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dr3amofagame · 3 months

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Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream sneaks into Pogtopia to see Wilbur

woo! managed to finish this in time. kinda unedited and kinda a mess but i've missed writing these guys; i'm deeefinitely in need of more practice to get c!wilbur's voice down, but hopefully this can be the start of me writing some more fic set earlier in the timeline, LMAO.

thanks @elmhat for the awesome event!! been epic to see people's submissions and i cant wait to see this continue. ur awesome <3

c!dream meets up with c!wilbur to tell him about a change to their plans | 2.3k words

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<Dream> be there in 5

The communicator in Wilbur’s hand casts a pale glow onto the palm of his hand, the only light he has to guide him as he paces the length of the hollowed-out room; it’s dark, zombies groaning somewhere outside, the dead singing their songs, shuffling through underbrush in the belly of the forest that surrounds Pogtopia. The air is musty in their little dugout, a claustrophobic awning of stone carved into the side of a hill, well-shadowed even during the day, the darkness swallowing the wan light of the comm in his hands now. He can barely see the floor underneath him as he walks, shuffling steps forward and back, ten paces each. He presses his hand against the wall, turning to the entrance and standing still.

Phil always had a whole thing about light, Wilbur having grown up on lectures about light levels and spawn-proofing and the dangers of leaving cavities unlit while mining, had grilled him on different ways of keeping a room from becoming a death trap. Carpets, half-slabs, glass. How many times had he been warned of the danger presented by surprise creepers and dark corners?

Phil had never been much of a fan of explosions.

The main server is mostly well-lit, but the secrecy demanded by revolution effort means that the forest surrounding Pogtopia gets much darker. Not that he’s in the main ravine at the minute–with the amount of people coming and going as of late, Dream had wanted their meeting to be in a slightly more discreet location, and Wilbur had agreed. It was easy enough to slip away with Technoblade once again off to do his own thing and Tommy having run off to find Tubbo, and Wilbur had managed to arrive to the room sufficiently early before sunset to prevent himself from getting ambushed by mobs.

He slips his hand into his coat pocket. Chekov’s gun is smooth and cold against the palm of his hand, polished wood and metal. He smooths the pads of his fingers down the barrel, over the trigger. He leaves it, pulling out a half-empty pack of cigarettes instead. His lighter provides a clearer view of the room, still empty. Dream is late.

Dream is usually late, then again–it’s expected, really, with the way he runs around the server, always busy, always chasing down those plans of his, smart man that he is. Dream likes his secrets, his mystery, mask and armor all made to keep his cards close to his chest–Wilbur can hardly fault him for it, god no. Dream has what he wants, just as they all do, all of them tripping over themselves in their ambition, crabs in a bucket, the pledges to help the revolution coming from each one that jumps off of Schlatt’s sinking ship. He breathes in deep, smoke coating his lungs with tar.

“Wilbur?”

Light throws itself into the room from the entrance, rippling wildly as the fire on the end of Dream’s torch burns, casting wild shadows over his mask as he squeezes himself inside. Despite his armor, he has an uncanny knack for moving silently, cloak and hood pulled low over his head so that only the edge of the painted smile is visible. The torch is raised higher, moved left and right as Dream surveys the contents of the room around them. Wilbur smiles and tips his head towards him in greeting.

“Dream, my man. How good to see you again.”

“Wilbur…” Dream’s voice trails off. His head turns from one side to the other, making another anxious sweep of the room before refocusing on Wilbur, his hand moving to pull his hood down and then run his hand through his hair, having been pressed flat by the heavy fabric. The blank face of his mask stares back at Wilbur, tilting to the side like a confused dog as he shakes out his shoulders. “We…need to talk.”

“Well? I’m all ears.” He gestures at himself, leaning against the wall of the room. Dream turns to look over his shoulder again. His armor glimmers, the light of the runes on their surface made more obvious in the dark. He bounces on the balls of his feet, reaches up once again to tug his fingers through his hair.

“It’s important.” No shit, Wilbur almost says, because for all that Dream might think that his mask hides everything he’s thinking, he’s never quite been as guarded with his body language as he might hope; the anxiety rolling off of every jerky movement is enough to set Wilbur’s teeth on edge as it is, never mind the long silences and hesitation, but he’s not stupid enough to think that that would get him anything resembling an answer. Instead, he raises an eyebrow, smiles wider, and spits out another curling thread of smoke.

“You’re an important man. I should hope so.”

Dream pauses at that. His head does that tilt-thing again. “...alright.”

“So? What is it? Do tell.” Has Dream decided to go against him? Perhaps. His enthusiasm with regards to their plan is more unpredictable than Wilbur had expected, sometimes perfectly willing, sometimes hesitant to agree to much of anything. But he had agreed, nonetheless, had provided the TNT that Wilbur has set sprawling underneath Manberg’s main stage; cold feet, now, would be rather unprecedented. Still, it’s Dream–very little can be discounted when Dream is in the picture, Wilbur knows. He places his hands in his pockets, thumbs hooked over the edge, pistol brushing against his fingertips. “I hate to push, but the suspense is killing me.”

Dream takes another second, then reaches behind his head. Wilbur straightens where he’s standing, suddenly curious, as he removes his mask.

He’s seen Dream without it only a few times–all able to be counted on one hand, this one included. The light of the torch illuminates his face from the chin up, cast shadows highlighting the contours of his skull, the contours of his cheeks, light catching under his brows. His features are delicate in a way that still surprises him, a smattering of freckles over the nose of his bridge made visible as he raises the torch higher. Dream’s eyes are a little wide, a little bloodshot. He bites his bottom lip, blinking twice in quick succession, eyes darting over the walls and then back to Wilbur’s face.

“Schlatt called me. For a meeting earlier.”

“Schlatt?”

“He knows about the TNT.”

Wilbur blinks. “Well, fuck.”

“Look–Wilbur, look.” Dream makes a little move with his hands, shaking them out by the wrists. “It’s not–it’s not the end of. This, okay? But, he knows. I didn’t tell him. I don’t know how he found out, I don’t know if someone told him, I haven’t told anyone, but–he knows. We can still work with this.”

“Schlatt knows?” He searches Dream’s face. He seems earnest, but god knows, but what would he have to gain from lying about this, anyway? Who else could’ve told him–Tommy? Tommy might not tell Schlatt directly, but Tommy has never been good with secrets, letting anyone and everyone in on everything with an apparent inability to control his own tongue–

“--but it’s, fine. The TNT is still there, the room is still intact. I checked some of the wiring and it doesn’t look like it’s been tampered with. Wilbur, are you listening to me?”

Wilbur waves him off. “I’m listening. Just keep going.”

“I don’t think we need to change anything with the TNT. Like, Schlatt’s just one guy. And his gear is shit. If he messes with the TNT, then we’ll–we’ll figure something out, but you know, I don’t even think he even, like, knows where it all is.”

“Well, it’s kind of everywhere, so–”

“–which is my point. It’s too deep, he’s still sitting on top of a bomb. There’s nothing–there’s nothing he can do.” Dream crosses his arms in front of his chest, still worrying his lip between his teeth. “I just thought you should know.”

Schlatt knows. Schlatt knows–Wilbur paces against the wall of their room, ten paces forward and ten paces back. He crushes his cigarette underneath his boot, nails digging into his palm.

“Well, Dream? Is that all?”

Dream’s expression twists. His brows pinch together, lips pressed against each other and curling into a slight grimace, his expression giving too much away after spending so much time masked.

“There’s…one more thing.”

Wilbur scoffs. “Just spit it out, you prick.”

Dream doesn’t even react to the insult, shoulders hunching up as he begins speaking. “Look…it’s just. My plans have…changed.”

What? “I thought you just said that they didn’t?”

“Our plans are the same. It’s just–Schlatt made me, an offer.” Dream shifts from foot to foot. He swallows, throat working, his eyes still bright and wide, pupils dilated with a thin circle of green around. Wilbur stares at him. He almost looks… “He’s got something. Important. He asked me to…join him, kind of, and he’d–give it to me.”

“What?”

“It’s not–look, Wilbur. Wilbur.” Dream raises his hands, palms out, a placating motion. “It’s not what you think, but I–I had to.”

“You had to join Manberg.”

“I’m not joining Manberg!” Dream runs his hand through his hair, eyes flashing. Wilbur is suddenly very aware of the axe on his back, the heavy plates of netherite armor. Eret, the button, it was never meant to be. “Why would I join Manberg, what–”

“So what’s this? What’s this then, Dream?”

“Wilbur–”

“Because from where I’m standing, I have to say, it looks a lot like you’re betraying me.”

“I am not–”

“That’s just like you. That’s just like you, isn’t it? Good ol’ Dream, mister 1000 IQ, outsmarting everyone–well-played, man, well-played! I really must congratulate you!”

“Wilbur, can you just–”

“So what is this meeting then, Dream? Gotten cold feet, now that you’ve been discovered? You’re his little lackey now, is that it, his little lap dog–you’re gonna start another war? Put down another revolution, lead us all out to slaughter like last time, good for you, you motherfucker, is that the point of this farce? You’re here to kill me?”

“Wilbur, can you just listen to me!”

Dream’s voice is raised. Wilbur draws himself up to full height, Dream’s head craning up slightly as he crosses the room in front of him in two long strides.

“What.”

“I’m not. Joining Manberg.” Dream’s arms are crossed tightly in front of him, scowling slightly. It’s an expression not all that much unlike Tommy’s teenage petulance, a set jaw, eyes narrowed under furrowed brows. “There’s just–a peace treaty, right? I can’t just violate that. And now Schlatt knows. He’s asking for me to give him–gear.”

“Gear, like what.”

“Armor. Weapons, shields. Support in the incoming fight. You know, he’d already been paying Punz, the rest of the people in my country are already going to fight with him. And, whatever.”

Wilbur rocks back on his heels. His skin itches, feeling antsy, so he goes back to pacing. “And?”

“I meant what I said, earlier. This doesn’t change anything. The TNT is still there, we can still blow it up. It…doesn’t matter who wins the, the battle and stuff.”

Wilbur sets his shoulders, turning back to look Dream in the eye. “Really. It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t! It doesn’t matter. We have an agreement, that’s still like–a thing.” Dream’s hands close into fists, then open again. “I don’t like this, okay? I don’t like Schlatt–” Wilbur scoffs, “--and I don’t exactly want to work with him. But I have to. I swear, I really have to.”

“Because, what. The treaty?”

Dream shakes his head, expression still all twisted up like he’s eaten something sour. “He’s got. A book.”

Wilbur laughs outright at that. “A book.”

“It’s–Wilbur, I swear. It’s important. I’ll, I might–I’ll–” Dream makes a frustrated sound, teeth clenched. “I have to get it.”

“So you’re going to work for Schlatt.” Fuck it. Wilbur pulls out another cigarette, lighting it as he speaks. “You’re going to be the emperor’s little guard dog.”

“I’m–”

“No, no, it makes sense. It’d be too boring for you otherwise, wouldn’t it? Not enough chaos, with everyone joining the rebellion.” He gestures with the cigarette, Dream’s eyes caught on it as it moves. “You want us all to fucking destroy ourselves, keep everyone weak, Manberg, Pogtopia–you don’t need to explain yourself, man, you’re a smart guy! Even out the playing field, join whatever team has the fewest players, keep yourself above it all. Bravo, really. Bravo.”

Dream’s jaw works, but he stays silent. Wilbur smiles at him and breathes in a long drag of smoke.

“Well, Dream. I very much appreciate our meeting together today, really. Really! This has been…enlightening. Is that all? Or do you have any other important information to tell me.”

“...I’ll come around in a few days to tell the others. About, switching sides and whatever. And–the TNT is still going off, alright? No matter what.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

Dream stares him down, Wilbur meeting his eyes evenly. He breaks eye contact first, looking down at the floor and tossing several stacks of TNT onto the ground between them. -

“Thank you, Dream. Until next time then.”

Dream stares at him, blinks, his eyes wide and green, before he turns away. The torch disappears into his inventory as he walks to the exit of the room, silhouetted in the doorway as he presses the mask back over his face. Wilbur reaches into his pocket, draws out Chekhov’s gun, holds his arm straight in front of him, fingers wrapped around the pistol as Dream works at the straps behind his head. He keeps it held there, pointed at Dream’s back until the man slips into the night, the blurry reflection of the lit end of his cigarette vaguely visible in the dull metal.

He’s not sure how long it is before a twinge to his arm makes him slip the unloaded gun back into his pocket. He sighs. He needs to start making his way back; after all, he still needs to think of a birthday present.

#my asks !!#my writing :D #the sixteenth #<- tag for future submissions maybe?#sixteenthdayevent #c!dreambur #dreblr #hopefully . hopefully this balances out characterization well enough #my c!wilbur haterisms are leaking through but whatever ... LMAO

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dracoxmalereader · 4 months

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Dimly Lit Courtyard

Context: Third and final chapter of my Gryffindor!Reader ficlet. <3

Summary: Fifth year was certainly an eventful one. No better way to process it than sat there with Draco after hours in the dimly lit courtyard.

Part 1 | Part 2 (Or read it in full on Wattpad or Ao3)

Word Count: 731

Crickets chirp in the rustling leaves that scatter themselves about the courtyard. The big tree by the wall sways in the breeze, doing little to cool the air of the low warmth that comes with an ending may. Draco was propped up in the grooves of the tree, leaning back against it on the ground.

“There you are.” You skip over to him. He looks up at you. His brows push up and in as your eyes meet.

You toss a green apple you’d swiped from your table to him, and he catches it in his free hand. You slump yourself down beside him. He focuses his attention on a patch of dirt in the grass in front of him.

It’s hard to see his face with only the distant glow of the castle corridors reaching out to light the way. The moon hides behind a collection of pale, dusty clouds, not unlike the wispy hair that frames the top half Draco’s face.

You hear him swallow. “You weren’t at dinner.” You explain.

He huffs a dry laugh. “Stupid Gryffindors. Always playing the hero.” His voice is low and even, and you can almost feel the way it rumbles in his throat. Something you won’t acknowledge pulls at the inside of your chest.

In his other hand, a glint catches on the shiny emblem of his inquisitorial squad badge. His fingers smooth over the silver ‘I’, twirling it around in his hands so it faces the ground. Your gaze crawls to his face and you watch him stare down at the dull, matte back of the thing, almost regretfully.

“Real powerful, eh?” You mock. It’s a blunt attempt at humor, forcing the joking lilt in your tone to try and lighten the mood. You never thought you’d miss his egotistical smirking, much less try and get it back. Especially after all that had happened before Umbridge was removed.

His solemn expression hardens. The corners of his mouth pull down. His nose wrinkles up. “Shove off.”

He shimmies where he’s sat, and you bring a hand to firmly rest on his arm, just below the crease of his sleeve. “I’m only teasing.”

He turns to look at you. The lit archways in the wall well behind you reflect in his gray eyes, framing your silhouette. He opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out. The two of you stare at each other.

He blinks once, twice, then he’s turning away.

“I knew Potter wasn’t lying.” He rushes out. A breath bigger than the lungs it leaves blows out of him. He looks into your eyes again, vulnerable uncertainty tugging at his features. “About you know who.”

“Me too.” You reply. “You’re late to the party.” Another attempt at lightheartedness.

A chuckle leaves him. The corners of his mouth finally pull upwards again, albeit laced with a discomfort that etches deep into the rest of his face. “I was earlier than you think.”

You pinch the fabric of his sleeve between your thumb and forefinger, letting it go and rubbing your palm in small circles up the fold of his elbow. He looks back at you and you smile at him. Tension bleeds from his form. He swallows again, the rest of his body shifts to face you.

The hallway behind him back-lights his figure, and another wave of pressure settles in your chest. You wordlessly gaze at one another, and you can feel his breath fan over the small space between you. His badge clinks to the ground, and his hand brushes onto the side of your face.

Quiet and calm, you both close your eyes and lean in. Your lips meet and it feels like the cavity behind your ribs has been sucked dry, breathless. Your fingers twitch and ball up in his sleeve, and his hand slips down your jaw to hold you more firmly by the side of your neck.

His palm is tacky against your skin, warm like the air. Another gust of mild wind blows through, and the tree’s branches sway above the two of you.

His fingertips tickle the hairs at the base of your nape, and for just a moment there’s no such thing as ‘Gryffindor’, ‘Slytherin’, or even ‘you know who’. Just for a moment, there’s only you, Draco, and the sound of crickets chirping in the dimly lit courtyard.

I asked my friends what they wanted for the holidays and none of them told me. TT

"What do you want for Christmas guys" "How much money do you have?" Apparently not enough because they never got back to me. Not ONE of them. The group chat is full of reddit memes and not a single gift they want. Tell Peter Griffin to pipe down and TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT FOR CHRISTMAS. 👹

It's on them that I didn't get them anything. They have jobs if it's something they really wanted they can just get it themselves. I still feel bad though sob. </3

Tags: @nowayisthistakenyet @gayaristocrat @siuspider @dracoshusband @skrunklespoingo @esperfraud @joongbin @midwestemosblog @we2222

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x male reader #draco x male reader #draco x reader #harry potter fandom #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fic #draco x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #x male reader #x m!reader #x male y/n #gryffindork reader #tagging is hard

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windupnamazu · 8 months

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like the hands on the clock, they'll go in circles back to their places

ffxivwrite2023 #06: ring a small circular band [...] worn on a finger as [...] a token of marriage.

Lunya/G'raha. Endwalker finale. 1143wc. Content warnings: kinda gorey descriptions? ⮞ Fourteen years ago, a little girl learned something from the man who would give his life for hers.

"Mister Kichirou," Yeyema began, tugging at the sleeve of her guardian's haori as they traipsed down Ruby Road Exchange together, the old man's steps slowed to keep pace with the young girl's smaller ones. "Why's your ring got so much aether in it?"

Kichirou's face lit up with delight as they drew to a stop at the intersection of the road and Emerald Avenue. "You can sense it, little moon? That is my wedding ring—it's filled with my late husband's aether. It is all I have of him now."

"Oh." She looked upon the ring and its crystal setting with a new kind of sympathy and curiosity. "It feels like there's almost enough aether in there to make a whole person."

Her grandfatherly guardian laughed, but it sounded kind of sad. "That's because there is—he passed before we finished the full transfer. Maybe if we had done it sooner he could have been healed." He chuckled more when she tilted her head cutely. "The rings were a failsafe, of sorts. Were one of us gravely injured, we could return each other's aether back; a unique token of love, trusting another with our life literally in their hands."

"You can really do that? Transferring that much aether into such a little thing?"

"There are many old spells lost or forbidden to modern mages," Kichirou told her, in that mysterious tone he oft used when she tried to poke too much at his life before Eorzea. "If you're truly curious, I will tell you of its fundamentals later. But first, shall we pick up your snack from Momodi-san?"

"Cookies, please!"

They don't expect the first of their missing Warriors to return in the state that she does.

The teleportation spell releases her on the floor of the Ragnarok with a whisper of wind and a flash of light that draws the attention of all the waiting Scions on the ship. G'raha Tia is the first to his feet at the sight of white like starlight, a wail erupting from his mouth when he takes in the state of his wife. Majj and Einar join the chorus.

Uncountable bruises bloom like twisted flowers across Lunya's face and upper body, the light of her freckles dimmed like clouds smothering the stars, but most concerning and terrifying of all is a vicious gash nearly splintering her in twain from her shoulder to opposite hip, blood seeping through the pearl sheen of her coat and black lace barely containing her insides. Her breath is so shallow it's hardly there at all as her twilight and crystal eyes gaze blankly into nothingness, and her white hair spills across the steel floor drenched in her crimson.

"NO!" G'raha's voice breaks as he falls at her side, hands glowing with healing magic even though a voice at the back of his mind tells him it's for naught. Never before had she come back to him in such a grievous state; of all the men and monsters she's faced, only one managed to strike a blow to her in this way, and Meteion hadn't said she and the others were left with him.

"Focus, G'raha," Y'shtola orders in a soothing but stern meter, but even her hands are shaking as she pushes aether into the open cavity of Lunya's chest, coaxing sinew and skin back together as fast as she can as Theodaux redirects organs where they need to be. Alphinaud and Ahnji hover; they can't expend all their healers at once when there are still Warriors yet to return, no matter how much G'raha wants to beg them to help her or how much they want to help themselves.

"It isn't enough," warbles Theo, sweat beading on his forehead from exertion as he leans against his staff. "There's too much to replace and she's losing what's left fast."

"Short of a whole person's worth of aether, I am not sure what we can do," Fleuriri murmurs, resting a hand on the Elezen's shoulder. "And seeing as she's already received a full foreign transfer once, I can't say how her body might handle another attempt."

Gods. He wants to cry. To kick and scream and curse and tear apart the universe for trying to take her from him. G'raha scratches groves into his wrist, a nervous habit turned frustrated, but as his fingers slide down to his wrist he remembers.

