp you up and get you to relax even more.

He knew deep down that you were as nervous as him, possibly even moreso.

You would be giving your entire life to him, after all.

It filled him with such adrenaline every time he thought about it, how you’d risk everything to be his.

He loved you so much.

It was insane to think that someone like him could even feel love after centuries of being a cold-blooded killer that lived under the disguise of a nobleman.

His life was nothing until you stumbled into it, an orphan lost in the woods finding a manor, something straight out of a cliche fairy tale.

Not that he particularly minded, considering it was endearing how someone depended on him for the first time in his long life.

“HaaAAh!! I- Izu..! I’m..!”

The bottom of your tummy twisted into a heated knot, your clit puffy and overly sensitive as he continued to lather it in blissful attention.

He hummed, the vibrations shaking you, and the knot wound so tight it snapped.

Stars brighter than those in the captivating night sky exploded behind your eyelids, and you suddenly felt like you were walking on the softest cloud high above the earth as your back arched nearly uncomfortably from the sheer pleasure he brought forth to you. Pleasure you had never felt before

He was always so skilled with his tongue, both in business and apparently private matters.

He did have centuries to perfect it, after all.

Giving one final lick to your sopping flesh, collecting more of your juices on his tongue, he crawled back up your body, thrusting his tongue into your parted mouth.

You eagerly met his passion, the taste of yourself on him seemingly so scandalous, it was hard not to moan wantonly into his mouth.

He smiled against you, cupping your hot cheek with his cool hand, the difference in temperature making you inhale sharply and lean into his delicate touch.

Teasingly, you sucked on his tongue, thrill filling your body when he let out the tiniest of growls.

“Naughty little girl,” he rasped, “you’re already driving me mad, is it so wise to test my self control?”

As he said this, he momentarily ground his clothed crotch onto your bare thigh, dragging a whimper past your lips from how hard he was, and how big he felt.

How a vampire could be hard, you had no clue.

The undead and immortal wasn’t exactly your expertise.

All you truly knew was that some parts of him were warm and some cold, like an unevenly cooked chicken.

“P-perhaps..” You subconsciously bit your lip, his eyes no doubt watching as you did so, “it depends on if in doing so, you’ll give m-me what I want..”

A dark chuckle bounced around the room, you could almost feel the rumbling vibration from the chest hovering above your own.

“And what is it that you desire, (Y/N)?”

Your name rolled off his dirty tongue like molasses, thick and heavy, an accent unknown to you, lost by time, threading itself through every word, only adding to your obsession with his voice.

“You know what I want..” He was always such a tease.

But he couldn't help himself. A smirk took over his features as he gazed down at your pouting face with piercing green eyes, you were always so cute when he did tease you. It was much too fun to simply give you what you wanted all the time.

Not to mention.. if he did.. things would escalate far too quickly. He was still nervous.

Even if he was both brains and bronze, he was still just an undeadman with human emotions. Curse being trapped in a young adult's body! He’ll forever feel the horniness of a teen and the crushing responsibility of an adult.

“Izuku.. It’s okay..” Your saccharine voice startled him from his thoughts, have you read his mind? “I want this.. it’s okay.” You smiled reassuringly, and he swore he felt his cold, dead heart beat.

Placing a kiss to your nose, he watched in amusement as you scrunched it up like a mouse.

First things first.. he had to get out of his attire.

Despite you being fully naked, he was fully clothed. It certainly made him feel powerful, but tonight, he wanted to be your equal.

So, pulling back and sitting on his haunches, he unbuttoned his brown vest and white dress shirt, tossing them haphazardly to the floor, careful to avoid the flames of the candles.

It was a cooler night, autumn changing the leaves of the trees just outside his large window gleaming with moonlight, and so a fire burned in the fireplace opposite of the room.

He didnt want you to be too terribly cold.

Besides, the crackling of the fire calmed his nerves.

Soon he had his pants and other clothing off, and he was as bare as you.

Only, you couldnt see him.

But you could certainly feel his muscular thighs on either side of your own, he truly was a sculpture.

He captured your lips once again in a kiss, fingers smoothing down your belly just to gather your own slick and prod at your clenching entrance.

The prickling feeling of something so cold touching something so hot made you flinch, and so he held you still with his other hand, his chest resting against yours as you took in shaky breaths.

Pushing a digit inside, he groaned at how tight you were, pulsing around his finger and sucking it further into your molten warmth until he was knuckle deep.

“Fuck..” He huffed against your neck, tongue dipping out to taste your salty flesh for just a moment.

“You’re so tight, love..”

“Mm..” You forced your body to relax, taking deep breaths to calm yourself.

Pulling his finger out, he thrust it back in, a wet squelch accompanying his actions.

It didnt take long for you to adjust to the single digit, soon finding pleasure in the way his finger moved in and out of you. “H-hah.. mmMm..”

Another finger prodding at your entrance made your hips buck up, the coldness addicting as it felt like you were being filled up with a smooth rock.

It felt so good.. you swore you were melting despite the vast difference in temperature.

“I-Izuku..! Mm! G-uh.. hAH! AaAAAH?!!”

His fingers curled inside of your brushing up against a spot inside yourself you never knew about.

He thrusted his fingers inside of you faster, hitting that same spot every time with a wet click. Eventually a third finger was added, and you swore you were close to seeing those stars again.

“UuaaaAhh!! S-so!! Good!! G-gonna.. h-AAaaH! Gonna c-cum!! Izu- Izu!!”

Just as that knot was about to snap inside you again, he fully pulled his fingers out.

“No!” You sobbed, fighting against the restraints as you helplessly bucked into this air, “Izuku-!! Mmph!”

Your cries were cut off as he shoved his fingers into your mouth, saliva and your wetness dripping down your chin.

“Lick them clean for me, honey.” He purred seductively, that wicked man.

Without hesitation, you eagerly licked his fingers, lathering them in your spit before sucking heartily, slurping up your mess, ignoring the throbbing of your clit and the way your core clenched helplessly around nothing.

“Such a good girl, always listening to me.. I love you so much, (Y/N)..” Sighing dreamily, he pulled his fingers from your mouth, staring in awe at the string that connected them to you before it snapped.

“Izuku.. p-please.. please t-take me..! I- I can’t..!” You were on the verge of tears, so desperate for him.

Swallowing the ball of nerves sitting at the back of his throat, he finally decided to oblige.

“As you wish,” he whispered into your ear, leaning back to get between your legs, spreading them wide and resting them on his hips.

To think, you were about to give everything you had away to him.

He was honored, and would forever devote himself to you.

He was excited to never have to watch a loved one die in his arms again.

Grabbing his member, he stroked himself a few times, guiding the tip to your awaiting entrance.

His head kissed at the clenching hole, smearing his precum onto your flesh.

He finally pushed in, slowly, ears perked for any noise of discomfort or pain as he chewed his lip at the intense pleasure.

This was your first time, after all. He knew how much it hurt for virgins if not careful enough. He wanted to be careful, he couldnt bare the thought of hurting you because of his own selfish desires.

“Nh!” The smallest of squeaks caught his attention, and he immediately stopped stuffing himself in. “(Y/N)?” He panted like a dog in heat, voice laced with concern, hands massaging your hips.

“I-I’m okay..! It’s just.. haahh.. You’re… so big, Izuku..”

Was it wrong to have pride swell in his chest at the praise when his lover was in pain? He didnt know.

“Shh, baby.. give it a moment..” And so, he remained still, letting you catch your breath before continuing to shove himself inside your welcoming walls.

He was aware he was.. on the larger size. It must be painful to be taken by something so big for your first time.. but he couldnt help the size of his dick.

He was positive you’d love it eventually, he’d make sure of that.

“Almost there.. you’re doing so good for me, sweetheart..” His fingers squeezed at your hips as he slowly sheathed himself inside, eventually bottoming out with a pleased groan.

While he felt pleasure, all you felt was discomfort and pain.

It was nothing at all like his fingers, you felt like you were being torn in two!

You held back on your sobs, still fighting to relax yourself.

No one told you your first time would be so painful.. Granted, you didn't have anyone to tell you, but a heads up would’ve been pleasant.

But you'd take this, take the pain, because it was Izuku.

The love of your life.

You were overjoyed at the thought of being connected with him, you could even feel his overwhelming warmth, the way he twitched and throbbed inside of you, it was wonderful.

Way better than anything you had shamefully dreamed of before.

Lips brushed against your skin again, and you could tell he was trying to calm you down with his pure love with each kiss delicately placed.

Once you were as ready as could be, you tested the waters by grinding yourself on him, to which he let out a guttural growl.

Slowly, he pulled himself back out so that only his flushed tip remained inside, before pushing himself back in. A heavy pant escaped his lips as you shimmied, biting your own.

He continued to take things slow, rocking in and out of you in a slow rhythm, clutching the bed sheets beneath you so tightly his knuckles turned white as he fought to control himself from acting like a complete wild animal and fucking you raw.

It truly was hard to hold back, considering you felt so fucking good around his aching cock.

Fuck!

He swore you were the best he’s ever had!

His face was pinched and sweaty, eyes concentrating on your own facial expressions as he sped up, wet slaps starting to become a lewd white noise.

The more he fucked in and out of you, the more you got into it, his huge member filling you up in the sweetest way possible, brushing against parts inside of you you hadn't any idea were there.

It just felt.. so nice..

“H-haah.. mMM..! Izuku-! Please.. please go f-faster-!”

“But-“

“I can take it, please..!”

Without missing a beat, he sped up his hips, lurching forward from how good it felt, “Huunnhh..! Aah..”

You were so wet, your juices started to drip down his thighs as you moaned oh-so loudly for him.

“AaAah! Zu!! Mmnngnn..! F-Feels!! Ahh, FUCK! It f-feels so good..! HaAAaaH..!”

His warm chest brushed against your own as he leaned down, holding you flushed against him as his hips snapped up into yours, thrusts so powering it made your head spin and the bed frame bang against the wall.

Everything was moving, and your body felt like it was on fire with pleasure-filled needles pricking your skin.

“(Y/N).. my lady..! F-uck- you’re so- h-haah.. so fucking tight..!” The freckled man grunted out, passion and desire swirling in his belly as your scent overwhelmed the fuck out of him. He could feel his fangs stabbing into his bottom lip, drops of his blood splattering onto your clear skin below as he continued to shake the bed with how fast he was fucking you.

He couldnt help but shove his nose into the crook of your neck, licking along the column and subconsciously nibbling and sucking little marks.

“Mm-! HaaaaAh.! B-baby..! Izuku! Izuku! B-bite me! M-make me yours! Please I- it’s okay..!”

You were insane to say something holding a thousand meanings and depth deeper than a trench, but you hadn't a care in the world as the love of your life fucked you so good you couldnt think straight.

“Haaauh..!” You words sent hot spikes of pleasure down his spine, and the hunger inside him grew tenfold. His throat was still burning, parched, and his eyes were hyper focused on your neck.

There was no turning back.

He licked your neck with his tongue once again, feeling for that thrum of your intense heartbeat in your artery. Once he found it, he hesitated, pearly white fangs hovering over your beautiful skin as you continued to cry out in pleasure.

This was it.

He bit down, blood immediately filling his mouth, flowing down your neck and staining the bed.

Your short cry of pain should've knocked him off, but he felt as if he was on drugs, his eyes damn near rolling back into his head as your delicious fucking flavor spilled down his throat, all while your dripping pussy clenched around him like a fist.

It felt so good!

You tasted.. so god damn good!!

He slurped noisily, lost in your flavor, your own blood dripping down his chin and your shoulder.

You’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted… like pure sugar cane and honey, mellowed out with hints of dark chocolate and salt.

His cock twitched inside of you, pelvis rubbing against your puffy clit, and despite your love drinking your blood, you were in ecstasy, thighs shaking like a newborn as they squeezed his slim hips that continued to speed up.

You were being fucked so good that you hadnt a care in the world, your mind growing blank and fuzzy from the loss of blood.

“Izu.. haAaAAAAH! Izuku! Let me..! Let me see you!! Please I!! I want to see you!!” Tears leaked from your eyes, the pleasure too damn good for you to handle without turning into absolute jelly.

Snapping from his thoughts, he pulled away from you, licking the two dripping holes, his saliva sure to speed up the healing process.

“But I..! I look di- aaaah..! Different!” He was still ashamed of himself for being what he was, not to mention being so sloppy that your own blood was smeared on his mouth.

“Dont care! Please!”

The bed creaked as you pulled on your restraints, back arching off the bed as if to persuade him.

Shaking fingers pulled your silk blindfold off, and you were met with such beauty.

His eyes glowed a hungry crimson, cheeks flushed and hair slicked with sweat as his eyebrows pinched, bloody jaw hanging open with his fangs on full display, moans pouring out his mouth.

He was beautiful.

“GuaAh-! K-kiss me..!”

You didnt have to ask twice, as his lips soon crashed down onto yours, the metallic taste of your own blood fresh on his tongue driving you closer to the edge as he rearranged your insides, taking away the pain that began to sear your neck.

“MMmMmh!”

This was why he insisted upon tying you up whilst making love, because it fucking hurt, being turned into what he was, and he knew it.

He could remember the day he was turned like yesterday, in that dark alley all alone by the only person he trusted besides his mother. The fear he felt, the pain he felt, all by himself, unbearable.

He didn't want you to go through that, so he came up with the most numbing way possible for you to go through the process.

Tears fell like a waterfall down your eyes as the pain spread through your veins, breaking the kiss to sob out loud, and yet.. you felt so good at the same time.

You were feeling so many things it was hard to wrap your head around it.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N)..” he whispered before grabbing your hips, slamming into you even faster with inhuman speeds that made you scream in pleasure and the bed creak, promptly coming undone as the knot in your lower belly snapped once again.

Pain and pleasure filled cries filled the large room, your own eyes rolling back as red covered your vision, spotted with black, lightning and acid flowing down your veins as you were brought to the brink of insanity.

Izuku pulled out, thrusting into his hand for a split second before he came all over your belly, but he didn't have a second to bask in any afterglow, your pleasure filled cries soon morphing into intense pain as your body shut down, cells dying and being replaced by those much stronger.

You could feel yourself grow colder, you felt like you were being stabbed a million times over again, and there was nothing you could do about it.

The only comfort you had was him hugging you to him, whispering words you couldn’t comprehend as you screamed and fought against restraints.

Izuku lost count of how many minutes passed by slowly, his heart breaking with every cry you let out.

There was no other way, you knew this and you accepted this.

He would never leave you alone, not even as you thrashed about, accidentally kneeing him multiple times in the gut.

It took a painstakingly long ten minutes before you slowly calmed down, eyes fluttering shut as you fell lax in his protective hold.

The worst was done.

All he could do now was wait.

Again.

Morning came and went, and as expected, you had yet to wake.

Through the hours, Izuku stayed by your side, watching as your skin grew paler. It was a damn near painful sight, especially when blood dripped from your mouth from your fangs growing in.

It wasn't until the moon was high in the sky once more that your heart beat, of which continued to slow down as time went on, stopped.

Leaning over your body, now dressed in a nightgown, he stared at your features.

Your eyes moved beneath your lids, and his breath caught in his throat.

Red eyes soon stared back into his own, and he couldn't help but chuckle, despite the situation. He knew exactly what you felt.

“My, my, looks like someones hungry.”

314 notes · View notes

daysixual · 3 years

Text

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐢𝐧

content: established relationship au, idol!sungjin, female!reader, nsfw, making out, fingering, semi-public sex.

word count: 0,9k.

You're so in love it's actually insane. You love the way Sungjin's eyes collide with yours through the songs because you know that he is seeking your attention from the rest of the audience at the show, and he always gets it. Who else could you look at?

There's nothing more attractive than seeing him play, seeing him enjoying himself, seeing him be confident because he knows that all eyes are on him as if he were attracting them with a magnet.

The tension in the air and the need to have each other at that moment is torturous, precisely because there's never a really accessible and comfortable place to satiate it. At least not a private one.

Now, Sungjin's fingers are the only thing that keeps you close to what you wish you had inside. That bathroom becomes an accomplice of another night with him. Another festival, another drink, another wet kisses. "Is this what you wanted, baby?" He asks with that characteristic movement of his eyebrow. "You always have me sneaking around and walking in a tightrope."

You weren't really planning to end up like this, but the provocative way in which every little of his movement invited you to imagine a little further. It's impossible for you to resist at the barely first contact of his lips. "What will my bandmates think if they find out I'm not with them right now because I'm making you feel good?"

His hand, that had previously settled behind your neck to pull your face to his, trails down your chest and makes it even more difficult for you to answer. His fingers are soft as a feather but they start to burn when they knead your breasts.

The white color of the ceramic, in contrast to the dim lights that clearly don't work well, make the place seem smaller. Almost more intimate, as Sungjin's controversial hand shamelessly finds the skin of your legs. His touch is so hot. "You better keep your voice down" He whispers while glancing behind to make sure no one entered the place. "This is no place to scream my name even though I would love for everyone to hear you."

Sungjin's leather jacket looks so good on you for him to rip it off, resorting to lifting the thin fabric of your dress and having direct contact with your covered core. You can hardly react as your tongue explores his mouth. His rubbing starts smoothly over your underwear, then he moves it to the side and his fingers seek depth within you after getting comfortable at your entrance. Your hands grip his shoulders as your body continues to be pressed by his against that wall that has possibly witnessed things even more sinful than these.

You can't do something as simple as keep kissing him, the waves generated inside you thanks to the angle at which he fingers you causes so little stability in your legs. And he realizes. "That feels good, doesn't it baby?" You can't answer but you can feel every inch of his fingers slide in and out of you slowly.

They curl when you least expect it, your body jolts slightly for the wall to take care of supporting you. The reaction of your body makes Sungjin drift his mouth towards your neck, turning to another option to leave a trace of his haunting on you.

His other hand stays on your waist below the cut of the jacket, pressing hard towards him despite being literally crushing you. Sungjin wants everything from you, he doesn't want you to just be the pretty girl who was staring at him in the crowd.

He knows perfectly well that you don't like to share, that the more people wanted him the more you wanted him for yourself. It seems that he compares your love with that of another fan. The fact that he knows you were madly in love with him as they do makes him feel devoted to you. Maybe, in a different way, you're also obsessed with everything about Sungjin.

His perfume is at your reach with his head sunk in the curve of your neck, the scent reminds you of the mixture of it and the smell of alcohol, the smell of so many similar nights. Your hands get tangled in his hair, ruffling it like other kinds of much the same nights.

Sungjin's eyes lift back to yours when he raises his head after he gently bruises your skin. The view he has is ethereal; your hair tousled against the ceramic, your lips red from being kissed and your eyelashes fighting with your eyelids to stay open. You already know what he's thinking with that smirk on the edge of his lips. "You look beautiful when I leave you ruined like this" Sungjin whispers into your mouth.

The feeling of emptiness returns to your walls with his hand finally slidding off your hole, along with your juices. Your electrified nerves shake your entire body as they seek to come down from their high. Your hands clunch to his biceps for support.

Sungjin's fingers rise provocatively to your mouth, no need to give you an order for you to nimbly clean them. You maintain eye contact as you surround the digits with your lips, cleaning your essence from them without taking your eyes off his. In seconds like these is where your boyfriend knows that there's no other person who can take your place.

"If I see you in the front row-" Sungjin cuts off his words to drag his thumb over your lower lip, licking his own reflexively before speaking. "We will finish this at home."

You smile before he savors the taste of your lips for the last time, both of you knowing perfectly well that there would be no other place where you would be, nor that there would be another way for things to end after his show.

Backstage sessions are always only the first round.

#day6 scenarios #day6 sungjin #park sungjin #day6 smut #day6 imagines

41 notes · View notes

sombreboy · 4 years

Text

Mused obsession (5)

Written by @sombreboy as Jungkook & @chimoona as Jimin Banner by @carly-bean-blog

[ masterlist ]

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: yandere, smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 10.7k of literal filth ⇢Ch.warnings: profanity, my peeps there’s 3 smut scenes in this bring some damn tissues, so much sexual tension, Jimin's praise kink skyrockets, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dom!jjk, sub!pjm, blowjob with a brief moment of faux sub!jjk, degrading dirty talk, petnames, Jimin is so good at begging I'm in tears while editing this uff, anal (this is fictional they're ok, jimin loves getting his ass stretched pls use lube irl), Jk has a FAT cock, obsessive behavior, lots of cum in Jimin's ass (like, a lot. several times.), some fluff if you wipe the cum away, fingering in the shower (im sweating), more fucking in the shower, even more cum in Jimin's ass istg he's such a cockhungry slut, a smidge of jealous/possessive jk, more fucking sorry not sorry these men are insatiable once they got a taste of each other, cum eating.

Industry famous Jeon Jungkook of GJK photography takes an interest in a model and up-and-coming fashion designer, Park Jimin. After an opportunity to study the man behind his trusty lens, he thinks he may have just found his new muse.

The ride back to Jungkook’s place was pure torture. Jimin struggled to keep his hand off his throbbing length—the image of the metal rod gliding through the photographer’s smooth and blushed cock head, burned to his memory. Every time he closed his eyes it was like the image imprinted itself on the backs of his eyelids. He didn’t acknowledge the other man until they pulled up to the front of the house.

When the younger man leant across his lap to open the door, he was left no choice but to finally look him in the eyes. Jungkook’s childlike innocence was hardened by coal black pupils that devoured Jimin whole. As he’s naturally wanting to do, Jimin shrinks beneath the other’s gaze and tries to assess exactly what he’s in for.

At this point, Jungkook neither cares for or bothers to ask whether Jimin would like to go to his place or go back to his own house. No, Jimin's home didn't exist anymore. He knew the blonde would blindly follow him, completely caught in his web.

''We're home.'' Jungkook's warm breath hits Jimin's ear before he leans back, allowing him to exit the vehicle, following quickly behind. He caught up to open the door with his gaze growing darker the second it closed behind them, the chime of the electronic lock almost too loud in the tense silence. ''Park Jimin,” he says clearly, sounding more like he simply wants to say his name rather than to get his attention. ''Let me see your tattoo once more, I want to give it a proper look.''

“R-right here?” Jimin looks around the foyer and notices, as per usual, the room is vacant aside from the two of them. “Okay,” he meekly replies, unbuttoning his pants and sliding the fabric midway down his leg, exposing the fire-red petals as they bleed into his thigh. He feels the temperature of the room increase despite the thermostat’s untouched dial. Jungkook’s encroaching presence was more than enough to heat every part of his body, especially his bare legs, which were studied intently by the younger. “Let me see yours too,” he challenges, bravely pushing his pants down to the floor and kicking them off his feet.

“Oh, you want to see.” Jungkook smiles coyly as he steps closer to the elder, getting rid of his shirt within those few seconds to carelessly throw it on the floor; the maid would take care of it later. “I bet there's more than just the tattoo that you want to see, hm?” He cooes while one hand finds Jimin's hip, the other smoothing over the lines of the blonde's tattoo. ''You know what I'd absolutely love, butterfly?'' Jungkook continues as he inches his face closer to Jimin—his gentle yet strong gaze fails to hide the excitement of the idea in his mind, “I haven't taken photos of you in such a long time. And right this second, no artificial light can compete with the sun.”

It’s golden hour. Jungkook is ecstatic over the little things. He thought of this moment all day, taking Jimin to his large balcony and taking the perfect photo to add to his growing collection.

