#violets food logs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merakiui · 1 year

Note

YOUR DISCORD MOD SCARA...I am thinking about him so hard. I've never even considered becoming someone's discord kitten before but I'd do it for him (even if he's terrible). SO... could I get a layered cake and sweet lollipops (him and his kitten not long post-abduction) from the miscellaneous menu, along with lemon squares and sea salt caramels from the midnight menu, all with my babygirl discord mod scara?

yandere!scaramouche x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, modern au, nsfw, dub-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping/captivity, restraints, drugging, obsession, loss of virginity, alcohol/intoxication, force-feeding, brief use & threat of knife, coercion, scaramouche calls you kitten a few times, implied stockholm syndrome note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

There’s a warm meal waiting for you on the foldable table, its delectable aroma enticing you to eat despite your apprehensions. You lift your head from where it once rested on your knees, staring at it from where you remain huddled in the corner on a certain someone’s bed. A metal cuff clings to your ankle, and from it a chain extends to connect to one of the metal bed frame poles, only going far enough to let you walk into the adjacent bathroom. You’ve tried to squeeze your foot out, but doing so has only succeeded in chafing and tearing your skin; and so now you sit against the wall and sulk in defeat.

Scaramouche—at least that’s his Teyvatcord alias; he’s yet to tell you his real name—plops down in his gaming chair, running his hand through his hair and exhaling a slow, measured breath. His kitchen apron matches the color scheme in his room, making him seem like a chameleon in a space composed of reds and violets. His three monitors are alight behind him, framing his face in a halo of light. One of them is open to Teyvatcord, displaying the chat log of a server you were once part of—and still are if you haven’t yet been kicked for prolonged inactivity. You think it’s been a few weeks since your kidnapping, but at this point time doesn’t serve any purpose here. It’s all the same within this room, blending together like pastel watercolors on canvas.

“I didn’t know you could cook. You’ve only ever served me the bare minimum, so this is new. Feels fancy.”

“Shocker, right? Be grateful I’ve gone to the trouble.” You peer at the meal that sits before you, brows furrowed. Scaramouche rolls his eyes, scoffing noisily. “Don’t tell me you actually thought I eat all that gross instant shit.”

You shrug. “Dunno. It suits you. Shitty diet for a shitty person.”

“You…” His eye twitches and his hands curl into fists. “Whatever. Either eat or starve.” He swivels around in his chair with a huff. “Not like I care either way.”

But you do, you think, looking back towards the food, steam rising in wispy curls. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have spent so much money on me. You wouldn’t have told me to go to sleep early, to eat three meals every day, to drink enough water, to continue living.

“This isn’t going to kill me if I eat it, right?”

“Relax. I’m not a murderer.”

“Oh, so you draw the line there?”

Scaramouche whirls to face you, his pierced features twisted in a nasty scowl. Your eyes are drawn to the snake bite piercing on his bottom lip, and for a minute it stuns you that such a pretty face could be so vile both online and offline. Perhaps it would be best if he didn’t talk at all. Maybe then you could appreciate him from afar, never having to confront all of the bitter hatred he seems to harbor.

“You’re even more unbearable in person. I can’t believe I let someone like you kick my ass one-hundred-something times during every game we’ve ever played.”

“One-hundred and sixty-eight to be exact,” you correct, scooting closer towards the tray to inspect the rice dish one final time. “Someone had to humble you. For a mod, you’re awfully full of yourself. They don’t pay you to collect kittens and police VCs, you know.”

“Well, they should.”

You fail to contain your laughter. “That was…actually kind of funny.”

A thought flutters into your head: I’m losing my mind. Since when was he ever funny?

His stare is fixated on you when you gather a bite on your spoon and bring it to your lips. As criminal as he is, he’s been surprisingly tame in the time following your captivity. You suppose you just haven’t seen the worst of him yet and that these civil moments are merely the result of his desire to connect with you. Before you found yourself on the sixth floor, tucked away in his apartment, you spent most weekends talking to him through games. You’d chat about your character builds, swap tips on strategies for certain FPS games, spend hours constructing towns in creative open-world games, and even laugh about the placements in the tier lists you’d compile.