"Her aether," he says desperately, turning to Y'shtola. He pries off his wedding ring, crystalline and glowing, and shows it to her. "I have her own aether—enough to make a whole person, she said. The spell she used wasn't anything we know."

Y'shtola's eyebrows shoot into her bangs as she regards it before settling in grim determination.

Lunya blinks pitch night and stars from her eyes to find the ceiling of the Ragnarok. The twins are the first thing she sees after; Alphinaud has a steady stream of healing tethered between her stomach and his nouliths and Alisaie is pacing back and forth, muttering furiously to herself. The second thing she sees has all the residual fear she hadn't realized she was holding onto drain from her body in a heartbeat—her husband is crying, which won't do at all, and she fights against the heavy weight of her body to raise a hand to his face.

"My lodestar," her Raha weeps, grabbing her hand in his and pressing it to the curve of his cheek.

Voice creaking, she wonders, "Is everyone all right?"

"You're the last person who should even ask," G'raha huffs, but he smudges away the tears at the corners of his eyes and squeezes her left hand in his own. Distantly, she notices she's not in her robes anymore, bandages winding around her chest and stomach instead. Her husband's covered in blood that can't be his own and his wedding ring is gone and Y'shtola is across the room downing mana potion after mana potion, swaying in place as Majj does his best to steady her. She gets the feeling she knows exactly what they did.

"Thank you, sinta ko," she murmurs. "I'm sorry."

"Don't."

The ship explodes in a flurry of sound as another Warrior arrives in a haze of pink fur and blood and the others rush over to administer emergency healing yet again, but to G'raha and Lunya they sound a million miles away when he kisses her brow before pressing his own to hers.

"I would do anything for you," he reminds her. "I gave you my life just as you gave me yours, so I'll remind you a million times if I must. Just—live for me, Lunya. Don't apologize—just never do that to me again."

"I promise," she says, twisting his engagement ring around his finger. They'll have to make him a new wedding ring now. "And that is one I truly intend to keep."

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #oc: lunya #g'raha tia #s: let me find you #there is no gpose today because the wifi at the new house is SHIT and i dc'd four times trying to take one #so all we get is this lousy placeholder header!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#do you think one day ill remember to write down kichirous lore so it doesnt change everytime i think abt him :pleading:#another day of not liking my writing but also i AM moving which is exhausting #update!! i made the header :')

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januaryagain · 9 months

Text

May 14th.

You look at me.

You sit on a stool at her kitchen counter. Your mouth is filled with alcohol and conversation.

The window is slightly ajar. There’s a breeze coming in and I can’t seem to shake the shiver that it gives me. My hair is drizzling on my shoulders like raindrops on garden leaves, my lipstick is washing away with the tide of my tongue, my eyelashes are batting against my skin; they feel like tap dancers, sending me messages in morse code.

You look at me.

You lean over her kitchen counter. Your breath is drenched in honey bread and electrical sparks.

There is a couch in the middle of the room. As I go to sit on it, I find that the edges of the armrest are fraying and so I begin to pull threads out with my rusted green nails in a desperate attempt to make myself look busy. A woman walks into the room and she asks me what I’m doing. I do not know what to say without appearing discontent and so I tell her that I am waiting for someone to look again.

And like clockwork, you look at me.

June 27th.

You touch me.

We sit in the front seat of my car. The atmosphere is gentle. Inside, the air is filling up with the smoke seeping from my ash encrusted lips. The moon is beginning to wane, the song on the radio becomes static as we crumble; there is candy on your tongue and I am as sweet toothed as a child at a birthday party. Our clothes are starting to vanish and it isn’t until I glimpse your eyes that I begin to envy how I look at you.

You touch me.

We lie in the backseat of my car. The atmosphere is almost angelic. There is nothing between us but the salt on your body and the elegies I’m preaching. You are pressing against me like a flower between book pages. Your hands are running up my thighs like they’re silk. So suddenly there is nothing except you. Except your mind, your hands, your tongue, the parts of you I can’t describe in fluorescence. Nothing but you. The car is whistling to the rhythm of our breaths and as we find ourselves content, there is brilliance. The moment subsides.

One more time, you touch me.

July 16th.

You capture me.

We are standing in the middle of the dance floor. Around us is the scent of sweat and narcotics.

The music in this club is terrible. I find the bar and I order a drink, a vodka red bull like always, and as you find your way over to me, you tell me I look desirable. The air is muggy but in a sensual way, my chest feels like it’s been sucked into a vacuum that won’t stop spinning, my concealer is dripping down my face and it burns because of my allergies; I am moulding like blackberries from the inside out, there is fungus peeking from behind my eyes and flies buzzing in my ears.

But still, you capture me.

We are holding each other in the middle of the dance floor. Around us is the scent of liquor-filled lust and unforgettable miscommunication. Forget-me-nots are blooming in my cavities and my words are stiff, rotting, and they feel like thistles in my lungs when I breathe. Enclosed between two tapestries, so large that my blushing hands are too weak to even brush them aside, I watch as you grab my phone and slide it open. There are LED lights on the ceiling. In the midst of their glow, I mistake you for something beautiful.

As I smile, you capture me.

July 29th.

You hold me.

You sit next to me in the back seat of the car. The world outside sounds of drunken laughter and out-of-tune singing. Your presence is laced with a sort of caffeine coated happiness. In the heat of the moment, you shiver, and my hands become red with a wintery flush. My lips are chapped; your skin is violet-covered with crimson outlined scars. There is a song playing on the radio, and it is breathtaking. Almost as killer as you. Your friends in the front seats are quietly placing bets on how long this will last. He says one week. She says forever. You say nothing.

You hold me.

You fall asleep on top of me in the back seat of the car. The world outside is so quiet. So still. Nothing moves as your breath grazes my bare neck. As the music in the car gets further and further from my mind. As the windmill of your lungs becomes all that my time can measure. Midnight is approaching. But all I can think about is how your arms are wrapped around me in slumber. The car halts.

But still, you hold me.

September 3rd.

You kiss me.

We’re sitting in my car. And we’ve been in my car before.

But this time, you kiss me.

And you’ve kissed me before.

But this time, you kiss me differently.

You lie your head in my lap and I wrap my hands around it. There is distance, millimetres between our lips and it is almost an entire decade before we give in. Before you give up. You still taste like candy, but it feels sweeter this time. The tingle of sherbet on your tongue is everlasting, a bridge collapses between us into a lake made of wannabe liquor. I am melting. For once you reek of simplicity, and not sex.

Softly, I let out a cry. And maybe that’s why you stop.

We’re sitting in my car.

You kiss me.

And then like clockwork, you don’t kiss me again.

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medicus-mortem · 1 year

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@abyssusinvo asked: (Fantasy!AU Half-Corrupt!Drake) - His heart felt as though it'd throb right out of his chest with each beat. The heat too both alarmed him and pleased him in equal measure and so the knight losing his humanity with each passing day did not know what to make of this information.

The only thing he felt right to do was to claw it out and make it stop. Go against every loud hiss and whisper crooning in his head that this decision was not right and that he must seek and destroy those in his path. But he would not listen, too steeled in his will for the moment to stop as he tore into his chest armor to get to that foul organ beating brightly beneath his sternum. Claws dug into corded bronze until finally a chest dotted with patches of dark purple scales came into view with a low-glowing center of heat burning where a human heart should be.

Just before he could claw into himself however, he was stopped by a powerful force angered at his defiance. His arm shaking where it laid poised to rend his flesh and discard the heart that laid wasting away in his chest cavity.

"Nonononono please!" His desperate cries go unheard until a sound makes him snap his head up with teary amber eyes gleaming through the slits of his helm. He recognized this being. A Lich as he recalled.

"You! Being of death! Do ye lack the mercy of putting down a wretched one such as myself? I beg thee to take my soul before it corrupts further!"

Unprompted

His wanderings take him far and wide. Rarely he senses the same energy more than once, the Lich’s movements so often guided by rumours and old knowledge, but this gloomy day brings with it a taste in the air that is somewhat familiar. It is corruption and fire. Brimstone and decay. A mix tantalising and alien to one so steeped in death. For fire is just as much life as it is destruction.

Finding his curiosity piqued, the Lich follows the taste on his undead tongue. It leads to a shack, the place grim and dilapidated. Scorch marks are singed into the wood of the door, left behind by wicked claws. He can see smoke tumbling from inside, as if a fire smoulders low and is soon to gutter out. The Lich steps forwards, his hand settling on the door, and a wicked smile spreads across the face of his fleshy mask. There is a curse beyond this door. A curse not nearly complete in it’s purpose but close enough that he will find the change most fascinated.

A desperate cry rings out from beyond and without any hesitation the undead overlord steps into this den of flame and defilement. The room is shadowed and a haze clings to the place but he can see the burning heart at it’s centre. The Lich glides towards the struggling being, eyes beginning to glow with his own abhorrent magic. His smile widens as the twisted dragon knight looks up to see him. Then comes the plea, that ask for mercy from a being who ripped out his own heart well before this knight’s kingdom was ever imagined.

“Why would I do that?” the Lich says, hands kept securely within the sleeves of his robe.

His smile seems to widen further, stretching beyond the bounds of his human mouth. The tattoos on his skin glow bright, his flesh unraveling and stature growing. His eyes seem to melt out of his skull, turning into the blue-green fire that licks out of them and across his scalp. The gleaming gold of his twisted, wicked crown adds to his now towering height and his tattered robes flutter about his skeletal form as if they have a mind of their own.

“It isn’t every day I get to witness the transformation of a dragon knight,” the undead being continues, his voice seeming to echo beyond the confines of his fanged jaw. His skeletal claws slide out from his sleeves, jewelry glinting as he pulls out a notebook and quill. “This will be rather fascination.”

#abyssusinvo #abyssusinvo || X Drake #Boring Question // Answered Ask #As Planned // IC #phylactery heart // lich verse

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senor-plume · 2 years

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Nine Hundred

Like swallowing a bowling ball This coffee taste like dirty old pennies From hell While the veins In my Legs/arms/ears/nose Blister outward and Cause me to Hunt down and join A pilgrimage To beach blanket bimbos Homes inside trailer parks On the water’s edge

And the bass cannot stop The tune Though wounded and bleeding It is not dead

Yet

Nor am I Because I can still Hear myself laughing at you With your Las Vegas eyes All digital blue And beyond Any phony bologna

And you Want to scream And let it out All the passion that You hold back Inside your pale Vampire skin

You wanna carry that weight? You wanna talk about anxiety? I’m all fucking ears baby Look at me now Listening to you And your 100 year old curse That you lift and carry around In that sack that Some folks call skin I don’t call it anything But that’s just me

So now With the boil on your chin You finger it deeply and It’s all puss sweetie It’s all pits It’s all over now While my skin Balloons out from the Constant heat of 100 stars So fuck me Hard Keep the boots on For cry it out loud Fuck me hot So the band of gold Will melt right off My fat disgusting finger And into a pool of Broken honeymoons And migraine bedrooms I’ll tear apart your bra And rip to shred those Tight panties that you wear Day after day You’ll regret everything now (Believe it) And there is nothing you Can do To prevent another night Of sonic orgasm and Nails down your Straight as an arrow back With the marks all over it From the pony You fucked last night

And I know you You rolling stone… You’ll split the scene Bleeding positively Upon the carpet To the pavement To the seat of your Car Where you will adjust your Wig in the Cracked Rearview mirror ball Crank up the Fuzzy guitar of garage bands USA And drive onward To a destination that Only you could possibly know And it occurs to me, I wonder about you And how you plan on making it Without a Paycheck in your pants pocket Or anything valuable Between those legs of yours

You will fail Now say it with me… I will fail

Do you feel better now? That you got that off that Rita Hayworth chest of yours?

And before I return back home I’ll dye my hair a Rusty shade of red And insert a Nylon guitar string Into my nose and up my nasal cavity And with laser like precession It will end up coming out Of my left eye socket And damn, You were not here to see Such miracles occur

So with little time left I place the razor Hard against my forearm And Slip and slide it Back and forth until The shade of bone glows through the cranny berry blood And I will wait for the oven to Preheat to 400 degrees And the car in the garage is going past four hours of Plain old idling And soon The heavens will be All mine And I will sit with God In his temple And downward we will look And spy on you as You throw those Tattered jeans into The stream for a Quick cleaning And with no soap To call your own you realize you miss my smell my fragrance my odor that is so 100% natural that you could bottle it up and sell it to every granola nut who walks on by

and God gives me a high five and pats me on the ass as I walk out of his mansion and into my quarters where all the music in the world will play all at once and no it is not confusing

not in the least

its beautiful like you used to be when the mornings were ripe with promise and the clouds were all out of sight wonderful and the heavens rained golden tears of chamomile on us all and we would take off our shirts and dance like turkeys do every last Friday in November

And I miss you already As I grow more and more Tired So I take to the kitchen and place my head Down onto the oven door And my ear Sizzles and cooks a little Bit and I can only crack A Smile And wait For it all to come to me

I thought you wanted to save me And in the last minute It appears I am doomed by my own shaking Hand

And I am As the motors are all dead And the police bikes have all Flat tires from the shattered glass from your Poorly manufactured windshield

And you shake off the shards While my capsule has emptied out And I am floating along the skyway Alone and with only the barking of dogs Off in the distance as my only Sensation

And will you cry any tears of Oil for my much too early passing? Will you weep for me darling? This dropout with a burned out Memory and flakes of dandruff In his soon to be completely Gray head

My balls no longer hurt and my ears Have lost that sensation of Being clogged up

And I am nine words away from ending this

#TUMBLR POETRY #tumblr poets

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widowsofchaos · 3 years

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Spit Blossoms

summary: hell has no fury like it’s rageful majesty. pairing: hades!bucky x persephone!black!reader ao3 // ballad lores from the crypt masterlist warnings: 18+, intense character death, ruthless darkness, smidge of angst, dark character moment, angry filthy smut, jealous Persephone --- haha, we’re in danger. a/n: based on the myth of Minthe, who was in love with Hades --- many twisted retellings, and various versions, but truly, Hades would never stray from Persephone, and that’s just fucking facts. Kindred spirits for eternity. Persephone isn’t just a docile goddess, she feeds off the darkness, she rules it. Queen of the underworld for a reason. Do not repost my works, you will be reported.

Underneath the pureness of a floral maiden, who controls the splendor of spring to her will ---- deep in the crevices of her spirit, resides inky darkness.

Even by the echoes of delicate footfalls, jolts shudders of fear throughout the hellish realm. The dreary eyes of decrypted renaissance paintings that canvas the castle walls watch it’s majesty flee.

Fury swirls akin to restless wet eels slithering upon her weeping heart, soft fingers curl into fists --- leaving a trail of fire in her wake, whisking herself away to hide in her quarters.

Desperate hoarse shouts of her name, and hasty steps pierces another crack at her heart --- her name bounces against the luxurious onyx marbling pavements, a hymn within the stretched crafted hallway; ghoulish help scour away in the shadows, parting from their majesty akin to the red sea.

Her heart thumps wildly against the cavity, swallowing a sob down to her tight throat. Chin wobbles, but held high in the air, defying the urge to crumble into nothingness among any prying eyes.

Open-palms thud against the massive wooden doors to the grand bedroom, loudly the hinges swing.

An luxurious chamber, walls painted inky black, carved marbling, resembling an ancient cathedral. The marital bed encased in a transparent canopy curtains,

A tender snarl, fingers tug at her tresses ends down her chest, a slight burn at the scalp, huffs of air --- ‘the nerve of that pórni. Claims to possess the affections of my king.’

Shakingly her marital palm comes to her weary gaze, holding it, fingertips fondling the sparkling crimson ruby, the opulent ring carved with skull flowers, and his vows of forever love engraved inside the slope of the ring --- instinctively, brings the ring to her lips, kissing it, as tears water her knuckles.

“My heart, please.” A gruff cry lingers near the doorway, startled feet hastily squeak against the floor, a gasp leaves his wet lips, chest heaving, heart beating anxiously.

Tresses disheveled, curled ends behind his ears. There, standing coolly at the closet is his love, his only love rummaging for spare clothes that slung over her fore-arm, his eyes widened, spring fabric --- she’s leaving.

“Spring will come early this year.” A hiss, a wet sniffle.

“NO.” He roars, it bounces against the castle’s walls, no doubt, all of the underworld hears his cries. Stomping towards her, he rips the spring green fabric from her hands, flings the torn silk, and cotton overhead, not caring where it lands.

Her palms fly up against her chest, a defensive stance, “No worries, that filthy little nymph can warm your cold heart.” Cautiously, her heels click backwards, nearing the wall, not wanting to feel his warmth --- if she does, she’ll melt, fall back into his arms; but that’s what she yearns for.

Even in a tiny space of separation, two spirits weep --- a tiny breath of death.

“You will not leave me to rot alone for another few months, you just got back.” His voice cracks, oceanic hues glassy, nose scrunched.

His palms itch to touch her flesh, soft flesh, bask in her glow, her light that radiates in waves --- how only her presence has thawed the icy frost of his dead heart.

Centuries of eternal marital bliss, an unbreakable bond, deep-rooted trust, now being questioned by the presence of an ex-lover, tears kiss his lashes, ‘How little does she think of me for her to easily slip into the madness of jealousy?’

But then again --- how many decapitated heads have he rolled down the grand stairs of his hellish manor, how many souls has he banished to the darkest pits, for just merely glancing at his queen?

“Stay back, Hades.” She bites back with a weak sneer, eyes shine wet --- a murky flurry of mixed emotions battle heavily on her mind, to scratch him yet caress him, to bite him yet to kiss him, to fight him yet her flesh desires to make-love right there on the chilled marbled floor.

He scoffs, eyes wide --- shines wetly back at hers, not even his mortal pseudonym James, nor Bucky; once it irate him when his immortal comrades jokingly called him those names to tease, and jab, instead of referring him by his title.

But once she tenderly she said those silly names, as if a holy hymn, suddenly those names no longer held such bitterness.

“Hades, huh?” Bucky repeats, a timbre of disbelief, his voice drips an octave lower, risking another step towards her, “That’s your name, is it not?” She deadpans, her eyes narrowed into slits, the slope of her button nose scrunches, as her shoulder-blades meet the wall.

He hissed her human name, “Don’t get fucking cheeky.” Bucky hisses, his bearded moue twitch, hunching over now akin to a snarling beast --- he will be damned to let her return to the earthly realm, for her to disregard him as such.

“It’s Persephone, you will address me as such. Not my mortal name.” Her plump breasts heave a bit against the tied corset, sombre and scarlet; a crafted macabre dress fit for a queen, an ode to her king.

The slick ebon hue that adorns her lids, resembles the crafty lashes of a feline --- sharp, and alluring.

Such morbid colors drape her bronze skin, rich brown flourishes. Bucky clicks his tongue, his face morphs with a smirk curling, chuckling to himself.

“We’re beyond formalities, my queen. Especially since my cock knows how velvety sweet your cunt is.”

“Don’t be so vulgar.” The clicks of her heels skitter, and fumble against the flooring, the skin of her back sticking against the pavement, chastising herself for how her mound soaks within seconds --- that filthy mouth of his spell bounds her.

“You love it. I can already smell you.” Bucky growls, resembling a beast, the raw form of a grotesque God, but even in that being, she loves him so --- physically and emotionally.

Closer now, menacing crystalline hues shadowed under a brow.

“Stay back.” She repeats once more, but her voice trembles, nostrils still flaring, brows furrowing pitifully, “Don’t get close to me. If I catch your scent, or even feel your touch --- I’ll ---” Breathy gasp.

Spidery fingers laxly flutter, ‘you’ll what?’ Bucky teases under his breath --- closer now. Caging her, forbidding her from any escape, his pulsating arms stretch, and his thick hands pin beside her head, rumbling with desire.

Featherily lips peck her forehead, his breathing a bit harder now, fanning her scalp; her pupils roll to the back of her skull.

As if his touch is a balm. Stroking the tip of his nose against coils of curls, inhaling her natural scent, crushed rose petals, “I’m not like my brothers, I will never stray from my beloved.” Such affirmations breathe upon her hairline lovingly.

The thread snaps.

Soft palms swiftly cup his jaw, desperate, her breathing heavy, standing on the tips of her toes to reach his pout; lips smashing against his, breathy gnarls, wet tongues dance and flutter between open lips, gnashing teeth, muffled moans.

His hands dash, and fondle upon her bodice, sneaking from the curve of her waist, to the slope of the tailbone, kneading her bum through the dress --- bundling the fabric between his fingers.

Frenzied, he grips, fingers digging into her skin, a quick swat, the rings adorning his fingers sent a shiver up the crevices of her spine; groping, and squeezing possessively.

Oval nails wove within the locks, gently caressing his scalp, a flow of endless moan rolls from his throat; a sweet tug at the roots.

Pulling her lips away from his, he scoffs, displeased to be disconnected from her lips; Bucky growls and bites at her chin, she hushes him.