“More photos, hm?” Jimin smiles and leans into Jungkook’s touch, granting him full access, wherever he likes. He takes the opportunity to feel the man’s bare chest as it closes over his small frame.

Safely inside Jungkook’s impressive home, Jimin feels he can truly do whatever he wants. He presses his lips to the fresh arm tattoo, feeling the heat of the healing skin pulsate into his plush pout. The faint taste of rust lingers as he pulls back and wets his lips. The earthy flavor of the other man’s raw artwork is intoxicating—more than he likes to admit. It’s tender and receptive. He almost swears he feels him shudder as he pulls back to look him in the eye.

“Anything you want, sir.”

Jimin surely isn't the innocent angel Jungkook had initially thought that he was, and being around the photographer surely doesn't do much but bring him deeper, down into the perfect level of corruption that Jungkook craves.

"Good boy." Jungkook whispers, his voice a bit shakier than he'd admit. Jimin has a hold on him that he can't quite place. He wants the model for himself only, to spoil in every way possible.

"Come with me." His lips curl up in a playful grin as he roughly grabs Jimin by his wrist, pulling him along as he strides towards the balcony. His free hand reaches out for the camera he'd left on the counter along the way. “Ah, look at the sky,” Kook chimes in awe as they step outside, the golden glow of the sunset providing the perfect filter. “So pretty.”

“It is,” Jimin agrees, not even pretending to admire the view. All he wants is to watch dewy droplets of sweat bead on Jungkook as the setting sun hits him directly.

Jimin steps close enough to kiss, stands on his toes and flattens his tongue against the base of Jungkook’s smooth fawned neck. “Mm,” he moans, gently sucking the moisture from his skin, “watching you get that piercing...” he glides his hand down the front of the man’s pants and feels him, already responsive, stiffening quick, “...you were so brave. I couldn’t look away, it was almost too much. I wanted to taste you so bad, Jeon. Right there in the shop, in front of Namjoon. I wouldn’t have given a fuck.”He breathes his hot wanton breath against Jungkook’s jaw, nipping up to his cherry lips and claiming them in an ardent kiss. “And now you’ve brought me to this balcony, to do what, photograph me?” He steps back and peels his shirt over his head, tossing it on a lounge chair. Then his underwear, until he’s fully exposed on the sunlit balcony, letting the evening glow illuminate his silhouette. He strokes his aching cock with a soft hand and let’s Jungkook watch his every move. “Is this what you expected?”

Jungkook takes a mental note of the quick mention of the elder 'Not giving a fuck' in the same sentence as 'In front of Namjoon'. He'd remember that one, without a doubt.

“More than I could ever imagine,” Jungkook's eyes glue to the delicate movements by Jimin's smaller hand. “So fuckin' pretty.”

Jungkook is genuinely in awe, licking his lips at the show he's given as he fumbles with the camera. There's no way he'd let this kind of imagery slip through the cracks.

“Sit on the ledge, keep touching yourself. If you do really well for me..” He peeks at the blonde through the camera lens. “I'll grant you one wish. A reward of your choice,” he jokes, but his tone has a serious undertone.

He would grant Jimin anything he desired, whether it be jewelry, a car, clothes—he could have it all. But something tells Jungkook that there's something else he'd rather have, something that both of them would rather have. Something that no money can give, only Jeon Jungkook himself. The latter knew very well what the blonde would want, and he ached just imagining his pretty tune begging for it, after doing his absolute best to be a good boy.

Jimin is quick to take direction, hazy with lust but still well-trained. However, it doesn’t take an expert to know where this is all leading. ”A reward of your choice”—Jungkook’s promise repeats itself in his mind. While he’s given the option to choose, there’s only one thing he wants out of this, and that’s to finally feel Jeon Jungkook inside him...with that new piercing.

He leans against the ledge, not feeling brave enough to sit on it fully without the fear of plummeting to the ground. He arches his back and tilts his face so the sunlight bathes his upper body in warm light. It’s as easy as breathing, posing for the photographer, knowing exactly what he likes to see. Shot after shot, Jimin adjusts his posture and shows off a different angle, even more seductive than the last. His hand wraps around his hard cock and strokes with purpose, looking directly into the camera lens as he does so.

“Beautiful,” Jungkook murmurs to himself as the flickering sound of the camera goes off—one of his favorite sounds. Surely, there were other sounds that would top it by the end of tonight's session.

Jungkook's prominent erection strains against the caging fabric. He uncomfortably adjusts, growing annoyed and unzipping to let his pants fall to his hips, still hanging on. It’s somewhat of a relief, but not enough. He isn't used to the new addition of jewelry on his cock, pleasantly rubbing against his boxers everytime he moves. Eventually, he deems he’s had enough content, wanting to indulge in reality as it is, and places the camera on the ledge next to Jimin when he steps close. He positions himself between the elder's spread legs, hands settling on his thighs. He feels the heat radiating off the fresh artwork on Jimin's skin and traces the shape with his fingers.

“As always, your performance is nothing but flawless,” Jungkook breathes against Jimin's plush lips. He’s too beautiful, like an actual angel, and Jungkook is the polar opposite. Darkness, the corrupt devil that wants Jimin as his own personal plaything for all of eternity. “You deserve a reward,” Kook's blunt nails scrape against the sensitive, tattooed skin, surely causing it to sting. “What do you desire?”

The pain of Jungkook’s nails digging into Jimin’s tender broken flesh makes the model shudder. The pleasure mixed with the pain is a welcome feeling. He wants more.

“I’ve been a good boy?” Jimin asks in the sweetest airy voice. He looks at the other man with the most wide and innocent eyes he can muster—lips pouting gently as he speaks. “Anything I desire?”

With a nod from the photographer, Jimin reaches up and tangles his hand in Jungkook’s hair, gripping it roughly and tugging his head down to eye-level. “I think it’s time you got on your knees, puppy.” His cock stiffens impossibly hard at the mere thought of the younger man becoming submissive for him, even if for just a brief moment. “Take me in your mouth and I swear I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jungkook bites back a hissed groan at the tug of his dark curls. Jimins sudden switch into dominance catches the younger by surprise. It isn't terrible, but rather exciting.

Cute, Jungkook thinks. As much as he loves to inflict pain, receiving it is a close second. There’s his kink for tattoos, and the spontaneous piercing was more than enough proof for his masochism.

“Ah, fuck...” Kook curses, but his tone is laced with lust. “Puppy?” he huffs with a small smile, eyes staring down at the elders throbbing length. Okay, he'll play along. “Yes..” his tone changes, softening as his gaze shifts to meet Jimin's. His dark, doe eyes suddenly display need, as if he is indeed a puppy that wants to do well. Jungkook is a great actor, but only because part of him truly does enjoy this dynamic.

He swiftly drops to his knees and smoothes his hands down to settle on Jimin's knees. “Want me to be your little puppy?” Kook licks his lips, inching closer to the blondes painfully hard cock, his hot breath coating the velvety skin.

Jimin is already overcome with arousal and the pleasure of both watching Jungkook between his legs and the feeling of breath fanning over his length, teasing him with the sheer proximity of the younger’s open mouth. “Y-yes sir—I-I mean...” he flounders as he tries to adapt to his temporary role, “...puppy.” He grips Jungkook’s hair even tighter and pulls him forward to forcefully graze the younger’s pout along his leaking tip.

He wishes he held a camera to capture this moment from his point of view so he could watch it over and over. The world of fashion would erupt at the leaked footage of golden boy Jeon Jungkook on his knees, but he wants to keep it all for himself. He releases his grip on Jungkook’s hair and grabs the camera from the ledge beside him. He tries his best to turn it on, but suddenly realizes it’s already recording video.

“Dirty puppy,” Jimin scolds lightly, aiming the camera at Jungkook’s blushed face. He isn’t surprised in the slightest, seeing as how infatuated the recluse raven-haired photographer is with capturing him in precarious positions. “Look at me and part those pretty lips.” He holds his throbbing cock in his hand and rubs the tip over the younger’s pout, coating them in his essence. “Taste how ready I am for you.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose in a small, bunny-like smile at Jimin's slip up and the reaction to the camera recording. The blonde never seems to mind his kinks. A small part of Jungkook feels a pinch of hesitation in his body when the camera is suddenly on his face—a very controversial image if it was to ever be released to the public...but, the thrill of it is more arousing than he expects.

“You're so sexy when you tell me what to do.” He coos, mimicking the tone of voice he knows too well from Jimin, familiar with how a sub should sound. Jungkook's eyes sparkle as the rays from the sunset hit his face. He holds intense contact with the lens and presses his flattered tongue on the underside of Jimin's length, slowly dragging his wet muscle upwards, meeting the tip, swirling, collecting precum. A low hum vibrates in his throat—Jimin tastes sweet.

“Fuck—“ Jimin gasps, involuntarily bucking his hips, pushing his shaft shallowly into Jungkook’s mouth. Just locking eyes with the younger man while he tentatively laps is enough to make him shake. It’s unusual handling a camera while feeling the overwhelming heat of Jungkook’s skilled tongue. After a minute, he relaxes and lets the younger take control while he films as best he can.

Jimin thinks this exhilarating feeling must be what Jungkook loves so much when he’s behind the camera. The separation between reality and a curated virtual realm is wholly satisfying to experience. It’s as if the man on the other side isn’t real. He’s too good to be real. Jimin focuses solely on the camera screen and feels blushed each time Jungkook locks eyes with the lens while taking him deeper, teasing him with his innocent gaze while his lips encircle him devilishly.

“Good puppy,” Jimin coos quietly, rocking his hips slowly, begging for more friction.

“Mm?” Jungkook crooks a playful eyebrow at the camera, knowing Jimin's focus was tunnel visioned on him only. His hands mindlessly roams up and down the model’s thighs, using nothing but his mouth to tease the pretty head of Jimin's swollen cock. The photographer is already crumbling, just as easily as when he’s above.

“Ah, hyung…” Kook whines deliberately to test what kind of reaction he'd get, wrapping his plushy lips around the tip to give it a harsh suck.

Jimin curses under his breath and tangles his hand in Jungkook’s messy hair again, pulling him down onto his cock until he gags. The honorific catches him by surprise, not expecting the younger to take on this submissive role with such commitment. It makes Jimin want to push him further, to use him a bit until he snaps.

“F-fuck, Jeon, you’re being such a pretty whore for me.” So pretty. The sun darkens as it dips beneath the horizon and casts pale shadows over his angelic face. “Do you like worshiping my cock?” He gives a few rough thrusts and brushes his tip past Jungkook’s gag reflex until tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “Do you like being treated like this, or would you prefer something we’d both enjoy?”

It’s slowly becoming a bit too much for Jungkook. He is a glutton for pain, but being somebody's whore, or gagging on a cock like some...toy? It’s endurable, and the way Jimin's thighs tremble under his touch tells the younger man that he seems nervous, as he should be. Who wouldn't be cautious while having Jeon Jungkook on his knees?

Screwing his eyes shut while punished by Jimin’s cock, Jungkook forces stray tears to trickle down his cheeks, coughing. It triggers the younger to dig his blunt nails into Jimin's thighs, grazing the latters cock with his teeth as he slowly withdraws his mouth. He keeps the tip between his teeth. It would be so easy to make the model scream, and he would, but not this way.

“Hmm? Something we'd both enjoy?" Jungkook's nails continue to dig, deliberately trying to draw whines from Jimin. “I'm not sure what you mean unless you tell me. I rather enjoy being down here.” He lies with a coy smirk—the doe-eyed gaze now shifts into something more sinister.

Jimin curses again, louder this time and strangled by his throaty moans. Jungkook’s onslaught on his thighs is almost enough pain to distract him from the pressure around his cock. He knew it would be a challenge for the younger man to drop to his knees and submit fully. So, he takes his punishment gladly and begins to shake as he reaches his threshold.

“Shit, Jeon,” he tugs the man’s head off his length with a sharp snap, grazing Jungkook’s teeth along his sensitive tip as it pops out of his mouth. “You know what I want.” He sets the camera aside on the ledge with the wide lens pointing at the two of them. “I-I want you to...” his cheeks flush as his intimidating demeanour fades by the second. He pleads with his dark chestnut eyes, “...fuck me, please.” He glances down at Jungkook’s aching cock and wonders how good it will feel to have that metal barbell brush against his prostate while he gets fucked dumb on the exposed balcony.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate to get back up on his feet in between Jimin's spread legs, hands snaking around the elders waist to pull him closer, pressing their erections together. Never has the younger despised a piece of fabric as much as he did now, tugging them down as he bites back an eager moan at the skin-to-skin sensation.

“I know you've wanted it for a while.” Jungkook's breath comes out in heavy huffs, one hand reaching down to stroke himself and Jimin within the same grasp, cocks rubbing together. “I've wanted to shove my fat cock in you since I laid my eyes on you for the first time.” He groans at the memories, so happy that he's gotten this beautiful angel to be his, under his mercy and control. “Do you trust me?” Jungkook suddenly asks, eyes growing more serious beneath a haze of lust, one hand still stroking them both whilst the other snakes around the blonde's waist to hold him close.

Just as he did the first time, Jimin nods, “I trust you.” He rolls his hips to grind his hard cock against Jungkook’s. This is what he only hoped to have since his first interaction with the man. The way he takes control of every situation, and the way he makes Jimin feel...so special makes him weak in the knees. “I-I want your fat cock inside me...” The mounting pleasure of their leaking cocks sliding against one another is just a tease. Jimin spits into his hand and strokes the younger’s length, preparing him to line up at his entrance. He isn’t above begging. The thought of being stretched and claimed by his partner makes Jimin whimper needy moans, desperate to finally feel their bodies connect. “...Please, I need it...”

'I trust you.', 'Please, I need it.' It’s all Jungkook needs to give in to his desires. A low moan slips through his teeth when Jimin's delicate hand strokes his twitching length. It looks even bigger in the blonde’s small grasp, and it drives the younger mad.

“Feel what you do to me?” Jungkook groans into Jimin's ear as he roughly puts his hands behind the blonde's knees, pushing them up and forcing him to lean backwards on the ledge. His grip is firm though, and it keeps him in place with no risk of actually letting Jimin fall from the wide surface. But the knowledge of possibly being able to—having Jimin's life in his hands… It makes Jungkook's cock throb heavily. “I need it too. Need you.” He kisses Jimin's jawline, trailing down to his neck before sucking on the tender tissue as if it was his own personal canvas, all for him to paint with purple and pink bruises.

Slowly, but eagerly, Jungkook uses one hand to properly press his tip against Jimin's tight hole. “You won't be able to think about anything but my fat cock, will you?” Kook adds as he drives his hips forward, finally sinking into the elders tightness that squeezes around him. “Fuck... So tight.”

The pressure of Jungkook’s girth causes Jimin to involuntarily roll his eyes to the back of his head. He opens Jimin up deliciously, pushing his tender piercing deep into his wanting heat.

“I-I,” Jimin whimpers pathetically in his arms, overcome with pleasure and adrenaline. “Jungkook—fuck...” He peeks over his shoulder and tenses at sight of how high up he really is. It adds to the moment, surrendering his entire being to the photographer and laying his whole life on the line. The sheer height is unnerving yet intoxicating. “Deeper, pleaseee. Your cock stretches me so good—shit.” Jimin grabs Jungkook’s biceps and uses them as leverage to rock the younger man’s studded length as deep as he can bare, shaking from the sensation of the heated metal gliding over every ridge of his sensitive tissue.

Jungkook obliges to his wishes and pushes deeper until the bulbous head of his cock lodges inside Jimin's deepest parts. A throaty moan slips through his lips when Jimin's ass clenches down on his length.

“I've dreamed of this for far too long, shit…” He takes a second to get used to the tight warmth, squeezing the blondes flesh between his fingers, hard, before he finally starts to grind his hips into Jimins. "Oh fuck yeah..." he pulls back to look straight at the smaller male, wanting to memorize every single expression he’s able to draw out of him.

”I’ve dreamed of this for so long...” —Jungkook’s words replay in Jimin’s mind while his thighs slap against bare skin, groaning with a new pulse of pleasure. His ring of nerves contracts as he wonders just how long the younger has dreamt of this moment. Weeks? Months? ...years? Jimin cranes his neck to taste Jungkook’s blush-bitten lips, nesting them between his in a feverish and parted exchange, laving his tongue over each other’s.

Is this what he wanted all along? ...Was it everything he hoped for? It certainly is for Jimin. His own cock aches for relief, so incredibly hard and leaking precum.

“Me too,” Jimin confesses through heavy breaths. “Dreamt of you burying this thick cock inside me...christ. I could barely focus at the studio. The tension...mmf...” He chokes back a gasp as the studded mushroom tip sinks deeper. He wets his full lips and holds tight to the taller man, letting him cradle his weight in his arms and move him any way he pleases. He focuses on the erotic stretch of his soft velvety walls as he accommodates the younger’s girth—he’s much bigger than he expected, filling him up completely with barely any room left to maneuver.

“Yeah, that damned studio. I wish I could've had you sooner,” Jungkook confesses mindlessly. His judgement clouds with a haze of lust taking over him. He continuously grinds his hips deeper, stretching out the elders' smooth walls until the glide feels less suffocating. Then he begins to pull out until only the tip is buried inside. “You're mine, Jimin.” Kook possessively nips back at his plush lower lip in between kisses, hands moving from his thick hips to his waist. "My gorgeous little butterfly, I want to be the only one taking your photos...touching you, fucking you.”

“I-I want it...” Jimin’s mind blanks as a wave of euphoric pleasure tears within him. His head rolls to the side and he tries to focus on the moment—on Jungkook. His attention is pulled by the red blink of the recording camera just off to the side. Was the photographer putting on a show, or were his words genuine? He wants to be the only one to fuck him, and...to photograph him? He’s not sure how well his manager would take the news, but the offer is incredibly tempting. Belonging to him, entirely? Putting aside the materialistic items and the glitz and the glam of a public relationship, Jimin feels blazing hot over the idea of being the one object of the man’s desire.

Jimin can’t take it anymore—he reaches down and begins to stroke himself to match the rhythm of Jungkook fucking him deep. “I need you. ...I want you to fill me with your cum.” The pace of his hand on his cock increases as he adoringly looks up and watches sweat glisten on Jungkook’s neck—fluffy black hair dampening and tacking to his forehead.

''It's all yours, Jimin, all yours. Anything you want,'' Jungkook's low words pause as he grunts, his hips maintaining a rougher yet slow pace. ''Everything I can give you, everything I have, it's nothing—it's yours. All I need is for you to be mine.'' He continues, his words barely audible in between his heavy breaths. He means it, he already has it all-- but it’s dull, boring, worthless. All he’s grateful for is that his status brought Jimin to him so easily, the one thing—person that he desired. There isn't a single object Jungkook has ever photographed that was more valuable to him than Park Jimin.

''You need me.'' Jungkook smiles at the elders' whiny words, noting how Jimin's eyes shift to the camera for a short second, licking his lips the moment the attention is back on him. ''You'll always need me, won't you? Tell me.'' It was neither a plea nor a command, but a necessity. With one hand still keeping a hard grip on Jimin's waist, the other reaches down to squeeze Jimin’s hand tight, preventing him from stroking himself. The grasp tightens further, squeezing Jimin's length inbetween their hands—a form of control in the youngers mind, still fucking deep into him. ''Swear it, and I will fuck you full of my cum.''

“Mmf—“ Jimin stifles his groan into Jungkook’s arm as his strong hand holds him tight at the hip. The pressure of the grip makes him tense and release sporadically, causing him to inch his hips forward to try and regain friction. He needs a little more to reach his high, but the feeling of Jungkook’s fat jeweled cock head is dragging against his prostate deliciously, he could probably cum just from the mere thought of it inside him.

“I do, I do, I need you,” Jimin whimpers pathetically. He wants to cum badly but the desire to surrender himself to the photographer supersedes any other. Whether it be for show, impulse or raw passion, Jimin swears with staggered gasps, “I’m all yours, Jungkook. Every bit of me...belongs to you.”

Jungkook glances over at his camera for a split second, his small smirk growing at the blinking red light that greets him. Perfect, he thinks. Now he has everything.

“Perfect,” Jungkook voices out his thoughts in a rumbling groan, removing Jimin's grip to wrap his own tattooed fingers around the latter’s pretty dick, jerking him off without mercy. He pounds harder, faster, deeper into him. “The most gorgeous,” he moans again as frenzied thrusts lose their rhythm. He keeps going, feeling the heat pool in his lower abdomen. “And all mine, gonna fuck you so full of my cum, your body only needs me, shit...!” He throws his head back, lips parting as heavy huffs slip through. Sweat drips down his skin and muscles flex as they're put to hard work. “Gonna cum, f-fuck—say it again Jimin, you’ll see no one else, just me. Say my name.”

Jimin feels small and fragile, precariously balanced on the balcony ledge as Jungkook’s thrusts become sporadic. One false move and he could easily plummet to his death, but he needs to trust. He wants to trust. He’s spent far too long pushing others away to progress his career. It’s tiring. A life without someone has been exhausting, and he’s never felt anything like this before.

He locks in on the younger man’s predatory gaze and gets lost in the intensity of the moment. His heart thumps in his chest faster than the rapid rate in which Jungkook fucks into his sensitive heat. There’s a fire in his feral eyes that makes Jimin think, for just a moment, that perhaps this is moving too fast. But his body is light in Jungkook’s hold, and despite the dangerous circumstance, he feels the safest he’s ever been.

How is that possible?

In a matter of days he’s irrevocably fallen for a stranger—allowed himself to become marked permanently and even begged for more. He doesn’t recognize himself when he looks in the mirror, and if he’s completely honest, he likes it.

“Jungkook, Jungkook,” Jimin pants in a whiney voice, ragged and raw. “I only want you...I want you to own me...ruin me if you want, just—“ He wrenches his eyes shut as his high creeps up and tries to get the words out before Jungkook’s slender hand works him to finish. “Fuck your cum in me, please. I’ve been so good...I need it so bad. Only want to be filled by you.”

Jimin is so good, it has Jungkook foaming at the mouth. There are no other words he could ever imagine wanting to hear more. Actually, that’s a lie...but he'd get there. Jungkook can't handle the way Jimin squeezes around him with such force. It’s as if the blonde's fleshy walls are pleading to be filled with cum, just as much as the man himself wants it. He’s so close, so close...

''Fuck, yes.. You're mine, mine mine!'' Jungkook growls lowly, eyes blown wide with his admiration, his obsession for Jimin. He sloppily snaps his hips into the model’s abused ass, gradually losing the drive he once had. Jungkook feels himself slowly crumble down as he digs deeper into Jimin's clenched insides, desperate to fill him up, desperate to get him to cum too. He keeps a firm grip around Jimin's slick cock, adamant to hurl them both over the edge.

“Cumming,” Is all he manages to cry out—a drawn out, low moan replacing his ability to speak as spurts of white gush into Jimin. “Oh fuck, yeah..” Jungkook keeps his head thrown back as the muscles in his throat strain, adam's apple bobbing heavily in unison with the way his body tenses while disposing of his warm cum into his Jimin. “So good, so fucking good…” He murmurs, eyes closed in bliss. It’s as if he’s in a different world. The darkness gives him the ability to focus solemnly on feeling Jimin's tight ass milk him completely.