You could call what the two of you had a competitive companionship (or if you wanted to get technical: a Teyvatcord mod who was spoiling his kitten outside of the competitions), where both of you were constantly trying to best the other. If it was a matter of money, Scaramouche always had you beat; he’d emptied plenty of that into his favorite games to amass a vast collection of rare gear and resources so that he could claw his way to the top of the weekly leaderboards.

If anything, you admired his determination. Beyond games, you only knew that he lived alone and had a few piercings and liked to wear chains and rings. He’d talked about it before when the both of you had strayed from gaming and had discussed fashion styles and aesthetics late into the night. He appeared normal beyond the bratty attitude he often displayed during rematches. You even found yourself wanting to know more when he’d divulge little facts about himself on occasion.

But now that you’re sitting in front of him, entirely against your will, you realize this relationship should have remained in Teyvatcord.

Underneath your artfully crafted bravado and sarcasm, you’re absolutely horrified that he had found your address so easily and had been able to pull off such a clean kidnapping. He’d pulled you into the darkness of his car while you were on your way home, pressing a knife to your throat and insisting you stay perfectly quiet otherwise your neck would be mired in red. At the time you were too overwhelmed with raw panic to even consider the familiar intonation of the man who had so suddenly stolen you from your peaceful life. But it became clear when he’d forced you into his apartment after a long drive, and you’d finally gotten a look at him in the light when he shed his disguise.

An introduction wasn’t necessary; you recognized him, and he seemed to know everything about you.

Now it’s almost humorous to consider that a Teyvatcord mod actually went outside, touched grass, and collected a captive all in one night. And you never suspected a thing, completely oblivious to his mounting obsession. Although how could you have ever noticed it when he was so intent on masking infatuation with hatred?

You wonder if things would have transpired differently if you hadn’t been living within the same city. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been tempted to take you away from your life and confine you to a single room where the sun never breaks through the curtains and you’re constantly bathed in the sensual hues from the LED lights that border the room. Maybe he would have lost interest and you could have continued your one-sided rivalry without any unhealthy attachments.

Those what-ifs don’t quite matter anymore, though, do they?

Flavor explodes on your tongue when you sample his cooking, and you hastily gather a second bite and then a third. Scaramouche watches from his chair, looking quite satisfied with your submission. Foregoing etiquette altogether, you eat as if this is the last meal you’ll ever have the pleasure of enjoying, so fulfilled by the fluffy rice and bitter tea that tears gather in your eyes. You stop halfway to wipe at your glassy eyes, sniffling pitifully.

You’ve forgotten the joy that accompanies homemade meals.

“It’s okay,” you mutter around another mouthful. “Better than convenience store snacks.”

Scaramouche chuckles. “For something that was just ‘okay,’ you had no problem getting your tears in the bowl.”

You bark out a laugh, but it comes out strained and sad. “Lay off, will you? I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in forever. It was a little nostalgic, even if it’s coming from you.”

Scaramouche stares at you, his cheeks tinged the softest shade of pink, before he turns in his chair. “Whatever. Don’t get used to it.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

You set the now empty bowl back on the tray and retreat to your corner, observing Scaramouche as he clicks through various tabs before he returns to Teyvatcord. His fingers, adorned with sterling silver rings, fly across the keyboard to respond to some user you can’t quite see from where you sit. Noisy click-clacks fill the air, and it’s a sound that pulls you closer towards sleep. By the time Scaramouche has swapped to his second monitor to play a game—the very game that got you into this nightmare to begin with—you’re already falling into the void of unconsciousness, tugged under by drowsy tendrils.

It’s the soft thump that alerts Scaramouche, who turns slowly in his chair to see you slumped over on his bed. He rises to his feet, crossing the distance to gather the bowl and accompanying utensils. Before he departs from his bedroom, he leans over to press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“Dummy,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at you. “Never eating proper meals… Honestly, what would you do without me?”