Fingers leisurely massaging, his eyes dilated, nearly rolling in his head. Her pearly canines twinkle, her face hairs away from his, coddling nose to nose, how pleasant his weight leans upon hers; limbs entangled.

“Kneel before your queen.” A hot whisper, a sly smirk forms upon his jaw, with ease Bucky’s knees bends down to the floor, sliding down, sitting himself right between her open legs.

Bucky clicks his tongue tauntingly, and can feel her heat wafting. No panties --- no need, never.

Christening every surface of this manor is a daily ritual --- the walls, the floor, the dining table, the seat of his throne --- that’s Bucky’s favorite spot, he feels power swell through his spirit, and cock; as he sits upon his royal chair, his love’s precious jewel split and wet upon his dick.

“If you love me --- beg like the hellhound you are.” Massaging his shoulders under her soothing palms, squeezing just a bit, reminding him to remain on his knees.

“Cold woman --- you would do anything for me to be at your feet.” The silver rings deliciously glides against her skin, as his fingers snuck under the hem of the dress, looping his tips through the black fishnets, a clean rip pierces through the air --- shredded pieces fly through the air, a sting radiates behind, but pain and pleasure … It's their love language.

“But my love, isn’t this your favorite position?” Her fingers grip at his chestnut tresses, as her palm fondles his dimpled chin lovingly, how delicious his beard stubble prickles against the pad of her thumb.

Bucky’s pink moist tongue slithers and curves between his lips, a hot grunt fans against her bare leg, her thigh quivers, moaning salaciously by the throat.

A wet glide of the tongue against the meat of her thigh, not once his eyes waver from hers --- a breathy gasp, sucking through her canines.

Traveling the terrain of supple flesh, along the path of her inner thigh, her heat warms his redden cheeks, lips suckling right at her pulse point, as the cup of his hand cradles her thigh.

He loves how her hips reflexively lift, just to hold her still, under his grip --- his lips halt, just mere hairs away from the slick hickey, faint hue of lavender blooming.

Tracing the line of her shin, down the smooth glide to her ankle, rubbing the arch of her foot tenderly --- fingertips caress featherlight on the sensitive skin back and forth, igniting a fire in her veins; how her heart swells at the sight of him kneeling at her feet, as if a devote at an alter, whispering her name as a holy prayer --- the orchestration of such euphoric devotion.

“For you, my heart --- I’ll crawl through hell-fire.”

Wordlessly, Bucky dives head-first within her mound, with an animalistic growl, his hands cupping her ass, holding her in place as he feasted upon her cunt. Eyes roll back, lashes flutter, a whining moan bubbles.

Hips grind against his flat tongue, slurping her wet lips between his slick mouth, flickering her pulsating clit with his tongue --- feathery fast flicks, driving her mind to lustful madness.

Oceanic hues glaring into her hazel orbs, her sepia skin glistens, and glows akin to gold by the lit candles, basking a halo over her heavenly bodice --- a ‘mmm hmph’ groan vibrates from his spilt mouth, knowing his love is close to the brink.

His girth hardens within his pants, at the mere sight of his wife trembling by his touch. Fingernails scratching at the skin, ache intermixing in the waves of pleasure.

A god on his knees, but she’s the one who he worships.

Bruises bloom in lavender hues --- his wet tongue licks her slick, her plump lips split upon his mouth, as his lips devoured her mound --- so soft, and slick.

The slick of her soppy cunt echoes against Bucky’s pink tongue, pierces through the dense silence, a debauched cadence that spurs her lover, his growing cock drips, and stains his trousers.

Broken whines bubbles at her throat, one palm gripping her hair --- coiling curls tightly woven between her spidery fingers, as the other found refuge in Bucky’s hair, tips massaging and scratching his scalp.

Dull sting left in the wake of her nails, it only fuels the fire in his loins. Pain and pleasure --- there is no difference, the two sides of a coin.

Eyes pinched shut, almost there, close to the edge, her hips grinding wildly against his mouth, hair tousled. Choppy pants, airy, gasping, with tears trickling down her cheeks.

Bucky halts, his fingers digging, and pausing her waist, the pads of his thumbs caressing her hip-bones.

“Bucky …” A wet, weak snarl, with pitiful eyes glaring at him; sucking her bottom lip as a weepy toddler. “Look at me,” Bucky rasps, pupils blown, her slick drips, and coats his beard with a shine, softly kisses her weak inner thigh, a sticky kiss mark, “I wanna see you, my love.”

A submissive nod, her eyes dazed, and cloudy; lips parted in a tiny dreamy smile. Even through the hazy cloud, she knows what he implies, oh she knows --- many times has she begged to see his eyes as he comes undone.

Even after many centuries of being together, the mere sight of seeing each other undone, staring into each other’s soul is beautiful.

His lips suckle her clit once more, an exhaled breath heaves from her lips, her chin wobbles. Nerves alit, her Venus belt tightens, and grinds wildly on Bucky’s mouth, his growls vibrate against her cunt; his growls become animalistic, purely primal.

More intense as her whines become higher pitched. Bucky’s head shakes from side to side, suckling her clit, snarling as a wolf devouring its feast.

Ungodly scream of his name, shrills and echoes. This feeling in their chests, it’s love, a limb-loosener, it rattles to the morrow. Tears flood her eyes, squirts of her cum dribbles from the corners of his lips, dripping off his stubble cheeks.

Skin a flamed, caressing his beard against her inner thigh, lips parted, his moist tongue licks, savoring her softness, always so soft; a delicious burn that will make her ache for days.

Heavy breaths, her chest heaves, hoarse throat --- an irritable beast swirls deep in her gut, her deep burgundy tip traces his sharp jawline, beckoning his gaze to hers. Bucky purrs at her dilated pupils, as well as his.

“I need to feel you.” She sultry whispers, her thumb glides sweetly against his wet bottom lip, sneaking inside his mouth; his canines nibble her thumb, the tip of his tongue flicks.

Smooches softly the pad of her thumb, without hesitation, Bucky scrambles to his feet, his cock still hard and swollen.

His fingers grips the curve of her neck, cupping the nape of her neck, his rings jolt a chill upon her warm skin; tasting and smelling her own nectar from his tongue. Her sweet essence tasted of the finest ambrosia, sticky honey of spring.

Deep kisses that left even Bucky light-headed, always needing his wife like air. “My sweet sunflower,” another kiss, “I could never betray you.”

Bucky spoke huskily, lips wisp against lips, “I am yours, just as you are mine.” Her pillowy lush lip trapped between his teeth, sucking, dragging.

“You’re mine.” The words trembled from her lips, almost a sob, as the tips of their noses fondle together, mouths parted, breathing each other’s essence. Bucky bashfully nods, with a sweet bleary smile, a flicker of darkness sparks in her glassy eyes. He pleads, “Say it again.”

“You’re mine.” One of her palms travels from his bicep, to his side of his torso, to his thick thigh, to the swollen cock that weeps. A handful of his manhood, massive and throbbing against her fingers, earning a growl.

“All mine.” She hisses once more, a grin, all fangs. Snarling as an irritable beast, Bucky whimpers pitifully at her saccharine affirmations of eternal love, “Body, and soul.” Rubbing cheek to cheek, scenting each other, just skin to skin.

“Make love to me. Ravish me, fucking use me.” Bucky whispers by the shell of her ear, but it’s husky, wanton --- desperate. Wet bee-stung lips nibble, and kiss his dimpled chin, split lips suck, her tongue flickers; the sensation of stubble hairs tickle the pink muscle.

Limbs entangled, slippery tongues twirl, and dance; Bucky cleverly diving his hands under her ass, fingers digging into the supple skin harshly, she hisses at his touch.

Curling her legs around his waist, her fingers interlocking at the nape of his neck. Steady steps ingrained by muscle memory, walking to the bed, ceremonially he lays her down.

Love-stricken eyes bore into his, fingers stretch and flex out for him; hast palms tug at his collar, buttons pop and fly, never once did his eyes leave her.

Unveiling his chest, strong and muscled --- how godly his chest illuminates by the dim lit candles, the flourish bleeds maroon upon his chest hair as the ichor from the pits of his father’s belly.

“So beautiful,” Bucky whispers, shedding the fine cotton from his shoulders, glides down his toned arms, “Let me see you.”

Daintily, and teasingly, her hands fondle the skin of her breasts, untying the silk strings that are woven within the corset’s hooks; gracefully her breasts heave from the bodice flaps, perky and succulent.

A heat stirs deep in her belly at the sound of his belt, leaning her torso up just a bit to toss the loose corselet, not caring where it landed; as Bucky unzipped his pants, his fingers sneaking into the unbuttoned trousers, slowly and tortuously palming his thick girth, panting low.

The tip of her pink tongue licks her upper lip leisurely, craving to taste his cock.

The flickering candle lights dance upon her bronze skin, voluminous amber shines the room; eyeing her brown nipples, his hands dive to pinch and twist. A pained whine, her head falls back in satisfaction, a crooked grin forms on Bucky’s face, humming low.

Bending her legs around his waist, arching feet snagged at his loose pants, toes flex and grip the hem; pulling it downward, letting it pool at his ankles.

Proudly his cock hung high, pulsating, thick, and dripping wet. She growls weakly, fingers reaching and pawing at the bobbing dick. Without any word, Bucky rips her bottom dress, the fluffy layers strewn in small pieces, excited grunts, his canines bearing.

Biting her lip, she gazes at him lovingly, as he steps out of his pants, crawling over her, his shoulders flexing tauntingly, steel eyes and chestnut tresses kiss his lashes --- two lovers bare, and vulnerable.

Her eyes are soft, and sheens glassy. Beaming doe eyes, lashes flutter, how she lays spread eagle underneath him, gleaming as if she was still virginal, yet still so pure.

It's like their honeymoon all over again, all those centuries ago. Innocence radiated, perfumed skin of crushed flowers, soft petaled kisses, how she held his battered body tenderly, opened up to him as a wet flower.

Yet --- she took all of him that night, where his true form sprouted, and ravaged her body. His wings hugged her, as he made love to her; how her fingers fondled his horns. It was that night, where he discovered something inside of her, something dark --- there’s much more to her spirit than just spring flowers, and humility.

He brought forth a darkness from her, cracked open her heart, and saw a goddess of

That darkness flickers a flame once more in her eyes.

“My heart, tell me what you want.” Huskily he spoke, his lips featherly grazing hers, not fully giving in.

“You know what I want.” She moans, nuzzling her nose against his.

“I want to hear you say it,” A kiss on her nose, “Moan it for me.” Bucky encased his arms around her head, her curls tickling his skin.

“I want you to touch me.” She spoke in the crock of his neck, kissing right under his ear. Her ass lifts off the bed, grinding her wet mound against his cock. Melting bodies, limbs fondling, her nails digging into his back --- Bucky knows exactly what she wants.

He clicks his tongue, “No,” he drags, “I know you too well, there’s something you want.” He nibs her cheek, with a kiss. Panting, pawing at Bucky’s shoulder-blades, whining, he has the nerve to laugh.

Bashfully, she hides her face in the arch of his neck, but the fire within her roars louder now, he can feel her rage, love, and possession sweat off her skin.

“Even after all these years, you’re still so shy.” Bucky teases, kissing her temple, “Tell your dear husband what you want.” He whispers, demanding for her to speak. “What is it? Do you want me underneath you, quivering?” Teases her with his lips, she leans in for a kiss, but he pulls away smugly.

“Yes.” She cries.

“What else?” He probes teasingly.

She bites his shoulder, her fiery snark returns, his eyes flutter closed, groaning in pleasure, “There she is.” This is what he wants too, to be broken down, for her to screw him senseless, possessing him entirely.

He knows her jealousy is still rearing its ugly head, a tiny monster spewing lies that maybe he’s finally tired of her after all these years.

Never.

He will destroy Heaven and Earth just for her.

Bucky rolls himself on his back, pulling his wife on top of himself, her fingers treading in his chest hair; gulping back the tightness in her throat, scratching her nails down his chest.

“You want to be used? For me to fuck you, my love? To ride you, make you empty your balls inside me?” She twirls her venus belt slowly, grinding herself on himself, how her velvety folds glide against the veins of his throbbing cock.

“Yes.” Bucky hisses, his head tilting back against the mattress, his hands clutching onto her hips, guiding her, soaking his cock with her wetness. “My love, all I want is you.”

Her fingers sweetly cup his throat, firmly but not harshly, leaning down, her lips catching his. Plump and wet, murmuring between kisses, Bucky relishing in being handled by her hand.

The moisture of her desire shines, thin strings of her essence connects with his pubic hair, Bucky nearly howls torturously at the now leisure pace, “Please, fuck me. Let me worship you, as you should be.” Lifting herself up by the knees, legs still split wide for him, feline eyes gawk him --- sharp and possessive.

Her wet lips shine, her cunt welcoming his hung cock --- how obscene he splits her open, such debauched moans erupts unison. Swallowing him whole, sitting down taking him inch by inch. Knees softly graze against the silk sheets, as she descends upon his torso.

A hoarse groan flows from Bucky at the warmth of her mound, how plump it sits against his pelvis, his thick pubic hair tickling her cunt --- it’s erotic yet tender how her tuft of curls, and his sleek hair creates such a soft sensation. Damp with their essence, creates a melody.

She bounces aggressively on his cock, a surge of heat flows through her veins, her hips thrash back and forth with vigor; sending her husband into a maddening frenzy.

The bed creaks a bit from the intensity of two bodies crashing and melding into one, the headboard nearly thumping against the wall pavement.

Huffs and pants pierce the silence, as her fingers clench just a bit tighter, his fingertips stroke the dimples at the end of her spine; whispering under choppy breaths, ‘harder, you know I can take it.’

More like need it, to feel her grip as she bounces on his cock. Her fucking him --- taking him apart from piece to piece.

Her lips spilt into a wicked crescent moon, the dim candle light illuminating it. Such naughty thoughts run rampant in her pretty head, biting down on his lip; a shiver runs up Bucky’s spine at the sheer devious beast above him that he is blessed to call his wife.

A little jolt of her hips makes him sob, eyes pinching shut once more, Bucky growls ‘again, please again.’

Her ass jiggles from her frenzied bodice, clenching him once more tightly, that strings a cracked boyish moan, high-pitched; his head perks up, his messy loose tresses bounce as his eyes get watery.

Pretty pink mouth parted open, gasping, as he watched her still her hips, roll it teasingly in circular motion, teasing him, tugging him to the edge, but yet never over.

“Yes,” his lips quivering, jaw slack, overcome with emotion how memorizing she hovers over him, how good the gushy walls of her feels wrapped around him.

“So beautiful, my love,” she croons, and his heart swells with pride, “Doing so good.” How proud she is at his restraint, to keep his hands at waist-level, to not let the beast within him unleash itself upon her, to take control, how steady his pelvis is.

Her fingers find solace in his hair, grips it, and pulls his head back a bit; as her other palm still holds firm at his throat.

Owlish eyes, wet and docile, gazes at her with such gentility --- as if he was once a youth, before the hardened shell of a god regurgitated from the fiery pits of his father; pure, he looks pure, and trusting.

How marvelous --- the only soul to break down Hades himself, to shattered pieces, “So good for me,” her voice lowers kindly, eased on lust, he tries to catch her lips as she leans over him, but she holds him still, shushing his whimpering.

“Good boy, so good for me.” Beads of tears flow down his cheeks, watering his beard, foreheads connect, “Say it for me.” She pleads, picking up the pace of her hips now, more earnest, needy.

“I’m yours.”

She hisses now, “Again, say it again!” Her breath fans his face, but he gladly breathes it in. “I’m -- argh -- yours!” Flashes of a certain nymph prancing around her manor, claiming her space, and ill attempts to claim her soulmate as hers --- it drives her mad.

A fire at her throat now, urges to say more now, profanities and such filth of her lover. Arching her back just a little as a preening feline, her head wanes back, wild curls flies and bounces, at such bliss of his throbbing cock pulsating; as if her cavity splits open, and wild orchids bloom.

He licks his lips, salivating at the mere sight of her tits --- jiggling in his face. Huffing, his head leaning up for his mouth to latch on her nipples, soft brown nipples.

Bucky’s tongue flickers, trying to lick her breast, whining. She notices in midst of her haze, a devious smirk, she tsks him, “What?” She plays coy. “Would you like some?” As she gropes and pinches her breast, taunting him.

“Hm?” She probes, teasing him as she pinches her nipple tightly between her finger tips, jiggling it in the cup of her palm.

Bucky nearly sobs, “Yes, please. I beg you, my love.” She rides him harder, faster, driving him to the brink. Leaning forward, she tenderly lets Bucky latch upon her breast, like a rabid dog, sucking and biting.

She moans at the sensation of his tongue swirling, lapping at her nipple. Saliva slicks her flushed flesh, vulgar slurps, she whines in delight.

Eyes pinched shut, cradling his head with her hand, her fingers caressing his scalp, as his wet cock thrusts deeper and deeper in her cunt.

His hips crash against hers, his wet balls slapping her clenching asshole --- soaking, and puckering. A melody of skin slapping against skin echoes against the walls, his fingers tightly gripping her waist.

The noises her cunt is making is obscene, sticky precome clings to the skin of his cock, pumping erratically.

Her back is sweaty now, some strands cling to the dew, as such her baby hairs to her forehead; his hair clings to his face as well. The sheets crumple now, a few corners now strewn off from the covers.

“Gods --- look how your pussy just drools over my dick,” an airy laugh from Bucky, his eyes flickering from steel blue to vermilion that glows within the candlelight, “My queen, how insatiable you are.”

One hand scrambles for her thigh, his thumb fondling the skin, an unspoken promise, that he’s here, always there.

Almost there --- nearly tumbling over the edge, the coil is tightening, ready to snap. United beat of sex, and two hearts create holy escatasy.

Thunderous growl emits from Bucky, his timbre falling into an octave, resembling such power --- voices now melting into each other, tightens something in the gut and chest. The pads of her fingertips grip his throat, Bucky is breathless, but he grins wickedly.

Everything is hot white, vision blurs, a shriek bubbles out, and a broken groan. Two bodies shake, and quake, clinging onto each other by possessive hands. Unholy matrimony.

Her entire body slumps upon his, her palm lax at the base of throat, his arms quickly encasing her back, then traveling by her head.

Kissing her temple, her face resting at the crook of his neck. Lazily, their bodies tilts to the side, heavy breathing, and strained whines --- still connected by the sex.

He hums low in his throat, “Ah,” he sighs, kissing her slick lips, his bicep slithers under her arm, as his fingers caress her curls, fiddling with the loose jeweled clips from limp coils.

“Feel better?” Nuzzling his nose against hers, both erupting in low chuckles, placid limbs entangled. Her leg clings to his thigh, her toes grazing the bare skin of his ankle.

His eyes become more serious, his fingers grasp her jaw, her cheeks slightly squish cutely in a pout, “Don’t ever think I would leave you.” His nose flares, his breathing choppy, and heavy at the mere notion of separation.

“I love you --- you’re my life. I was nothing before you --- once I saw you in that garden, flowers blooming around you,” his voice lowered to a whisper, “I swear my heart soared.” A wavering smile, at the memory of him catching sight of a pure angel.

“I just had to have you.” His voice trembles, bottom lip quivering, sniffling, his eyes flutter closed, stroking his cheek against hers. She sniffles, biting back a sob, cradling him closer to herself.

Persephone just can’t imagine a life without Hades, to live without him, such tragedy --- she will die from a broken heart, let her corpse float in the rivers of the Underworld, in search of him.

“I love you.” She speaks. A kiss, another, and a third --- more kisses follow. Sloppy kisses are the only sound in the air, needy moans, murmuring of undying love.

My love, my life.

---

Clicks of heels obnoxiously echo against the marbling, hips sway, an insolent stride demanding unrightful attention --- loyal decrypted guards witness with snickering eyes, smirks adorning grotesque moues; the gall of it all.

Soft, and onyx gauze bellows timidly by the brisk wind clung to crafted high-ceiling windows, beyond the manor’s horizon was the underworld in it’s tragic beauty --- the Styx river flows and circles upon the castle, a shiver runs down her skin at the memory of her travel across the river.

Charon’s filthy palms gripping her fore-arm, how he dragged her onto his boat, sunken eyes jet smoldering fire blazing her with such hatred, nearly smacking her in the face with the tail-end of his unwashed cloak.

How wicked he swirled his unkempt beard that clung to his chin between his thin fingers, grumbling under his breath, as she sat at the far-end of the boat, flinching at the ghostly palms of the dead reaching out; hissing in disgust. She always hated being surrounded by the dead, skin crawling.

“We have arrived.” A gravelly voice lingered, a hoarse chuckle, “Enjoy the honored feast with our majesty.” Hunched, decrypted being shook a bit at the shoulders, as if a joke the little nymph wasn’t privy to.

Too proud to bow down, a salacious smirk, graciously standing up from her seat, she spoke with conviction, “Yes --- a wonderful dinner with Hades is exactly an honor.”