Jimin’s aching cock twitches in Jungkook’s grasp as he strokes him rapidly with his own release. Even with eyes closed in blinding pleasure, he can still feel every bulging muscle and pulsing vein in the younger’s arms as his nails dig into them.

“J-Jungkook—cumming for you...” His sweat-slicked abdomen tenses as his orgasm takes hold, causing him to clench sporadically around Jungkook’s spent length, still nested deep within him. “Don’t pull out, don’t—f-uck.” He claws his nails deeper until he feels the skin break beneath them. “Stay inside me, it feels too good...don’t leave yet.” It’s a swirling mixture of gripping bliss and codependence that causes Jimin to nearly sob his needy begs into the younger’s chest.

Jungkook’s fresh piercing drags deliciously against the model’s abused prostate as his high wears thin and his body begins to relax.

“Don’t leave me,” Jimin pleas, pressing his plush lips blindly against any bit of the man’s exposed skin, tasting the salt of his sweat and exertion. “...not yet.”

Jungkook pulls Jimin closer, the clammy skin of their bodies pressing together as he wraps his strong arms around him—pulsating cock still lodged deep inside.

“I'll never leave you,” Jungkook promises, pressing his nose into the damp blonde curls on the crown of Jimin's head. Being connected with his butterfly like this is all he ever wanted. "I'll give you me every day. My cum...my love,” he murmurs, pulling back a bit to grasp Jimin's jaw, guiding him to meet his eyes. “You're mine forever. Okay?” Kook smiles, his toothy grin a contrast of childish joy compared to the fire swirling in his gaze.

Jimin is all his, in every way. Jungkook draws in the blonde by the jaw, kissing his swollen lips softly. A low hum vibrates in the younger's throat, content with the moment. Jimin melts into the kiss, feeling warm and wholly satisfied as Jungkook’s embrace protects him from the night air that slowly wraps around their naked bodies.

“Okay,” Jimin nods with lips still connected. “And you’re mine, Puppy.” He smiles against Jungkook’s lips with a light blush. It’s a bit odd to use the pet name as a genuine term of endearment, but he likes it a lot. It suits the man perfectly—with his sharp bite, innocent gaze and shaggy soft hair.

The sun set. They’re left in the blackness of night with just the thin veil of the moon and twinkling property lights to guide them. He loosens his grip around Jungkook’s arms and lets him slowly withdraw, wincing as the pierced head slides past his ring of nerves. He tenses to keep in the younger’s tacky cum, enjoying the warmth of it inside him. He looks towards the balcony door and back at Jungkook sheepishly. He’s sleepy after the long day, but not ready to crash yet. There’s comfort in this newfound domesticity and he even begins to feel like he’s found a second home. After such an intense scene on the balcony, he can’t resist the desire to remain close and enjoy the evening together.

“Before bed...could you...” His eyes gleam with childish excitement, “Could you teach me how to play Overwatch?” He hates his pathetic defeat in the last round, and while it led to a very eventful night, he needs to prove he can make a comeback.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy. ''You want to play Overwatch?'' He asks, even if he clearly heard the question. His smile grows wide, then nods quickly, supporting Jimin by the waist to help him come down from the ledge and on his feet. He thought to carry the model, but is too tired to do so. ''Let's play, but first I think we should take a ahower.''

Jungkook grabs Jimin with one hand, and the camera with the other. Completely unbothered with the scattered clothing and their nudity, he guides Jimin to the bathroom with him and mindlessly stops his recording to begin skimming through it. Perfect, Jungkook thinks, placing the camera on the large sink before turning on the hot shower. He steps inside with Jimin quickly following behind. He sighs in content when the water streams down over their bodies, sweat and other bodily fluids quickly washing down the drain.

“You still got my cum in you?” He asks. With his attention to detail, he realizes he never saw a trace of his spilled cum on the balcony. He steps closer, pressing chests pressing, and snakes his hands around to spread Jimin's cheeks. “Need me to clean it out for you?”

The sudden grasp of Jungkook’s hands on Jimin’s ass makes him jump a little. All that work and the man wants more. It doesn’t seem he could ever get enough.

“Yes,” Jimin replies, barely above a whisper.

The one thing better than feeling Jungkook’s slick cum inside him could be the feeling of It getting fingered out. He has yet to experience the handiwork of the man’s long tattooed fingers. He knows it’ll feel different from his thick cock; slender, yet deft and agile. His pretty length stiffens. His abused prostate aches but the rest of his body is blazing hot and receptive once again. Even after getting fucked hard and ruthlessly, the model is eager to have his tight hole stretched even further. The hot water cascades down his small frame and loosens his muscles to relax for the other man. He inches his ass closer to Jungkook’s ministrations, giving the younger an extra push to do with him as he pleases.

Jungkook hums in approval with the way Jimin hands himself over thoughtlessly. With need, greed, and trust—all at once, giving the younger complete power of his little butterfly.

“Can't have your pretty little ass dripping with my cum all night, can we…” He muses out loud with strong hands twirling Jimin around, firmly pressing him against the tile wall with a flat palm between his shoulder blades. He presses hard, leaving enough room for the model to move his chest away from the cold surface, but tight enough that he’d have trouble breathing. “Or maybe we could…” Jungkook continues, not really expecting any sort of response as his free hand tugs at Jimin's hip, forcing him to arch his back. “Maybe I'll just clean you just to fill you up again.”

Jungkook exhales a shaky breath and sinks his middle finger inside of Jimin, feeling the warmth of his sticky release swirling inside. He presses deeper, forcing the cum to dribble down his hand as the digit takes up all the space.

Jimin’s eyes flutter shut. His tight little ring is sore, but the sting of the stretch feels so good he’s glad the younger is holding him stable against the wall, otherwise he might sink to his knees. The width of Jungkook’s finger fills him deliciously—it’s easy for him to relax further as the digit sinks in deep, forcing the warm cum to slide out and down his thigh.

“J-Jeonnn,” he whines aloud. His needy voice echos off the cold hard tile. He’s not exactly sure what he’s whining for—perhaps something to bite onto. Everything feels too good, all at once—the warmth of the water, the tight press of their bodies, juxtaposed by the chill of the wall. “Your fingers...fuck, Jungkook...” Even still, while he only has one finger inside him, he can’t string together a single coherent thought.

“You like this?” Jungkook's lips curl up into a smile, knowing the answer by the way Jimin shudders and whines under his touch. He shoves his finger in deeper, past the knuckle to slowly massage the elder’s sensitive prostate, forcing more of his cum to dribble out and wash down the drain. “You'll take another, won't you?” He coos, pressing his chest against Jimin's flushed back, teasing soft lips against the blonde's ear. “Want your little hole to always be ready for me.” Jungkook adds a second finger, then a third with some ease from the slick cum coating his digits, pumping them mercilessly into his ass. The wet sounds ricochet off the tiled room. Jungkook presses his body further against Jimin's—the hand that once pushed on the elders back now wraps around his own cock to stroke himself in tandem to the pace of which he fucked his fingers into Jimin. “Fuck, I can't get enough of you.”

The heat of Jungkook’s breath and the tight press of his chest makes Jimin’s body tense with arousal. He can hear the slick sounds of the younger man pleasuring himself as he fucks his long fingers in and out torturously.

“A-are you going to—“ he cuts himself off, realising just how pathetic he would sound, begging for cock once again. But he can feel the brush of Jungkook’s hard length against his ass as he works it steadily with his other hand. It’s too distracting not to think about. “A-are you going to fuck me with your big cock?” He’s never been so needy for anyone, always taking care of himself when the mood strikes. However, he can’t picture a world where he’s alone forever after experiencing the way Jungkook possesses every dip and curve of his body.

Jungkook's lower lip becomes swollen from biting on it so much, eyes widen at Jimin's needy state. The elder seems completely consumed by every touch, and it makes him feel so powerful. Jeon Jungkook knew power. He had it all. But none of it compared to this. Having power of another human being on such a deep level. Jimin needs him, and him only. And right now, all the blonde needs is his cock.

"Yeah." Jungkook simply states. "Gonna fuck you again, and again and again until your insides are shaped for my cock only.” Jungkook withdraws his fingers from Jimin's hole, quickly replacing it with his cock by driving his hips forward, filling up the blonde with one swift motion. A low moan slips past his lips, with one palm flat on the wet tile next to Jimin's head, seeking leverage while the other hand firmly grips his hip.

Jimin’s small hole is gaped and hungry for Jungkook to drive in deep. It’s all he can think about until he’d had it; then, it’s pure gut-wrenching pleasure.

“Fuck me hard, please, pleeease,” the blonde begs in pitchy moans, voice quavering each time Jungkook’s hips slap against his pert ass. He winces as the pace increases without warning. It’s a pleasure in every sense of the word to be used by the photographer like this. He can feel the sting of his fresh tattoo as the hot water hits it between light rubs into the chilled wall. Each time it’s grazed by hot and cold, Jimin is reminded of the permanent claim the younger has on his body, and the matching claim he has over his.

Jimin rolls his hips back onto Jungkook’s cock and shudders as his walls contract around the hot prodding barbell. “Wanna cum just from your cock. Gah—” He rolls his hips faster, rushing to reach his high at an impatient speed. “Use me,” he pants, barely above a whisper as he begins to lose control of his hoarse voice.

"Shit...you're such a slut." Jungkook growls out as his overgrown fringe hangs over his eyes and looks down at the way his cock disappears into Jimin's ass. “Your hole is so greedy—fuck, squeezing and sucking me in like it never wants me to leave." He’s just as greedy, wet skin smacking against Jimin’s, echoing loudly in the room.

Needy for more momentum, the younger takes a step back, pulling Jimin's ass with him in one hand and pushing his back down into a stable position. “Arch your back for me baby."

Jimin does as he’s told without question, just the way his partner likes it. Jungkook places both of his strong hands on Jimins ass cheeks and spreads them to properly see his cock drill in and out. His clawing grasp taints Jimins skin red, fucking into his abused hole with more strength, tugging the boy’s hips back to meet his powerful thrusts.

“A cockslut. Jeon Jungkooks personal little cumdump. That's what you want to be, isn't it? Haa.." Kooks muscles tense up, feeling the heat of his orgasm pool in his lower abdomen. He desperately chases the feeling, paying no mind to Jimin’s aching cock. He'd cum anyway, especially with the way the younger's thick, pierced tip repeatedly jams against his prostate.

Jimin swears his knees could buckle with each new punishing thrust of the younger’s heavy cock. He can already feel his orgasm building as his smaller frame is bent and contorted to be used, walls pulsing around the swollen shaft.

“Yes! Y-yes!” Jimin arches his back deep to grant the other man all the leverage he needs to push in entirely, sinking his reddened tip nice and deep, causing Jimin to drool onto the tiled floor. “I’m a cockslut...I’m your fucking cumdump...”

As he’s fucked dumb Jimin abstains from touching himself. Without looking, he knows he’s painfully hard, dripping pre-cum. “Feel my tight ass gripping you...s-shit—your fat cock stretches me so good.” He peeks over his shoulder and watches Jungkook nip his bottom lip so tight that he’s sure the skin is breaking. Jungkook’s cheeks look hot and dewy from exertion; small beads of combined sweat and water drip down his soaked fringe and trail down his tensed muscles. “Gonna—oh, god...” the blonde strains against Jungkook’s hold and cums untouched, streaking his release down the tile wall, cut off by the younger cursing and stilling within him, so close to pushing every drop into his spent hole. “C-cum in me,” he whines, feeling the younger swell within him as his pitch gets louder. “Please, please, pleaseee.” He locks eyes with Jungkook and loses himself in his dark feral orbs. “Fill me up again...and again—“

Jungkook's eyes remain open, focusing on Jimin's desperate face as he cums, buried to the hilt, ensuring his blonde receives every single drop of what he has to offer. His cock throbs heavily and cum erupts like a volcanic explosion, thick and hot inside. "Oh my god, my little butterfly."

His throaty, strained moan reverberates as he empties himself inside, smoothing his large hands across Jimin's back before wrapping around his torso, pulling him up and holding him close against his flushed chest. A soft kiss on his neck follows before Jungkook pulls himself out with a quiet whine of oversensitivity.

"You're so perfect for me," Jungkook praises, wasting no time in carelessly shoving his fingers inside Jimin to prod the cum out, letting most of it simply dribble out and wash down the drain. “Still down for overwatch? I'm not sleepy…”

Jimin stretches and feels his body become slack with exhaustion. It has been a LONG day. He doesn’t care much for the game himself, but any opportunity to see Jungkook’s childish joy is a coveted one. Plus, he has to get better so he could beat him one day. The man is good at everything, he muses internally, recalling the beautiful photography sets he made just for him. There has to be a weak point somewhere.

“I’ll need one of your bananamilks if I’m going to stay awake much longer,” he yawns, resting against the younger’s side as they walk into the living room. “And then get ready to fight for your life, Jeon,” he smiles. “I won’t go easy on you.”

Jungkook hands Jimin a cozy bathrobe to wear to the living room and opts for boxers for himself. He’s generally warm, and nothing beats sitting in your couch, gaming in only his underwear. Well, maybe being naked, but that'd be cheating if he taunted the blonde with his goods during an Overwatch session.

“Let me get some, you start up the game okay?” Jungkook points towards the large TV as he diverts from their path to go find the fridge. He pulls out a couple bananamilks—more than one is surely going to be needed, at least for him. He shoves a few drinks into his arms as he carries them to the living room, letting them plop down on the glass table in front of the couch. “Alright, drink up, let's do practice rounds first to warm you up.” He grabs a drink for himself and sips on it as he raises a coy eyebrow towards Jimin.

Jimin exhales a big yawn and stretches one arm to the ceiling while the other brings the sweet milk to his lips. He takes a couple gulps and lets the cool liquid swirl along his taste buds, already familiar with the taste, nearly addicted to the artificial flavor.

"Practice rounds?" He blinks up at Jungkook with glassy eyes, snuggling deeper into his fluffy and luxurious robe to get cozy. He sets the sugary drink aside and grips the controller with both hands, ready to try his best. "No bets, this time around," he winks at the younger man, "After I beat you, it's time for bed."

Jungkook fake pouts, slumping down on the couch with his controller in one hand and his drink in the other, chugging it down fast. “One bet. The winner gets backrubs.” He glances over at Jimin with his childish grin, finishing off his milk before starting the game.

"Hmf." Jimin smiles ahead at the tv screen and fiddles with the controller in his hands, already sweating, having lost in his mind. Why did he propose this idea? He must be a glutton for punishment because there is no way he can win against the younger. Yet... "One bet," Jimin emphasizes with one finger, "But if there's backrubs on the line, just know, I will try my best to win." He's overly ambitious. Even when he knows he's complete shit at the game, he can't help but fully commit to everything he does, whether it be a quick round of Overwatch or a spontaneous tattoo.

“Bet you'd love that. I'm great at back rubs,” Jungkook counters, nudging the elders shoulder with his own before he starts the match. “Okay, best out of three. I'm a bit tired.” He admits, rubbing his eye with one hand before grappling at his controller the second the round starts. Kook loves back rubs, but in all honesty, there isn't much else he wants than to be on the giving end in this... He knows he can easily have his way without the bet, but there is this part of him that feels more satisfied if it is earned.

As the match carries on, he shows no mercy on the first round. Second round, he slacks slightly, giving Jimin the illusion of getting better. Actually, he is getting better. Kook can tell Jimin tries really hard, but in the end, he’s still no match compared to the younger. Now Jungkook wants to lose. So, on the last round, he deliberately slacks off and gives his reactions more time as he eventually would be at a disadvantage.

“Damn…” He chuckles as if he wasn't just allowing Jimin to absolutely crush him.

Jimin tucks his lip in concentration, feeling a small bead of sweat trail down his craned neck. He squints his eyes to see the screen clearly—everything is moving so quick he doesn’t fully compute his next move until it’s already made. But his efforts seem to pay off, surprisingly.

“A-am I winning?” he asks, aghast. He can barely believe it, but he isn’t one to argue with a good thing. He haphazardly mashes the buttons on his controller, physically moving it to the motion of his character on the screen. His head tilts to the side to follow the virtual battle until it’s confirmed—he won. He sets down his controller with a shy smile and looks up at Jungkook with puppy eyes. “You’re a good teacher, Jeon. Too good.” He stands from the couch and nods his head towards the direction of the bedroom. “I’m ready for my reward now.”

Jungkook groans in his fake annoyance, throwing the controller to the side as he stands up, quickly wrapping his arms around Jimin only to pick him up and carry him to the bedroom.

“You did well, Jimin-aaaah~'' He draws out the endearing twist to the elders name, knowing it will make him a bit flustered, however, certain he’ll love it.

Jimin is so small, and despite the muscular build, he’s light in Jungkook's arms. The photographer kicks the door closed behind them with his heel, approaching the large bed and gently placing the blonde down on the soft sheets.

“I'm a decent big spoon, just saying.”

“I know,” Jimin smiles, remembering the previous night. Jungkook held him close and breathed heavily in his sleep, utterly dead to the world. It’s as if his presence made the younger sleep deeply, or at least that’s how Jimin likes to remember it.

Jimin touches his own cheeks to feel the heat radiate off them. He’s an absolute puddle after Jungkook said his name. It seems that now it only takes the smallest bit of effort from the younger to make him pliant and soft. With his easy defeat and the way Jungkook happily slung him over his shoulder, Jimin wonders just what’s gotten into him. Must be the sugar rush off the bananamilk, he thinks.

Jimin wriggles out of his robe and crawls under the covers, warming his body within the plush designer material. “I make a great little spoon,” he smiles, contentedly nestled in the warm embrace of the oversized bedding, “...so I’ve been told.”

Jungkook manages to keep his face straight, for the most part. His lips twitches, not so subtly displeased with the sentence, '...so I've been told.’ He’s not surprised that Jimin has likely had many partners in his past, but he will surely be the last.

He joins Jimin underneath the covers and presses his warm skin against the blonde's small back. Kook's hands reach between them, smoothing his palm across the fine, prominent line showcasing Jimin's spine... He thinks that sometime he should get a proper photograph of this visual.

“I'd love to have your back tattooed as well,” Kook adds, not exactly directing his words towards Jimin himself—more so discussing out in the air, all while his hand mindlessly rub up and down, feeling every dent and curve of Jimin's body.

Jimin closes his eyes and enjoys the slow sensation of Jungkook rubbing him, from the wide expanse of his shoulder blades down to the small dip of his lower back. A small moan presses from his lips as the pressure builds around the tensed muscles of his deep tissue, then softens around his delicate spine. It's all the more reason to fall so quick and deep with the photographer. He can be rough and treat Jimin like he isn't a breakable model, then treat him like the most precious and fragile being on earth. He's soft and sweet yet wholly motivated and demanding at times. Perhaps it's his sleepy state of mind, but Jimin instantly nods in agreement, committing to the plan. Even if Jungkook's musing wasn't directed at anyone in particular, he is interested in what exactly the younger has in mind.

"What would you like to mark onto my back?" He asks, rolling his hips gently into the crook of Jungkook's groin.

Jungkook feels his cock twitch at the small sound emitting from Jimin's plushy lips, and the way the elder gently presses against it surely doesn't do anything but spur his erection to awaken. One would say he's insatiable, but truly he's never been this hungry for a person before.

“I would love…” Kook inches his hips closer, making it known that he's already feeling needier by the second. “A snake,” he adds with a low voice. His calloused fingertips trace from Jimin's shoulder down to the dimples on his lower back. “All the way down.” His hand movee to settle on Jimin's hips, softly digging his fingers into his skin to feel how the flesh protrudes between his digits. He presses his hardened cock against the blondes ass as a quiet sigh slips past his lips—the memory of being inside is still fresh on his mind. Seemingly, his cock remembers vividly as well. “I'd love to see it every time I play with you.”

Jimin rolls his hips again, deliberate and tight against Jungkook's hardening length. "Mhm," he hums. "Okay, I'll get it." The mere thought of the man playing with him over and over while his hardened cock grinds against his bare ass makes Jimin's arousal pit in the hollow of his stomach. He melts into the younger's touch as he grips and holds tight to his hips. Less and less, Jimin worries about the repercussions of his actions. If it feels right, he's doing it. The same philosophy goes for his clothing line, and it extends to each new step he takes with the photographer. He reaches between his thighs and palms his aching length, so desperate and needy for more relief. "You can mark me with whatever you want."

"I know." Jungkook breathes into Jimin's neck. Huffs fan against Jimin’s skin, hot and shallow, and hands travel down further to his ass, shamelessly grabbing at the plump cheek. "I will mark every inch of your body one way or the other. You're mine, right?" Kook presses a soft kiss on Jimin's neck, loving the way his body shudders slightly under his simple touch.

"Yes, sir," Jimin breathes, arching his back so his ass is flush with Jungkook's aching shaft. "I'm yours to mark and claim and fuck." At the peak of his desperation, Jimin says whatever comes to mind, paying no mind to how needy he sounds. It's so late and all his body wants is to be impossibly close to the other man, by any means. He wraps his hand around his rock-hard cock and strokes languidly, muffling his pitchy moans into a nearby pillow.

"That's right." Jungkook whispers into Jimin's ear before lightly sucking his earlobe between his teeth, giving it a playful tug. Kook glances down at his clothed cock, aching and staining the fabrics with droplets of his precum. “Fuck...you already got me wet again." He chuckles through a breathy sigh, not hesitating to undress, freeing his heavy length to fall onto Jimin's bare ass. He uses his hands to spread Jimin, just enough to place his cock against the puffy hole, rubbing his entire length between the plump cheeks in a teasing manner. His hips move lazily with no care to how needy his own sleepy, raspy groans must sound. "I'm gonna fuck you again. I'm sure your little hole doesn't need any preparation this time, no?"

Jimin shakes his head; face buried deep in the soft pillow. He quickens his pace, stroking his throbbing cock as Jungkook lines himself up and prods his glistening tip at his entrance. Without much coaxing, the younger slips inside, using the glide of his precum to ease in and out with shallow prods. Jimin's mouth falls open as he tries to compose his thoughts, but the words fall out into the open as filthy little confessions, telling the younger exactly how he'd like to be used.

"Fuck me slow...and deep. Please." He whimpers into the pillow, clutching it desperately in his free hand while the other works his own precum over his reddened tip, teasing the receptive head of his cock while Jungkook plays with his ass. The soreness from earlier has completely subsided. All he feels is an overwhelming desire to be connected to Jungkook at all times; to be insatiable, together. "Cum in me. I'll keep it warm—fuck..." His breaths become uneven and labored as he strokes his hand down his shaft in a smooth motion. "...fill my ass. Wanna feel you inside me while I sleep."

Jungkook adores Jimin's filthy mouth. The more riled up the blonde gets, the filthier his language becomes; needy, begging and whiny… He doesn't say anything, but responds with actions. He grasps Jimin's leg and lifts it up slightly to grant himself access, slowly thrusting himself in deeper—jewelry on his swollen tip grazing the deepest parts with ease. His other hand is used as a cushion for his head as he lays on his side, hand tugging at the back of Jimin's curls to bring his ear closer to his lips.

"You may keep fucking your hand all you want, but be wise with your orgasm.'' Jungkook moans when he feels Jimin's ass clench around cock, moving in and out of him at a tortuously slow pace. ''But I won't stop if you cum too fast into your pretty little hand...fuck...I can fall asleep like this, cock buried in you, using you like my own little cockwarmer." He let go of Jimin's hair, laying his head down comfortably on the pillow as he hookw the elders leg over his hip, lazily grinding his hips into his ass, low breathy moans taking over his ability, or want, to speak.