Though he told you not to get accustomed to homemade meals, Scaramouche has presented you with breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day, all prepared by his generous hand. It’s a luxury to be served food that has been assembled out of some form of crooked love—Scaramouche claims he’s only keeping you well-fed so you won’t die and rot away on his bed; the smell would be horrendous, so he claims. There’s one meal that always manages to put you to sleep. Whether it’s just the result of a satisfied stomach or your own frazzled nerves in desperate need of sleep, you always slip away shortly after finishing it. As childish as it sounds, you often wonder if he’s put a spell on it.

Or maybe you’re just always hungry, craving his cooking because he’s the only one capable of feeding you when you’re stuck in chains. And luckily for you he’s memorized all of your gastronomic preferences.

You’re not sure if you’ve surpassed a month’s time, but when you wake up one morning to Scaramouche slamming his cat ear headphones down on his desk, which is followed by a foul tirade of grumbled curses, you feel as if it’s already been a year spent in his room. To think that you’re starting to find it normal, as if waking up to him is to be expected in this situation.

You must be losing your mind.

“Rough match?”

Okay, you’re really losing your mind if you can be so casual with your kidnapper.

Scaramouche deflates in his seat, groaning at the ceiling. “More like a rough team. None of these idiots know how to play! I’d have better luck digging through the dirt and assembling a team of worms than continuing to rely on these guys.”

“Then just leave and join a new lobby.”

“‘Just leave and join a new lobby,’” he mocks in a high voice. “I can’t. These teams are locked in for the upcoming tournament. I’m stuck playing with a bunch of losers.”

I’m more stuck than you, you almost blurt, but you hold your tongue.

“Like?”

“Like Tartaglia, Dottore, Signora… They suck. I hate them. And they expect me to tolerate them for a bunch of rounds? That’s not even a good joke. We’ll just look like fools trying to force teamwork.”

You peer at his monitor. He’s muted himself, so they have no idea of the complaints he’s launching at you as if you’re a suitable outlet.

“Sounds tough.”

“Believe me, it is.”

“Have you tried reworking your strategy?”

“You’re asking me to kiss ass here.”

“Never said that.”

“You’re implying it.”

“Oh my—” You flop back onto his bed with a groan. “It’s not that serious!”

“It is when it’s a competition. You think I want to look stupid in front of the other teams? We’re up against some lame group that calls themselves the Knights of Favonius. I am not about to lose to them.”

“And what’s your group called?”

“The Harbingers.”

“You honestly think that sounds any better?”

He turns in his chair to glare at you. Before he can retort, he’s fit his headphones back over his ears and unmuted himself to address the VC. “Can you stop spamming the chat for five seconds, Tartaglia? Damn!” There’s a brief silence and then he adds, in a low hiss, “I’m not running away! I muted for one minute! Come off it, Signora.”

Absorbed in the conversation, which sounds more like an argument that’s quickly boiling over, Scaramouche exhales slowly and resolves to try again through grit teeth. You can’t hear his teammates, but you think they all reach a mutual agreement because within the next few seconds you’re watching another practice match on his monitor. Your gaze slides away from him and centers on the posters and tapestries that adorn his walls. Some days, if you ignore the metal cuff on your ankle, you forget you’re a prisoner and he’s your warden. Some days, if you really force optimism, you picture him as a friend and a roommate.

Most days you wonder if you’ll ever get outside. You miss the sun and the wind, lively aspects of nature that are nonexistent in this stifling cave of a bedroom. And, as odd as it may seem, you miss your old life, struggles and all. You miss ranting to your friends about finances or an empty refrigerator. You miss staying up late into the night playing games, laughing about casual enjoyments, and indulging in a freedom you took for granted. When you were struggling, you could be comforted knowing that there would be better days, even if those days only consisted of small joys—like feeding a stray cat or feeling the sun’s rays smile upon you with bright warmth. Now you live your days in a loop, waking and eating and sleeping, and this sort of cyclical madness is more entrapping than Scaramouche’s infatuation with you.