The blatant disrespect.

Adorning her bodice was a revealing attire, a black slick dress with low-cut of plump cleavage, a waist-high cut unveiling her thigh, her hip-bone peaking out from the hem, smooth coiled hair lays on her shoulders, rouge painted lips.

A gold necklaces drape from her neck, slender fingers hold flower-encrusted rings, smoky eyes scanning the home that she dreams to be hers --- a tacky tactic, a display of cheap seduction.

Fiery red hair that flows straight down to her tailbone tickles her revealing back, as she digs in her clutch purse for an extra coat of gloss.

Musing pride blooms, act two of her grand scheme, showing up yesterday unexpected, Bucky hasn’t seen her for ages, after their ugly break-up, she moved from the Cocytus river, and left to wonder in the river of Lethe, stewing and inhabiting the cave of Hypnos with other nymphs.

Frankly --- Bucky forgot all about her, not a thought spent on her.

Surly growls erupt, fumbling feet nearly buckle her ankles inward, like a clumsy doe --- an inhuman shrill heaves from her chest --- her rapid heartbeat beats against the cup of her palm.

Descending from the corner of the corridors, snarling beasts foaming at the fangs; fiery red eyes, and licking their wet snouts, pointed ears flexing back; nearly three times huskier than the average earthly canine. Paws nimble, shoulders roving akin to a predator.

Shooing them away with a lame swat of her hand, nearly choking a sob --- just inches away from being devoured, “Go away, you nasty mutts!” Backing by her heels, almost cornered by the wall, the dogs don’t let up, her aggravated fear just spurs them on.

“Ela edo.”

Whimpers, and whines vibrate low, bowing heads, ears flopping down, timid paws pad towards a menacing figure standing tall by the grand staircase, crystalline hues under a strong brow --- Bucky’s pups moping that they couldn’t tear their fangs into flesh.

Twirling their massive bodies against his legs, tails wagging, happy to be shielding Bucky, as his knuckles caressed their furry domes.

“Greetings, Minthe.” Curt smile, yet polite --- pulled through the teeth.

The hellhounds grumble low at the throat at the mere mention of her name, her sour scent sends the two dogs in a frenzy of rage.

A nervous titter heaves from her shiny lips, Minthe’s mouth wavers into an anxious smile, toe-stepping far from the dogs, “Oh darling, why so formal?” Taut lean shoulders pose, returning back into her flirtatious gait, statuesque legs seductively walk with purpose.

“We know each other all too well, Bucky. Remember that sweet nickname you gave me?” Every word she speaks is as if she's lulling a moan, a weak attempt to entice.

“Yes, I remember --- Dot.”

Dot hums, her eyes half-hooded, “I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you invited me back.” Inching closer to him, “My apologies for yesterday. I hope I didn’t cause any distribution.” Faux sympathetic lashes flutter innocently, smug satisfaction at the memory of Persephone storming away at the mere presence of Minthe.

Bucky biting a sneer, thinking to himself, how did he ever come to love her? To the point of naming an earthly garden plant after her in honor? What a fool he was, all the faded memories of Minthe’s jealous fits, and possessiveness washes over him as a icy bath.

Bucky waves his dogs off, straying more near the end of the stairs but never far. “No harm, no foul. Just a misunderstanding, right?” Gritting subtly through his teeth, a small grated voice reminding him to hold his rage.

Treading closer to her now, he forces his hands to cup hers, “It’s good to see you again, Dot.” Minthe doesn’t even hide a dreamy sigh at his touch, her thumb caressing his inner wrist.

She giggles, a high-pitched one; her eyes scan the hellish alcazar, noticing a few changes, a softer touch --- she bites on her tongue, begrudgingly aware of who’s touch.

Anxious eyes scan the paintings of the macabre, death and hell immortalized in ancient paint oil. “Nice new decor, a bit dreary but then again,” a flutter of lashes, a cock of her head, “you were always one for the dramatics, Jamie.” Puckering her lips, musing over her bare shoulder, shimmies her hips a bit.

“Thank you, he likes when I decorate.” A melodic voice lingers, and pierces the silence.

Bucky twists his head hastily, his eyes softening, cloudy with love, walking away from Dot without a second look, excited feet carrying Bucky to her, open arms ready to hold her, as if centuries have passed without her touch.

Dot nearly stomps her foot on the ground as a miffed toddler, how easily Bucky ignored her --- as if she was nothing.

Descending down the stairs, with a serpent stride, effortless, and regal; adorning a sangria silk gown, flows like waves at her feet, curls coiled at the shoulders, soft dewy lips, lantern sleeves drapes her taut lean arms, a tied corset top that amples her breasts but not to vulgar --- but what made Minthe nearly hurl in her mouth, was how beautifully her crown rested upon her head.

Sparkles in the light, with the elegant rubies twinkle against the gold; marbled by the finest craftsmanship --- anything for his love.

Dainty feet hurry to Bucky’s arms, grabs her wrist, kissing her inner palm lovingly, engulfing her in his tight hug. Such a strong juxtaposition between the two betrothed, but yet, both complement each other perfectly, a yin-yang.

His lips find the crock of her neck, that perfect spot between her ear, and pulse point. Her arms encase around his neck, scenting him; guileful eyes peer over his shoulder, staring down at Minthe, fuming at the ears, disregarded as Bucky devours Persephone.

Her fingers wove itself in his hair, kissing his temple, never taking her eyes off of Minthe --- demonstrating her territory, goading that Bucky is hers, and hers only. Purposely a small flicker of her marital finger as if hovering an unattainable prize, as if saying ‘no matter what you do, you'll never win.’

“Well hello, Minthe.” Her tone light, but mirth festering underneath, such a malicious grin; as if just aware of Minthe’s presence.

“Hello.” Sharp, and straight to the point, eyes narrowed into slits; unbeknownst to the little nymph, Persephone had to dig her fingers on Bucky, restraining him from strangling her, from Minthe’s disrespectful greeting.

All in due time.

“It’s nice, you’ve accepted the invitation. I wanted to start anew with you, a clean slate.” Persephone moved forward, unreadable eyes shimmering with kindness, but it’s eerie how she smiles.

Bucky biting back a whine for having to move his face from her throat; his arm loops around her waist, fingers tenderly gripping onto her hip-bone, the pad of his thumb rubbing against the thin fabric. Her open-palm rubs sweetly between his shoulder-blades, to the curve of his waist.

Always have to be near, never far.

Minthe’s eyes widen owlishly, “Oh?” Mouth ajar, clears her throat, “I would like that indeed, yesterday was such a mess. I never intended to be so rude.”

Barely making eye-contact with Persephone, ‘Cunt.’ she bites back in her head, ‘Liar.’ Minthe’s mind began brainstorming, perhaps this dinner won’t be so bad, could benefit her to gain trust, weave herself back into Hades’ heart, right under Persephone’s nose.

Eyes meet eyes, silently pushing and shoving each other, who will crack first? Snarky remarks edging at the tip of their tongues, but bite down.

“Shall we? The dining hall is prepared for us.” Bucky speaks, hooded playful eyes, his arm extended towards the hallway, for both ladies to take their step. Distant shoulder to shoulder now, briskly walking, making small chatter, more of Persephone curious questioning about the earthly realm.

‘Silly little spring maiden.’

‘Pathetic little nymph.’

---

The small feast for three, but perfectly cooked nonetheless.

Goblets filled to the brim with wine, ambrosia weighs on tongues, small kisses here and there, tasting the elixir off of each other’s hot lips. Platters of fresh fruits, seasoned smoked fish, cheese, figs, and eggs, a nice meal --- but not enough for Minthe.

Expecting a grand splendor of food, flicks her fork around the food as it scrapes against the ceramic plate, angrily glaring at the two lovers across the table.

Seated on his lap was her.

Engrossed in each other, it was as if Minthe wasn’t even there. Bucky’s lips nibbled on Persephone’s bare shoulder, smooching on her collarbone; he must have whispered something filthy in her ear, causing her to hide her face against his giggling, as he cheekily bounced her on his leg.

“Bucky ---” Minthe hiss, drops her fork, it clunks against the plate, creating a loud echo, catching the attention of two pairs of eyes, “Why did you invite me?”

Her hands lay ontop of each other, resting her chin, “Cause it seems to me that I’m just a third wheel.” Snagging her cup, downing a hefty gulp, her speech becoming slurred.

Bucky scoffs, “My love, maybe it’s best she didn’t come by, dinners are best when it’s just you and me.” Not even trying to acknowledge Minthe, as she giggles through her nose; Minthe squawks in frustration.

“Oh, Bucky --- remember how we used to dine?” Minthe slithers, biting her lip. Bucky growls, “Don’t start.” Cradling his wife closer to his chest.

“You used to whisper sweet promises in my ear, feed each other fruits, and drink wine, how we froliced in the gardens ---” Her eyes darted now into Persephone’s, arching her brow in a challenge.

Bucky seething in pants, whispering ‘knock it off.’ “--- where he use to fuck me.” Persephone snarls, as Bucky shielded her ears by the cups of his palms.

“Watch your tongue!” Bucky roars, nose scrunched up, his face molding into that furious beast, the very terrifying face souls see as they are sent to their final fates.

Shouting, pointing his index right at her, “What we had meant nothing!” balling his hand into a fist, “You were just a tryst!”

A quiet sniffle caught his ears, turning to see his wife nearly at the brink of tears, softening at her, cupping her face into his palm, she leaned into his touch.

Kissing the slope of her button nose, ushering her to not listen to such hate. Her brown eyes were unreadable … glistening with sweetness rimming with tears.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like it then, Bucky! I made you cum so hard every-time! What does she have that I don’t?!” Minthe screeches, her throat sore, and raw, banging her open-hands upon the table, demanding an answer.

“Class. Dignity. Kindness.” He spits, his teeth snaring, “Beauty.” A wicked grin, all fangs. A hit close to home, how he said it so cooly yet jarring, aware of Minthe’s fragile vanity.

“Beauty?” Minthe jeers, face twisted and scrunched, “I’m one of the most beautiful naiads you ever saw --- you said so yourself! I can do so much more for you! I love you!” Minthe points at Persephone, but her angry eyes never leave Bucky’s.

“All she can do is change the weather, she’s nothing. A lower god from the rest.” Raving foolishly with jealousy.

“Be careful how you speak to her, Minthe.” Bucky warns, with an unreadable grin, already sensing the seething anger that oozes from his wife.

“Or what?” Minthe hisses, “What can the little spring maiden do? Get pollen in my eyes?” She snickers, staring at Persephone now, “Just because you’re married to him, doesn’t make you queen.”

Persephone clicks her tongue, a sly smirk, chin tucked to chest, “But you will never be.” Minthe recoils back, offended by the mere words, laced in chilling venom, “That’s what you dream about, right? To be rid of me, and lay bare with my husband?”

Wordlessly, Minthe shrugs shamelessly, but her stance is a bit jittery at the feet.

Persephone’s gaze darkens under her arched brow, nostrils flared. “Just a maiden,” She mimics, humorlessly chuckles under her breath, memories jagged, and twisted flash behind her lids, of how her own mother, brothers and sisters diminish her value.

How can a goddess whose sole purpose is to bring life to spring thrive in the land of the dead? What can she do?

Minthe grips her goblet tighter, her fingers loosening a bit lax, Persephone leans forward, as her grip caresses the nape of Bucky’s neck, he purrs, devoted eyes, “I’m so much more than that.” Breathy venom flows from her lips, with such delicacy.

“Minthe, I proposed the idea of inviting your presence in our home to my husband. At first, he was repulsed,” She twirls the goblet between her, mindlessly eyeing the slouch of carmine liquid.

“But, then I told him of how I wish you to hurt you.” She turns her gaze to Bucky, tenderly nuzzling her nose against his, foreheads connect, his eyes placidly close, savoring each other’s essence.

“All the gory details to rip you apart,” her chest began to heave wickedly, “It excited him.” She laughs at the memory of Bucky begging to hear his wife speak such cruel fantasies, as he feasted between her legs in their bed; to hear her tremble over her venomous threats sent such a delightful thrill in him.

Bucky’s smirk stretches, murmuring hoarsely, ‘yeah it did.’

“Small, and insignificant unlike the plant.” Slim burgundy tips flicker with such a grace --- a hot-white pain dwindles as a sting, then it spreads upon Minthe’s breast-bone as wildfire, searing pain deep within her cavity, a scream bubbles from her throat, clutching her chest --- clawing fingernails scratching the skin.

The goblet falls from her grip, clanking against the floor, the wine spilling and seeping through the crevices of marbling.

“What is ever the matter, Minthe?” Bucky mocks, drinks a last sip of wine, entertained by the mere display of pain before him as if a dinner show.

Bones cracking, and snapping within flesh, sews of flesh rips, pieces flies in mid-air, blood-curdling scream fills both Bucky’s and Y/n’s ears as a fantastical symphony.

Her shoulder-blade cracks forth, flailing out of the chair, the wooden feet screeches against the flooring, dead body weight thumps ungraciously. Minthe’s fingers hover over her face, witnessing it cave, and disappear into itself; her arm disintegrating into nothingness.

Minthe shrills once more, trailing into a broken whine that strains in her throat, choppy cries for Bucky to help her, but it falls upon deaf ears.

Snickering as she kicks out her legs, sickening snaps of her toes bend back and break, her foot fractures in two, limps and caves into her flesh just as her hands. Blood splutters, and splashes in droplets, milky skin now shading into a forest green --- limbs now at a rapid-pace, gone into herself.

A wiggling torso, scrambling against the cooling marble, her voice gone into a mute scream.

Her cranium snaps, her eye bulging out of its socket, eyes blood-shot, spine splinters in pieces within her bodice, flesh wilting into she was absolutely … small. Nor longer a body, but a … leaf. A mint leaf.

Persephone stands over the shriveled mint plant, still quivering at the stem, she mockingly smiles at it, all the jests of family dulls and fades into mere whispers in her mind, “Who’s the weak little maiden now?” She sniffles, wet eyes now dilated.

Her legs jerks upward, snarling lip curls, heavily lands her heeled foot upon Minthe. A stomp that reverberates through the manor, a small crunch as she drills the heel with hate, and grit against the flooring --- grinding. Constant stomp after stomp, until the leaf was just wrinkled, and a bit torn.

Just as she can create life, she can easily destroy it.

Hands glide against her belly, soft hands against silk rove sweetly against her skin, Bucky’s warmth radiates against her back, rocking her back and forth against his body.

Her arms encircle his neck, her fingers twirl around his chestnut tresses, scratching his scalp, as he purrs against the slope of her neck.

He murmurs tenderly, “So proud of you.” Wispy kisses, as she nearly sobs of joy, the only person to truly understand her, praises her beyond any living being, sees her more than a mere maiden --- when he first laid eyes on her in the garden, as she gave a crushed rose life once more by loving lips, it was love at first sight.

She never once quivered in fear when he’s in a true form, a looming horrific god, foaming fangs, deadly rage --- she would just hold him, as if he was beautiful in her eyes.

How she can see beyond his darkness, how she lives within it so comfortably, easily became her home --- there’s no one but them, it will always be them against the world.

“Bucky …” She slithers, grinding her ass against his clothed groin, he growls, her hands groping, and cupping her perky breasts, pinching nipples between tips with a delicious twinge of pain.

“Yes … my love, my life.” His tongue licks a flat stripe from the pulse to her ear, suckling, and panting. Canines graze skin, a breathy grunt.

“Let’s head to bed.” A wanton moan, as she continues to dry-hump against her husband.

“Why the bed ---” He twirls her around, it was such a blur, she nearly gets whiplash, lifting her by the thighs, seating her upon the table; leaning over her as he thrashes dishes and candles away hastily, a nice flat surface for her to laid down on. “When I can ravish you right here.”

A hungry beast, eager paws tear at her top, rips the stitching, and bundling at her midriff --- her breasts spill out in a bouncy heave, diving down his mouth, engulfs her tit, sucking and biting. The heat of his mouth jolts her, as his other palm twists, and toys with her nipple.

Slaps it harshly, earning a high-pitched moan, as he devours her breast --- flickering his tongue against the nipple, a string of saliva connects; back to her nipple. Tugging on his hair, leaning upward, kissing his temple, cradling him against her breast-bone, as her other hand claws at his back.

Growling, Bucky suckles more of her tit in his mouth, her breast jiggles from his eager lips. Desperate groans, and moans echo, as he grinds himself down upon her mound, humping upon the creaking table.

“Oh for the love of the Gods --- not here! Go to your room, heathens!”

“Again on the table?! We eat here!”

“Off! Now!”

Shamelessly, Bucky detaches himself from her chest, a wet pop; his mouth slick with saliva, Persephone and himself giggles, not even caring that she’s exposed --- rather she relishes in it.

Stretching her arms above her head, with the most coy and sweetest smile, as her bare chest glistens with sheen by candlelight. Peering over his shoulder, Bucky sees three of his closest companions --- Hekate, Erinyes, and Hermes.

But they go by the mere mortal names of Wanda, Natasha, and Steve.

“Off, I say!” Natalia’s fiery carmine hair wizzes against her cheeks, as she stomps towards the entwined lovers, kind swats of her hands for them to move, as Bucky and her belly laugh at her puffed-up cheeks.

“Look at the good food --- spoiled! Gone to waste, cause you two can’t keep your hands to yourselves.” Steve whines, his blue-greenish hues encased by furrowed brows, he was looking forward to dinner.

Bucky mockingly ‘awhs’ at Steve, “Poor baby.” As he hugs his wife in his arms, pulling her up, covering her chest with his, kissing her hair, “Don’t worry, Stevie, more food can be prepared.” Sticking his tongue out at him teasingly.

The pure-white wings of Steve’s sandals’ soles flutter in defiance, “The table is soiled.” He spoke through gritted teeth, but smirks nonetheless.

Persephone chuckles in Bucky’s neck, kissing his bearded jaw, fiddling with his hair strands.

Royal blue oval nails nip the limp leaf, “Hmm, what do you wish to do with her?” Flopping the leaf jeeringly in her hand, snickering, “Perhaps, I could use her for a hex potion.” Wanda laughs darkly, her chocolate curls bounce a bit at the shoulders.

Aware of this little plan to lure Minthe here, just to die so violently, Wanda once suggested feeding Minthe to her venus fly-trap.

Soft eyes open with once more eerie calmness, leisurely a smile forms, “No, I have a better idea.” Persephone spoke over Bucky’s shoulder, tittering a malicious laugh.

---

The stench of decay, and despair clings to the rotted walls, dreary on the senses --- only darkness, but only casted light seeps through the open door. An eternal damnation of outcasting.

“Are you sure, my love?” Bucky asks for the hundredth time, knocking his knuckles against the cage in disgust, whispering under his breath, ‘this is too good for her.’ She hushes him, cupping his cheeks with her hands, squeezing them --- his lips pucker, with a tiny smile at her gleeful eyes.

Bowing his head down, in search of her lips, relinquishing her hold from his jaw. Encircling his arms around her waist, pulling her to himself by his hold tightly, melting her bodice against his --- skin against hot skin.

Sneaky fingers tread, and glide from the curve of her waist to the ample of her ass. Squeezing her cheeks, earning a muffled squeal.

“Darling …” She playfully scolds, lips just mere hairs away from his. Bucky pouts that her lips are not on his, whining, “Imagine it,” she nips his bottom lip, dragging it by the cages of her teeth.

“Shrouded in eternal darkness, hearing us living our lives, hearing us … make love. Hearing you fuck me with every inch of your cock in my wet cunt.” Bucky nearly wails, debauched, and wanton, his head cocks back, his eyes pinched shut, “Please my heart, let’s do this now.” He whines, she has the nerve to laugh, such a wicked minx.

“Patience, my love.” Quiet hum, a sweet kiss on his dimpled chin, and a nibble. “When I get back to the room, I expect you naked, and ready for me.” Her hand snakes down his chest, grabbing his clothed cock, massaging the weeping tip through his pants.

Sending a whimpering Bucky off with a swat to his ass, something flickers in her hues, something wicked. She gracefully tilts to the side, twirling smoothly on her heels. Slowly treading towards the cage that hung from the ceiling, surrounded by desolate isolation, an airy laugh through the nose, “Pathetic little nymph.”

Knuckles shades from sepia to icy white, gripping the metal cages harshly, the metal creeks and bends under her bruising strength.

“Since you wanted to live with Hades, so be it.” Fingers drum against the golden-gilded cage, tiny pained murmurs float near her ears, only herself able to hear it; it was pitiful.

She snickers once more, musing at the sensation of miniscule rage that radiates from the small plant, relishing in it all. She moans, fingers toying with the keyhole, dragging her nail down against the metal, a shrill of a scratch.

With a flick of her hair, flashing her wedding ring, goading; waltzing away with a gait, lethal and ethereal. The trail of her dress glides smoothly, a haunting laugh that echoes melodically yet chilling.