"But Jungkookieee," Jimin whimpers aloud, unable to reel in the tone of his voice once the younger man slowly drags his thick cock in and out of his tight hole torturously slow. The fresh piercing glides against his velvet walls and teases his sensitive prostate; swollen and throbbing from overuse. Jimin pumps his dick occasionally but temporarily refrains from going too fast out of fear he might cum too soon. He was already so close when Jungkook entered him that he could cum just from the delicious stretch.

"Mmf--" Jimin muffles his needy noises into the pillow and focuses on their connection, hot breath and sinful praises falling from Jungkook's cherry lips as he melds their bodies together with a gentle roll of his hips. "G-gonna..." He smothers his face in the pillow and starts to stroke himself when the pleasure becomes too much to bear. "Gonna cum around your cock...Gonna—ahh—" He loses his composure and shakily shoots his release into his small hand, smearing the fluid messily as he clenches, then lets go of everything.

If Jimin hadn’t been used three times already, Koo could have been less considerate. He would have wanted the elder to continue to stroke himself through the oversensitivity, but he'd been so good. Koo decides to just let Jimin relax and take what the younger one gives.

"I love the sounds you make. You sound so desperate for me... fuck..." Jungkook's hips grind faster, no longer pulling out all the way, instead keeping himself snug and deep inside as he shallowly drives his pelvis against Jimin's ass, piercing still prodding and abusing the elders prostate. "Keep squeezing, keep going, I'll cum..." Jungkook moans through his dampened lips, swollen from biting down on them. "Oh, fuck... you're so tight, I'm gonna cum—" his low words break into a silence, heavy breaths replacing them as he grabbed Jimin harshly only to press his hips flush against his ass, reaching as deep as possible. His cock desperately throbs inside of Jimin, gushing with spurts of his thick, sticky cum claiming it's spot. "Mine..." Jungkook whispers, letting go of Jimin and wrapping his arm around to hug him. He keeps his pulsating cock lodged inside to keep all the cum securely in place. "You're so cute. It's the third time today and you're still so so needy... ahh, you're perfect for me." He mumbles as he presses his cheek against the pillow, closing his eyes to finally get some sleep.

Jimin pulsates around Jungkook's cock as it remains deep inside his abused hole. He feels calm and secure, connected together, used for the photographer's pleasure. He could slip off to sleep at any moment, but the sticky mess tacking his hand to his slick cock distracts him from fully surrendering to his heavy eyelids.

"W-wait." He remembers back to Jungkook's personal studio—how wide his deep brown eyes got when Jimin crawled on hands and knees to lap his own cum off the floor. Jimin lifts his sticky hand from his twitching cock and looks over his shoulder at Jungkook. The man is already halfway asleep, but his eyes are open to slits, watching him patiently. "Look how hard you made me cum, Jeon..." He holds his dripping fingers to the light and marvels at how the thick fluid slides down his palm. Before it falls onto his wrist, he captures it on his tongue, flattening it on his skin for the younger to see. "Mm," he moans, moving his hand to lick away every drop.

Jungkook's doe eyes widen at the sight, swirling with admiration. Jimin truly was perfect, everything he wants and needs. "C'mere," he sleepily whispers as he reaches to grasp Jimin's chin, turning the man’s neck to draw him in for a kiss, humming in content at the taste of the elders' release mixed with their spit. Jungkook pulls back with a coy smile and eyes, struggling to stay open as he buries his face in Jimin's back, arm secured around him as he remains still inside, keeping his cum from seeping out. "Goodnight baby," Kook murmurs into the smaller man's back, mouthing a silent 'I love you' before pressing his lips against his clammy skin, quickly drifting off to dreamland.

#fic: mused obsession #yandere jungkook #yandere bts #jungkook x jimin #jikook #jikook smut #jungkook smut #jimin smut #bts mxm #bts mxm smut #kookmin #kookmin smut #sombreboy #chimoona

202 notes · View notes

dennou-translations · 4 years

Text

Violet Evergarden Ever After: Prologue

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases here. For those who want to support me, I accept donations!

← Gaiden || Index || Next →

Should you feel even just slightly lonely after this story is over, by all means, go see the anime’s Violet. Even if the storyline is different, your Auto-Memories Doll will be there. —Akatsuki Kana

Tears spilled down the eyes of a beast. Shedding large teardrops, it wept.

Why was he saying such things now, at this moment? The beast was incapable of understanding. It could not fathom the meaning of those words or his reasons to be uttering them.

A slow-acting poison. The beast had been given it little by little every day, and the effects of said poison circulating its whole body were currently showing. The beast’s crying was proof of that. Never had it known such painful tears.

He whispered repeatedly. It was an attempt to tell the beast words that it had not heard before. This conveyed that they were extremely important, but the beast could not accept them. It did not want to comprehend them now. They were most certainly against the very meaning of the beast’s existence. Should it accept them, the beast would no longer exist for the sake of emerald eyes.

——I hate not being able to protect you. My only wish is to keep you safe. It’s all I can reciprocate. Don’t be saying these things now; I want you to give me orders.

And so, the beast howled while wailing. It howled at its one and only Lord. The most hardly replaceable thing in the world for the beast.

Roses and the Auto-Memories Doll: Prologue

Blue eyes opened.

The beautiful, golden-manned beast had just awoken. Showered in morning light, it sat up without hesitation. Moving its small body, it smoothly came down from the top of a tree and set its legs on the ground. Swallowing the morning dew that had accumulated on its teeth, it picked fruits from the tree to eat. It ate one and, after staring fixatedly at the other for a second, the beast held onto it and started walking.

It was morning. A comfortable morning.

In the environment where the beast lived, there was neither right nor wrong. It might eventually die if it stayed there. It might live on forever as long as it was there.

The beast, which could easily sense and deal with invaders, felt neither desperation at the fact that morning had come to it, nor hope toward the day called today. It did not know such things. As it had never been taught about them, it was not capable of embracing them.

In certain aspects, the beast was overly superior, and in others, it fell so far behind that it was unbearable to look at. It had tremendously menacing fangs and was beautiful to an uncanny extent. It was that kind of beast. It was still that kind of beast.

Silence.

The beast strained its ears. It could hear the sounds of ocean waves from the coast. And also the voice of a man who appeared to be cursing. It then headed toward the sea.

The sky still bore colors that were a mixture of daybreak and nightly shades. The temperatures were warm and perfectly suitable for putting oneself in motion. Spotting the back of the man, who was sitting on the beach, the beast approached him slow and quietly.

Had he been trying to catch fish? Victim to his irritation, a broken, long tree branch was being flung away. A single small fish lay on a leaf as proof of his efforts.

Something heartbreaking must have happened for the man to be in such a situation. He did not seem to have the strength for cooking or eating the fish. With the man in front of it, the beast offered him the fruit.

He was the man who the beast had cognized as its “master” the other day.

Adults were necessary for the beast. Adults who could designate it instructions of some sort. The beast was able to live on its own, yet it needed adults to give it directions. It would be a problem if he died.

After leaving the fruit there, the beast distanced itself a little and sat on the sand. It was waiting for orders. While it did so, something hit its head.

“You monster.”

It was a fruit. He had apparently thrown away the fruit that the beast had gone through the trouble of giving to him. Even though he was hungry.

The man glanced its way. His green irises and raven hair glistened amidst the break of dawn. He was a beautiful man.

“I want to kill you,” the man whispered with a tone that would make one think this was his true intention.

It was a cruel statement, but the beast displayed no reaction. The white noise of the ocean waves drifted between the two of them. As the beast could not talk, the place was quiet when the man did not speak.

An island of one man and one beast. There used to be a mountain of corpses as well, but they had long been buried.

“But if I were asked whether you’re wrong or not, I don’t know,” the man, who would later be identified as Dietfried Bougainvillea, simply talked to it with an exhausted face. “If I were in your shoes and felt danger from those men... from that man who came towards you all of a sudden, then I would’ve probably done that.”

The beast merely turned its ears to the voice of the man. Not that it could understand anything. It was a wild beast and the man was a person. They were unable to establish communication. However, whenever it was spoken to by the person, the beast would look back at him with its unclouded eyes.

“That and whether or not I can forgive you are two different things. I can’t. In the end, I do want to kill you.”

Having met in the worst possible way, they had not initiated anything yet, but an encounter was a beginning in itself.

“Still, I have some room for pity too... Just what are you? Were you abandoned? Why’re you by yourself in a place like this...?”

As an announcement for a chemical reaction of sorts that was about to occur.

“No, you killed my men. I actually don’t have room for pity... Anyway, just stay quiet and listen.”

This was the start of a grandiose fate.

“I’m thinking with myself about what to do with you. I can’t stand you. I despise you.”

That meeting had served as its cornerstone.

“For now, I need you so that I can survive. You know this territory and can ensure food supplies as my tool to prepare for an escape... to go from this remote island back to Leidenschaftlich. And I really do feel a burning anger for what happened before, so want to punish you. But I have a strong sense of duty, so if we manage to leave this place without problems and if I get a chance to see my little brother’s face at least one more time, he might take interest in you if you do something. I won’t. I myself won’t. I’m complicated. A complicated man. You can’t handle me and I can’t handle you either. If I continue using you, I’ll get fed-up for sure and would indeed feel like killing you, but actually doing that would probably be impossible. You’re tough. I’d lose. No matter how I look at it, I can’t kill you. I don’t know why, but you need me, right? You’re trying to keep me alive and you kill things for my sake. Seems like you can be useful. After all, we’re in the middle of a war. It’d be fitting of someone like you to be used, used, used, used, used, used and used down to every last bit, till you become a worn-out mop cloth. That’s right, it definitely fits you...”

The man continuously spit out outrageous statements for a long while. The beast picked up the fruit that had been thrown away again and left it in front of him.

“Try to save me, monster.” The man bit the fruit, and with an annoyed face, he threw it at the beast.

This time, the beast dodged it. The fruit formed an arched trajectory line, overlapping with the sunrise lights. It was radiant enough for the beast to feel like its retinas would char, and so it closed its eyes as if bringing down a curtain.

Blue eyes opened.

The beast was inside a large sack. It did not know for how much time it had been there. Long had passed since the last time it had been taken to the toilet and told to finish its business. Its throat was dry and it was tired from recurrent battles. While in the bag, it had repeatedly closed and opened its eyelids, falling into a doze, and now it had opened them again.

It could discern the voice of its master. As well as the stench of some burned food that he and the people who followed him were daring to put into their mouths. The beast did not like the odor. It dulled its sense of smell.

When would the master use it? There was no meaning to the beast aside from being put to use. The beast wanted to be used. It had no other way to prove itself.

There were surely people who found it strange. Why was this doll-like beast, who did not show any emotion, so keenly obsessed with being a tool? That was very simple. So simple it was ridiculous, so commendable it was ludicrous.

The beast wanted to be with humans.

It could live by itself. The beast had enough strength for that. It was fine even without anyone around. Yet, it wanted to be with people. It hated being on its own. That much was obvious. Nobody wanted to be in solitude. In true, complete loneliness. That was the desire of people whose mental state had grown tired of interacting with people, but no one who was actually alone wished for it. The beast wanted to be with someone, but could think of a means to do so other than offering itself for use. Which was why the beast was doing so.

It had lost the memory of its parents’ faces, its recollections from before a certain time, everything – yet it knew all but the surge born from servitude and violence. This was the only thing engraved into the modus operandi of the beast’s short life history. It could also be said that it “wound up” being engraved there. If it had been taught any other method, it would likely not have turned out the way it was.

The beast did not yet know what it was about to meet.

“I haven’t named it. We’d been calling it ‘you’.”

As the sack was opened, the outside lights, which were coming in contact with the beast for the first time in a while, shone on its eyes. The beast closed its eyelids once.

And then, it wished to be given an order.

Blue eyes opened.

It was completely dark. Their field of vision was pitch-black, the air cold. However, the body of the beast was swelteringly hot. A slushy heat enclosed its whole body, giving it the sensation of turning into a huge lump of lead.

“Violet.”

Suddenly, light shone amidst the darkness.

That was because the person who had spoken to it had lit a lamp, but also because said person seemed to be shining, as he was the beast’s one and only light. His large hand touched the beast’s forehead, and then caressed it as if to unknot its sweat-drenched hair. A sizzling sound could be heard oozing from the beast’s chest.

“Major...”

The beast had been granted a name, known protection and learned how to speak.

“The fever... hasn’t gone down, huh. Can you drink water?”

Which gave rise to an attachment.

“My apologies.”

The beast had absorbed many new things from its new lord, and they built the beast’s values.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You gave too much in the last battle... It was my mistake.”

Without its lord, even breathing would be difficult for the beast now.

“I am a tool, after all.”

It wanted to live for him.

“I believe you should use, use, use and use every last bit of me, until I break.”

And to die for him.

“Therefore, repairing me is unnecessary.”

Such tempestuous dependence was gnawing at its body.

“You’re human. We need rest if we’re down with a fever, and some also need to be nursed. That’s always been the way I’ve supervised you, ever since we’ve met. So of course I have to look after you.”

Everything was the lord’s fault. He had recognized this golden-manned, blue-eyed beast as a “girl” first of all.

“Do you not have any requests? Something I can do in this state.”

The object of his safeguarding, the wild beast he had to oversee, his weapon. While keeping these categories separated, the lord made use of the beast.

“For you to get well, Violet.”

And out of all things, he grew to love it.

Blue eyes opened.

Tears overflowed from the eyes of the beast. Its visibility was distorted. It closed and opened its eyelids, attempting to expel the salty sea that it was birthing, to no avail.

“Violet, stop.”

The beast wept. Shedding large teardrops, it wailed. Even though it had never cried before, it was doing so.

“...e you.”

Its lord had been severely injured. It had failed to protect him. It had executed its orders, but because of that, it had been unable to protect him.

For the beast, the lord was more important than this mission.

“...ove you.”

As it cherished its lord, it had wanted to succeed in the mission. Since its life belonged to its lord, it had made the mission into a priority. But this rendered it meaningless.

“I love you! I don’t want to let you die! Violet! Please live!!”

There was no meaning in it. No meaning at all. There was no significance in the beast’s life either.

“I love you.”

Besides, why? Why was he saying that? Why was he saying such a thing, now, at this moment?

“I love you, Violet.”

The beast attempted to digest the words its lord had just whispered. It did not comprehend them.

“Violet...”

The beast did not understand. It could not fathom the meaning of those words or his reasons to be uttering them.

“Are you listening, Violet?”

——Are they not, most likely, something special? Those are most likely not words that I should be told. They are most likely not something that you should say to me. If you must say them, then why?

“I like you.”

——Why did you use me? Why won’t you let me save you?

“I love you.”

——Why, why, why, why, why, why, why?

“I love you, Violet.”

It did not understand. It did not understand anything. Not its lord, this world or the words confessed to it.

And so, the beast howled while wailing. It howled at its one and only Lord. The most hardly replaceable thing in the world for the beast.

“What is ‘love’?”

Ironically enough, it was then that the beast accepted love for the first time and became a person.

#violet evergarden #violet evergarden ever after #fyeahvioletevergarden #dailykyoto #kyoani #violet evergarden novel #gilbert bougainvillea #kyoto animation #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #novel #my translation

342 notes · View notes

withoneheadlight · 4 years

Text

| harringrove | Inspired by this beautiful work by Hokan

Billy finds her. His mom.

Living just a few hours away. Two-story house. Flowered driveway. American-dream painted walls and a tiny home for the family’s retriever. Eight years, eight fucking years –with its days and nights and nights and nights, and hours wasted in the waiting, tears like wiped off feelings on the back of his hand– and she had been just a few miles apart, not even a whole state, not the entire fucking earth.

She’s married (never was to his dad). She’s got another kid. She walks him to the bus stop every morning, smiles him a soft smile, nuzzles on his cheek. Kisses him goodbye.

Billy knows because he’s been watching them for three days now.

(Restlessly)

(Obsessively)

The kid is called Sam.

He’s tall for his age, blonde like Billy, is always smiling the widest smiles. He looks so much like his old photographs that the tendons of his hands hurt with the force he’s holding on to the steering wheel, with how much strength it’s taking him to not get out of the car, come face to face with her, ask –scream, cry, shout–– how can you look at him?, how the fuck can you look at him and tell him that you love him when every time you told me was a lie?

(She loved him)

(He knows)

(He hates her)

(He doesn’t)

So,

It’s two more days of watching until he finally grows the guts to knock at her door.

She hugs him (Feels like she used to. Smells she used to. Sounds like she used to. Like fingers that always knew how to find the tickles. The freshly washed cloth of his pajamas when they got stuck in his nose. Like funny stories whispered at night when he should’ve already been sleeping).

She cries.

Tells him, “I can’t, baby. I can’t”

Tells him she doesn’t want him back.

Doesn’t say it like that. Says,

“I have a family now, Billy. A good thing. A happy thing. And I can’t lose them, do you get that?”

Lose them.

They don’t know about Billy. In this new life of hers, he doesn’t exist. In the life she left behind, she’s but a memory ripped out off a perfect family picture that never was.

In the back of his car he has a ratty backpack stuffed with the things he would save from a fire: his favorite shirt, the black leather jacket he won in a fight, a tin box full of seashells, a packet of postcards sent by his Grans, a few library books he had loved too much, so never returned.

The teddy bear she gave him the night she said “It won’t be long, baby. You’ll blink and I’ll be back”.

There was this clear notion, bright as dawn, had kept ripping the wound open like a hook on his mind “If only I could find her, If only I could find her, If only I–”

He spends the next two days drunk as fuck, high as a kite, anesthetized, so he doesn’t burn everything she has rebuilt herself around.

(Around easy-smiling, blonde-headed, happy Sam)

That’s how Neil finds him.

“What did you think? That she would want you back? Nobody wants their shit back, son. I told you. Didn’t I? I wasn’t just me who she wanted to left when she ran”

He drives behind Billy all the way back, and Billy pumps up the music until it feels like his skull would crack, loud enough not to feel trapped, hunted down. Not to think about how there was only one place he wanted to run to when he got away, pushed the pedal down.

(Neil has been blocking all the roads out, all his life. But this time, Billy has no place to go, no dreams left to wish for when Neil checks them into a shitty motel somewhere on the Highway wasteland)

“I was worried about you. I’m Sorry” Max says a few nights after, casting a sideways glance at the yellowing remnants of the lessons Neil had to teach him again that night. A trail of blood marking the way from California to the only love he had ever had.

(Though he had)

“You’re a shitty liar. But I don’t give a fuck”

(Except he–)

(No)

They move to Hawkins before the end of August.

He’s packing when he comes across the Teddy bear, throws it into the dumpster.

(When later that night he sneaks out to get it back it stinks of filth and it’s stained, much like love.

Billy wants to cry, laughs instead, it’s like a shot of whiskey to the heart.

It burns burns burns.

Cleans up one of the bear’s paws, smooths out the hairs coming into one of its eyes “You’re lucky I am a shitty liar too”.)

“It’s cute”, says Steve more than two years later, the day he adopts Billy like a stray, spends the day helping him settle in the tiny room of his tiny house. It’s been three months since Billy was released from the hospital and still can’t do the most basic, simple of things. He used to think that if he grew bigger than everything around him, nothing would hurt him anymore. Now he would laugh with his whole body at the idea If his ribs didn’t ache like a motherfucker when he does too much.

“My mom gave it to me. The day she left” he says, because there’s no point, because Steve Harrington has already seen him at his smallest and he doesn’t really care anymore.

“Oh. Billy. I–”

Billy stretches out his arm, closes his eyelids. It’s the worst feeling of all, but he hopes.

“Yours”

There are no words, no breathe, no sound at all, just seconds tumbling down as uneasy as the pounding in his heart.

But Steve reaches out, caresses the back of his hand, takes the bear, comes closer.

The light brush of his thumb over Billy’s cheek feels like the edge of tears. So tender and soft. So caring.

And the way Billy feels around Steve is old, but this is new.

“You can. If you want. I’m not gonna break, pretty boy”

But he’s a shitty liar because it’s going to. Break him. This love like a sledgehammer, shattering down his poorly patched walls. He wants it to. There’s nothing he wants more than Steve Harrington conquering and destroying all those places where the old Billy Hargrove used to be.

And oh, he conquers. Oh, he destroys.

(Gets in. Gets in)

He leans in and kisses him, delicate as fingertips brushing over sunburn. Spreads his palm over that spot on his chest where Billy’s skin is now thinner, more sensitive to the touch.

Lowers his eyes to the teddy bear pressed between them.

“To keep it?”

“Only if you want”

Steve smiles against his mouth, breathe trembling. His hand goes up, fingers tangling on the short curls of his head, alighting the nerves of his scalp, skin tingling.

“Something else you wanna give me?”

“Don’t be greedy, Harrington. That’d be pushing your luck”

But he knows he’s now the place Billy would run to. He has learned to read love between the lines.

“Call me arrogant, Hargrove, but I don’t think I am”

“Arrogant”

Billy curls his hand around the nape of Steve’s neck.

Kisses him right.

#harringrove #mentions of abuse #tw: abuse #xharringrove #happy ending

121 notes · View notes

teanicolae · 3 years

Photo

letters, cuts

*scattered poems published in scan lancaster, february 2020. they belong to a collection of poetry i compiled which chronicles the various stages of coping with grief. written a few years ago…

01. 01. 2018

dear A,

it’s been three years since i’ve lost you

and i swear i am trying.

i bought a shiny yoga mat

and i do yin yoga for grief release.

i ground my feet,

do warrior poses

and chant.

i try,

but no matter how much i contort my body at dawn

my sorrow rips through my brain

and sticks to my eyelids.

10. 02. 2018

most beloved A,

i wear my loss

like i wear my rings.

11. 02. 2018

darling A,

i swear i’m trying.

i’ve stopped reading sylvia plath

and i bookmark poems

about the universe that is supposedly unfolding in my core.

i read self-help articles about how pain is grace,

grinding my teeth.

i write inspirational quotes on purple notebooks

and i make bullet-points about buddhism

with pink pens.

i press the tips onto the paper

hard

as if to push what i write through me.

i beg my mind to meditate

i put on compilations of “deep relaxing & healing music with instant relief from stress”

and i force myself to still.

i download apps that ease anxiety

and i go to meditation groups on wednesdays.

but, no matter how long i stay cross-legged on the floor,

straightening my back and linking my thumbs,

it hurts.

25. 02. 2018

my dearest A,

i quit drinking

and i made new friends.

friends that drink hot chocolate

friends that watch soft films

friends that pray in the evenings

instead of drowning in face paint

and sprawling on dance floors.

they meet for coffee

they talk about how simple life is

and i nod when my heart clenches.

30. 02. 2018

beloved A,

my brain is softly melting to the floor

04. 03. 2018

ever dearest A,

i’ve been reading about the cycle of rebirth

i wish to believe in it,

but scepticism clouds my heart.

i’m not pure enough for transcendence

so if i am reborn

i wish i could be as small

as a sparrow.

11. 04. 2019

dear A,

i’m unsure where loss ends

and i begin.

with longing,

T. ☼

one more scattered letter-poem... one i wrote about my grief.