Although perhaps it isn’t right to call it an infatuation when it feels so far from one. Aside from meal times, he hardly acknowledges you during the day, too swept up in a game to pay you any attention, and when he does speak to you you’ve already submitted to your dreams. He never touches you (at least not when you’re awake). In fact, he treats you more like an annoying pest rather than the person he supposedly loved enough to kidnap. Perhaps, instead of an infatuation, it is an obsession driven by greed and the twisted desire to control every inch of you, down to the very foods you ingest.

You know one thing is certain: He is the kidnapper and you are the kidnapped.

You’ve sorted through all possible means of rebellion. You’d refused to eat anything the first week, which was why he chose to feed you cheap convenience store snacks out of pettiness, and by the end of the second week you were beyond starved. You’ve thought about destroying his monitors out of spiteful anger, but that wouldn’t accomplish much aside from satiating your hunger for revenge. You would remain shackled no matter how many things you trashed, which makes destruction a useless venture. All you can really do is feign friendship, if only to keep your current predicament peaceful.

But lately you’ve wondered if there are other ways to get Scaramouche to trust you. It’s obvious he still has some level of distrust for you, evidenced by the terrible cuff attached to your ankle and the fact that he never leaves you alone in his room for more than five minutes. Perhaps there’s an easier way to shatter his defenses.

After all, the reason you’re here is because he likes you so much. And if it really is a hidden infatuation, you plan to poke at it until it’s no longer his little secret veiled within manufactured hatred.

Scaramouche is scolding Tartaglia for his “stupid, shitty aim” when you slither off of his bed, standing behind him with an expression so pensive it’s as if you’re considering life or death. Although perhaps this idea of yours really is akin to that.

Briefly, while eyeing the headphones that rest on top of a head of midnight-hued hair, you wonder if you’d have the confidence to attack him while he’s distracted. Your arms reach out, readying to tear his headphones off and coil around his neck in a chokehold, but then it occurs to you that if you really do hurt him no one will be around to feed you. You’ll shrivel in his room, alone, cuffed, and cold.

You decide, with mounting unease, that your original plan is much better (and safer) than murder. And so you lower your hands with a muted sigh. Even if he’s the worst person you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting—even if he’s taken you from your life and forced you into his—you still couldn’t bring yourself to fatally injure him.

But you can bring yourself to your knees, swallowing shame in order to survive.

If Scaramouche realizes you’ve slipped under his desk, he doesn’t immediately acknowledge you, his eyes tracking his screen as he shouts into his mic for Dottore to cover him. You peer up at him from where you sit, studying his facial features as they morph into various expressions, all centered on frustration, impatience, and the occasional glare-frown. It’s your hand on his thigh that momentarily strays his focus, his eyes flitting down to you for a mere second, glazing over with an emotion you can’t quite place. Your lips quirk up in the beginnings of a sly smile, and he huffs, nudges your side with his foot, and returns to shouting orders at his teammates.

Slowly, as if moving with weights attached to your wrist, you reach out to palm his flaccid cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. Scaramouche nearly flinches out of his chair, his head snapping down to look at you.

“W-What the hell are you—” He’s silenced when you squeeze just slightly, gazing up at him through your lashes. “N-Nothing. Just…talking to my cat. Shut up and focus on the match, losers,” he grumbles, not to you but to his teammates.

You intend to draw away, thoroughly pleased after having gauged such an amusing reaction, but his fingers pursue your wrist, pinning your hand in place. He’s not looking at you, but his cheeks are warming considerably.

“I’ll kill you if we lose,” he mutters, and this time you know the threat is meant for you.

But, as you’ve come to learn, this is his own version of acceptance, however frigid it may have sounded. Scaramouche likes a good competition; that much is apparent from how engrossed he becomes when playing any type of game. Most importantly, you think he just enjoys the prideful satisfaction that comes with being labeled a winner. If you look at it from a gaming perspective, this is just another challenge—another rematch the both of you have agreed upon in order to determine who’s the best.

And, like always, you’re certain victory will be yours.