Gripping the carved knob, gazing back over her shoulder one more time, only her eyes sparkle as uncut gems, her dark silhouette illuminated by the hall’s lit candles --- a dewy vermillion glow surrounds her bodice.

“Sweet dreams, Minthe.”

#dark Persephone #dark Hades #dark reader #hades!bucky barnes x reader #persephone!reader #hades!bucky Barnes x Persephone!reader

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queensoybean0724 · 2 years

Text

Succession Chapter 24 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Title: Succession Chapter 24

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader

Rating: NC-17 for sex and language (primal kink, knife kink, sexy hide and seek, cat-and-mouse, fingering, P in V, creampie, unprotected sex *wrap it up, kids*)

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village. This is a work of fiction. Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter 24

“I am so bored!!” you proclaimed as you let your book fall shut.

Heisenberg lifted his gaze and turned his head to look back at you. He was bent over a body lying on one of the steel lab tables, his focus on breaking open its ribcage in order to remove the heart. You didn’t ask Heisenberg for specifics with his autopsies and experiments...the less you knew, the better. The mere thought of the morning you sat in Moreau’s laboratory as he worked on the body that eventually rose up and tried to kill you still made you shudder.

“You are, huh? Wanna help me? You can always wrap up the body’s organs and dispose of them...or be my personal assistant and hold open the chest cavity as I install the controls,” he offered with a hint of humor in his voice.

You scrunched your nose, your face showing your disgust. “No, thank you,” you groaned, standing to your feet. You removed your long sleeved shirt and tossed it on the table, a black halter top underneath. You also wore a pair of jeans with your favorite pair of shoes. Heisenberg’s focus went back to the body as you lifted your hands in the air. You reached towards the ceiling, going up to your tiptoes. Moving your body to the right and to the left, you breathed deeply through the stretches, letting your head roll from side to side, relieving the muscles in your neck.

Heisenberg had been working hard in his lab for almost six hours. Once you two finished eating lunch, he left you in his quarters to read and nap. You also busied yourself with cleaning his shower and bathtub as well as sweeping the floor. When that was done, you grabbed your book and walked around the factory, looking for a warm place. There was a table and chair next to a steel walkway overlooking a vat of hot liquid. It glowed orange and red as if you were watching lava inside a volcano. It proved to be a nice place to keep warm and listen to the churning of the large steel machines as you read. After a few hours, you got up and continued to walk down corridors, down flights of stairs, and eventually found yourself in Heisenberg’s lab. He greeted you with a swift peck on the lips before you sat across the room from him.

He didn’t mind your presence. When you were around, even if you were reading and he was wrist deep in viscera, he was happy. He looked over at you lost in your story and smiled. As you turned page after page, he worked on his soldats, jotted notes in his papers, and made audio recordings of his findings. You smiled and chuckled to yourself whenever something went right or he reached a breakthrough. His recordings must have been littered with spurts of chaotic laughter when he felt accomplished or riddled with curses when something fell flat. It made you giddy; everything he did made you fall more and more in love with him.

“Are you done yet?” you asked once you finished stretching, coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist, “let’s do something…”

Heisenberg huffed as he pulled his latex gloved hands out of the body’s sternum. “You whine like a brat sometimes, you know that?” he muttered.

You smirked, stepped back, and stomped your foot, further proving his observation. “Karl…” you whined with extra emphasis, “I’m bored! I’m bored, Karl, please play with me…”

He froze in place for several seconds before slowly lifting his head. You felt the electricity in his body; it was palpable. You didn’t know if you hit a nerve or excited him. You took a step back as he slowly turned around, pulling his latex gloves off one by one. He dropped them onto the small table next to him and went for his black leather gloves, pulling them on.

“You want to play, do you?” Heisenberg asked. It made your heart skip a beat when you saw his mouth curve into a dark smile. His sunglasses shielded his eyes and you were unable to see the primal and dangerous look he was giving you. You took another step backwards as he took another step forward. “Well then, pussycat...what do you say we play a game of hide and seek…”

You inhaled in surprise when you felt your ass hit the table you had just been sitting at, the piece of furniture stopping your retreat. Heisenberg continued to smile as he stepped in front of you. “Hide and seek?” you asked, your voice meek and squeaky.

He laughed as his gloved hands went to your arms, squeezing gently before sliding up to your shoulders. “Yes,” he answered, his hands moving along your shoulders and coming to a stop at your neck. His fingers wrapped around your neck as his thumbs caressed back and forth along your jaw. You visibly shivered as you gripped the edge of the table. His body tilted over you, his hips pressing to yours, his erection evident in his trousers. “I will give you ten minutes to hide somewhere in this factory. After that time, I will come find you...and when I find you...I will fuck you…”

A heavy rush of air slid from your throat as his fingers slightly tightened around your neck. You moaned softly as you pushed your groin against his. He already had you so desperate for his cock...how were you supposed to keep your wits about you and find a place to hide in such a small amount of time? This arousing and dirty cat-and-mouse game he concocted made your pulse race so fast that you knew he could feel it on either side of your neck.

“So what do you say, my love? Are you in or are you out?”

Your tongue slid along your lips and you smiled. “I’m in…”

“Good…” he chuckled. He released your neck, his lips hovering over yours, and whispered one word: “...run.”

You bolted down the hallway and up the nearest set of stairs, an excited smile on your face. In the last three weeks, you felt like you learned and discovered most of the factory. There were so many twists and turns in the place. Most of the rooms were vacant with dusty tables and chairs. The possibilities of finding a terrific hiding spot were endless.

“Run, run, little pussycat…”

You gasped when you heard Heisenberg’s disembodied voice sounding from overhead. You looked up at the corner of the hallway and found one of the stereo horns. How was he able to go over the PA system when he was down in the bottom floor, you thought, but then remembered that his electromagnetic ability allowed him to tap into the PA system from wherever he was in the factory. His deep voice flowed as you stopped to listen.

“You have eight minutes until I come looking for you, Y/N. Do you think you can find somewhere to hide in that amount of time?”

You smirked and turned to rush to the nearest door, opening it wide. The room was dark but bare with no place for you to hide. Shutting the door, you ran around the corner and down another corridor.

“I can practically smell your delectable little cunt. Oh, what should I do first once I’ve found you? I have a few ideas brewing in my perverted mind…”

A soft moan rushed from your mouth as you entered a large office and circled towards the back of a metal desk. You thought of crouching underneath, but a decomposing rat lay on the floor. Pushing that idea aside, you darted out the room and across the hall. Room after room showed nothing in terms of good hiding places.

“I can see it now...shoving you face first against the wall...ripping your panties clean off your body...and getting on my knees to eat that delicious pussy from behind…”

You pressed your lips together and felt your clit pulse at the thought of Heisenberg eating you out from behind. His tongue made you insane by the time he was finished performing cunnilingus. And that in addition to his fingers shoving in and out of your opening made you cum in record time. He continued to speak as you ran up another set of stairs.

“Or perhaps throwing you over my shoulder, taking you back to my lab, and placing you onto one of my lab tables. I could fasten your wrists and ankles down and overstimulate that sweet body...making you cum again and again, countless times until you are begging me to stop. Or not allowing you to cum at all! I’ll tease you, keep you right on the very edge...and not let you cum. I’ll spend hours edging you, watching as tears slide down your face and you beg me for release… Maybe that will teach you to not disrupt me while I’m working...you naughty, naughty little pussycat…”

“God dammit, Karl,” you moaned as you entered a large room. Chains hung from overhead. Boxes and crates were stacked along the far wall. A long table with a tan tarp hung over the sides, the edges of the tarp touching the floor. A perfect hiding place. You lifted the tarp and looked underneath. Apart from some dust and dirt, it was clean. You climbed underneath and waited.

“Your ten minutes are up, doll face,” Heisenberg’s voice echoed through the speakers, “ready or not, here I come…”

You curled up on your knees and elbows under the table and listened for Heisenberg’s footsteps to come down the hallway. Giddiness churned in your belly. You felt like you were 8 years old again, playing hide and seek with the neighborhood kids. Of course, this game held more erotic consequences than simply being tagged out.

Fifteen minutes passed before you heard the steady beat of work boots walking down the hallway. You pressed your hands over your mouth, your excitement and nerves increasing. Your heartbeat pumped in your chest as you heard his feet stop periodically to look down walkways and into other rooms. His steps continued closer until he crossed the threshold into your hiding room.

You held your breath, staying absolutely still as he moved around the area. The tarp was heavy and you were unable to see through it. With only your sense of hearing, you struggled to place exactly where he was in the room. You could hear him approaching the table and moving towards the left of it. Oh no, you thought determinedly, I’m not getting caught this easily.

As quietly as you could, you slid to the right and began slipping out the other side of the table. You moved slowly in case the tarp made any noise. Little by little, you made it out the other side, gently lowering the covering to the floor. Just as everything went still, you heard Heisenberg lift the other side of the tarp, looking underneath. He let out a disgruntled humph.

As you sat on your knees and elbows, straining to hear his next move, you looked over at the open doorway. The thought of escape crossed your mind. If you ran fast enough, you could exit the room, escape down the hall and turn this hide and seek game into a game of chase.

Before you could move, Heisenberg’s arms wrapped around your body. You let out a shrill scream as he pulled you off the floor and held you tight to him. His hot breath was in your ear as he grunted and chuckled.

“Found you…” he purred.

You let out a gleeful laugh as Heisenberg whirled you around in his arms. Without much effort, he lifted you off your feet and set your ass down on the table. His mouth closed over yours with a growl.

Knocking his hat off his head, you ran your fingers through his graying hair. Your mind went hazy at the feel of his tongue shoving into your mouth. His arms pulled your body close to his as your legs wrapped around his waist.

His lips kissed along your cheek and stopped at your ear. A low, dangerous growl settled in his throat and had goosebumps rising on every inch of your skin. “Oh, what am I going to do with you?” he asked gruffly, his lips closing over the flesh at your neck. You tossed your head back and moaned loudly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He continued sucking on your neck, his gloved hands moving up and down your back, coming to rest on your ass. His hands gripped you and hauled you against him, his hard cock straining against his zipper.

“Karl…” you whimpered as you pushed his trench coat off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor and pressed his hands back on your ass. His mouth was still on your neck, sucking and biting hard. It was evident that he wanted to mark you. Every time you looked in the mirror, you would see the bruise he was determined to leave on your skin. You knew he was claiming you, making sure you knew just who you belonged to.

“Hold on tight,” he growled as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you away from the table. Your arms and legs held tight to his body as he walked towards a darkened area in the room.

“What are you…” you started to ask as Heisenberg pulled your arms away and lifted them straight up in the air. Cold metal snapped around each wrist and you let out a surprised shriek. You looked up to see one of the chains was hanging overhead...and on the end of the chain, wrapped around your wrists, were a pair of metal restraints.

“Unwrap your legs. Put your feet to the floor,” he instructed. He held you firmly to him, not letting you go, as you placed one foot after the other on the floor. You were able to stand on the balls of your feet. “Do the cuffs hurt your wrists?” he asked, “are you comfortable hanging from them?”

You swallowed hard and nodded your head. “Yes,” you moaned. He smiled and removed his sunglasses, securing them on the top button of his shirt.

“Good,” he said, his right hand cupping your chin, “I told you what I was going to do when I found you. You’re mine to do with what I want...understand?”

You bit your lower lip as your heartbeat surged in your chest. “Yes, sir,” you answered.

“Good girl. But you know at any moment if it is too much, you tell me and we will stop. If the cuffs hurt, if what I’m doing hurts...tell me…”

His face hovered inches from yours as you looked up into his intense gaze. You smiled up at him. He returned the smile, released your chin, and extended his hand towards the right side of the room. It happened so fast that you only witnessed it from your peripheral vision. A metal box cutter flew through the air and into the waiting grip of Heisenberg. He lifted it towards your face and you watched as he pushed the button upwards, the sharp edge becoming visible. Your eyes never left his face as he slowly cut the straps from your halter top. The fabric fell around your waist, showing Heisenberg your breasts.

He dropped the box cutter to the ground, leaning forward and pressing deep kisses along each breast, his tongue flicking each nipple. You tilted your head back and whimpered as he moved to his knees in front of you. He removed your shoes, socks, and jeans, leaving you in only your panties.

“God damn, pussycat,” Heisenberg murmured as he looked up your body. Seeing you suspended from the cuffs, barely able to stand on the balls of your feet… “You have no idea what you are in for…”

He lifted your right leg and placed your thigh on his shoulder. His gloved hands moved up each outer thigh as he slowly kissed up your inner thigh.

“Karl…” you whimpered, your body swaying back and forth.

His tongue thoroughly licked your flesh, his beard rough and his lips soft. His mouth moved to your panties over your soaked pussy. Taking a deep inhale, he groaned under his breath. “You smell like pure fucking sin…” he marveled, his tongue darting out to lick you over your panties.

Your hips had a mind of their own, relentlessly pushing against his face, wanting more and more of his tongue. His hands went to your ass cheeks and squeezed hard. He teased and tormented you with his mouth. Your fingers gripped the chain and held on tight.

“Please, Karl...take my panties off...I want your tongue inside of me…” you pleaded as you looked down at him. His gaze locked on to yours as his tongue swirled over your panties. He was loving every single second of teasing you. A strangled whimper escaped your mouth as he suddenly pulled his tongue from you and stood to his feet. You stomped your foot impatiently and Heisenberg laughed at your little tantrum.

“Such a brat,” he said, walking around your body, pressing up closely behind you. You tried to turn towards him, but his hands kept you still. He moved his right hand to your stomach, keeping his left hand on your hip. Painfully, torturously slowly, Heisenberg moved his right hand downwards and pushed it down the front of your panties.

“Fuck, Karl…” you cried out feeling his leather fingers sliding over your clit. His left hand shot up to the back of your head and gripped your hair, holding your head firmly in place. Your eyes widened as he growled in your ear.

“Don’t tell me that this doesn’t drive you crazy,” he muttered, circling his fingers again and again, “you love it when I rub your clit. You cum every time I rub this sensitive little spot…” You released an anguished moan as you tried to buck against his hand. He watched your body wriggle and writhe, his cock so rock hard, he thought he would cum simply from watching you. “How badly do you want me, pussycat? Tell me…”

He kept his grip in your hair; you were unable to turn your head let alone your body. You wanted to look up into his eyes and beg and plead for him. Whatever he wanted, you would give it to him if he would just let you cum. He was keeping the filthy promises he had said over the PA system.

“I want you so badly, Karl...please fuck me...I want to cum on your cock...I’ll do whatever you want…”

He laughed as he pulled his hand from your panties. “Bad, bad girl…” he marveled, taking his hand and pressing his gloved fingers to your lips. “Lick yourself off...then I’ll consider fucking you…” Your fiery gaze stayed on his as you opened your mouth. Heisenberg watched your tongue swirl around, cleaning his fingers. His cock throbbed in his trousers as he watched you. “God damn…” he moaned, pulling his fingers away from you. He took a step back, never taking his eyes off you. He pulled the sunglasses off his shirt as well as the items around his neck. Letting them drop to the floor, he unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall down his arms. His undershirt was next until his naked torso was on display...his eyes never leaving yours the entire time.

Heisenberg took a step towards you as he pulled off his belt, casting it aside. Both his hands went to your thighs and pulled your legs around his waist. The second your skin connected with his, your body was on autopilot. You with your panties and Heisenberg with his trousers...the two of you began grinding like a couple of horny teenagers. The two of you craved movement, friction...anything to prolong the incredible feeling.

You gripped the chains and gyrated against him, your legs holding him tight to you. Heisenberg growled and groaned against your lips, his fingers sinking deep into your ass cheeks. “Y/N…” he mumbled, “how the fuck do you do this to me? I’m strong, powerful, immortal...a fucking god...but only you can bring me to my fucking knees.”

Tears stung your eyes as you held his gaze. “Karl...I love you…” you whimpered, “...all I want is you. There’s nothing you could do to make me want you any more or less than I already do…”

Unable to control himself longer, he tore your panties completely off your body. You released a satisfied cry as he fumbled with his zipper, shoving his pants down enough to free his cock. Using your legs around his body as leverage, you lifted up and over his dick, Heisenberg’s hand pushing himself inside of you.

The two of you shouted and yelled as you bounced on his cock. He buried his face between your breasts as he licked the beads of sweat sliding down your skin.

“Fuck me! Oh god, Karl, fuck me harder! Harder...oh fuck!!!” you shouted as you tossed your head back. Heisenberg’s hands were splayed over your back, holding you close. Your sweat mixed with his as you continued to shout and moan in ecstasy.

“Your pussy is amazing...so fucking tight...you clench around me like a fucking vise…” he growled, pressing his mouth to yours. Your tongue circled with his. He pulled back just enough to nibble your lower lip with his teeth. “Cum on my cock, Y/N…” he commanded as his hips slapped against yours.

“Karl...Karl...oh fuck, Karl….please don’t stop…” you squealed. Heisenberg’s left arm held you tight as he moved his right hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit. He licked and kissed along your neck as he barreled his prick into you, pressing and rubbing your clit wildly.

“KARL!!!” you screamed as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your climax shook you violently as your cunt milked him.

“OH FUCK, Y/N...FUCK!!!” he roared, his arms squeezing you tight. He came hard as his lips fastened to the flesh of your neck, shouting loudly. Your body trembled against him, your legs weak.

With the flick of his fingers, your cuffs unfastened and you fell against him, your arms hanging weightless over his shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he said reassuringly. As he walked towards a metal chair, he squatted down and retrieved his trenchcoat, still holding you effortlessly. He sat in the chair with you straddling his lap. You shivered and nuzzled against him as he took his coat and wrapped it around you. “It’s okay…” he continued, circling his arms around you, holding you close, and rubbing his hands up and down your back as you came down from your orgasm.

#resident evil village #resident evil village fanfic #resident evil 8 #resident evil viii #resident evil heisenberg #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg fanfic #daddy heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #house heisenberg #succession fanfic #succession heisenberg fanfic

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yeojaa · 3 years

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feed me, fight me.

pairing. boxer!jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. relationship issues, baby angst, comfort, unprotected sex (please be responsible!). wc. 3.5k. beta reader. @hobi-gif, always. 💖 author note. i’m really into comfort fics rn so...

What do you get when you mix a pissed off girlfriend with a neglectful boyfriend? (Aside from trouble, that is.)

The answer is you - throwing punches far harder than you should be, completely disregarding the fact that you’re meant to be playing the part of perfect partner, meeting pads in the sequence he’s laid out. It’s you throwing a hook when you should be swinging an uppercut. It’s you, snapping your leg out with a satisfying thunk! of your shin when you should only be thip kicking. It’s you, not giving a single damn as you take out all your frustrations on someone who’s growing increasingly more irritated by your childishness. It’s you, blatantly disrespecting him in his ring - sending a reminder that there’s more to life than the four corners of this space.

How can he blame you though, when he’s the reason? When you’ve voiced your annoyance more than once - more than twice, more times than you care to count - and each time it’s met with a half-hearted apology (if you could even call it that)? How can he hold it against you when you’ve asked, demanded, pleaded for more?

“Cut it out,” he seethes, quiet, under his breath, irritation igniting his expression, something hot and angry burning in the dark of his stare. A withering wildfire in an empty field, smoldering coals flickering bright. It presents itself in how his mouth curls, the hard line of his jaw as bone threatens to snap in half from the tension.

“Cut what out?” Your retort is punctuated by the smack of leather on leather, the worn edge of your boxing glove meeting the pad that Jungkook raises just in time to avoid a black eye.

“What’s your problem?” How he manages to snipe back - somehow sounding disgruntled by your behaviour - you’re not sure. All you know is it boils your blood, searing heat within your veins when he effortlessly blocks your next jab. He knows you well and knows the sport better, predicting each movement as if you’re telegraphing it all with a giant neon sign on your forehead.

(You probably are. You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, pinning your heart on your sleeve, your sadness heavy in your mouth. They wear you, rather than you it. A weakness of yours.)

“You’re my problem.”

“Shut up.” It’s not the usual exasperated annoyance he levels you with, meaner and paired with a swat of your gloved hand. He’s not supposed to be countering you, instead only blocking the punches you throw his way.

(But then again - when did he ever listen to you? When did he ever do what he was supposed to?)

(It’s not a fair assertion. You’re just mad. Livid beyond belief, standing atop this hill that you’ll happily die on.)

“Fuck you,” you snap, offering the petulant comeback in the same instance you surge forward. He blocks your jab - sees it coming from a mile away - and goes to block your hook.

Except it never comes, your knee straightening out instead, hard edge of your shin slamming right into the side of his leg.

He crumples more out of surprise than anything, eyes wide, all the anger swept away by something closer to astonishment. It shines impossibly bright in his eyes, turning his entire expression upside down when his knee hits the ground. By how he falls, you’re sure you’ve hit just the right spot, left his nerve endings buzzing uncomfortably as the feeling leaves the limb.