*performed at a slam poetry contest in st. andrews, where i spent three weeks in the summer of 2016. three weeks of magic, sand, books, david bowie and messy dorms.

*performed at the lancaster poetry café in 2017, autumn. having people tell me i’ve moved them to tears is magical and it’s something i’ve never dared to hope for and it’s something i’ll never take for granted. thank you

1st of January, 2016

Dear A,

Happy one month anniversary, my grief, my love.

You’ve been good, you’ve been still.

I’ve been spending my evenings writing scattered letters to you.

I roughly choke on paper as I burn

with sore pain. I miss you.

Dear A,

It’s been one month,

I feel dispatched.

I think it’s fair to say that you broke my brain.

I’ve been mulling over you since December.

Dear A,

I can’t help

but feel angered,

I am shamed.

I sweat self-loathe

each time I

desperately

and

obsessively

drag my nails across my cheeks

and carve your name onto my forehead,

trying not to forget your face.

Dear A,

But I have.

I’ve started to forget

the curve of your neck,

your sharp teeth,

your hair,

your heavily edited psychedelic pictures,

your long poems,

the short story you wrote to me.

I gulp and write as much about you as I can,

so that no one will ever forget

your painful songs,

your whiny voice,

your sad words,

your drugs,

your self-hatred.

Dear A,

You were brilliant.

You were so good. I was sure you’d be the next Lou Reed – so fresh, so wild, so pearly, so beautiful.

I thought you’d love me,

and then leave me,

and I’d spend my life watching you recite your lines in movies,

or looking at your face, plastered on shiny new books,

and I would lull to myself:

remember me, when you’re the one who’s silver screened, remember me when you’re the one you’ve always dreamed. remember me, when everyone’s noses start to bleed. remember me, special needs

Dear A,

You were candy in my mouth

until you smashed my teeth from the inside,

as my heart ashed on the 1st of December.

#poem #poetry #grief #depression #loss #letter #coping #mental health #pain #tea nicolae

2 notes · View notes

anastasiaskarsgard · 3 years

Note

The Merkel piece is so heart wrenching and I shouldn’t want this, but does he come back to her? Will she be okay? I can see her doing things to try to bring him back. 💔

Maybe start with how they met...

Gordon Merkel had lead a chaotic, rough, exciting life full of danger and uncertainty and he loved it. In his profession you burned bright and no one really made it to retirement. Longevity wasn’t in stars for him or any one he worked with whether it was lifespan, relationships or sanity. It was all on a crash course for disaster, so getting emotionally attached to anyone was a sure fire way to see them get hurt.

Luckily, a large part of their training was emotional detachment. When you constantly witnessed people dying around you, and were close to the absolute worst human beings on the planet, controlling your emotions was a matter of life or death. When your job was to befriend the biggest predators on the planet, you needed to be one too.

When it came to relationshits, You definitely didn’t need a woman for more than the fun she had to offer of the carnal variety. No one was more true to this unsaid, but heavily encouraged rule than Gordon Merkel. He preferred to not only never see them again, but he really didn’t like exchanging names.

He never had a girlfriend in his life and didn’t plan on it. He didn’t have a whole lot of faith in human beings, in fact he was pretty sure he was incapable of trusting anyone, ever. Blame it on his childhood, his temper, his endless line of bedmates, his profession or the fact he got a lot of “come fuck me” looks from taken and married women daily, it really wasn’t his concern.

That’s why he was having such a hard time coming to terms with his obsession with a girl he’d met at a club recently. It was run by major human and drug traffickers he’d been assigned to get close to. He was deep undercover as the brother of a member of management that was being aggressively persuaded into helping his organization.

“Hey Merk come here bro!” The said traitor to his very dangerous bosses but out as soon as he had walked in the door.

Merkel rolled his eyes, but made his way over to the imposing figure of his supposed brother. It was almost laughable they’d believed they were related considering the only trait they shared was they were both tall. Merkel was what most would call a pretty boy, while his accomplice Tony was a meathead through and through. “How can I help you?”

“Don’t get smart with me kid, follow me, I gotta talk to you somewhere safe.” Tony sneered as he spin on his heel and marched forward, knowing Merkel would follow.

They reached his office and he followed the man inside only to be stunned as the man grabbed him by his throat and slammed him into the wall. Eyes bugging out and trying to loosen the steel grip on his air supply, he quickly wondered if this was the day he’d meet his maker. Black spots started to appear and as he waited on his life to flash before his eyes, the only thing that came to mind was that damn girl, smiling at him last night. Then more pictures of her doing anything from walking across a room, to laughing at a joke he didn’t hear. He was mortified these were his last thoughts, and for the first time in his short, crazy life, he questioned if he love was in fact real.

Just before he was sure he was dead, tony released his throat, letting him fall to the floor in a coughing, hacking fit. Desperately trying to catch his breath, and stop the room from spinning, Merkel focused on the mans shoes in front of him. He was saying something, but it wasn’t registering.

“Do I gotta choke you out again?” He roared and that got Merks attention real quick.

“No!” He gasped as he shook his head. “Ask again, I’m listening!”

Tony waited for Merk to look up at him and when he did, he said in the most menacing tone he could muster “when do I get to see my fucking kids?”

This threw Merkel off, but he attempted to hide his complete cluelessness from the man. “Didn’t they set that all up with you before this started?”

“Yes, but you’re in here now, they are trusting you, and I was promised a phone call every Sunday to be sure they’re ok and healthy and I didn’t get my fucking call yesterday.” Tony spit out so violently, he was shaking.

Honestly Merkel had no clue how they’d gotten this guy to cooperate, and he hoped it wasn’t by holding this guys children hostage, but he wasn’t allowed to ask questions. This was another reason they taught them to be emotionally detached. His organization was about the greater good. They had no issue killing indiscriminately, if it would further what they considered a more important objective.

Seeing the much larger, much older man shaking in fury, and looking far too unstable for his taste, he pulled out his phone. Scrolling through the contacts, he pressed send on the emergency number he’d never called, and was greeted within one ring.

“I need information on our friend.” He stated confidently.

“We thank you and we are in contact now.” Then the line went dead just as the other mans phone started ringing.

Wasting no time, Merkel hopped up and made his way to the door. In his haste to get away from the hostile man, he neglected to check to see the hall was clear and collided with the very girl that had been tormenting his thoughts.

Not wishing to see her fall, he grabbed her and held him against her as he fell to the ground. She hardly weighed a thing so the fall wasn’t so bad, but when he looked down at her, her eyes were round as saucers. Seemingly losing his ability to speak, he just stared into her beautiful face waiting for her reaction.

Her face fell into a smirk, and she bit her lip in an effort to curb an impending giggle fit. It proved to. E in vain, as she began to giggle uncontrollably, making the normally suave, stoic Merkel giggle along with her. Before they knew it they were both giggling like idiots, trying to catch their breath, as Tony stepped out of his office.

“What the fuck are you two idiots doing?” Tony asked raising an eyebrow. “Nicole get up off my brother, he’s not good enough for a girl like you.”

Hooded eyelids and long lashes blinked slowly, as her sparkling hazel eyes gazed dreamily at the man still holding her in his arms. “I think I like your brother Tony, and i think he likes me too.” She said playfully as she grinded her hips into Merkels groin.

Tony shook his head and walked past the two young people and turned his head before going out on the floor. “Merk she’s one of the Boss’s special girls so if you have any sense you’ll get up and walk away.”

Nicole’s brow creased and she glared in Tony’s direction, before hesitantly turning to Merkel. “Um I guess I’ll leave you alone.”

Merkel chuckled as he pressed his face into her hair and laid a light kiss behind her ear. “Good thing I don’t have any sense Nicole.”

Her head snapped back so she could look into his face and see if he was joking but just as she was going to question him, he crashed his lips into hers in a passionate, damn near possessive kiss. Nothing else existed in that moment, it was just them two in the whole world. She couldn’t help but smile against his lips, as he pulled her even closer.

“Your brother wasn’t kidding. They’ll get mad if they see us together and the boss kinda thinks I belong to him.”

“Do you?” He growled into her ear, before lifting her to her feet.

Pulling himself to his full height, he towered over her and she ran her hand up his torso appreciatively. “I’ve only ever belonged to myself. Me against the world, but maybe... I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

“Maybe I could give myself to someone like you.” She said looking up into his gorgeous green eyes.

That was it for him. He knew he was done for. Looking down at her, he didn’t want to just get her in bed (eventhough he did) but for the first time in his life, Gordon Merkel wanted to keep a woman safe. He wanted to keep her close. He wanted to keep her, and it scared the shit out of him.

#gordon merkel #Merkel #bill Skarsgård #atomic blonde #Merkel drabble

8 notes · View notes

owlespresso · 4 years

Text

An Evening in the Life / Nhaza’a

Nhaza’a Jaab/m!Reader My commissions are open, and I write headcanon lists/drabbles for ko-fi donations! 2 ko-fis = one list/drabble! My ko-fi can be found HERE. There is spice below the read-more.

Thanalan is cold at night. The temperature seeps into your skin through your armor and leathers, fabric and metal splattered with the blood of your deceased target–a large monster that had been troubling the locals for the past few suns. Fatigue rattles your bones and steals the breath from you, back of your throat burned raw. It’s a soreness you haven’t experienced in awhile, and it makes you weary.

So weary that you don’t notice the coyote that had been tailing you until it crouches on its haunches and leaps–or at least tries to. The silver of a rogue blade sinks in between its shoulders, straight through its throat. Its ghastly gurgling whine splits the air and finally causes you to whip around, eyes wide as you behold Nhaza’a’s form, illuminated by pale moonlight.

His sword is slick with blood as he pulls it from the beast, his boot planted on its haunch.

“To think, the vaunted Warrior of Light failed to notice such a clumsy beast on his tail.” He tuts at you, pulling a cloth from one of his pockets to wipe down his blade, cleaning it thoroughly before sliding it back into its sheath. “...You’re a sight for sore eyes. What’s wrong? Did you help too many poor grannies across the street?”

“No. It was a hunt.” You grumble, turning around to continue on your way. You’re not in the mood to humor him. If he wants to be a cynical asshole to you, he can wait until tomorrow to do it.

“Ah. My apologies, wait–” His boots thump against the ground, kicking up sand and coarse dirt. You’re not given any other warning before his hand plants atop your shoulder, eagerly tugging you backwards. Your body, weakened from the day’s activities, lacks the strength to stand firm and topples backwards into his broad chest. “Allow me to treat you to a drink.” He beseeches, a gloved hand stroking your jaw, his good eye hooded low and sultry.

You inhale shakily, collect yourself. Your hands curl into fists at your side.

“And something to eat?” You inquire, raising an eyebrow sharply.

“Your wish is my command.” Nhaza’a acquiesces with a simple sigh, resting a jeweled hand on his hip. “If that is what I must do to make up for my transgressions, then so be it.”

And that’s how you’ve landed up here, sitting across from him whilst the tavern hustles and bustles around you, resting your cheek on the palm of your hand. The smell of freshly cooked food wafts over you and causes your stomach to growl, reminding you that you had skipped lunch. Your glazed gaze flickers over the laminated menu, caught between the steak and the garlic butter chicken.

It’s difficult to decide, not when you’re so exhausted and have so much on your mind. The image of him, outlined in the fine veneer moonlight.

“Is there something on your mind?” Nhaza’a asks, taking a quaint sip from his margarita glass. He gazes keenly at you, that near constant smirk gone from his face, replaced with something gentler, more contemplative.

“Why did you save me?” You finally pluck up the courage to ask. It’s been on your mind since you walked in, his arm wrapped near possessively around your shoulder. Only now, that you’ve been given space, can you finally voice your nagging curiosity. “I’ve done nothing but oppose you and be a thorn in your side. Killing me while I was vulnerable would have been the best move for you to make.”

“Always full of cheer and merriment, aren’t you?” He drawls, sighing as you settle him with a firm glare. “Alright, alright. Your question is valid, I will admit. Though the answer is simple. I don’t need to kill you, at least not yet. While you inconvenience me every now and then, you typically do not stop me from doing my good work. And if I did not have you, who would amuse me during my free time?” The corners of his lips curl into a mischievous little smile, eyelids dipping low, voice pitching into a delightful croon.

“You decided to let me live because you like fucking me?” You deadpan, incredulous. In all honesty, you wouldn’t put it past him. For all the grandiose arrogance he speaks with, his goals are rather simpleminded.

He wants a fight, a hunt, something to thrill and entertain. The exhilaration is all he cares about, so it makes sense that he would keep you around.

“No, no. I would not say it’s the only reason. I appreciate your company on more than just a physical level,” Nhaza’a says, and has the nerve to roll his eye. “I’m not a savage. If I was simply looking for a few holes to fuck, there are plenty of prostitutes lining the streets of Ul’dah for me to pick from. But they cannot give me what you can.” His blatant honesty and the crudeness of it nearly makes you shy all over again, but you manage to hold your ground, instead shoving your face into your hands. You rub the bridge of your nose.

You’re the Warrior of Light. Slayer of gods, savior of countries. So why are you sitting across from a mass murderer? Why did you even entertain the idea of spending time with him in the first place? “Come now,” he coaxes, attempting to bring your attention back to him. “Truly. Am I that awful to be around?”

“You’re mediocre at best,” you reply with little to no hesitation, the small frown on your face refusing to budge.

“Fair enough, but I have a feeling you’ll be singing a different tune in a mere few hours.” His voice pitches low and it causes a flicker of liquid need to blot your lower stomach. You inhale swift and cross your legs, snuffing out any of the unfortunate arousal before it could even start.

“There’s no any fucking way. Not again.” You swore fearlessly as the barista placed two drinks in front of you both. You reached for the tankard and took a massive swig, attempting to hide your face whilst attempting to get your chaotic emotions under control.

I am not affected, you say to yourself a mantra that goes obsessive, I am not affected, I am not—

---

“Fuck!” Your breath is wrung from you in a humiliating squeal, fingers curling helplessly into the silken sheets. Never again, you repeat to yourself, even as Nhaza’a drew your cock into his very talented mouth. Your hips twitch and wriggle even as he holds them down, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to pin them to the sheets.

At the very least, his mouth is occupied. If it weren’t, you don’t doubt he’d be mercilessly raking you over the coals for going back on your word.

He will, you know, but for now, all you can do is settle back and enjoy the slow draw of his tongue along the underside of your stiff cock. He spares you no quarter, refuses you the time to regain your bearings and actually think.

All you can process is the way his fingers splay across your inner thighs from their awkward position, all you can understand is the way he hollows out his cheeks and sucks. At one point or another, the back of his tongue rises to brush against your tip and the smattering of pleasure that assaults you makes you see stars.

There is no way to coordinate yourself, because you’re hurtling towards the edge, bathed from head to toe in white hot pleasure. He does this beautiful little thing where he hollows his cheeks and you get to cling on for another moment before you’re gone. The first orgasm of the night is wrung from your aching body. Your muscles still throb and ache from the strenuous hunt, but you’re tipsy and needy and all you can think about is the way he swallows each drop of cum like it’s ambrosia.

“What was that about ‘never again’?” Nhaza’a wastes not a moment after pulling off your cock. Smugness drips from his every pore. If you weren’t currently basking in the afterglow of an admittedly incredible climax, you’d have to resist the urge to sock him in the face.

Rather than be deterred by your silence, it only seems to motivate him.

“I believe you meant ‘until I find someone who fucks me better than you do’. In which case, allow me to assure you that will never happen.” Nhaza’a nips at your inner thighs, smiling at the way the muscle twitches.

“Stop wagging your tongue and fuck me already.” You grumble. Trying to argue against his nearly neverending narcissism is an unwinnable battle. No matter how many times you wipe the floor with him in combat, he’ll always have that smug smirk, always hold himself high above most, if not all of the general populace.

“So demanding,” he sighs. He climbs up the mattress regardless and presses his lips to your own in a violent, conquesting kiss. The sandpaper texture of his tongue makes your eyes shut and your thoughts begin to slip through your damn fingers.

He works your body with a finesse you have hardly ever experienced, opening you slowly with slicked fingers. Your breath leaves you in short sighs and moans, sharp intakes and exhales that mismatch with the chaotic rhythm your heartbeat has set.

By the time he begins to curl his fingers just right, you fall over the precipice, spilling over your own stomach with a pitched cry.

“Twice already?” Nhaza’s sounds, sounding both surprised and impressed all in the same. It’s an emotion you’re not used to hearing in his voice, but you’re hardly granted a moment to think about it before you feel his tip press against your aching hole. “You can give me another, can’t you?” He asks, nuzzling your collarbone with a contented sigh. He rasps his tongue over your warm collarbone, adding to the overwhelming cacophony of sensations.

“M-mhm,” you nod shakily and shut your eyes, mouth opening around a sanguine cry. His cock throbs large and hot inside of you, pressing against your walls in a way that makes you squirm and wiggle on the sheets, against his broad body. Your thoughts melt away, body and mind lost to the brutal rhythm he sets with his hips.

The mattress screams and creaks underneath your undulating bodies, the force sending you up the mattress, mere inches away from the headboard. In the back of your mind, you’re aware of his rumbling moans, broken and broad noises that sound alongside deep purrs.

You’re not fully there when you climax, oversensitive, oversaturated with divine sensation. Another gush of hot cum drips onto your sweaty stomach, the breath knocked from your lungs. He fucks you through it, his tempo growing ragged and unsteady until he pulls out, spilling over your stomach with a growling moan. The hotness washes over your toned muscles, making you wince.

Boneless, melting, you descend into a slight doze, barely beginning to catch your breath. Nhaza’a drops to your side. The mattress bounces underneath the new weight. Even though he isn’t touching you at the moment, he’s less than an ilm away, allowing you to feel the warmth he radiates like a warm hearth.

Your consciousness comes fully back to you in sluggish waves, and the first thing you realize with your newfound awareness is the terrible mess on your stomach.

“Fuck.” you sigh, internally complain, and push yourself to your feet. Soreness has already hooked its claws into your hips and thighs, and you suspect it will only grow worse in the next few hours.

Never again, you settle into the comfort of your repetitive mantra, opening the bathroom door and limping inside. Never again.

---

“Out all of the places you could have fled to, and you come to me.” Nhaza’a runs his fingers over your shoulders, the flat of his palm settling between them. Your cheek rests over his heart, your entire body like a limp blanket atop him.

“Can you stop being a taunting asshole for a few minutes?” You snap, voice unusually on edge even for him. He quiets, giving you the mercy of a comfortable silence as you wiggle around, adjusting your position to fit your liking.

There was no one else you could have gone to, you tell yourself. Everyone knew you as the infallible Warrior of Light, the realm’s protector and strongest champion. You didn’t grieve, you didn’t get sad, or scared, or anxious. You never tire of your duty and that’s what makes you so reliable. That’s why so many look up to you.

If you go to anyone who believes in you, who admires you, they’ll only be let down by your current state. The illusion of the invincible warrior will be shattered, and that will sow doubt, maybe discontent.

“I’m glad you’re making yourself comfortable,” Nhaza’a sighs forlornly. You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, so you don’t snap at him. You simply rest against his body and savor the surprisingly gentle touches he gifts you. His fingers press to your aching back, rubbing rhythmatic circles over the skin. Your shirt had been discarded at the door, leaving your torso on display for him to ogle. “Tell me, why didn’t you go to one of your innumerable worshipers?”

“None of them know how much of a mess I can be,” you grumble into his collarbone, too tired to put up a front and lie about it. You’ve lied to so many people. You’re tired of it. You need at least someone in your life to know that you’re mortal, that you’re a real person.

“You’ve opted to show your vulnerability to me bechttps://owlespresso.tumblr.com/post/626018240329646080/an-evening-in-the-life-nhazaaause I’m the only one who gets to take part in it? I must say, I’m honored.” Nhaza’a drawls. A purr begins to steadily rumble in his chest. The noise soothes you into shutting your eyes, more than happy to let yourself drift to sleep.

You don’t know how you’re able to rest so contentedly in the arms of a known enemy, but you’re too tired to think about it. If you have to contemplate the morality of what you’re doing for a moment longer, you’ll lose your damn mind.

Tonight is about you, and getting what makes you comfortable. Rest of the world be damned.

After another few moments, you’re jolted from your doze. Nhaza’s hand presses against your back as he shifts, promptly dropping you off of his body and onto your side. Any possible question you could have asked dies on your lips as he spoons you, his broad torso pressing against your back, an arm draped over your waist. His warm breath brushes over the back of your neck, sending a slight shiver up your spine…

One that vanishes after a few moments. You once again relax into the plush mattress, pressing your noise to the sheets and inhaling the sweet scent that you’ve come to associate with him. Spices, brandy, something strange and floral mixed in there. You can’t tell, so you don’t bother trying. It’s much better and much too easier to lose yourself among the sea of sheets and blankets and pillows and warmth.

This is the most relaxed you’ve been in weeks, resting in your enemy’s bed.

#nhaza'a jaab #nhaza'a #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #imagine ffxiv #imagine final fantasy xiv #final fantasy

19 notes · View notes

myforeverforlife · 4 years

Text

Chapter 6: Baëkhyun

Sehûn smiled triumphantly as he took aim, arm pulling back when a sudden flash of bright light engulfed the room. You covered your eyes instinctively, the blinding radiance of light visible even behind your eyelids.

And as soon as it came, the light was gone.

Lowering your arms, you hoped that it was another hidden bit of magic that your keys had. All of the blood drained from your face once you realized who it was.

“Baekhyun.”

Masterlist

Obsession Masterlist

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood

Baekhyun’s lips formed an amused smile, even as his head tilted slightly to the side. “Baëkhyun,” he corrected, voice low and smooth as velvet. “Although your pronunciation is almost correct.”

Sehûn was gone, and you were no longer in the room filled with windows. This room was the complete opposite ⁠— no windows in sight, the walls obsidian black. The only door stood at the other side of the room, right behind Baëkhyun. You peered down at your necklace for reassurance, eyes widening when you saw what you stood on. Beneath your feet, the flooring was made of... ice?

Noticing what you were staring at, Baëkhyun followed your gaze with a proud grin. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s made of my light. Regular glass tiles, add a little magic light and you get a floor that brightens up the room. But,” Baëkhyun’s voice dropped. “I didn’t bring you here to discuss interior design.”

You gulped, Baëkhyun’s light blue eyes hardening. He wore a thin chain on his face, draped over his nose while the ends disappeared behind his ears. In his hand were two swords, the light from the floor morphing the dull-colored metal and highlighting the sharp blades.

“You know, it’s sort of funny how long you’ve lasted. Chanyeøl was furious when he heard that Suhø wanted to keep you as one of our own. But I have to agree with Suhø, I think he’s right. Our dear leader usually is.”

Baëkhyun switched one of the swords to his other hand, flipping it in the air and catching it easily, in no danger at all of accidentally catching it on the blade. “None of the others from your realm have lasted nearly as long, and they definitely weren’t nearly as interesting as you.” A haunting smile appeared on his face. “And oh, how I’ve missed playing games.”

Oh no. You didn’t miss how Baëkhyun’s hands tightened their grip around the sword handles.

“I’ll make a deal with you, because I like you so much. If you can beat me in a game of my choosing, I will let you walk free, even escort you to the door. But if you lose,” Baëkhyun’s smile disappeared. “Then you must give up ownership of the keys to me, and you’ll basically be at our mercy. My brothers and I, that is.”