His hand slides away from yours, returning to its rightful place on his desktop, and it gives you the opportunity to continue your teasing touches. His stare hardens into something deadly when he attempts to retain his focus, his fingers mashing the keys in a loud cacophony of clacks, but within just a few minutes of experimental squeezes his cock is straining against his pants. You admire the outline for a brief moment, considering an approximation of his size just from the bulge alone. He’s definitely larger than any of the beginner dildos you’ve browsed online out of sheer boredom and curiosity, and the idea that you’re about to willingly subject yourself to this is enough to cow you into premature defeat.

I won’t make any progress if he doesn’t trust me, you tell yourself, steeling your electrified nerves and reaching out to slide the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers down to free his cock. It springs out, pre-cum beading at the tip, and your eyes follow the curvature. For such an aggressively high-strung moderator, he’s surprisingly well-groomed. You wonder if he’s always lived a life so nicely assembled. Perhaps you’ve misjudged him entirely and he’s never been the stereotypical gross, smelly, hermit of a Teyvatcord mod everyone likes to think he is. Maybe it’s just his personality that’s so foul.

You were confident before, but then he’s passing you a bottle of lube and now what little courage you could muster is beginning to ebb away, squeezed out of you much like the dollop of lubricant pushed from the tube. Your eyes flick to his. He holds your gaze for a minute before a sly smirk crawls across his face.

Hope you like swallowing, he mouths, indigo irises flashing with arousal, because if you get a single drop on the floor I’ll end you.

Arrogant brat, you mouth back.

You roll your eyes and wrap your slick fingers around the length of his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath at the contact, chewing his bottom lip bloody to muffle any suspicious sounds that are eager to slip out. You’ve only ever viewed handjobs in erotic films, and you’ve never given one to another person before. So you slide your fist up and down, mirroring the movements from memory, in hopes that the experimental pace you’ve set isn’t too awkwardly inexperienced. Scaramouche seems to pay it no mind, for his shoulders shudder with every exhalation, and he’s bent forwards, his elbows resting on his desk.

There’s no way he’s this easy, but that thought quickly evaporates when you squeeze just a little tighter, and he whines through grit teeth. Your eyes snap up to find his foggy hues, which are clouded with lust and peering right through you rather than at you, and it becomes abundantly clear that perhaps he truly is simple to seduce. Or, at the very least, it’s only easy because he’s stressed and needs release; or maybe it’s because this is the first time you’re touching him of your own volition, stringing him along with every graceful pump of your hand.

I’ll never understand him, you think, halting your movements once he’s been brought to the very edge, his cock flushed pink and leaking.

The vicious, disapproving scowl he sends you is such a sight to behold! When you’re viewing him from below, it’s almost as if he’s a vindictive deity sitting pretty and untouchable on his throne and you’re the mere mortal granted permission to kneel before him, an amusing comparison considering he has, in a way, proven to be your saving grace on many occasions. Even riddled with impatience, he’s pleasant on the eyes. If only the same could be said for when he opens his mouth.

“Did I give you permission to stop?” he hisses, humping into your hand to force friction.

Your gaze strays to the cat ears on his headphones; you wonder if his teammates can pick up either of your hushed whispers. “What happened to your oh-so-important practice match?”

He narrows his eyes at you and reaches to seize your chin in a vise-like hold, forcing you in close proximity with his cock. “You can do much better things than sit there and run your mouth, so finish what you started.”

“Anything for His Royal Highness,” you mutter and close your mouth around his tip.

Scaramouche inhales sharply, his fingers ghosting over your head as if he intends to grip your hair and force you to take more of his size, but then you hear obnoxious keyboard clacks. He’s back to berating his teammates, albeit in a louder, higher voice than before, leaving you to your own pace. You pull away, tasting flavorless lubricant and pre-cum all at once, and lick a stripe up the underside, which has him humming through a clenched jaw. With your confidence restored, you lean in once more and, fingers wrapping around his length, slowly fit him in your mouth, only stopping at where your hand rests halfway.

Despite your initial unease, you manage to settle into the rhythm as naturally as you possibly can, bobbing your head back and forth in slow, even motions. Your other hand slithers up his leg, fingers creeping like spiders, and rests between his legs to fondle his balls, squeezing ever so slightly while your mouth works him towards the edge of ecstasy. It prompts a guttural groan from him, and your lips twitch around him, as if attempting to rise in an amused smile. He’s falling apart in his chair, shivering through every salacious sigh and curse, all produced in barely restrained hisses. He mutters something to his teammates, but the words hardly reach your ears when you’re so hyper-focused on pleasing him.