“Are you serious?” You know he’s genuinely baffled then, voice slipping, cracking in a way you’d normally find adorable. (It goes to show how upset you are, the awkward split of his words doing nothing to soothe your temper.) “What’s your issue?” He’s still seated on the floor, rocking back on his heels, brow knit in consternation. It’d take him seconds to jump up - to put you on your ass - but he chooses to remain where he is, staring up at you with that look on his face.

(That look you love. That you hate. That makes your insides turn to goo on his best days and misery on your worst. That you’ve seen every single day for the last three years, as the first thing upon waking up and the last thing before passing out. That makes you hesitate now, peering down into it.)

(Were you being unnecessary? Unbearable? Was this on you?)

“I’m going home.” It’d be nice to tear your gloves off, throw them in his face and storm off in a huff. It’d cause the scene you’re hoping for, push him to where you need. (Because that’s the thing about Jungkook - he doesn’t react otherwise and you’re sick of it.) Instead, you turn on your heel and slink away, silent as a mouse.

You’re tired. Too tired. Why had you started something you couldn’t finish?

It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re home alone for hours that night, curled up in bed and half-asleep when light from the hallway spills into your bedroom. It comes with hardly any noise, a tell-tale sign he’s trying not to wake you (or disturb you or get caught). You almost let it slide when his figure appears in the doorway, broad frame swallowed up by the oversized sweater he wears.

He’s moving near silently, having already deposited his gym bag in the laundry room. He doesn’t even switch the light on, moving around in the muted glow of the hallway, fumbling as he strips his clothes off and tosses them into the hamper against the wall.

You expect him to head directly into the en suite, wash away whatever grime he’s accumulated throughout the day. He’s always been this way, far too concerned with dragging in odour and dirt into your bed to do otherwise.

Except tonight, he doesn’t follow his usual routine. Tonight, he makes a detour.

The bed dips before you realise what’s happening, grip on the pillow under your head tightening. Words fit between your teeth, ready to spill out, lash out, tear out like a bullet deadset on landing a bullseye.

“I’m sorry.” Two words you’ve been waiting to hear, that startle you enough to throw your anger out the window, tossing them out with the wash. “I don’t know why you’re upset but I’m sorry for whatever it is.” He’s speaking into the quiet of your bedroom. You can feel his hand settled on the bed, wrist somewhere over the line of your spine.

Oh - he thinks you’re asleep.

“Things have been crazy. I’ve been stressed.” Here, under cover of night, he’s vulnerable, explanation tumbling forth uncertainly. You can hear it in the way the words form, syllables slipping into each other - a sure sign of his exhaustion. “I know that’s not an excuse, so I’ll be better.” Though he readjusts, weight distributing differently over the bed, he isn’t touching you. You can only imagine how he looks, the posture he’s taken on, arms leant over knees, hands twisting together in that way of his that begs a silent help me. A version of him you’ve seen only a handful of times.

(Jeon Jungkook does not let things get to him. Never has, likely never will. He’s immaculately put together, strung tight by years of growing up too fast, wanting too much and fearing it’ll slip away. He goes and goes until he can’t any more and only then does he still, crashing headlong over a cliff of his own creation.)

It’s then that you realise while you’ve grown irritated with his preoccupation, coming second to the man you’ve only ever put first, he’s been suffering right alongside you. Differently, certainly, but suffering nonetheless. Holding his cards close as he’s always done, shouldering all the things on his own and hoping for the best.

Irritation flares first. Anger at the fact that he hadn’t confided in you. It burns bright, erodes everything else in its path.

And then it dims almost immediately, overshadowed by a tenderness that blooms in the small of your chest. Rosebuds that fill the cavity and swath affection in broad strokes, colouring everything purple - a pretty mosaic made up of equal parts love and sadness.

“You should’ve said something.”

Bambi-eyed baby is your nickname for your boyfriend - one he reluctantly wears, scowls at when you use it in public - and yet you’re still blown away by the glossiness of his stare, how wide it goes when you roll to face him, simultaneously flicking your bedside light on. There’s embarrassment crowding his expression, lighting up every handsome facet of his features in technicolour. He works to hide it almost immediately, moves back on the bed as if he might find himself a home in the shadows.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he mumbles, not quite looking at you, stare focused on your pillow case, the white linen that you’d bought when you’d moved in together. “Did I wake you up?”

Though his concern is real, you know it’s a distraction too. His way of deflecting, shifting the focus back to you.

(Jeon Jungkook doesn’t live in the spotlight. Hates it, in fact. It’s a curious combination - wanting to be praised, to show off, and yet fearing failure so strongly. A worrying mix when he’s down and an endearing one when he’s up.)

You’re still cocooned, still held far enough away that he hasn’t run for the hills, locking himself in the bathroom to put a further physical barrier between you. Should you move too fast, you know he’ll spook. Push too hard, he’ll leave.

“Couldn’t sleep without you.” It’s true enough. Dreams had evaded you for the better part of the evening, held somewhere by hands inked like his, blemished by scars and calluses like his. They’d been kept in his coat pocket, tucked behind his ear. (So maybe it’d been anger, too, that’d kept you up. That doesn’t matter now.)

The disbelief is evident, both in his words and the quirk of his mouth, bathed in dim light. “Really?”

(You sometimes wonder how different the two of you see things. What a day looks like from his point of view - whether he reads all of your interactions in the same way. You’ve always been terribly incompatible in that way, opposites in so many respects that it’d frankly baffled your friends when you’d started dating.

You were intent - sometimes too intent - on resolving problems, never letting up. Forcing conversations you felt you needed to have, demanding answers even before there was one. He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with conflict, choosing to ignore the things that bothered him until they went away. It’d driven you absolutely insane at first, made you worry that it was you that was the issue, simply being too much.

But over time - three long years, to be exact - you’d found a common ground. Or so you’d thought.)

“Why are you so surprised?”

“You were pissed earlier.” There’s a lightness to his tone, careful consideration poured into each word he offers, as if he’s navigating a minefield. You’ve had these kinds of disagreements too many times for him to believe otherwise, as if his caution is a part of him, stitched lovingly - forcefully - by your hand. “Thought you wouldn’t wait up for me.”

“I shouldn’t have,” you retort before you can help it, still just a little childish, a little hurt. “But you know I hate going to bed angry.” Of course he knows. He’s lost hours of sleep due to your insistence that everything be talked out.

He hums a noncommittal sound - more of a grunt - and you know your window is closing. Now that you’re not out for blood, he’s retreating as he always does. Readying himself to rise from the bed, close this half-read chapter and move onto the next.

You beat him before he can, curling your fingers around his wrist, over the dangling silver chain. (His birthday gift this year, heavy metal that’s cold under your touch.)

“Don’t.”

One blink. Another. Slow and confused - deliberately so. Then he’s looking away, staring down at the ground as if you haven’t just read his next move. The ring might be his domain but home is yours; it’s the one place you hold the upper hand. “What?”

“Don’t leave.” It’s easy to read the meaning in between your words, the unspoken request that might as well be brilliant red ink. It’s far kinder than your usual demands, more pleading than begrudging, more need than want.

“I need to shower.”

It’s not a no - which you suppose is a win.

“Just wait.” Your request comes with an adjustment, whole tired frame rising from the bed only to sink back down - this time against your partner, your other half, your infuriating love. He accepts you readily, dropping his ink-strewn hand over your covered thigh. The weight is comforting over the warmth of the duvet, grounding you in the quiet of your home.

“I’m gross,” he complains, though he doesn’t make to move away. Stays right by your side when you drop your head against his bare shoulder. “Now you’re gross.”

“We can be gross together.” Because you’re not ready for him to leave you, to close the door as he so often does. (And, for once, you’re not quite as angry, not seeking an argument that’ll give you the resolution you hope for. You want communication, open and honest. You want him, vulnerable and soft.)

A little sigh comes, a puff of breath that expands his doughy cheeks and sends wayward strands fluttering. It’s less resigned and more endeared - you know how much it means when his acquiesces like this.

Maybe he wants those same things, you think.

“Do you wanna shower?” You ask in perfect tandem, words folding together. You nod in the same way.

Encased in the small space - it’s different. He’s preoccupied, back turned to you, shielding you from the slow-heating stream. It’s as if his mind is a thousand lightyears away, trapped somewhere with the stars as the water rains down around the two of you, fogging the glass and wetting his hair.

“Babe?”

There’s a delay before he reacts, peering over his shoulder at you, a faraway look in his eyes. You wonder what he’d been thinking of, whether he’s still on the same page as you or if he’s skipped ahead as he tends to do. When he speaks, you have your answer, his words flicking through paper to bring you two where you need to be.

“Can you wash my hair?” An indulgent treat he rarely requests, one he seldom allows. He’s far too on the go, jumping from this to that to spend much time like this with you.

It’s a sign if there ever was one.

You reach for your shampoo bottle wordlessly, popping the cap and depositing sweet peach-scented liquid into your hands. They fold into his strands carefully, tips of your fingers pressing into his scalp, delightful bubbles accumulating between your digits. He doesn’t make a sound but you feel the way he relaxes, practically melting into your touch as you work the cleanser through his roots, careful to keep the suds from descending into his eyes.

When was the last time you’d done this? Weeks ago? Months, maybe? You honestly can’t recall. (Not that it matters now. You’ve found yourselves back here, terribly tender and intimate in the dead of night. Almost as if no time has passed at all.)

Silence stretches between the two of you. You don’t even need to instruct him to rinse, running seamlessly through the routine without hesitation.

Conditioner replaces shampoo, deft fingers combing through the few knots in his feather soft strands. Though there are hardly any, you know he loves when you take extra care, treating him in ways he’d never ask for otherwise. He savours these quiet moments of almost-solitude, spoiled rotten by your familiar touch and comforting affection.

You’d give it every single day if you could. Had, in fact.

That’s what’d brought you here, after all.

“‘m sorry,” he says - mumbles really - surprising you as you’re working your fingers into the nape of his neck, concentrating on the tension that’s carved out a home beneath muscle and sinew, turned bone iron-clad.

“For what?”

Any other time, it might’ve come across demanding, needing an answer that would soothe whatever inadequacy he’d somehow strung your heart up with. Now, it’s genuine, asked more for him than you.

You want to be let in. Need it.

“Being out of it, I guess.” It’s a lot for him - admitting this. “I’ve just been busy and I guess I kind of just—“ The imposing line of his shoulders rise and fall, a mountain range disturbed by the uncertainty in his voice.

“Forgot about me?” You don’t mean it meanly. It’s a simple statement of fact, one the both of you have to face.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

You deliberate accepting the apology and moving on, sweeping it under the rug because he’s already come so much further than you’d thought he would. But that’s not the kind of person you are, so you press just a little more, stand just a little taller.

“I don’t think I ask for the world, Kook.” Maybe more than some people. Maybe less than others. “If I’m being too much, I’d rather you let me know than shut me out.”

A sigh comes, so heavy you wonder whether he might be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“No, I know.”

“Do you?”

(At some point you’d stopped massaging the conditioner in, opting to crowd your hands over his back, working into the knots that run beneath his skin. He hadn’t been lying - he’s stiff as a board, entire broad form twitching any time you press the pads of your thumbs into a particularly sensitive spot.)

“I thought I’d figure it out myself,” he reasons, in that oh-so impossible Jeon Jungkook way of his. “Didn't realise it was taking a toll on you.”

“On us,” you correct, not at all tactful.

“On us,” he agrees with another sigh, smaller this time, tinged blue with something that feels like guilt and fills up the glass space.

“We’re a team, you know.”

(You know he knows. You just have to remind him sometimes, anchor him with the knowledge that it’s not him against the world. That you’re in his corner - always.)

“I know.”

When he turns to look at you - doesn’t even flinch when the sudden movement has you wobbling on your feet, catches you when you stumble - you don’t doubt that. He loves you just as much as you love him, sees the whole world in the small of your stare.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, two hands coming to cradle your face, palms warm over each cheek. “Just give me some time.” For what, you’re not sure. You don’t mind waiting to find out though - willing to weather the storm just to see him happy.

Jungkook holds you close, threads his fingers through yours and peppers love into the silk of your hair. Dresses your skin in the heat of his affection and sears his signature into the velvet of your skin, teeth dragging, tongue gliding.

“Is this better?” He means how he holds you, how he treats you like porcelain as he fucks you slow and tender, keeps one leg hooked back over his own.

It’s not that this is the kind of lovemaking you prefer but rather the one you need, with him consuming you wholly, sweetly, filling you with each fluid roll of his hips and nothing else. No elaborate dirty talk, no overzealous bouncing, just the two of you together, curled against each other like you might not survive otherwise.

He’s not pushing you to your finish with deft fingers over your clit, not taking his fill with greedy hands. He’s simply there, with you, feeling every curve of your body as he sinks into your aching cunt and sighs as if he’s in heaven. (And maybe he is - because where he is could only ever be where you are and you feel like you’re floating, weightless and lovestruck, anchored only to your bed by the hand that squeezes yours and the mouth that purrs your name.)

“Yes,” you breathe, exhale in a breath that seems to take all of your effort. It’s hard to focus when he splits you open so well, fills your pussy and your heart and makes your chest erupt with a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he says it like that - folds it like a promise and tucks it into the spot behind your ear - you know it’s true. Even if you don’t always feel it, even if he doesn’t always show it, there’s not a doubt in your mind.

In all the ways he can, he loves you. And whether that means enough from one day to the next, you don’t mind sticking around to find out. Not if it means more of this.

(Of him, of you, of your life together.)

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

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sergiovinazzi · 3 years

Text

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Three)

3.9k words - Rated M (language)

Here it is, my most favourite chapter to date, I hope you enjoy!

You smooth the skirt of your soft, black-linen sundress with shaky hands and pinch the bridge of your nose. You’re regretting not packing anything warmer than the denim jacket currently wrapped around your shoulders when you’re interrupted by the disgruntled sounds of your father calling your name through the phone speaker.

“What?” you ask, exasperated. “Sorry, I got distracted for a second.”

He repeats himself in annoyance, “I said, are you okay with staying at the hotel and ordering dinner for yourself?”

Staring at the restaurant in front of you, you debate whether or not to explain your situation to him. You realise, however, that he probably has enough to worry about after today’s events at Silverstone, and his daughter being out to dinner with another team’s driver probably won’t go over well.

“Yeah,” you lie. “I could use a quiet night in. Will you grab something to eat for yourself on your way back?”

Your dad hums, and you can tell that once he heard the confirmation that he didn’t need to get dinner for you, he lost interest in anything you had to say after the fact. It’s not difficult for you to understand why. Still, the lack of a verbal response worries you and you find it hard to evade the thoughts about Max and the accident. To most, the fact that he got out of the car and could walk was a good sign, but you’re still plagued by the various possibilities of what the hospital tests will conclude and just how bad the damage really is.

“Will you let me know if he’s okay?” you ask quietly, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing the phone closer to your ear, as if you could hone in on the doctor’s discussions in the background to find out whether Max was going to be alright.

Your dad simply hums again. “I’ll text you when we know more, but I’ve gotta go. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, dad,” you murmur.

His quick Bye, love you is rapidly replaced with the end-of-call dial tone.

You slip the phone into your jacket pocket and take a deep breath, preparing to head inside the restaurant. You couldn’t help but clock the bright orange McLaren already stationed in the parking lot when your Uber arrived. You recognised it from a picture in the article you read when you first learned of Lando’s incident at Wembley. You’re thankful for the sign that he’s already here and you dredge up the remaining ounces of fake confidence left in your body, making an effort to quickly smooth down your hair before you open the door and enter the restaurant.

You’re immediately overwhelmed by the sheer atmosphere of elegance. Hand-painted horizons adorn the walls, encapsulated by swirling silver frames and accentuated by the small lights stationed above each piece of artwork, their job for the night to highlight the colours and shading the artist undoubtedly spent hours perfecting.

The savoury scents of garlic and soy originate in the kitchen and permeate across the premises with ease, challenged only by the rousing aroma of the stunning frangipanis adorning the entrance.

A woman you guess to be around your age approaches you with a notepad and pen in hand. She’s dressed in a black bodycon skirt with a hem that scrapes the top of her knees; her matching coloured button up shirt is tucked in smoothly. “Hi,” she greets with a small smile, “Would you like me to show you to the bar?”

“Oh, I’m actually supposed to be meeting someone here,” you tell her, eyes scanning the room for Lando.

You see him before he sees you.

He’s tucked away at a table in the corner, his brown curls peaking over the top of the large menu he's studying.

“Found him, thanks,” you tell the waitress and she returns to her station as you make your way across the restaurant towards Lando.

He looks up from the menu as your figure appears in his peripherals and he shoots you a wave when you’re a few metres away. You return his gesture with a small laugh and he stands, walking to the front of the table to greet you.

“Hey,” he says, enveloping you in a one-armed hug. “Glad you could make it.”

“Me too. I hope you weren’t waiting long,” you tell him, noticing the almost empty glass of beer in front of him as he returns to his seat.

“It wasn’t too long, don’t worry,” he reassures you.

The reality of the situation fails to present itself to you until you and Lando are seated silently across from one another. Your stomach is tightly wound with nerves but Lando appears just as anxious, noticeably fidgeting in his seat and frequently straightening his knife and fork. He’s dressed rather sharp compared to what you’d been treated to in the past, the blue and orange race suit discarded for a crisp white button down and black dress shorts. You wonder whether the outfit you picked out is suitable for tonight, although you cut yourself some slack. When you’d packed your suitcase on Wednesday, you’d hardly expected to spend any time outside of the Red Bull garage or your hotel room, let alone situated in a restaurant that was, now very obviously, out of your price range. The thought causes you to send a silent prayer to whoever would listen that you had enough in your spending account to pay your half of the final bill tonight.

The woman who greeted you earlier approaches the table to ask what drinks the two of you would like to order.

Lando asks for a cola and you look at him in confusion.

“You’re not going to have another one?” you ask him as he hands over his empty beer glass.

“No, I’m not a big drinker,” he replies, “Especially not during the season.”

“So why did you invite me to have drinks then?” you ask, clearly amused. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Lando Norris?”

He laughs, and raises his hands in mock surrender, “Hey! No, nothing like that. I just don’t really drink, I never have.”

“Yeah I kinda noticed that actually,” you tell him. “Even on your podiums you don’t drink the champagne.”

“I thought you didn’t watch Formula 1?”

You wish you could wipe the stupid smirk off of his face as you practically watch the realisation form in his head. “Have you been watching my old races?”

“No,” you retort somewhat unconvincingly. “I found some highlights on YouTube though, and your podiums from Spielberg and Imola were on there.”

“My podium finish in Monaco is pretty good too. I’d be happy to show it to you sometime, though, it’s a shame that you find racing so boring.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Shut up.”

The warm glow emitting from the industrial-style bulbs resting overhead doesn’t help the blush settling on your cheeks, and neither does the grin Lando shoots you. You shrug off your jacket and place it carefully on the back of your seat just as the waitress arrives with your freshly poured Caiproska. You thank her and trace your fingers along the cool side of the glass, collecting the droplets of condensation that form in hopes that they’ll provide some sort of relief from your keen fever.

Lando’s gaze is strong enough that you feel him watching you without having to look across at him, it transcends the need for observed confirmation and instead sets your body alight merely at the thought of it. The thrum of your heart threatens to escape the confines of your chest and you stupidly pray that he doesn’t hear it as the exposed skin of your chest flushes scarlet against the dark neckline of your dress. You clasp the charm that sits at your throat, pinching it between your fingers and allowing yourself to bask in the minimal relief the cold metal provides against your warm skin.

Lando wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts and takes a deep breath. “So, that was a pretty crazy race today, huh? I didn’t think I’d be able to hold onto fourth place, not with another Ferrari behind me and Daniel.”

“Yeah, it was crazy,” is all you can reply before delving back into your pocket at what you think is the sound of your phone receiving a message.

God, he thinks, he’s boring you half to death. He finally has you all to himself and the only topic he can string more than a few words together for is his job, treating you like a reporter he’s obligated to unpack his strategy for in the paddock. He doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking nervous tonight, he wasn’t nearly this wound up when he’d asked you out. Sure, it was an effort to keep his hands from shaking as he locked his car and crossed the parking lot, but he convinced himself it was just the gentle breeze passing through the city that set his flesh alight with goosebumps. He was simply excited, more than anything, to spend some one-on-one time with someone his own age, and if that someone happened to be a pretty girl, who could blame him for looking forward to it?

But then you showed up in that dress and suddenly the possibility that he’d see you out of it by the end of the night if he played his cards right became more and more realistic. His head spins at the thought of taking you home tonight. And the next night. And suddenly the thought is replaced by the images of himself coming home to you every night. After months overseas with nothing but timezone-dependent calls he returns to the comfort of your embrace, it’s your fingers that gently scrape the back of his neck as a confirmation that he’s home. It’s the warmth of your body and the lilt of no one else’s voice that cures the cavity in his chest that enveloped him the moment he shut the apartment door behind him all those weeks ago. He sees you seated on his kitchen counter, legs swinging as the coffee brews each morning, and asleep on his couch every night even after you’d promised if he let you pick the movie you’d stay awake this time.