Even as you stood practically trembling jn your boots, it was hard to keep your curiosity at bay. “Suhø mentioned that too,” you spoke up. “Giving up ownership of my keys? You mean handing them over?” You were confused ⁠— even if they had the keys, they wouldn’t be able to use them. Hadn’t they already learned?

“No,” Baëkhyun said, a look of mock pity on his face. “Your keys have magic, we have magic. You, lost Gatekeeper, have some of your own. Because the keys are tied to you, they use some of your unique magic. They’re attached to you,” he clarified.

“If you wished, you could sever the magic connection between you and your dear keys. The same would happen if we were to kill you. That’s also part of the reason why Chanyeøl is so pissed that Suhø stepped in. Arguably, we’d have the keys already if he had just let you burn, but Suhø has a thing about not wasting resources.” Baëkhyun rolled his eyes with a wry smile.

Your heart rate quickened as you realized what Baëkhyun was saying. Either way, they would gain control of your keys ⁠— whether you were dead or alive. The choice was up to you.

“So,” Baëkhyun spoke up, grabbing your attention. “What’s your choice? I promise to go easy on you.” He let out a small laugh, both of you knowing that the opposite was true.

It all boiled down to how you wanted to lose ⁠— stay alive but betray your home, or die and practically hand your enemies the key to their victory. But if you did play against Baëkhyun, and you actually won, you’d be free. There was no guarantee that he would honor his promise if you won, but still... You couldn’t possibly ignore a chance like that, no matter how slim it was.

“Okay,” you said aloud. “What’s the game?”

Baëkhyun’s grin turned mischievous, his face so much like your own Baekhyun that it hurt your heart a little to even look at him. “Swordfighting,” he announced. “First one to get close to the neck wins. And to even the playing field,” Baëkhyun removed the chain from his face, throwing it to the side. “There. No magical powers of mine for you to worry about,” he crooned in a sugar-sweet voice.

Interesting. You hadn’t even known that their magic relied on a physical object, much like your own.

He dropped one sword to the floor, kicking it over to you. With trembling hands, you picked it up, taken aback by how heavy it was. You had never trained with a sword ⁠— the weapons were considered ancient in your universe.

Baëkhyun waited until you were ready, a bloodthirsty look in his eye. Once you had the sword ready in both hands, he dashed forward, aiming for your chest.

You moved to the side, avoiding the attack and backing up before he could strike again. Baëkhyun was swift, easily holding the sword like it weighed nothing.

Clearly, he was an expert.

You noticed how he tried to keep you away from the door, shepherding you further back into the room with a quick swipe of his sword whenever it seemed like you were getting too close to his side of the room. Unluckily for you, this meant that he was pushing you closer and closer to the wall behind you.

At this point, you were evading his attacks rather than taking the offensive. Your keys swung wildly as you ducked and moved out of the way, falling back against your chest.

The keys. They couldn’t touch them, and even if they did, the keys were like poison to them.

Your mind flashed back to Kāi, how he had reacted as soon as the keys made contact with his skin.

In a lapse of focus, Baëkhyun’s sword managed to swipe against your arm, cutting through sleeve and skin as you hissed in pain.

“Pay attention. It’s no fun when my opponent is spacing out,” he taunted.

Now impaired and struggling even more with your sword, Baëkhyun was getting closer and closer to winning. He rushed forward, pushing you into a corner as the tip of his blade pressed against your stomach.

He lowered his sword as he leaned in, barely out of breath as he smirked down at you. “You made this too easy for me. I was hoping you had more fight in you.” Baëkhyun’s face hovered over yours as he raised his sword, just about to press it to your throat.

This was your only chance.

You dropped your sword onto the floor, ignoring how it clattered loudly as you reached for your keys, wielding them firmly in one hand. Wasting no time, you reached up and slashed Baëkhyun across the face, watching as foul, dark blood immediately spilled from the cut.

Baëkhyun backed away, howling in agony and unbridled rage as he brought his hands to his face. The cut had gone straight across, marring his perfect features. Some of his blood had splattered onto your face and shirt, but you had other things to worry about.

There was no time to lose.

You sprinted past, dodging away when he reached out to grab onto you. The keys began to heat up, much like they did whenever you approached the doors in the Realm of Gateways.

Was the exit close by?

Your hand fumbled with the doorknob, sweat and nerves making it difficult to turn it easily. It was then that you realized that you were locked in, the door refusing to open up no matter how hard you jiggled the doorknob.

You were crying, on the verge of hyperventilating. It was too much, too much for any person to go through. How could this happen to you?

A shadow appeared from behind, growing larger and larger as the figure approached. You only realized until it was too late, spinning around to see Baëkhyun hit you on the side of the head with the blunt of his sword.

You fell to the floor, body lifeless as you blacked out for what felt like the millionth time.

“Fuck, not again,” you managed to think to yourself before your eyelids closed.

Baëkhyun stood over you, chest heaving up and down. He was absolutely filthy, face and shirt covered in the grotesque black blood, but he didn’t even notice.

“Did you see that, Chën?” he asked, looking up and towards a corner of the room. A tiny camera was set up there, red light blinking back at Baëkhyun.

“You’re in for a treat.”

A/N: I had this posted already but when I went on tumblr mobile to fix the tags cause they weren’t showing up, all the text got erased??? so I apologize in advance if there’s any typos, this is almost exactly from what I copied from where I emailed my first draft to myself, and I was like frantically editing it right now so I can just post this and go grocery shopping LOL

Tag list: @thalasoophilia, @skjdln, @trishmarieco, @jongin-be-my-jagi, @violentcosmicsymphony

#exo #baekhyun #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun fanfic #exo scenario #exo fanfic #writings

61 notes · View notes

svnthxsense · 5 years

Text

summer lovin’

Genre/Rating: Fluff, angst / PG-13

Warnings: Fem reader, cursing, no happy ending, somewhat suggestive content (?)

Summary: With Jeno at your side, trips to amusement parks, flower fields, beaches and more became your daily routine. But then autumn came, and you were left aching for his presence again.

Word Count: 6.5k

Author’s Note: I do have a playlist that somewhat goes with the plot. This is a standalone in Neo Tech High School. My apologies for posting this later than anticipated and if the Keep Reading function doesn’t work on mobile, it’s not my fault ;(

The last day of school is every student’s favorite day of the school year. By this time, the craving for freedom and warm weather courses through everyone’s veins. Knees shake and fingers twiddle in anticipation of the last bell ringing. And usually, you’d be no different from the rest of the kids. This time around, though, you find yourself in the hallway with your cheeks practically burning from Jeno’s unwavering gaze and intoxicating smile.

“Y/N, the period’s practically over. Let’s just chill here for a while,” he whines shamelessly. You roll your eyes in an attempt to cover up the giddy feeling in your chest increasing with every minute spent with Lee Jeno. “I know you don’t want to sit through another one of Mr. Choi’s lessons.”

You realize how easily you lost track of time. When Jeno’s hand gently pulled your wrist in the hallway, it was almost an instinct to follow him. Summer was inching its way into your bloodstream, and you were practically begging for an escape from long school days and the workload that followed you home. So, when Jeno offered you a perfect escape, you took it with no hesitation.

You two stop in front of a window overlooking the school’s garden in an empty hallway towards the end of the school’s east wing. Although Jeno was a pretty amazing student, he had learned his tricks to skipping class. You, on the other hand, never really skipped school while on the premises. Leaving early or not going at all seemed like a much better option. Suddenly you find yourself wondering just how many times Jeno has skipped class with someone at his side.

Almost as if he knows you’re thinking about him, he turns to face you abruptly with a gummy smile teasing the corners of his lips. You try your hardest not to be affected by it, but his smile is as contagious as the common cold. A lopsided grin graces your face as you admire the boy in front of you.

You two hadn’t been close until recently when he sparked up a conversation with you in one of your elective classes. Suddenly, you found yourself talking to him a lot more and sitting with him and his friends at lunch. The cool breeze that contrasted with the bitter heat of the sun made your skin tingle as you laughed along with some of the most hilarious people you’d ever met- Jaemin, Renjun, Haechan, and Mark. You found yourself looking forward to seeing them during the summer, and especially Jeno.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks curiously, his nimble fingers toying around with the hem of your school blazer.

“Summer,” You breathe out in the midst of a sigh. You can practically taste the relief you’ll feel when the final bell rings. “Honestly, 3:30 cannot come soon enough.” At this, Jeno giggles like a literal child.

“You’re so impatient, babe. Only 10 more minutes.”

You try not to get wrapped up in his use of names, but it doesn’t work and you mentally curse yourself for smiling so widely.

“Babe?” You tease, slightly raising your eyebrows. His giggle returns before he shoves you playfully. Both of you begin laughing and suddenly, you’re backed up against the window sill. With his arms on either side of you, he leans in so close that you can smell his minty breath and musky cologne. You find yourself staring at his lips with the urge to lunge forward shamelessly, but you use every last bit of willpower to resist that urge.

“Am I not allowed to call you that?” His grin would make you want to punch him if you didn’t enjoy the sight so much. Not trusting yourself to use normal words, you simply shrug in response. “Y/N- with nothing to say? I’m surprised.”

At this, you ball your hand into a fist and punch his bicep lightly in conjunction with glaring at him. One thing you had figured out by now was that Jeno took every single opportunity he could to flirt his ass off. At first, it would make you stop dead in your tracks; your body would freeze and your muscles would tense so harshly that even Jeno would get concerned. By now, however, you were more than accustomed to his sly remarks and the pet names that accompanied them.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You breathe out, checking the clock on the wall for what seems like the 100th time today. 6 more damn minutes. The time isn’t moving as quickly as you wish. As much as you love spending time with Jeno, you know you’re charting into dangerous territory. Not to say Jeno is a player, but you’re aware of how situations like this go. You’ll have fun for some time, probably buy into your feelings much more than you’ll admit. The attachment will inch its way into your soul, and then something will happen and you’ll be left with an ache in your heart. Sad romance movies taught you enough.

“Are you going away this summer?” He asks with curiosity tainting his voice.

This is your opportunity to stop everything before you go head-first into something that would most definitely harm your emotions. All you have to do is say yes, you are going away. All you have to do is lie, and you’ll be free of the potential heartbreak that you foreshadow accompanies the smiling boy in front of you.

“No, I’m not,” You find yourself saying instead.

As soon as that bell had rung, it was like you and Jeno were suddenly inseparable. He had texted you just about every day about going somewhere new. The first time was to the movies. A new action movie had just come out and Jeno had always been a fan of the lead actor. You didn’t think much of it, tagging along with him mindlessly without any inhibitions.

In the movie theater, you had expected teenage boys geeking out over the CGI and plotline. Much to your surprise, the large room was packed with couples. Jeno, of course, knew it would be like this. You could tell this much solely based off of the smug grin plastered on his face for half the movie as his arm came down to wrap around your shoulders. You tried not to think much of it, simply clearing your throat and shifting in your seat to get more comfortable. It didn’t help much; every inch of skin he touched ended up feeling tingly and warm.

“How’d you like it?” He turned to face you as he asked, his signature gummy smile gracing his face. You loved this smile- when his eyelids turn to slits and his smile is so wide that his cheeks bulge a bit. “I wasn’t sure if this was your kind of movie.”

“I liked it,” You lied, because you hadn’t been focused on the movie at all. Then again, who could be when there was a beautiful boy next to you, acting so comfortable and touchy towards you? It shouldn’t have been a big deal because it wasn’t, but it was. It was a huge deal that the warmth of his body made you feel so bare and vulnerable but so comforted at the same time. It was a big deal that not one ounce of your being could focus on the movie with his arm pulling you into his side.

You two stood up from your seats in unison, shuffling out of the movie theater with your almost-empty soda and popcorn containers. Jeno looked so genuinely proud of how the movie turned out as if he were the lead actor himself.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ve been obsessed with the idea of this movie since the teaser came out.” His kilowatt smile never faltered as he went on about his favorite parts of the movie, getting especially worked up over the CGI as you had expected. You felt enchanted watching him speak with so much passion, it was shocking. The topic seemed like something he could have conversations about for days and days on end, even if he got tired of it.

“Thank you for coming with me, Y/N.” He had turned his body to face you after walking you to your house, the only lighting was the dim porch light and the moon. You had no other choice than to look at the boy in front of you in all his beautiful glory- bare face, glasses, a comfy sweater that hung loosely around his upper body, his black jeans. How could someone so simple be so intoxicating to be around?

“Thank you for inviting me.” Your voice came out quieter than you intended, eyes focusing on his shoes instead of his damned face. Jeno was silent, standing there waiting for you to make eye contact once again. When you finally did, everything seemed to be in slow motion. He leaned his face close to yours with an achingly slow intensity before he pressed his soft lips to your cheek in such a tender manner, you could’ve sworn that he could hear your heartbeat quicken.

“I have a feeling I’ll be inviting you to a lot of places.”

The next time that you two had met up was when Jeno had come to your house, begging you to accompany him and the rest of the boys to the amusement park. It hadn’t taken long to convince you, the simple whine in his voice was enough to waver your stubborn ways. You had contemplated your decision fully during the car ride to the crowded amusement park, and although you wished you’d said no, you knew there was no going back.

Amusement parks didn’t actually bother you, you quite enjoyed them for the most part. Crowds weren’t exactly your favorite, but rollercoasters and arcade games were definitely your style. Jeno simply smiled at every attraction the group shifted to. In the arcade, you had blown at least 20 dollars while beating Renjun and Jaemin consistently at a car racing game. During bumper cars, Jeno let you drive after a good five minutes of bickering. Of course, Haechan and Mark made it their mission to bump into your little car every chance they got. Despite that, it was the first time you’d had that much fun in what felt like a lifetime.

On the drive home, with the rest of the boys in the front two rows of the van, you and Jeno had opted for the third row. Having been so exhausted from the day’s activities, Jeno leaned his upper body against one side of the van and swung his legs over the rest of the seats. You were too tired to oppose what was to come, fatigue lacing every fiber of your being. So instead, you climbed in between his legs and rested your head against his chest. The soft thumping of his heartbeat and the warm embrace of his arms had you falling asleep before you even realized, cuddled up to the boy who was slowly but surely sinking his claws into your heart.

“Y/N! Come on, get down here!” Jeno whisper-shouted up to you, where you stood from the comfort of your bedroom. With the window cracked open, you had already heard the soft purr of his car engine as he was pulling up to your house. It was four in the fucking morning, but regardless of the lethargy that almost made your body ache, you felt the need to accommodate his request.

“You suck.” You retorted, throwing one leg over your window sill before hopping down. Your room was practically ground-level, so sneaking out had never been a problem. Given, you’d never snuck out with another person, nor did you go very far for an extended amount of time. Sneaking out usually consisted of you going for a walk to your local convenience store and getting a midnight snack. This, though, sneaking out to god-knows-where with Lee Jeno- this was something you’d never done. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

“The beach.” His smile illuminated his face, especially under the moonlight just as you had remembered it did when you walked home from the movies. It was utterly contagious- the sight of his pearly whites tugged at your lips, forcing them into a grin. With a roll of the eyes, you followed him to his slightly old pick up truck.

You recalled the story he had told you behind the truck, saying that his dad had a pick up in high school and he used to sneak out on dates with his mom. Heat immediately spreads throughout your whole body when you realize how similar this situation is, except you and Jeno had never talked about your relationship. You assumed you two were at least seeing each other, but you also didn’t hold the expectation that it was exclusive. After all, it was summer break- and you knew of no teenager who wanted to be in a serious relationship during such a time.

The radio played loud enough that it bled from the open car windows, escaping into the night air as he drove along the highway. Jeno tapped his fingers along to the beat atop the steering wheel, his glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose and his bangs tickled his eyebrows. You had always thought he was the most beautiful like this, in minimalistic clothing with the signature Tom Ford frames of his glasses adorning his face.

The beach was a decent ways away, but you didn’t mind. It was only when he had pulled into the empty parking lot adjacent to the beach that you realized you hadn’t brought anything beach appropriate- most importantly, a bathing suit. You pushed the thought out of your head, convinced that Jeno wouldn’t go swimming at this time of night when the ocean water was bitterly cold. Jeno hopped out of the truck with you trailing behind him. His backpack hung off of one shoulder, a beach blanket slung over his other arm as both of you maneuvered over the cool sand. After finding a spot that seemed to satisfy him, he laid down the blanket delicately. The wind had made it a challenge to keep the blanket down, but eventually, neither of you cared enough to keep adjusting it.

“I hope the water isn’t freezing.” He frowned, tossing his glasses atop his backpack and kicking off his sneakers before tugging his t-shirt over his body. The way you gulped provoked a shit-eating grin to make its way onto his face. Seeing how you visibly bit back your nerves at the sight of the skin that was stretched tautly over the muscles of his abdomen created a surge of confidence within himself. Clad in a pair of sweat shorts, Jeno raced daringly to the shoreline, leaving you to collect your thoughts in the meantime. Without a second thought, he threw his body into the crashing waves as he screamed in enjoyment.

With crossed arms, you let yourself wander down to the shoreline slowly. Jeno’s eyes are on you, a challenging facial expression sending adrenaline through your bloodstream. You wished, at this moment, that you had packed a bathing suit. But there seemed to be no going back.

“Y/N, the water isn’t even that cold!” He exclaimed, egging you on to come join him. Your thoughts are deeper than they should’ve been, reminding yourself that you won’t always have youthful summer vacations when you step into the real world. If not now, then never.

His eyes practically bulged out of his head, the daring nature in the air dropped as soon as your pants did. His eyes only grew wider when your shirt followed suit, seeing the plain undergarments that somehow looked so sultry embellishing your skin. With tentative steps, you waded into the slightly cool ocean with your eyes never faltering from the moonlight-reflecting water. The air smelled of salt, sloshing sounds filling the air as you came face-to-face with the stunned boy.

The two of you were decently deep into the water, the waves moving just barely above your bra-covered nipples. You didn’t feel insecure under his intense stare, though, his eyes setting fire to every inch of your body. His hands found your waist underwater, pulling your closer to him firmly.

“You’re right, the water isn’t cold,” You mumbled, one hand running over his chest before finding its way to his jaw. The breeze carried the smell of salt along with Jeno’s intoxicating cologne- musky and delicate all at the same time. A smell that so addicting that you were almost certain it would be considered a drug.

“You,” He started, moving his hands until they found purchase at your hips. His grip was assertive, silently commanding your attention and relaying the message that you were not going anywhere anytime soon. “Are so beautiful.”

With the tension thick in the air, you threw caution to the wind and eagerly trapped his lips in yours. Your mouths seemed to flow in unison, every movement causing a smooth transition to the next. Tongue slid against tongue, swollen lips upon swollen lips. His kiss overpowered your senses, overran your preoccupied mind, and took your breath away- literally. By the time you two separated, you were shamelessly gasping for oxygen.

You weren’t sure how you ended up on the beach blanket rather than the water, with Jeno on top of you kissing your thoughts away and his drenched shorts still clinging to his body. His body glistened, having still been saturated from your swim session. The sky was no longer a dark contrast between the twinkling stars and the dark abyss of space, a faint warm-toned light beginning to merge with the deep blue.

“Jeno.” You were breathless, trying desperately to hold on to your sanity while being so lost in him. It was dangerous territory, you knew, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. This was inevitable- you recognized how utterly crazy you were for him from the moment he first talked to you in class.

“Yes, babe?” His tone was innocent as he gracefully pushed away the strands of hair that fell in front of your face. The caring look in his eyes was like an eraser, leaving no trace of any doubts that you once had. You were done for. “You okay?”

“With you, I am.”

When he gave you a smile that could light up the world in response, you pulled him back against you with a new-found need. You got lost in each other’s warmth, losing all grip on reality and time. A baby blue color now painted the sky, puffs of white clouds further enriching the scenery. This moment, with Lee Jeno at your side- this moment was one you’d remember for eternity and even after that. The insecurity of what was to come of your relationship still tainted a part of your heart, but it was no match for the utter bliss you felt while falling in love.

The spontaneous adventures hadn’t stopped there. Jeno had found numerous places to take you to: a new coffee shop that had just had its grand opening, a flower field on the other side of town, an overpriced but damn-good gelato spot. For weeks, boredom hadn’t crept up on you for a second- not with him to sweep you off on such trips. Things were good, for a while.

Your first argument happened after a night out with Jeno and the rest of the boys. Somehow, someway, your relationship became a topic with the guys jokingly pressuring Jeno to make it official. The sly remarks had gotten to him, and he stormed away from the dinner table to catch his breath. Of course, you followed after him in the hopes of comforting him. Unfortunately, you can’t comfort someone who doesn’t want to be comforted.

Jeno dismissed your presence in the nicest way he could, softly asking if you could get a ride from one of the other boys while he cleared his head. You tried to swallow the thick lump of hurt that was threatening to obstruct your throat before whispering an ‘Okay,’ already feeling the wall being built between you two.

The topic of your relationship hadn’t come up after that, and even you knew better than to bring it up. In reality, though, even if you did want to talk about it, you didn’t get many chances. Jeno and communication seemed to become distant friends. The adventures slowly but surely stopped, and the only time you’d see him was when the boys had their weekly hangouts that you had been invited to from the start. He was still the caring boy that you knew, but his eagerness to be with you had noticeably wavered.

You had tried, more times than you care to admit, texting him. It happened more so at night when you could feel the aching, empty feeling in the wake of his absence. You missed him, more than you thought you would. It was a foreign feeling, the longing for something that seemed so close yet so far. Jeno was like a lighthouse, but this one kept moving farther and farther away the more you tried to inch closer.

One night, you finally heard the faint hum of his pickup truck pulling up to your house. It was three in the morning this time, and you used every ounce of willpower you possessed to resist the urge of flinging yourself to your window. Instead, you sat up a bit in your bed with your phone in your hand. It was easier to pretend, you realized, to act like Jeno didn’t have an effect on you.

“Y/N!” He called quietly, his face coming into view through the glass. It felt like every nerve in your body was on fire again, something so simple as his smile making you feel dizzy. He looked the same as he always did, and you would’ve been lying if you said you weren’t completely jubilant to see his face after what seemed like forever. “Come on, let’s go!”

Your willpower wavered, and you practically flew to the window clad in leggings and an oversized shirt that you later realized to be Jeno’s. It didn’t occur to you whatsoever until you were both on the ground, toe to toe and staring at each other. His eyes lingered over your figure, and his smile grew even wider after he recognized the shirt he had given you after your time on the beach.

The memory seemed so distant, like a whole different time. In reality, it hadn’t been that long- maybe a month ago. How quickly things changed, you thought to yourself. The recollection made your heart drop into your stomach. Though, sadness was a common feeling for you at the time. The other boys still texted you all too often, offering you any comfort they could, but even they knew the inevitable. Jeno would slowly but surely break your heart.

“Where are we going?” You wistfully forced out, hoping the conversation would distract you. His smile faltered a little at your tone, but he quickly caught himself and painted another grin upon his features instead. Rather than responding, he took your hand in his and led you to his pickup truck as he’d done many times before. His touch caused a prickly sensation to run through the palm of your hand and all the way through your body, just as it always had.

The drive to your unknown destination seemed all too familiar. You couldn’t quite place it, but you swore you had seen those same passing stores and road signs. It was only when the car came to a stop that you realized where he had taken you: the beach. The reminder made your heartache, but it also made it impossible to fight the smile that breaks onto your face.