He knows he’s in way over his head. He only just met you, what, three days ago? Yet here he sits, wishing there was some magic rule book that could explain how he could make sure his time with you never ends. He wishes he’d met you long before this week –honestly, it feels like he’s known you for much longer–so that the heat that rises underneath his shirt and the lump in his throat doesn't lend itself to the idea that he’s just some lust-fuelled boy. Your text messages make him laugh like no one else’s have before and the thought that you were watching him this afternoon, after you weren’t initially planning to stay for the race, had him feeling more confident than he has all season.

He knows he can’t tell you all that, it’s way too soon and you’ll think he’s crazy. He has to think of something interesting to talk to you about to fill the minutes before he feels it appropriate to ask you out for a second time, but instead he sits in silence as you refuse to meet his gaze. Your eyes won’t stop lingering on your phone screen, or darting around the restaurant, undoubtedly searching for distractions. Signs on the wall you could read to pass the time until the check comes, or maybe you’re searching for a saviour, a bartender to lock eyes with who’ll answer your silent plea: get me the hell out of here. He’s caught off guard when your eyes make their way back to him, his heart skips a singular beat like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He’s preparing himself to appear nonchalant in response to the immaculately crafted excuse you’re undoubtedly about to deliver in order to explain your sudden escape from his company, when a small smile forms on your lips instead.

He smiles back.

“Sorry,” he explains. “I know I talk a lot about racing. It’s kind of my whole life at the moment so it’s easy for me to get carried away.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m kind of used to it anyway. It’s basically all we talk about at the dinner table when my dad’s home.”

“Well, what do you like to talk about? I saw on your Instagram that you’re studying advertising, tell me something about that.”

You smile at his consideration and tell him all about your degree. How you’ve always had an interest in design and noticed how it could be used to turn a profit, right from when you would try your hand at creating the posters for your school’s bake sales and car washes. You tell him the story of your first paid commission for a digital advertisement, an intricately crafted Instagram post for an up-and-coming clothing boutique based in London. He asks questions in all the right places and offers his congratulations when you show him screenshots of some of your most successful work.

Conversation ebbs and flows easily throughout the night, the nerves that had you second guessing your decision to come earlier tonight eradicated. The food is tremendous, and your company even better. Your waitress returns with the final bill for the night and Lando hands his card over without hesitation.

“Hey, no,” you say. “Let me pay for my half.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells you. “This was my way of repaying you for bringing my watch back, remember?”

Oh. That’s all tonight was for. He felt obligated to spend money on you in return for the trouble you’d gone through to return his stolen timepiece to him.

“When I talked to the police they said they could get me the money back once the guy was caught,” you stress. “So, you don’t need to do that.”

He brushes your statement off with a wave of his hand and smiles when the waitress returns with his card and a receipt.

Your mind mistakes the reverberation of champagne flutes clinking together for the chime of your text tone and you instinctively reach into your purse, hoping to see the screen alight with good news. You’d settle for any news really, so long as it meant you would finally get a clear picture of what was going on, and you could stop embellishing the details of the worst case scenario you had designed in your head.

A 51G impact like the one you had witnessed today can do a lot of damage to the body, whether visible from the outside or not, and you hoped, more than anything, that the helmet and halo were enough to protect Max from anything more than a few minor scrapes and bruises.

You’re lost in a world of nightmarish outcomes until you remember where you are. Lando’s face is contorted in a concerned frown across from you.

“Everything alright?” he asks gently.

“Yeah, sorry, I thought I heard my phone go off but it must’ve been something else.”

“It’s getting pretty noisy in here, do you want to head outside?” he offers.

“Okay.”

———

In the slight summer breeze you observe the moonlight washing across Lando’s figure, illuminating his features softly and elucidating the closeness of his face to yours. The proximity allows you to easily breathe in the pleasant cedarwood undertones of the cologne that adorns his skin, and allows him to imagine the sweet ropy flavour undoubtedly lingering on your tongue from the maraschino cherries you’d so delicately placed between your teeth throughout night.

The crinkles that form at the edges of his eyes as he meets your gaze with a smile are priceless. You wish you could bottle the feeling they give you and save it for a day you need it most.

“I had a nice time,” he tells you, practically beaming. “I can’t remember the last time I went out after a race and talked about stuff other than racing.”

“Yeah it was nice, dinner was really good too.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you stand in silence while you wait for your Uber to arrive. Lando had insisted on driving you back to your hotel but you knew his car would cause a fuss so you declined and told him you had an Uber discount code that was due to expire. You make an effort to seem fascinated by the cracks in the sidewalk and Lando acts intrigued by the streetlights, both of you dancing around the question that lingers unspoken in the air.

Are we going to meet up again?

The alert on your phone informs you that your driver is only a minute away.

“He’s almost here,” you tell Lando. “Thank you so much for paying for dinner, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s okay!” he insists. He shifts his weight on his feet before offering his arms to you.

You accept his invitation and hug him goodbye. You can’t help but notice the heat radiating through his thin shirt and feel his heart hammering between your two chests. His fingertips burn brands into your skin as they rest softly on your back and when he pulls back from you his hands don’t move an inch.

You catch his gaze and feel his thumb sweep softly over the fabric of your dress, underneath your jacket, before his lips meet yours in a searing kiss.

You’re caught off guard to say the least. His hands are hot on your back but his lips are soft and you’d be lying if you said they weren’t sending your head into a frenzy.

The rest of the day’s events are temporarily overruled by Lando kissing you; lying to your dad about where you are, wishing you could celebrate Lando’s fourth place finish with him in his garage, the repetitive questions aimed at you by the police that had you exhausted by mid morning, let alone Max’s accident.

Max.

And suddenly it’s not Lando’s but another pair of lips that are on yours, larger and hungrier and they come with a devastating reminder of what it’s like to sneak around with a Formula 1 driver. The lying and heartache that you remember all too clearly to feel like the kind of falling that jolts you awake from dreams.

You pull back and place your hands on Lando’s shoulders, staring down.

He’s instantly apologetic, bringing a hand through the front of his hair. “Sorry, I thought…fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, removing your hands and wrapping them around yourself. “It’s okay, um my car’s here anyway so I gotta go.”

He just nods and shoves his hands into his pockets.

The slamming of the car door feels like a hammer pounding in Lando’s head. For a moment he had you. In his hand was the opportunity to make something great out of your meeting, but he wrapped his fingers inward and crushed it in an instant.

———

When you wake the next morning, your head remains sore from the screeching of car engines throughout your eventful weekend. Though not particularly unbearable at the time, the accumulation of noise over the three days you were at the track had definitely built up.

Instinctively, you check your phone, assuming that you would be confronted with your typical notifications: a recommended Instagram account, a liked Tweet, maybe even a text. You know you’re being optimistic to expect anything from Lando, your mind refusing to stop reminding you of how awkward you had made your time together the night before. Still, you yearn for any sort of reassurement that it wasn’t as bad as your overthinking had made it out to be.

You read the time and see that it’s almost noon. You know that your dad will be out until around two o’clock, already fussing about with work related ordeals in order to have things perfect for the race in Hungary. When you eventually awaken enough to read the notifications on your phone, you find it difficult to hide your surprise as you find a text and missed call from Lando, the nervous feeling that you endured last night returns, sinking into your stomach like a stone.

Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I had a really nice time last night :) Sorry if I was too forward at the end, I hope it didn’t ruin your night or anything.

Biting back a smile as you read the text, your mind is put at ease as you realise that he enjoyed himself as much as you did. You’re tempted to text him back immediately and tell him that he’s being silly, that of course he didn’t ruin your night. You wish you could explain your situation with Max and how, if it were any other night than the one your ex-boyfriend spent in hospital, you would have kissed Lando back. However, your plan to reply is thwarted as you notice the notification that informs you Lando also left you a voicemail. He must have called some time after sending his initial text message. Finger hovering over the play button, you are hopeful that it’s further kind words about your time together, or perhaps an invitation for a second ‘date’. If you could call it that. Nevertheless, you push the button.

The disappointed sigh he lets out causes your heart to stutter, before his voice crackles through the phone speaker.

“Hey, it’s me. Sorry for calling, I know I already texted you and um… I hate that I have to do this but I think it would be better for you to hear it from me instead of finding out online or something. I’ve just seen that someone got pictures of us together last night. I didn’t think anyone who knew me would be there but I guess it was still close enough to Silverstone that someone recognised who I was. I’m really sorry, but if it is any help I don’t think anyone recognised you because your face isn’t really in the photos. I’m trying to get them taken down and it’s not really on Instagram or in the news or anything, but lots of people on Twitter are talking about it. If there’s anything that I can do, please let me know. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen at his words, breath hitching in your throat as you process it. You replay the message over and over, as if hearing it multiple times will change the bad news Lando delivers each time. Instinctually, you close the app and scrub your hands over your face. You wonder about what exact kind of picture the photos he’s referring to imply. Does it paint a picture that could get you in trouble?

What about Lando?

Fuck.

What about your dad?

Your stomach drops at the thought of him seeing them. Getting caught lying about your whereabouts was one thing, but being caught with Lando Norris while you promised you were tucked up in the confines of your hotel room opens up a whole new world of possible consequences.

As if the universe can read your mind, it delivers your worst nightmare to you on a silver platter, piping hot and laced with venom.

A notification appears from your dad.

Call me when you’re awake.

-------

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

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yuutasprincess · 3 years

Note

Hey love, can you write something about reader keep teasing Yuuta and touching him in an important meeting under the table because she likes how he gets tense and blush like crazy, and no matter how many times he tries to stop her and move her hand away she teases him even more so he snaps and take her hands and drag her to the nearest empty room and fuck her up against the wall so roughly she can barely stand up after they're done. Please she just wanted him to feel good and less stressed on his birthday, guess he got annoyed with her behaviour.

Light chatter buzzes in his ear and goes unprocessed as everyone at the table converses. yuuta isn’t sure what the topic is anymore, something about undetected curses.. maybe? his fingers drum against the cool surface and leave prints on the glass, his body is so hot even his hands are burning up. sweat slicks his palm and drips uncomfortably down to his wrist, his jacket sticks to his skin and his cheeks light up brighter than the flicking candles providing a warm glow. the room is too stuffy for his liking, there’s too many people, too many concerned looks thrown his way, too much- it’s too much. his lungs feel as if there about to burst and embarrassment runs through his veins when his breath hitches, he lets out a shaky exhale and tosses his head back violently when the chair next to him squeaks. you’re playing mind games with him.

How long can he last? how much times has passed? there’s no clocks and the only watch is the one glinting on nanami’s wrist. another breath leaves him when a hand grips at his thigh, delicate fingers massage the supple skin through his jeans and trace over the seams to lightly cup the outline of his hardening cock. a desperate “Please” is all he can muster up when your hand runs over the bump in the fabric. a sickly sweet smile appears on your pretty face when he meets your eyes as you mouth out a ‘happy birthday’ to toy with him. he’s putty in your hands, squirming and arching in his seat to scoot away from your teasing grasp. “We’ll come to a consensus on our own, return immediately.” a gravely voice snaps him back and he’s quick to get a hold of your wrist, and though gojo and mei mei were first to run away from the table; there was nothing stopping him from bursting into the closest vacant room.

He’s tripping over himself, backing you up into the wall and pinning his body against yours, “you’re getting on my nerves” his words are cold yet his tone is ever so soft and you can feel his heart thumping erratically in his chest. “I just feel bad that you have to be so busy on your birthday” there it is again- that cavity sweet smile that makes his knees weak. his lips mesh with yours, hands slip around and his body bends to hook under your knee for leverage. “I’ll take my gift now then” a bashful laugh escapes him at his own voice and for a second you think, maybe he isn’t upset about the teasing? but you’re oh so wrong, so very, very wrong. he steals the air from your lungs and when the dizzying feeling from his kiss fades you’re ultra aware of the way his pants are now around his ankles, boxers pooled above the heap of fabric and leaking cock kissing his abdomen. it twitches in excitement when his fingers yank your panties aside and he gets a peek of your drooling pussy. his teeth sink into the exposed skin from the dip of your shirt and a hiss leaves you when he bites down hard enough to leave a mark.

“How agitating” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as his cock rubs against your slit. a deep sigh leaves him when he sinks into you, the hands gripping your knees let go for a split second to drop you onto him before catching you again. a tingle trails up the tail of your spine with each ram of his hips and you have to clutch onto his tense shoulders so your head doesn’t smash into the wall behind you. he uses you like his personal cock sleeve, shapes your insides and bruises your cervix until your entire body jolts with sensitivity. his balls slap against your ass with every drop and he retracts his hips until the tip pokes out to admire the sheen dripping to his base before fitting himself back into your snug walls. your stomach churns with the loose hold he has on you and the fear of falling makes the coil in your belly snap as he continues to rut against you. your ankles lock around his lower back and you cry out when the head of his cock kisses your womb, his balls twitch once more as he fills your pretty tummy with his cum. yuutas hands slip up to your hips as he eases you onto the floor and he laughs when you rest against the wall with his cum leaking from your battered cunt. “C’mon, we have to return immediately” he admires your fucked out form while lifting his pants back up and offers you a bitter smile when a pitiful whine leaves you as you try to stand, “what’s wrong? Not in the mood to tease me anymore?”

#what do you mean his birthday passed ??#his birthday is every day here #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #okkotsu yuuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader

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zintranslations · 3 years

Text

Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 119

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Chapter 119: Real Life

There were a total of eight chests in the kitchen. Xiao Ji had opened three, and Xiao Mei had opened three. There were two left.

Lin Qiushi went and gave these two chests a listen, confirming that one chest had something inside and the other was empty.

After the contents of the chests were confirmed, things got a lot easier. Lin Qiushi opened the empty chest and made sure the tunnel wasn't inside. Then beside him, Ruan Nanzhu used the wooden stake in his hands on the other chest. He stabbed the stake straight through the top of the chest and then used a dining room stool as a hammer, pounding the stake in inch by inch.

Following the stake's puncturing, an awful scream came from inside the chest. Large quantities of bright red blood seeped forth from the top, soaking the black wood through.

This was a cry they'd heard many times before—the cry of the Hako Onna. It was just that this time, her crying felt somewhat more wretched. Those standing around the chest listened on, silent and numb.

They were already used to death. Facing the Hako Onna once more, their senses of fright had already been sanded down flat. Luck was too large a component of this game; had they not been able to find the wooden stake, or had they not met the self-sacrificing Xiao Mei, this matter likely would've involved a lot more twists and turns, as well as several more victims.

Compared to when they first came in, there was more exhaustion on everybody's faces.

Ruan Nanzhu held Lin Qiushi's hand and stood in front of the wooden chest, listening as the cries inside got weaker and weaker.

"Who's opening it?" Sun Yuanzhou's companion asked once the crying died down.

"I'll do it," Sun Yuanzhou said. "We've been under your care these past few days."

He obviously had some lifesaver item as well. Had Ruan Nanzhu not expended the Hako Onna's power cards, more people likely would've died.

He took a step forward and grabbed hold of the chest. With a light application of force, he lifted the lid.

When he did so everybody held their breaths, but it was about as they expected—the Hako Onna inside the chest had disappeared, leaving behind only a puddle of blood. Behind the blood was a dark cavity, and at the bottom of that cavity there was a long set of stairs leading off into the distance.

The group entered the tunnel and followed the stairs all the way down.

Finally, at the end of the stairs, they saw a black metal door.

Ruan Nanzhu brought out the key, stepped forward, and opened the door. After it opened, he picked up the fallen hint slip.

And so the tenth door ended just like that. Both Ruan Nanzhu and Lin Qiushi got out safely and took the tenth door's hint slip with them.

Before taking off, Sun Yuanzhou tactfully expressed to Ruan Nanzhu a desire to work with them again.

Ruan Nanzhu was noncommittal and only took down his contact information. After that, he and Lin Qiushi followed that glowing tunnel into the real world.

Coming back to reality and getting to breathe this air again, Lin Qiushi once again felt the beauty of being alive. He rushed up the stairs, only to find Ruan Nanzhu standing at the other end like he'd just been ready to come down.

Then the two wordlessly caught each other in a hug, taking in the heat that emanated from each other's bodies. Only this way could they be certain that they'd survived the door.

Cheng Qianli just happened to be passing by, and when he saw the two wrapped around each other, he could only swallow the dog food and mutter about how it was the middle of the day, and he was a minor, could you guys please check yourselves.

Ruan Nanzhu shot him a glare and Cheng Qianli scampered away.

"Did you get the hint?" Lin Qiushi asked Ruan Nanzhu.

"I got it," Ruan Nanzhu answered.

"How does it compare to the one you got last time?"

Ruan Nanzhu thought for a moment and, without answering, took the hint slip from his pocket to hand to Lin Qiushi. Lin Qiushi took the hint and read the words on it, expression turning into one of consternation. On the tiny paper hint slip, there were only two words written: No Solution.

"How could this be?!" Lin Qiushi asked, stunned.

From the first through tenth door, the hint that each door offered provided them with some information. But the hint to the eleventh door was somehow "no solution."

He glanced up at Ruan Nanzhu. "The one you got before is the same?"

"Mh," Ruan Nanzhu nodded.

This was why he went through the tenth door again, because the hint he'd gotten last time was utterly useless and wasn't of any help at all.

The eleventh door did not provide them with a hint for use; the hint slip this time proved it hadn't been an anomaly.

Looking at the hint, Lin Qiushi's heart sank. But after some thought, he told Ruan Nanzhu: "That's okay. As long as I'm with you, I don’t feel so scared."

Ruan Nanzhu couldn't help but grin, pressing a kiss to Lin Qiushi's forehead.

Though the eleventh door's hint slip was a heavy weight to bear, they had to go on living.

That night, Lin Qiushi saw a piece of news on the television. It said that there had been a serious car accident downtown, and that a bus carrying more than a dozen people drove right off the bridge, resulting in six deaths and over twenty injuries.

In the list of fatalities, Lin Qiushi saw a young man named Li Bomei. It reminded him of something, and he let out a soft breath.

At least Xiao Mei and her lover had one last chance to say goodbye. In reality, they could hold each other and die happy. They might have even been able to give each other one gentle kiss, and make promises for the next life.

Ruan Nanzhu understood as well, but he picked up the remote and changed the channel.

"It's always worse to be the one left behind," Lin Qiushi said. "It's much better if they could leave together."

"It's hard to let that happen though," Ruan Nanzhu said. It was hard to let a lover die; you only hoped he could live on happily.

Lin Qiushi turned around to look at him.

"Then have you thought of the fact that once you come out, you have to face your lover leaving a second time?" And you had to see him die right in front of you. That was surely a bit too cruel.

"True."

Though Ruan Nanzhu's voice was faint, he agreed with what Lin Qiushi said.

There was a long time still between the tenth and the eleventh doors. They didn't have to be in a hurry.

But in a few more months, Cheng Yixie and Cheng Qianli would be going into their tenth door.

That was why in this period of time, Lin Qiushi basically didn't see the twins at all. It seemed that Cheng Yixie was taking Cheng Qianli through a crazy amount of doors, so many that Cheng Yixie nearly lost his mind.

"Uwaaa why me," Cheng Qianli wept in complaint to Lin Qiushi. "My brother's taking me through a door every three days, I really can't take it anymore!"

Lin Qiushi watched him in sympathy.

"Go on, don't worry about it. I'll take care of Toast for you," he said while he petted Toast's fat little butt.

Cheng Qianli had more to say, but Cheng Yixie came and whisked him away. Watching these brothers, Lin Qiushi thought this was quite funny.

Due to Ruan Nanzhu's presence, Obsidian had always commanded high prices and huge quantities of commissions. Countless people wanted to hire Ruan Nanzhu to take them through their doors.

Gu Longming contacted Lin Qiushi over the internet with a tactful message about how he would like to join Obsidian.

Once Lin Qiushi received Gu Longming's intentions, he went and spoke to Ruan Nanzhu about it.

"What are your thoughts?" Ruan Nanzhu asked Lin Qiushi.

"I think he's got a lot of potential." Lin Qiushi spoke his assessment of Gu Longming. "He's a good seed."

Ruan Nanzhu gave it some thought.

"When's his sixth door?"

"The beginning of next year, I think." Lin Qiushi made some simple calculations. "It should be around new years exactly."

"Don't give him an answer yet," Ruan Nanzhu said. "I want to meet him inside the doors first."

It wouldn't be too late to bring Gu Longming into Obsidian after he made certain Gu Longming had the qualifications. Not just anyone could join Obsidian, after all.

For a while, the mansion stayed busy. Those who did gigs did their gigs and those who trained trained. Only Lin Qiushi had absolutely nothing to do. At first he'd wanted to take some jobs from the forum, but Ruan Nanzhu had stopped him, telling him to wait until after the new year to take jobs. He ought to take this time to rest and replenish his spirits.

When December came, the weather grew cold. A snowstorm came about ten days in.

The heater was on inside the mansion, and Lin Qiushi was curled up on the couch, nodding off.

He didn't know where Ruan Nanzhu had gone off too. Ruan Nanzhu had been busy recently. It seemed to have something to do with White Deer.

Zhuang Rujiao returned to the mansion with snowflakes on her shoulders and hair. When Lin Qiushi heard noise, he looked up, saw her covered in snow, and asked, "you didn't bring an umbrella?"

"I didn't think it'd snow," Zhuang Rujiao said.

At this point, Lin Qiushi could see no hint of Xia Rubei on Zhuang Rujiao still. That cute, innocent scaredy-cat of a girl seemed to have been an illusion; only the woman before him now with the distant eyes was real.

"Something's happened at White Deer," Zhuang Rujiao spoke as she wiped her hair with a towel. "Jin Yurui is dead."

She announced Jin Yurui's death like she was talking about a matter of no importance at all.

Jin Yurui was the one who took over as White Deer's leader after Li Dongyuan's death. Lin Qiushi had only met her once before, and didn't think that she'd be gone not so long after.

"Because of a door?" Lin Qiushi asked.

"Mh," Zhuang Rujiao said. "I'm leaving." She picked up the hot tea on the table, taking a slow and neat sip. "I'll be the leader over at White Deer."

Lin Qiushi: "Can you do it?"

Zhuang Rujiao laughed: "I've got to, even if I can't. You have Ruan Nanzhu to protect you. The one protecting me is gone."

Lin Qiushi was silent.

"I really do envy you two. If I'd been able to become like you sooner, then he might not be dead." Zhuang Rujiao was talking about Li Dongyuan. "But the world never does sell medicine for regrets. I've been in your care these past months, thank you."

Though she'd lived at Obsidian for a while, she'd never truly become part of the group. Clearly, she'd anticipated leaving one day.

Lin Qiushi: "I hope everything goes well."

"Mh," Zhuang Rujiao said. "I'll take your well wishes."

After that, she went upstairs to pack up her stuff. Lin Qiushi went to the doorway and saw through the french windows that Ruan Nanzhu was back as well. Ruan Nanzhu wasn't coming inside though, only stood silently by the car at the front door.

White snowflakes fell on his raven-black hair, and his dark eyes were looking slightly down. His pretty lips were pressed together in a thin, taut line.

Lin Qiushi called out: "Ruan Nanzhu."

Ruan Nanzhu glanced up, and the corners of his mouth flicked up just for Lin Qiushi. Smiling sentiment tinted his eyes—nothing too strong, but plenty enough to warm Lin Qiushi's chest.

Lin Qiushi fetched an umbrella from the side of the door and went outside, opening it beside Ruan Nanzhu.

"Why don't you have an umbrella?"

Snow in the south was different from snow in the north; once fallen, it melted easily on a person. Ruan Nanzhu's shoulders and hair, therefore, all bore traces of wetness.

Ruan Nanzhu: "I forgot."

Lin Qiushi: "Are you driving her there?"

"Mh," Ruan Nanzhu nodded.

"What's the situation like at White Deer?" Lin Qiushi felt that things weren't actually so simple.

"Not great," Ruan Nanzhu said. "I'm not sure if she'll be able to hold it down."

Changing leaders twice in a row was not a good thing for White Deer. Had it been the Zhuang Rujiao of the past, then Ruan Nanzhu would definitely have not agreed to let her go. Now, however, Ruan Nanzhu chose to respect Zhuang Rujiao's wishes. Though Li Dongyuan wanted Zhuang Rujiao to live on well, did this sort of living at some point become a kind of torment?

This was a lesson that Lin Qiushi had taught Ruan Nanzhu, at least.

Zhuang Rujiao quickly packed up her stuff and came out. She did not have much with her; whether coming or going, she seemed like just a passerby.

"Safe travels," Lin Qiushi said to her.

"Thank you," Zhuang Rujiao replied, getting into Ruan Nanzhu's car.

So Lin Qiushi stood under the umbrella and watched as the car disappeared into the snowy distance.

This was the last time he'd see Zhuang Rujiao. Later, he'd learn from Ruan Nanzhu that Zhuang Rujiao did manage to hold White Deer down. She'd perfectly inherit Li Dongyuan's legacy.

"Did she kill Jin Yurui?" Lin Qiushi would ask Ruan Nanzhu when the time came.

"I don't know," Ruan Nanzhu would say. "I'm not sure, so I can't say either way. However, Jin Yurui did fail in a door that she and Zhuang Rujiao were passing together."

"Oh," Lin Qiushi said. "Then how did Li Dongyuan die?"

"Zhuang Rujiao says it has something to do with Jin Yurui. As for the truth, I don't know that either."

"Oh."

Not long after Zhuang Rujiao left, the new year came around. But because Cheng Yixie and Cheng Qianli were entering a door after the new year, they didn't go very over-the-top with this year's celebrations. The twins who usually headed home didn't go this time either, instead seizing the time to train on more doors.

Gu Longming's sixth door would be after the new year, around the tenth or so. When he learned that Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu were going into his sixth door with him, he was naturally ecstatic.

But Ruan Nanzhu still made it clear to him that they could not be protecting Gu Longming this time, nor could they make any guarantees about Gu Longming's survival, so Gu Longming should prepare himself for any incidents. Reading between the lines, he was basically telling Gu Longming to prepare a will, in case when the time came he’d come out the door, die, and have nothing arranged.

Gu Longming was shocked by how blunt this girl Zhu Meng was, and said Linlin ah, is this your girlfriend?

Lin Qiushi thought for a bit before answering yeah.

Gu Longming: "She's going in with us this time?"

Lin Qiushi: "Yes."

Gu Longming: "Is she good then?"

Lin Qiushi: "Better than me."

Gu Longming nodded, thinking that if she was better than Lin Qiushi, then she really must be amazing. And so he grew much happier.

As for the sixth door's hint, Ruan Nanzhu would be providing it. It was still being selected, and Lin Qiushi wasn't too worried.

The few days around the new year, the mansion was particularly lively.

Cheng Qianli finally got a couple of days off from Cheng Yixie, brazenly dragging Lin Qiushi with him to buy a bunch of fireworks in secret.

Lin Qiushi said, "but isn't it illegal to set off fireworks in this city?"

"We're the suburbs, sub-urban! Nobody cares."

Lin Qiushi looked at him in doubt.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Cheng Qianli put on a pitiful face. "I've only got this one hobby, can't you indulge me a little bit?"

"Fine fine fine, I'll indulge you."

Then the two found a clearing to start lighting fireworks. Everybody else from the mansion watched from afar, and Lin Qiushi called, "come over and join us."

"That’s for kids," Chen Fei said. "Us adults couldn't possibly join you."

Lin Qiushi, "…"

Forget Chen Fei. Even Cheng Yixie beside him had the same sort of expression, the you guys are so childish I don't even want to speak to you kind of look.

Lin Qiushi glanced at Cheng Qianli grinning like a fool beside him and didn't know what to say for a whole minute.

But foolish Cheng Qianli didn't seem to know he was being judged, cackling with his butt stuck out as he lit the fireworks. He watched the fireworks shoot up off the ground and explode open in the night sky, bursting out into laughter.

"It's so pretty." His eyes curved up, grinning like a kid, pupils dyed the fireworks' rich colors.

Lin Qiushi looked over at Ruan Nanzhu, standing far away. Their gazes met, and saw a smile in each other's eyes.

But these smiles only lasted a few seconds before disappearing, because there came the sound of police sirens from the distance.

"Oh shit, run!!" Yi Manman roared. "If we're caught we'll be fined!"

So the group took off, Cheng Qianli darting and leaping like a rabbit. Lu Yanxue, who ran the slowest, was stomping her feet by the end, cursing, "if I'd known I wouldn't have worn heels today!"

They were quick to escape, and luckily did not get caught. They all got back into the mansion, laughing in living room, and Cheng Qianli still had the nerve to pout, complaining that the police came too quickly, he still had a bunch he hadn't lit yet!

"I told you not to get the rocket fireworks, but you wouldn't listen," Chen Fei said. "And look what's happened now."

Cheng Qianli's dream of beautiful fireworks was completely destroyed. The group cooked up the dumplings they’d prepared before and ate while they chatted, passing this lively new year's eve together.

After the countdown, Lin Qiushi snuck into Ruan Nanzhu's room, and the two slept in the same bed all evening.

This was the happiest new year's eve that Lin Qiushi had ever had. Last year, he hadn't been too familiar with Obsidian, but this year, he'd basically made it his home.

Ruan Nanzhu slept on his side with a hand on Lin Qiushi's waist, breaths hitting Lin Qiushi's neck.

It didn't take long for Lin Qiushi to grow sleepy, the two sinking into deep slumber.

The next morning, there were new guests at the mansion. Lin Qiushi first thought it was another organization, but when he went downstairs to look, he found that it was Cheng Yixie and Cheng Qianli's parents.

They'd brought with them a bunch of local specialties, and were passing them out with big smiles.

Lin Qiushi had heard about his parents from Cheng Qianli before, and that they didn't really know what their sons were doing. Cheng Yixie had lied and told them that they treated hereditary diseases here, but as for how they did so, he'd never told them in detail.

But for a once-hopeless family, the method no longer mattered. Tacitly, the parents didn't ask more questions—as long as their kids could survive, whatever the method, it didn't matter at all.

Cheng Qianli spotted Lin Qiushi standing in the second-floor hallway and waved him over, calling, "Qiushi, come down! My parents brought you a present!"

Lin Qiushi went downstairs and greeted Cheng Qianli's parents. Cheng Qianli stuffed a giant bag of candy into his arms.

"You like candy, don't you? My parents got these just for you."

Lin Qiushi thanked them with sincerity, but the father only gave him a smile filled with gratitude, saying his son's been in their care.

After that they all ate lunch together. Chen Fei had wanted to keep them here for a few more days, but the parents were staunch about still having things to do, so they had to leave first.

Cheng Yixie wanted to say something, but in the end, didn't try to keep them.

"Do they know?"

After they left, Lin Qiushi asked Cheng Yixie this.

"Probably not," Cheng Yixie said. "They seem to think we're doing something bad." Then, after a beat of silence, "but they also don't stop me or anything."

To a mother and father, the survival of their children was the biggest blessing, particularly for a pair of terminally ill twins. It was hard to imagine the sort of difficulty they’d faced when they thought they were losing both of their kids at once.

"Mh," Lin Qiushi said. "Maybe you can explain it to them."

"I have. They don't really believe it." Cheng Yixie glanced at the mansion. "But they should be less worried this time."

"Do they come often?" Lin Qiushi asked.

"Rarely," Cheng Yixie said. "This is the second time."

The first time was when Cheng Yixie brought Cheng Qianli over. Cheng Qianli had been just a kid then, passing his first door on luck and calling his brother in tears. Cheng Yixie rushed home overnight to take his little brother away with him. When his mother had learned what he wanted to do, her gaze had been filled with melancholy. But she hadn't stopped him, asking only: "Can Qianli really survive?"

Cheng Yixie had answered: "I'll do my best."

After that, she never asked again.

Cheng Qianli, who should've died years ago, was still alive and well; Cheng Yixie had kept his promise. He'd gotten that foolish brother of his past the torment of their sickness and made sure he lived on in health.

[Ch. 118] | [Ch. 120]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒 #skjdfnsd the first time i read the novel and i got to this chapter ending i was like #UM UH OH EXCUSE ME DON'T YOU DARE MA'AM DON'T YOU DARE #but listen #my son's back next chapter so we're all winners here #get ready for rotten fish seasickness and claustrophobia #also badass LQS #also RNZ meeting GLM hahahahahahahahhahaa #but i'm being sent offsite for work for two days so there might not be a chapter update tomorrow #TTTT

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7soulstars · 3 years

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hello! can i request something funny with thranduil? ony if you're comfortable with writing itof course.

he took y/n in *like Elnord did with Aragorn* but she is a huge troublemaker,always pulling pranks on elves or sneaking to the woods and putting herself in danger, giving him many heart attacks in the process, yet he can't stop loving her.

*screams* I love this !! Of course I’ll write something based on this ! Let’s go !!

Erevan Ilesere’s Petal

Pairing: Thranduil x Immortal! Reader

Warnings: Cavity Inducing fluff, Angst if you squint, Decent writing ??

Summary: No matter how much of annoyance Y/N is,Thranduil cannot stop adoring his lady.

..............

Erevan Ilesere ; The elven god of mischief and tricks

Nobody knew who Y/N was, what she is, where she is from or why was she found in the center of the clearing at the heart of the forest Mirkwood. Neither did she. She knew nothing of herself except her name. But that didn't intrigue Thranduil, the blue petal mark etched on her skin did.

The battle of the five armies had been a turning point in Thranduil’s life, he was at calm with himself, but at the same time he felt lonely. He let his son go on an adventure that he’d not know when he would return from, he was at peace with his wife’s death.He had to let her go.Though she would always have a special place in his heart. He had to focus more on his people, flourish his kingdom and move on. But he felt empty.

He felt alone.

So went he found Y/N heavily injured at the clearing, he didn’t hesitate to take her in.

Y/N was different. Not in normal mannerisms she was not. It was unexplainable. She was different.

After she was taken in by Thranduil and healed, she said she knew nothing of her kin or where was born. All she remembered that she had been living the life of a ranger for as long as she recalls.

She had always been alone.

But that never stopped her from being vocal. She was bold, so bold that she would barge into the court meetings to give the most random suggestions, make jokes or even put flowers in Thranduil’s crown during it. And he would always let her, sometimes even smiling.

The elves didn’t expect it. Valar! No one on Middle Earth would have.

Y/N became the most adored individual in the entirity of Mirkwood. She made the place happier, the forest was healing and things got better.....

But everyone has things others do not enjoy about themselves. Y/N did too. She was chaos in a bottle.

Once she had covered onions with caramel and gave it to the palace guards claiming they were caramel apples. The other time she had paired along with with Mëludir, Lindir’s brother who was at Mirkwood and had filled the sweet Lembas bread with mayonnaise instead of cream which had everyone at the dinner table spit it out except Elrond who as wierd as it seemed, took a liking to it. She had put a rat inside Tauriel’s hair, having her scream across the hall. And Rumil and her had filled Haldir’s shoe with mud which had forced the two to hide for the entire day later with Y/N hiding behind Thranduil and his robes flinching everytime Haldir was yelling at her.

“Lady Y/N this is not a joke I had those shoes cleaned yesterday and now you have ruined them! And Rumil you are no less! Is this how you treat me? Your Gwanur(brother)?? Lady Y/N that is not it-”

“Haldir enough leave her be”,Thranduil ordered as he hid you behind him even more as you clenched his robes.

“But-”

“I had helped her put the rat in Tauriel’s hair....are you going to discipline me too?”

“Apologies nin aran (my king), I am just simply worried she will get herself in trouble.....”

“Hmmm you are dismissed.”

With that Haldir had left pulling Rumil along with him. Thranduil looked down to see Y/N poking her head out from behind him and giving him the biggest and most sweetest smile possible. The elven king let out a chuckle as he shook his head. Freezing when she gave him a hug before she ran out mouthing a thank you.

Thranduil would always side Y/N, even if he wouldn’t admit that she would scare the life out of him everytime she would do something dangerous, the others would warn him about the dangers she puts herself into but he would refuse to believe them. It wasn’t that he believed she wouldn’t do something like that but it was because he believed Mirkwood would be impossible for her to get out of without help.

But oh how wrong he was.

Ever since Y/N came to Mirkwood a few decades ago Thranduil’s daily schedule had always been the same. Wake up, do formal chores (like bathing, having breakfast with Y/N etc.) ,attend court and hear his people out, roam around palace halls or in the kingdom, spend his free time with Y/N and then spend his time researching something in the library before sleeping. This night was no different except there was an erractic knocking on the library doors. Y/N’s lady in waiting pushing through with a very alarmed look on her face. Thranduil cocked an eyebrow at her, ready to yell at her to disturb him at this time of the night. But the look on her face made him wait for an answer.

“Your Majesty, Lady Y/N she- she-”

“I would appreciate if you complete your sentence”

“She dissapeared !”

Thranduil’s eyes widened. An unfamiliar look passing across his face as he unseathed his sword and speed walked out of the library.

“HALDIR !”

“Lord Haldir and the patrolling team is looking for her in the city right now my lord ! She is nowhere to be found !”, the elleth contiued following him.

“SEARCH EVERY CORNER OF THE KINGDOM !” ,he yelled at her before mounting his elk and riding into the forest.

He searched for her, by the clearing, the spiders nestings, the old bridge, the narrow pathway that lead to the darker parts of the forest. But she was nowhere.

“Y/N !?”,he yelled for the 14th time, his voice hoarse is eyes seaching frantically. Orcs and Wargs always preyed at night it wasn’t safe.

Splash

He heard the movement of water not much far from where he was he panicked, his elk moving swiftly but gracefully enough to not startle whatever was making the noises but this action was quite ruined by Thranduil yelling out the missing lady's name startling everyone before his eyes. Both him and his elk froze. There Y/N sat, by the backwaters looking at them with eyes widened as big as saucers, along with who seemed like mermaids that swam away as soon as they saw the elven king splashing Y/N with water wetting her completely.

“Thranduil? W-What are you doing here?”,she stuttered.

Thranduil moved closer to her watching as she visibly tried hiding something behind her back. He noticed how she was barefoot and scratches and cuts littered across her feet making his jaw clench.

“What are YOU doing here?”, the blonde elf hissed clearly angry but Y/N couldn’t point out why. Before she could even reply he yanked her hand from behind her back before stilling completely. His eyes unmoving from the contents in her hands. Forget me not flowers..... They had stopped growing in Mirkwood years ago. Drooping and dying more every moment the royal family distanced itself from each other, In grief, pain and misery.

“Where did you-”, ah the cuts on her feet, the dirt on her hands.....she brought them from out of the forest...

“I had seen them on our trip back from Rivendell months ago.....They were dying....I asked the mermaids to help me save them with spells, but you came interrupting them....”,she said in a soft voice, on the verge of tears breaking Thranduil out of his trance as he panicked,cupping her face with his larger hands. “I am sorry Lady Y/N I was simply worried about you, why did you not tell me? I could have helped you...”,he asked looking directly into her eyes as she poorly attempted to not shed any tears. “I didn’t want to bother you. I already bother everyone else. I don’t want to loose all of you..”, she said, tears unevitably falling and rolling down her cheeks. Oh... She thought she was alone...she had never asked for help from anyone....she felt insecure no matter how much everyone loved her....he knew someone who was like her few decades ago.

Him.

“You could never !”,he intended to say softly but it came out as a yell, making the woman flinch. He was mad, at himself for not noticing,for dismissing hints. “You would never......we care for you too much. Valar ! I care about you too much ! Everytime you do something dangerous my heart leaps....but I cannot resist your eyes, your words, you tempting smile.....Look at me....I do not wish to loose you like lost the rest of my people I cared about......”, Thranduil finished, his face only a finger distance away from the girl. “What are you doing to me Y/N ?”, he whispered, the other still trying to process everything. “Can I kiss you”, she whispered back. “Please...”,Thranduil said,his voice almost coming out as if he was begging.

And she did as the king asked, lips moving softly yet with love, for the first time in his entire life, the blond elf had let himself be completely vulnerable. His posture,his personality melting, almost as if a light glow covered around them. Even his dragon fire scar revealing itself for the first time to Y/N as they broke the kiss. Thranduil didn’t flinch when touched it, when she left a lingering kiss on it, smiling that wide smile he adored so much at it. The stayed that way before she leaned into his chest for a while,his arms around her. “No matter how much chaos you create I will never hate you...”, he said as he took in her scent.

Splash!

The voice echoed startling the two as the separated from each other, their faces red, only to see the group of mermaids hiding behind the rocks, their eyes on Y/N’s hands

The flowers were back alive and blooming....

That was the moment Thranduil knew that he had faced dragon fire once, but for his Lady he would face it again and again. He couldn’t help adoring her.

Back at the palace library the book was well forgotten, the pages flipping till it rested on a particular page littered with blue petals

Erevan Ilesere‘s Petal,his descendant on Middle Earth.

But that is a story I, Gandalf will tell you another time.

--The End--

Finally ! Behold ! I am done after ages of procrastination! Thank you for requesting this fic it was really fun to write ! I may have gotten a bit distracted but did you like the twist ? I'm sorry if it's not really great but I really tried my best🥺.I really hope you did ! @gorgeourrific-nerd you too ! I think it is a bit similar to your request I hope you liked it too ! The rest of ya’ll too I ain’t forgotten ya’ll. Pleade like and reblog my posts if you like them ! Feedback is highly appreciated and please do not plagarize my work. I really work hard on them ! Thank you for supporting me! I love ya’ll so much !!

~Love, Hri

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