“We won’t go swimming this time.” Light laughter fills the truck as the engine sputtered to a complete stop. He turns to look at you, a certain emotion hidden behind his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. You had never seen it before, not in those eyes that you knew all too well. Before you had more time to contemplate, Jeno swung his door opened and hopped down to the ground with ease. You mimicked his actions, rounding your side of the truck to meet him directly in front of the bed of the pickup. He popped it open, revealing a cushion that had been placed down to perfectly take up its space. Pillows littered the upper quarter, near the front of the pickup. “I wanted to stargaze. I figured you’d like it, dork. “

The both of you chuckled at this, climbing up onto the cushions splayed out. It was chillier than you remember it being earlier in the summer, a shiver involuntarily running up your spine. Jeno noticed, and reached to his side to grab a blanket big enough to cover both of your cold figures. The more you shifted to find a comfortable position, the closer you had subconsciously moved towards Jeno. He didn’t mind though, gently tucking his arm under your head despite it having enough cushion with the pillows.

The two of you fell into comfortable conversation, first starting with small talk and then getting into the most ridiculous conspiracy theories that Renjun had always talked about. The discussion continued throughout the night, as both of you stared up into the night sky. This, being there with Jeno, you finally felt content. You were no longer thinking about if he’d still act like this tomorrow morning- your thoughts were overrun by the peculiar idea that life was an experiment and the stars were actually alien ships.

As you ramble on with concentration while comfortably nuzzled into his warmth, Jeno couldn’t deny that he had missed you. He knew you wanted to talk about it, talk about why he was acting so different. He wanted to tell you, too. You deserved an explanation. Yet, the words were stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. The refusal to accept the situation overcame his sympathy, and he chose to be greedy with such information- at least for this moment in time.

He promised himself he’d tell you eventually, but with you smiling brightly in his arms, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wished upon multiple stars that night, wished that somehow you'll forgive him after the mess that will surely unfold. Being in your presence was something he truly did enjoy, and he had no choice but to regretfully anticipate the end. He reminded himself, though, that all good things must come to an end. You were Jeno’s good thing for a while, and he forced himself to believe that keeping you with him was entirely too selfish, even for his liking.

It was nearly five in the morning when he decided you two should probably head back. The ride home was peaceful, the music playing on the radio at a neutral volume. The song sounded almost dreamlike, and you found yourself dozing off before you had even gotten halfway home. Finally, Jeno looked over after safely pulling into your driveway, thanking fate that your parents had seemingly left for work before he got there.

Your peacefully sleeping figure sent a twang of guilt throughout Jeno’s body, a sad smile gracing his face when he realized that things had to end today. He had convinced himself to allow one last time, one last special date before he had to be honest with you. It wasn’t fair to either of you- the shame he felt knowing he was leading you to believe that you two could have something when he wasn’t in the right headspace for it in the first place, the heartache he could see you suffering. None of this was what he planned to happen.

But that one day in class, when he casually sparked up a conversation with you, the desire to be around you more grew more and more with each day. The uncertainty of what would come of that, though, was something he chose to ignore. This was his fault, he realized as he gently moved your still dozing body into his arms. Aimlessly, he used his shoulder to shove the passenger door shut and continued to round the back of your house.

“Y/N,” He murmured close to your ear, plucking you from your blissful rest. Your eyes flutter open slowly, the first sight after waking up being Jeno’s eyes peering down at yours. “You have to get up, baby. I can’t climb through the window while carrying you.”

You nodded in response, feeling the soles of your shoes lightly dig into the ground when he set you down. Without a word, you hoisted yourself up and into your bedroom. Jeno mimicked your actions, choosing to resist his inclination to lay next to you and instead sat at the foot of your bed. This was the moment, he knew, where the bittersweet ending he foresaw would become reality.

“Jeno,” You started weakly, already feeling the invisible wall beginning to rise between you despite having been fine a mere hour ago.

“I know you wanna talk about it,” He trailed off, fiddling with his fingers and maintaining a hard stare at his calloused digits. When he took a deep breath, he expected some sort of relief. Much to his dismay, his throat felt tighter as the seconds went by. “I’m sorry, for everything.”

“You’re making this sound a lot like a ‘goodbye.’”

A tight contraction ripped through his chest, guilt becoming a side effect of the whole ordeal that he had started. He always made sure to keep his summer flings as just that- summer flings. They would have fun, of course, but there would always be a limit to how far things would go. Summer flings, to Jeno, were never exclusive. That day on the beach, though, had forged a connection between you two. The feelings he developed were not meant for summer flings, and he felt regret at how easily he pushed those feelings aside.

There were days when all he thought about was you, and there were days when he’d think about a random passing girl. The feelings faded as quickly as they came once he forced them away, leaving only a subtle admiration in their wake. The infatuation he felt at one point had slowly diminished to a mere crush if one could even call it that.

“I think it should be, for now.” He tore the words from his insides, a bit more unsteadily than he aimed for. You didn’t dare look into his eyes, fearful of what would stare back at you- emotionless, hard eyes? Regretful, soft ones? Finding out wasn’t on your to-do list.

“Tell me everything was fake.” He barely caught this, the breeze carrying your whisper within the small room.

“It wasn’t fake, Y/N.” An exasperated sigh left his lips, his hands then coming up to smooth through his tousled hair. “I really liked spending time with you. I just think this is getting a bit more serious than either of us planned.”

One thing that you had learned to pick up on was his tells. The small stutter in his words, the lack of eye contact, the fidgeting. You knew he was lying.

“Cut the bullshit.” The low whisper was long gone, replaced by a bitterly harsh tone. “If you’re gonna do this, at least be honest with me.”

His hand instinctively reached out to intertwine itself with yours, finding all the sore spots and kneading the tension away. He didn’t want this to be the end, he didn’t want to forget it all. But he also didn’t want to hurt you anymore, not when he cared about you more than ever.

“It was only a partial lie…” Your hard stare made him wince. “Okay… I guess, going into this I didn’t expect much. It was supposed to be a summer thing- just for fun. Then the feelings got deeper…” He watched your reaction, but your face remained detached. “But then, for me, things went back to normal. I didn’t feel how I did that night on the beach, or at least not as intensely. And I didn’t want to make things official because I’m not ready to have you like that, Y/N. I couldn’t do that to you, not when I was-”

He cut himself off, realizing that he was oversharing and this was the one detail he didn’t want you to know. Anything else, anything at all. But not this.

“Say it,” You pressed, so strongly that the response is practically plucked right from his thoughts.

“Meeting up with Yerim,” He finished, finally finding the courage to look at you once again. The cold-blooded front you put on almost convinced him, but he knew you better than that. Yerim was a year above you, and the girl that everybody wanted but could never get. He knew that if he didn’t try to salvage what little friendship you had left now, it would be gone forever. “Please, believe me, Y/N. I didn’t mean for either of us to catch feelings. And seeing Yerim- it didn’t mean anything.”

You scoffed, biting back the bitter taste in your mouth.

“None of this meant anything, did it? The dates, the conversations.” His mouth opened as if to rebuttal, but you continued talking anyway. “I can’t even say I’m mad because everyone knew this would happen. Fuck, even I knew. I just- why did you take me out tonight? Was that your sick twist of a goodbye party?”

The sarcastic laugh that stumbles past your lips has Jeno genuinely anxious of what you’ll do or say next. You were never the type to be so openly emotional, let alone during a situation like this.

“I think you’re right, this should be goodbye.”

The tears broke away from your eyes begrudgingly, although your facial expression never changed. Something deep within you, most likely your pride, wouldn’t allow the soft flesh of your face to move. You remained still, breathing evenly despite the urge to curl up in a ball and sob the rest of the morning.

“Y/N, please look at me.” Jeno was close to tears now too, though one couldn’t possibly tell from the surface. He was never much of a crier, much less in front of anybody. Rather than waiting to see if you had indeed decided to let yourself look at him, he continued talking. “I’m sorry, really. I enjoyed our time together, and I’ll always be here for you.”

His words did little to comfort the collapsing wall that was your mentality. You had never understood the pain of break-ups until now, and he wasn’t even your boyfriend. Was it normal to feel this much pain for a relationship that wasn’t fully existent? The memories you held so dearly to your heart, were they just another still in his photobook? By that point, your thoughts were jumbled and pounding against your head, the ache becoming harder and harder to ignore.

“I think you should go now.” Hiccups almost overtook your words, threatening to reveal just how hard this was on you. Despite all this, you held your ground and pushed his hand away from yours with all the strength you could muster.

He didn’t have the heart to put you through any more talking, feeling his own sadness wiggle its way throughout his body. Losing you was one thing he dreaded, especially over his stupid decision to pursue you as a summer fling. In his defense, he truly didn’t think it’d go this far. He knew his limits and how to make it clear that relationships weren’t something he thought much of at this time of year. With you, though, the lines seemed to blur the minute you waded into the ocean that night.

His head sunk in defeat, and he let out one long sigh before walking over to your bedroom window. Jeno allowed himself to sneak one final glance at you as you laid there on your bed, still unmoving after seeing him through the corner of your eye. After a few seconds that he wished turned to hours, he finally hoisted himself up and out the window.

Unbeknownst to him, you felt yourself sigh in relief when he left. Unbeknownst to you, though, Jeno had sat in his pickup truck that was still parked in your driveway for a little while after. He tried to memorize your house, the small garden in the front and brick architecture that stood in contrast with the vibrant flowers. It might’ve just been the last chance he’d have to see it.

“Goodbye, Y/N.” He knew you couldn’t hear him, but he hoped that somehow you did.

[present day]

Things got easier as time went on. You found yourself being content with school starting back up again. The bitter taste that Jeno’s name once left in your mouth was noticeably less pronounced. Although you missed him more than the moon missed the stars during daylight, you were learning to live on your own. Jeno had shown you many great places, ones that you would’ve never tried if it weren’t for him. The adventurous side of you became more vivid than ever. You still kept in touch with the other boys from time to time, assuring them that you were okay and would see them on the first day of classes. Life was becoming easier, day by day.

First days are almost always horrible. You expect nothing less this year. Though, you learned not to rely on your notions. Things always surprised you. Such as having first period with none other than your infamous summer fling. Seeing him after a month of no contact was like seeing him for the first time. The sting that accompanied you forcing a smile his way was a scar you knew would fade with time. The smile that he sent back your way was another pain you’d grow used to.

What you weren’t used to, though, was having homeroom after lunch with Kim Yerim. While you hold no resentment towards her, a part of you wishes you were assigned to a different room. Even worse, the only seat left for you to take was directly behind her and her friends.

“I heard you spent a lot of time with Jeno this summer!” One of them, whose tone is all too bubbly and curious for your liking, exclaims. Yerim grins, motioning them to come closer as she rehashes some of their meetings.

“Seriously, Yerim. With a guy like that, I’m surprised you didn’t ask him for something serious.”

“Please, Joy. Only a fool would fall for Lee Jeno,” Yerim’s response makes her other friends snicker as they pull notebooks and pens from their bags. With a quick glance over her shoulder, you know she’s referring to you.

And oh, what a fool you were.

#nct dream #jeno #nct scenarios #nct reactions #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct angst #jeno fluff #jeno angst #neo tech high school series

280 notes · View notes

clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 4: The Feast

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Should she really be surprised that Valdas tricked her, kidnapped her, and now is forcing her to attend a dinner party? Well... that last bit isn't exactly a villain cliche, but Nadya learns all too quickly who the real villain truly is.

[READ IT ON AO3]

They aren’t exactly whispering but Nadya still feels like she’s intruding on something she shouldn’t.

“I’ll leave you two to get ready. He’ll want everything to be perfect and you know how he obsesses over the smallest detail.”

Valdas cups Isseya’s face, threads his fingers through the curls at her temples, and kisses her hairline. The sight of them — creased foreheads and the way crinkles rest just at the corners of their eyes in age and fear and in acknowledgment of all the lonely souls who have walked the paths of grief before them — burns behind Nadya’s eyelids against her will.

She looks away before she gets swept up; before she drowns in them.

“And remember, my love,” he rests their foreheads together, “she can help us. I know it. I’ve felt the power myself — he was right.”

Isseya flickers heavy-lidded eyes in Nadya’s direction. She feels the hairs at the back of her neck stand up; alert.

“That she can does not mean she will, Valdas.”

“Have faith.”

“In who — the fledgling child?”

“In me.”

Nadya looks back — quickly wishes she hadn’t. Every other time she’s seen the woman smile it’s been in some twisted form of malice. It’s been Isseya taking pleasure in someone else’s pain.

But that’s genuine hope she sees now. She’s felt that brief-but-meaningful lifted weight before and well enough to know it when she sees it.

Looking like that, Nadya understands how easy it must have been to fall in love with her.

Valdas barely spares a glance Nadya’s way — his nod curt and formal before he departs and closes the door behind him. She doesn’t even bother trying to run for freedom any more.

She just has to hope that the longer the night goes on the closer Kamilah is to finding her.

“What did he mean,” she asks; and finds it easy not to take it personally that Isseya refuses to look at her, “he said we had to ‘get ready,’ what did he mean by that?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Stuff that usually involves me is my business.”

“Not when you have no choice in the matter.”

“Like you don’t?”

Nadya’s gut lurches at the sudden red-eyed glare she’s staring into. But she holds her ground — which is a lot more than to be said for the last time she and the Trinity vampire were alone together.

Unlike last time, though, it doesn’t last. The heated fury flitting away, smothered into embers.

“I… suppose such a case could be made, yes.”

She makes her way around the room and when she even gets close to the bed Nadya curls her knees up tighter to her chest on instinct. If Isseya sees it (if she gets any joy out of it, more likely) she says nothing. Just opens another door and flicks on the lights to an en suite.

This is your chance, but even her thoughts don’t hold a full heart in it. So Nadya stays put.

Her gaze falls on a nearby pillow — it’s just a pillow; as fluffed and embroidered and tasseled as Nadya’s failed weapon. But it triggers a memory. Or is it a dream?

“Who was the other woman?” she asks — though she isn’t holding her breath for an answer. “She looked familiar — someone else from the Ball?”

“What other woman? There’s no one else here.”

Because she would know, wouldn’t she? “She was in here before Valdas. Having someone watch me in my sleep is creepy, by the way!”

When Isseya returns she’s wielding an ornate hairbrush like someone would a kitchen knife and doesn’t that make Nadya press herself back further against the headboard. “Do you call me a liar?”

“N-No,” but… “but I remember someone was here.”

“Haven’t you had a hard time telling fantasy from the truth?” And she didn’t need to come at Nadya that hard but she does anyway. “She was in your head. Now — come here.”

Of course she doesn’t — which was the wrong decision to make and one Nadya doesn’t even get the opportunity to regret before she’s being shoved into a chair in front of the nearby vanity. “Hold still,” Isseya growls; and this time Nadya listens.

Everything she does is methodical; stiff and out of an obligation Nadya still doesn’t understand. But at the risk of being tossed around like a doll again she complies with every one of Isseya’s clipped commands. “Turn your head,” “remove your glasses,” “hold still — you fidget like a squirming hog.” And she isn’t gentle about her movements, either.

Though when the vampire steps back to observe the high-and-tight bun she’s somehow fashioned out of the impossible she does give a little “hmm” of self-congratulations.

“Strip,” comes next and that crosses so many lines Nadya doesn’t even know where to begin.

“No.”

“Was I asking?”

Which is how Nadya ends up in nothing but her underwear trying not-so-subtly to cover herself. Though Isseya apparently couldn’t care less; barely turns an eye to her that isn’t observing something only on the surface before she’s digging in the armoire in the corner.

Finally she pulls out a dress — beautiful and plum and way more skin than Nadya’s ever shown in her life and probably not something she can decline — and gives it a careless shove into Nadya’s hands. Nadya tries to grab it before the fabric hits the floor — by the looks of it such a thing might actually be a federal crime — and god forbid their fingers brush.

Isseya recoils as though burned. The suddenness of it has Nadya stumbling back. “Keep your distance. Now dress — quickly.”

Suspicious might be the understatement of the century. Though it sparks in Nadya a thought, one confirmed when she struggles to reach for the zipper at her back and the woman hesitates to help.

“Why are you scared to touch me?” she all but accuses, “I’m not the one of us who bites, remember.”

The very implication which Isseya takes a little too personally. “As if I would fear a thing like you.”

“Well whatever we’re doing there’s no way I’m doing it half dressed so either help me or fess up.”

She does help — eventually. Somehow she still manages to avoid skin contact, too. But when the dress is zipped properly there’s a shield once again between them; this one of rich velvet. Isseya’s fingertips rest underneath Nadya’s ribs light as a feather but make it impossible for her to pull away.

A glance in the vanity mirror tells her everything she needs to know. Epics and tragedies spun in the dark eyes watching Nadya’s reflection.

“He said… at this stage of your condition that… touch is the trigger.” Of course. Nadya nods.

“Just as he told me of the memory you conjured. How do you do it? How do you choose?”

Isseya’s own touch turns pressing; makes Nadya feel like she’s about to be pushed into the floor and lower still. “If I knew I would tell you.”

“Would you?” comes the snapped reply. This time Nadya doesn’t let it phase her. This time she knows what that forked tongue means; what it hides.

“I would, I mean it,” and she continues more for herself than for Isseya, because like she’s gonna let all of this happen and not get her two cents in; unlikely, “because this might surprise you, Isseya, but not everyone is as selfish as you two are. Some people do things even though they know they won’t be getting anything in return.”

Nadya actually watches the incredible amount of restraint it takes for the woman not to rip her throat out right there. She watches with her head held high and maybe a little bit of haughtiness — almost taunting her.

It doesn’t work.

Whatever Isseya is doing here — whatever she and Valdas both are doing here — it’s more important than two thousand years’ worth of pride.

“Wait here,” the vampire tells her; and she actually sounds a lot scarier in this weird state of calm more than she ever did with her fangs bared.

Enough to keep Nadya rooted to the spot while she goes about getting herself ready.

The moon is high in the sky by the time Valdas comes to fetch them. He knocks but doesn’t wait for an invitation to enter and he cleans up just as well in a tuxedo as he had in his old Roman fare — Nadya won’t deny it. He offers his arm to Isseya and she takes it in all of her splendor. Shiny and sleek and like the thing weighing her down is her own perfection — not the pain she feels every time she remembers she’s alive.

Her partner takes in every inch of her like it’s the very first time; like she’s the only thing in his entire world. Judging by the way he almost startles when he catches sight of Nadya behind her — that’s not too far from the truth.

“You look lovely, Nadya.” But Isseya preens under the implied compliment. Nadya just shrugs it off.

“Come, we’ve made him wait long enough.”

Nadya stops in the doorway. “Who?”

And it isn’t the first look of remorse the man gives her… but it’s the first one she actually believes.

“Come.”

No matter how much she wants to Nadya stops herself from punching the familiar bespectacled vampire who pulls her chair out for her.

She’s not a violent person, really she isn’t. But the same kind of feeling has her stomach in knots as it did back during Adrian’s trial; after all hadn’t Jameson betrayed Kamilah just as Nicole betrayed Adrian?

Jameson waits for her to sit. Nadya doesn’t feel like sitting.

“How could you do this to them?”

“If you’d be seated, Miss.”

“Screw that — answer me. How could you do this to Kamilah? She gave you a spot in her Clan.” Which has to mean something, doesn’t it?

Apparently not. “If you would be seated, Miss.”

Nadya makes her protest well known despite the fact that she does, in fact, sit. Jameson pushes her chair in maybe a little too tight before offering the same courtesy to the Trinity.

From what little she’s seen of the so-called scholar it’s not exactly unusual for him to be acting the way he is. Stiff, formal and adhering to rules of etiquette they probably stopped teaching around the same time as the invention of the light bulb. He’s the picture of politeness and it’s just plain unnerving.

The dining room is one of the places that had been roped off during the Ball. Nadya actually prefers it this way. It makes the castle feel a little less familiar and with all the awful memories she already has tied to this place… it’s probably for the best.

Rather than taking a seat himself, Jameson keeps busy with a decanted wine on a silver serving cart. Which leaves one place — the head of the long (long) table — and one guest unaccounted for.

“Where is Marcel?”

Valdas and Isseya exchange glances across the table centerpiece; a bouquet of blood-red orchids and deep purple roses covered in thorns. Night-blooming flowers, she recalls.

“It was decided that the young Lord not join us for this evening’s meal. This is all very distressing to you, of course, and he agreed it would not do well to make it worse.” Valdas answers.

“Wait — decided? Decided by who?”

“‘Whom,’” he corrects, but chooses not to answer.

Instead he waves two fingers in a summoning gesture even Nadya would be insulted by. “Jingyi, the wine if you would.”

Jingyi is apparently Jameson; even more apparent is his contempt for the name and, Nadya is quickly realizing, the vampires who would use it. It bleeds through his teeth clenched around his words “yes, my Lord,” but the Trinity don’t deem it worth even the smallest acknowledgment. Their attention is instead reserved for Nadya.

“Sweet reds, correct?”

Nadya hates to admit it but she’s glad for the distraction of Jameson’s suddenly very close proximity to her neck while he pours. “Sorry?”

Valdas nods to the contents of her glass. “You prefer sweet reds.”

“What’s with you and being creepy about my eating and drinking habits?”

“Live as long as we have and you learn to differentiate people by things other than their faces and their names.” Valdas takes his filled glass and gives it an idle sip. “For example; you are hardly the first Nadya in our lives. But you are Nadya of sweet red wines and terrible eyesight. That sets you apart.”

Isseya’s snort is, like the rest of her façade, perfectly maintained and somehow glittering. She looks to her lover in amusement. “As if the rest of her did not?”

“Your dinner conversation is as tactless as ever, beloved.”

“Well… yes, but that aside,” she turns to Nadya and raises her own glass in a toast either forced or mocking — it’s hard to tell, “he picked a Lambrusco especially for tonight, for you.”

And yeah, okay, any other time one or even two incredibly attractive and incredibly flirtatious people fixate on her with such intensity Nadya might find it in herself to be flattered. But she’s seen what they can do and how little they can feel doing it. That darkness—Valdas’ darkness—she still has trouble shaking.

So for now she’ll settle on feeling uncomfortable.

“Oh…” Quick, what do fancy people do with wine again? Nadya racks her brain hastily until a vision of Kamilah on their last date comes up in her mind’s eye. She swirls the contents slowly (and in doing so tries very hard not to make the literary parallels between red wine and—y’know—blood but ultimately fails) and brings the glass just shy of the tip of her nose.

“It’s very… wine.” Nadya… no…

So she chugs the entire glass on the first go to avoid saying anything else incredibly stupid.

Thank god Jameson doesn’t have to be asked to top her off.

Jameson who disappears through a set of doors and returns not moments later with a new cart bearing trays of small nibbles and bits. It’s almost getting difficult to play along — like she’s supposed to pretend she isn’t being held against her will, dressed up like Secretary Barbie, and still is refused any actual answers? But when a plate is set down in front of her Nadya’s stomach remembers she had declined (with big big regret) to eat at the cafe… so she pushes down any worries of this is probably poisoned they’re totally poisoning me and samples a bit of everything.

Scraping cutlery, chewing, swallowing; scraping cutlery, chewing, Jameson’s muffled footsteps on request, swallowing. Over and over again. What, are they saving the juicy gossip for their missing guest?

Their plates are cleared before Nadya finishes, which is just as well because now that it remembers what food tastes like her body is ready for more than snacks. This time the scholar’s cart bears four silver-domed platters that he places at the head of the table last.

Before Nadya can do a dramatic food network reveal Valdas startles her with a quick tilt of his head. Listening for something her human ears can’t quite hear. Whatever it is it sets the Trinity on edge; makes Isseya look about ready to crawl out of her own skin and Valdas tug at his collar and loosen his tie even though it can’t exactly choke him out.

Nadya slowly slinks her hand back from her cover almost comically.

The double doors at the other end of the room swing inward with dramatic gusto. The small breeze that comes with it pushes an unfamiliar and definitely unpleasant smell against her crinkling nose. Not even the centerpiece flowers or the aroma of the food so close can cover it up.

Her vampire companions stand with creaking chairs just in time for his grand (if trumpetless) entrance.

It’s not an active resistance to this the unmasked authority that keeps her seated. Nadya’s just not sure her legs would be able to hold her up right now. So sitting and not collapsing is probably more respectable, right? She’s rambling — worse than that she’s rambling in her own head.

What else is she supposed to do, though? All these months of crippling headaches and nightmares unending and the feeling of losing herself and filling up the space with a bunch of unknowns — nothing like this has ever happened. She’s seen faces, spoken names, held identities of her own that she could never be. And this is the first time she’s come face to face with one of them.

Nadya knows this man; she’s been him, been loved and Turned and banished and even killed by him. The things she’s seen… the things she’s done with those hands as her own both pale in moonlight and drenched dark near-black with blood how his fingertips look spread wide over the tanned slopes of Kamilah’s bare skin and the strength with which they’ve plunged into hundreds, no, thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of ribcages—

And he’s more than that, too. He’s the man who brought vampires to America, who built his Shadow Kingdom with a conviction Nadya feels like a knife in her gut.

He’s the man who Turned Kamilah, Adrian. The man who loved both of them before eternity did.

The worst part of it is that Gaius Augustine is beautiful. That’s just an objective fact. It’s what makes him so seductive. No wonder the world has fallen on bended knee to him. He looks like a god.

In a way, perhaps he is.

Jameson moves quickly — and with an anticipation that definitely wasn’t there before; something like eagerness — to pull out the high-backed chair but Gaius waves him off with a flippant hand. The same carelessness shown by Valdas but from this man Jameson accepts it without disdain.

There’s a reverence by which Gaius grasps the velvet backing of his chair. Deep in every fingertip; an appreciation Nadya empathizes with against her will. He knows what it’s like to not have such things; little things, insignificant things… or they were until he was entombed.

He looks good, uncomfortably good, for a guy who spent a hella long time starving in a black stone coffin.

He sweeps a crystal blue gaze over his dinner guests but doesn’t seem to register Nadya’s lack of respect. Actually she suspects he only backtracks to her because she’s on the verge of a panic attack and is conveniently the only one in the room with a heartbeat.

“Nadya,” croons a voice she recognizes instantly; her mysterious guide through the winding paths of the Musea Sanguis, “we finally meet — well… face to face.”

He smiles at her; it isn’t returned. Even if Nadya wanted to say something to him she’s not entirely certain she wouldn’t just turn off her filter and let him have it right there. Her mom would probably forgive such unladylike behavior in this one case.

Only her tongue is knotted up too tight for even a little peep.

Of course now would be the time I learn to shut up.

Gaius watches and waits, and when he finally accepts she’s zipped her lips he throws his head back in jovial laughter. The sound makes Isseya crumple the steel fork under her hand into a ball like tin foil.

He stops just as abruptly. “Is this really how we want to begin things? The choice is yours — and yours alone.”

No, it wasn’t, her mind quickly reminds her but Nadya hasn’t forgotten. She didn’t get to choose this awful, terrible thing in her head. Just like she didn’t get to choose to be here; the definition of kidnapping or nearly so. Nadya didn’t even get to choose her own dress! And frankly her thighs are really cold in here.

It’s in that moment that Nadya learns everything she needs to know about Gaius Augustine. He’s a beautiful face and honeyed words but hell will freeze over before he lets anyone forget he’s also death incarnate.

In a blink Gaius’ smile is gone. “Dolling her up was a waste, Valdemaras, if the time could have been better spent teaching her simple manners.”

Valdas fixates on a spot on the table. His head lowered in respect — and fear.

“My apologies, Augustine.”

The older vampire throws him a look of disdain. “Not that I did not anticipate it and prepare myself for the disappointment. You’ve always fallen just short of the mark — little Made-God.”

He seats himself; undoes the black button of his trimmed dinner jacket and relaxes into his chair like a king on a throne. She’s seen his throne — this is exactly how he would sit upon it. On either side of them the Trinity sink back into their chairs and Nadya realizes, now, the cruelty with which Gaius has devised their arrangement.

Isseya’s hand twitches and closes; hard enough for her blood to try and fill the gaps in her fist. She just wants to touch Valdas in comfort. And Gaius has made sure she cannot. In some strange way her heart breaks for them — or is breaking with them — or her heart is theirs and breaks as them — or…

This is really starting to make her head hurt.

Jameson resumes his duties with an obvious change in attitude. He fills Gaius’ glass with a different decanter — the contents of which are still a deep and rich red but she’s been living with vampires for a year now; Nadya knows what blood looks like. And the sight of it takes away all her appetite. Even as Jameson takes the covers off of their plates and reveals what looks like a delicious and expensive cut of steak… she can’t stop looking at the elder vampire’s cup.

“Marvelous,” Gaius compliments, “absolutely marvelous. Boundless are humanity’s shortcomings but they’ve always retained a passion for decorating what they eat. I suppose that may be the one thing left I have in common with them.”

He looks to Nadya with a smile — as if she’ll somehow understand, or agree with him. But she is decorated tonight. And she knows exactly what he eats.

“Don’t you agree?”

Nadya once told Kamilah that she was prone to doing stupid things when she was scared. Good to know that still holds true. “That what, you have something in common with humanity? That’s a hard no.”

Valdas’ knife scraaapes against the china plateware; his quick recovery is honestly impressive.

In a mockery of disappointment Gaius lets his head hang and as he does the waves of his dark brown hair fall in a shadow over his face. Nadya pushes her wine away so fast and so hard she nearly spills it all over the tablecloth.

Because she needs to be clear-headed for this; and she’s obviously already tipsy. How else is she supposed to explain it; he way his skin goes from vivacious and full to taut and decaying and grey; pulled back thin over the shape of his skull.

It makes Nadya think of the strange smell that preceded Gaius’ arrival. The smell of rot and death, she realizes, and can’t even bear the sight of her plate when she does.

And with everything else going weird and wrong in her life Nadya isn’t even surprised that when she looks back up Gaius once again looks perfect; not a hair out of place.

“Why are you so adamant on rejecting my hospitality? Surely you’ve realized this is all for your comfort.”

She chokes on her laugh. “All of what? The meal?”

“Of course. To serve purpose as both an apology for the… unfortunate terms of your arrival —”

“You mean my kidnapping.”

Gaius ignores her interruption; “— and to ease any discomfort you might have about me. I imagine Adrian hasn’t exactly been singing my praises.”

Petulantly Nadya leans against the back of her chair; slumping a little as she does with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Actually, kinda the opposite.”

Of course that grabs his attention, but she doesn’t expect the strange delight captured in his smile. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, given that he hasn’t mentioned you at all. And—before you ask—neither has Kamilah.”

The fork in his grasp bends and is made useless. But then Jameson is there with a replacement in hand and she doesn’t even get the satisfaction of Gaius being inconvenienced.

“I know you believe the course you stay now is, perhaps, the upper hand. But dear Nadya it takes much more than that to get under my skin.”

“Good to know.”

“Nadya.”

Is Valdas seriously trying that right now — does he really think that after what he’s done that’s an okay thing to be doing? Because no, it’s not, and she’ll be more than happy to stop whatever she’s doing that gave him that impression. “No.”

“If you would calm yourself —”

That’s it — Nadya snaps.

“‘Calm myself?’ You’ve gotta be joking. Because that’s a really good joke. Right up there with how you reached out to me, offered me help, and wedged a knife in my back with a psychic roofie.” She chokes on her voice, thick and wet, but to Nadya’s credit she’s gotten really good at keeping how badly she wants to sob inside and close to her chest.

“The things I’ve seen him do — the things I’ve lived through because of him? I told you, Valdas — I told you how this is making me feel. I… I confided in you. Told you things I haven’t even told my best friend, things like how I feel like I’m falling apart at the seams… how sick I feel because I shouldn’t know what killing someone feels like but I do—

“And now, after kidnapping me and bringing me to him —” she jabs her finger at Gaius who simply watches; silent, bemused, “— the man who has done more of those horrors than I can count — horrors I’ve been forced to live through… you think you have a right to tell me to be calm?”

She’s splotchy and flushed and can hear her pulse in her temples but nope no way Nadya regrets absolutely nothing. Even though were this any ordinary dinner party — or even ordinary adjacent — she’d be mortified enough to flee from the room crying.

Then Gaius is clapping; polite and reserved. Jameson goes to join but doesn’t get in even one before a glare from Isseya has him practically cowering where he stands.

“Brava signorina, brava,” and really, does nothing phase this guy, “it’s been far too long since I’ve had dinner and a show. It’s the little things you miss, really.”

“It wasn’t for you.” Nadya snaps with far less heat.

“No, no I see that it wasn’t. It is fascinating, though.”

“What is?”

“How you seem to attract the affections and loyalty of my progeny.”

It gives her whiplash. “Wait—seriously?” But Valdas doesn’t deny it. “So you’re the one who set him free.”

There’s no use in pretending this is going to be a conversation over a polite and decadent meal, so Gaius sets his utensils down and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. Nadya swears she isn’t hallucinating when she sees morbidity and decay for a hand where the cloth covers it.

“My my my, you’re more informed than I could have hoped for. And this regardless of your efforts to spite me, Valdemaras.”

“I know how entertained you are by the pursuit.”

“Is that what you call it?” Gaius nods; makes Valdas look so petty — so small, “Well I suppose one of us ought to succeed in the end. And even Nadya here knows such a thing is impossible for you.”

Don’t bring me into this she wants to say, but to what end? She already is in this. Way way deep in it. Drowning, practically.

So what’s the harm in diving deeper if she’s already going to die choking on water? Too far with the analogy, maybe.

“I know the Council locked you up because you were mad with power. Because so many people were dying and they knew you wouldn’t listen to reason.”

Nadya feels her confidence waiver at something as little as Gaius cocking a brow. “Oh please, do go on.”

“I know there’s a throne under Central Park that once belonged to you.”

“Once? Who sits there now, pray tell?”

“No one.”

“Then perhaps it is mine still.”

“I know you’ve killed more people than I think even you remember.”

Gaius hums. “Possibly. The ends more than justify the means.”

No they don’t. “And I know that everything you do—all the killing, Turning, plotting and kingdoms and thrones… it’s all for her.”

A hollow caricature of sentiment crosses his face and if Nadya were a bigger person (bolder, braver, any other b-word for that matter) she’d smack it right off him in a heartbeat.

“My Queen has —”

“No, I don’t mean Kamilah.” The name tumbles from her lips before she can hold it back.

“I meant your Maker… I meant Rheya.”

Nadya’s having dinner with the dead but only now is the room silent as the grave. Gaius’ expression is unreadable no matter how much she tries. Valdas can’t quite meet her in the eyes and Isseya, well she’s the opposite; like she’s looking at Nadya for the first time and with tears prickling in her eyes.

“Then it’s true…” She laughs in the way mourners are reminded of small fragments of their loved ones’ they’d forgotten. “It’s… you. You’re her.”

Her? Who her? “Indeed she is. And a far more advanced Bloodkeeper than the last I possessed.” Gaius drinks deeply from his glass like he wants her to marinate in his words; wants her to panic from them. “You’ve served me well, Jameson.”

And Jameson nods with a beaming smile. “Thank you, Master. Anything to see our good work done.”

Gaius thumbs a stray drop of blood from the corner of his lips and sucks it clean. “My turn, I think.” But when he stands this time he stands alone. “Shall I tell you what it is that I know, Nadya?”

She has a strong feeling she can’t exactly say no. That feeling would be correct.

“I know the forces that govern our supernatural world are never without a sense of irony. I know that you, the genuine Bloodkeeper, are more valuable than you realize. You call them visions; nightmares. We —” he gestures an arm wide to their vampire audience, “— would call them memories. The Bloodkeeper has been for as long as we have been. Back through the centuries, the millennia, all the way to my Goddess, the woman you name Rheya.

“The more I spread our kind across the world, the more memories there were for her to see. Too many for a mortal mind, though. The last one could not give me what I seek. So I knew when the time came… I could not risk losing her again. Her gift had to be… cultivated properly.”

Gaius leans forward against the table with palms spread wide. Pushing darkness; death out into the world and all of it in her direction. “I had my doubts about you, Nadya. I am not above admitting it was the incessant vehemence of my progeny that convinced me to pursue you; not a mere human dabbling in psychic parlor tricks but the real thing. But you’ve convinced me now; you are that which I am unable to deny.

“So few know of her; my Goddess of Blood and Fury, the First Vampire. Fewer still know the truth of my beginnings; that I am the last of the pure, her devoted one. But you do, Nadya, you do. And the joy that knowledge brings me… I dare say in my current state I am unable to express it justly.”

She’d like to tell him he’s expressing it just fine; perhaps a little too much even. Eyes wide, practically maniacal; the only way to widen his smile would be to take the cutlery to the corners of his mouth and tug.

But Gaius is like all beautiful things — the longer she looks the less perfection she takes in; the more flaws start to leap off the canvas of him and scream to her for attention.

His irises once a blue as bright as the sky now faded pale like a heralding storm, even the pupil gone grey — pearls perfectly fit into the eye sockets of his skull now a little too prominent, protruding a little too stark.

Teeth even and dazzling cracked, thin like eggshells and the same kind of not-quite-white. All the white he could ever need rather rests in thin wisps on the top of his head in clumps and disarrayed — torn out from decade after decade of endless isolation.

Nadya came here (however unwillingly, that didn’t matter now) for the truth. That truth now stands before her in all its repulsive glory and she doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for some unexpected shadow to pass it by. Gaius Augustine hasn’t aged well; not at all. He is a corpse; now as ugly on the outside as he is within. All that without even mentioning the smell of death her senses will no longer deny.

A breath catches in her throat. Nadya quickly covers her nose and mouth with the back of her hand; couldn’t give less of a care about subtlety or Gaius’ feelings on his condition. She can’t look away and Valdas’ stare is too heavy for her to deny; the weight of sympathy.

The Trinity, Jameson; they’ve been seeing Gaius as he really is this whole time. His masquerade; just another lie Nadya didn’t ask for.

His voice was a ruse, too. Because now his every word creaks of old stone lids prying themselves from their coffins. “You ought to be a little more cautious with the tales your expressions tell. A lesser man might take offense to such… distaste.”

If he expects Nadya to apologize for hurting his feelings he’d best be ready to live another couple thousand years before that happens. “What was it? A—A veil of some kind?”

“Of a sort — you learn quickly. But it was merely a glamour to ensure the evening was an amenable one.”

“For my peace of mind,” unconsciously Nadya plucks at a string; not a real one but one within her mind — everyone else has been digging around in there so she might as well join the party, “or for your vanity?”

Gaius’ decaying face can barely show a frown but some vibes just can’t be mistaken. “Cheeky.”

“So what do you want from me?” Nadya asks; with a calm even she didn’t expect. “You’ve spent all this time planning, plotting, torturing—sorry, cultivating—me… what memory was it all for, Gaius?”

He resumes his seat and smiles slow; satisfied. Maybe he thinks she’s being complacent… and maybe there’s a part of her that is.

“I need you to find something for me; an object of great importance.”

“Something tells me it’s not the teddy bear you lost when you were five… hundred.”

This time Gaius laughs a bit more reserved. He taps a withered finger to his lips in thought and Nadya pretends for her own sake that she doesn’t see a fingernail just fall off and onto his half-empty plate. “It is an object of mine; an amulet. And it was, at one time, my most cherished possession on this earth.”

All of his guests (willing and otherwise) watch the unconscious way Gaius trails his fingertip down his chin, his throat — to rest just shy of the last button done up on his crisp red dress shirt. They watch as he traces an idle and misshapen circle. Lost in the moment; in the memory.

So why does he need Nadya?

“When the time came for me to part with it I was reluctant. But it was for the best given the circumstances. For centuries come and gone I had conquered armies, laid waste to entire lands and cities — and yet even I am unable to bend nature to my whim.”

His words lull her in their own strange way like the low, rasping drag of a violin. The first time she feels a tickle at her nose Nadya brushes it aside — it’s an old castle, dust isn’t any surprise. But the second, the third? Nadya can’t help but drag her knuckles over her cheek.

She pulls her hand back and the skin is stained a smeared grey. Darker than Gaius’ pallor across the table. And it burns.

Ash.

Nadya remembers the nausea starting to churn in her belly all too well but that isn’t exactly a good thing. She almost jumps out of her skin when Jameson is suddenly at her side pouring a glass of water from a clear pitcher — didn’t even realize how parched she was until she snatches it forward and practically out of the scholar’s hands for long, deep drinks.

“Beautiful…” Gaius breathes; watching Nadya in awe — even when she chokes on the last gulp. “You can feel it, can’t you; you know exactly of what I speak.”

With anyone else — even Kamilah, even Valdas — she could at least try her best to avoid this awful feeling by keeping her hands to herself. But Gaius is all the way over there, and Nadya is all the way over here, and it doesn’t. matter. one. bit. She feels the influence of him — of his memories — reaching out to her from the other side of the room.

Nadya takes a burning breath and the answer finds itself somewhere between them.

“Vesuvius.”

Gaius confirms with a nod; “I could not risk my amulet falling prey to anything — even that which was beyond my control. So I entrusted it to my firstborn and tasked him with its protection.”

“Hold on — ‘him?’” This whole time Nadya’s been under the impression that Kamilah was the first person Gaius Turned. Or that’s what her visions—his memories—had made her assume.

But who was the only person she knew of that was older than Kamilah?

She looks to her right and Valdas nods without a word, chin resting on hands clasped in front of him.

“You?”

“My first mistake,” answers Gaius for him — contempt for the man beside him dripping foul between his teeth, “and regrettably not my last. As I had given it to mine, so too did Valdemaras give the amulet to his firstborn. And we all know how that ended.”

Neither of the Trinity will look at her; at Gaius either. No longer with their heads held high; like his disapproval of them is a real, tangible thing forcing their heads down, eyes down, and demands of them to feel nothing but shame.

Jameson refills her water slowly. Nadya drinks because if she does then she can’t open her big mouth.

“Thus the task falls unto you, my little Bloodkeeper, to remember where the cur misplaced my amulet.”

He says it like it’s so simple; like flipping through the pages of a book she ought to know well. But not only has Nadya never even heard of that metaphorical book — it’s in a whole other freakin’ language.

And she has a feeling Gaius isn’t the kind of guy to take excuses in stride. So — she stalls.

“And what are you going to give me in return?”

Gaius scoffs but easily grins around it. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” though judging by the state of decomposition on his ears… “I have something you want,” or at least that’s what you think, “so what do I get out of it?”

“You get to live.”

“Not good enough.”

Isseya’s lips twitch — the barest hint of amusement that Gaius misses in his incredulity.

“Is that so? Here I was under the impression mortals held their lives in higher value.”

“Well you’re not the first vampire to threaten me. Actually, that was Kamilah. Heck, you aren’t even in the top three. So I’ve gotten used to it. And besides…” Nadya pushes her glasses up her nose until it hurts. “If you kill me then you don’t get what you want anyway.”

In the silence that follows Nadya’s thoughts dissolve into a whirling chaos; desperate to think of her next move. She could demand that Gaius let her go — but that didn’t help her much. She could demand that and that she’s brought back to Manhattan, to Adrian and Kamilah, safe and sound. But the thought of him anywhere near them just makes her queasy. He kept them out of this — what would they think of her if she were the one to bring them in?

The longer she’s left to think the more incredulous Nadya’s ‘conditions’ become, though, so it’s almost a relief when Gaius inclines his head in a subtle nod.

Almost because he’s smiling and so far nothing—nothing—good happens when he smiles.

“I can see why my Queen has taken to you so.” Gaius says darkly, somehow darker than all the darkness he’s been hurling out already and it makes Nadya’s blood curdle in her veins. “She always preferred a certain recklessness in her mortals. Not to mention how surprisingly refreshing it is to meet such resistance for so long. But understand well — it never lasts.”

He raises a hand and Nadya’s body flinches on instinct, eyes squeezing shut waiting for a blow that doesn’t come.

Instead, Gaius snaps. “Get on with it.”

And she can’t move. She can’t move. Why can’t she move?

Fingertips brush feather-light at her temples.

Jameson.

One touch and Nadya can already feel the headache starting to build; storm clouds gathering on fast-forward in her head and everything is growing fuzzy at the edges of her eyes. The same kind of reaching, probing curiosity the psychic vampire had used back at Adrian’s trial but comparing the two is the difference between water and acid.

He’s killing her. Oh god he’s killing her. Burning her up from the inside out and without the mercy to let her even so much as scream while she’s forced to endure it.

Isseya on her left, Valdas on her right. A not-unfounded pity in their eyes watching but not making any move to help her as Nadya struggles, tenses her muscles until she’s shaking in her own skin but it’s all in vain — she still doesn’t move.

Help her, because it isn’t Nadya who owns her thoughts anymore; they belong to Jameson. Help her please help her help her helpher—

They don’t.

“I would have thought all of this —” Gaius’ voice blends into the pain; makes them synonymous with each other, “— would have explained things as they are, crystal clear. You are valuable to me as an object is valuable, Nadya. But objects do not dictate who owns them, nor make conditions upon their use. They are but objects; used as the owner sees fit.”

Behind her, Jameson’s whisper roars over the pain that can’t be anything other than her brain trying to punch its way from her skull.

“Remarkable — a vast improvement from when last I walked these paths…”

Get out get out getout!

“Valdemaras tells me she’s encountered these particular memories before. Does that make your task easier?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Then find what I need, and be quick about it.”

“If he isn’t cautious… she may burn out.” And even though Valdas sounds sympathetic she knows he’s anything but — this is all his fault. What she wouldn’t give to tell him to shove it. “Or the memory may be… incomplete.”

Nadya blinks, feels tears clinging to her lashes heavy and the warm trails they leave down her cheeks. But she can’t see. Not black or white, not the dining room or whatever Jameson digs for in her mind.

She just sees agony.

There’s a clap — the distinct sound of flesh on flesh. What might be a choked noise from where Isseya was sitting.

“Question me again, Valdemaras, and you will be mourning two-fold.”

“… Forgive me, my King.”

“If you earn it.”

“I feel it,” cries Jameson with glee, “I believe I’ve found the Amulet of Nero, Master. Strange… how she resists me still. As though she’s pulling the memory just out of reach.”

Nadya doesn’t have to see Gaius to feel the weight of his glare.

“Then dig deeper.”

Then she sees nothing; nothing at all.

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #choices bloodbound #gaius augustine #playchoices fanfiction #jameson #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #oc: valdas #oc: isseya #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

4 notes · View notes