You continue your careful ministrations, hollowing your cheeks in the same manner you’ve witnessed actors in films do, and at some point you’ve shut your eyes and have resigned yourself to the moment, relishing in every lewd sound. His reactions bolster your pride, feeding it as though it’s a ravenous monster, and you muster enough bravery, courtesy of your inflated ego, to peek at him through lidded eyes.

Scaramouche is peering down at you once more, but this time his headphones are off and he seems to have ceased playing altogether. You attempt to pull off of him to ask, but his hand rests atop your head, mapping lazy patterns in your scalp in a way that’s almost reminiscent of petting, and that’s enough of a response for you.

“I thought you’d be terrible at this, but it looks like you’re good at something after all,” he remarks with a mean smirk. “Or maybe...” He moans lowly. “Maybe you’ve had practice.”

Or maybe your standards are low because no one’s ever touched your dick before, you think, closing your hand in a tight fist just to draw another pathetically desperate whimper from him.

His fingers curl into your hair and he tugs you up to meet his haughty countenance. The head of his cock prods impatiently at the inside of your cheek and you narrow your eyes at him, drool running down your chin. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, running over the piercings that reside there like twinkling stars. With a breathy chuckle, his other hand traces the bulge in your cheek and his lips only seem to widen with exhilaration. There’s a near-manic glint in his eyes now—an unhinged sort of sparkle that could only shine so brightly in the midst of pleasure. He’s a frightening sight, but then of course he’d be when he had so callously held you at knifepoint all those weeks—or has it been months?—ago.

Now it makes sense—all of the mean jeers and insults. Scaramouche likes to see just how small he can make others when they’re caught in his shadow like vulnerable butterflies in a spider’s wicked web. And aren’t you just the most unlucky butterfly?

“This is a—haah—a good look for you.”

You’d bite him if you were feeling particularly masochistic, but there’s no telling what he would do in retaliation. So instead you continue your pace, idly stroking him in time with the movements of your hollowed mouth, holding eye contact for the entirety of it. He keeps his hands on you the entire time, locking you in place between his legs, and your warm, wet mouth and tongue send delectable bolts of pleasure racing through him. It causes more delicious sounds to spill in plentiful amounts from his parted lips, enticing you to work more vigorously. He gasps through backhanded praises, each one meant to chisel you into something weak and self-conscious, but all it does is prove your previous observations.

“Hey.” His knuckle is on your cheek again, and you blink tears away to look at him more clearly. “You haven’t done this with anyone else before, have you?”

You know it’s a trick question. No matter what answer you give, it’s going to prompt a visceral reaction either way. Rather than a clear, concise response—not that you could possibly give one when he’s stuffing your mouth full—you hum lowly, and the vibration has him twitching on your tongue.

Scaramouche scoffs and attempts a glower, but it crumbles when he arches in his chair. “What… Whatever,” he manages through grit teeth, swallowing yet another sweet love cry. “Consider yourself lucky I’m here, otherwise—hah… Otherwise you’d have no one to practice your lousy, little technique on.”

This time, you’re afforded the chance to detach yourself and your mouth comes off of him with a wet smack, strands of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock. He peers at you, studying your face for a moment, and if it weren’t for the dim lighting in his room you’re certain his blush would be brighter than the sun.

“You seem to enjoy my lousy, little technique,” you purr, leaning in to press your puckered lips to his tip. Your hand slows its once quick pace, and you watch miserable frustration stretch across his features. “If you’re going to be ungrateful, I’ll just stop and—”

But the rest of that sentence is shoved down your throat when he catches your head in resolute hands and forces you to take all of him in a rough thrust. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you choke on it with a gagging cough. Your hands grasp his wrists in an attempt to steady yourself, but he pays it no mind as he continues to pound into your mouth, a string of filth falling from his parted lips like torrential rain. Tears prick your eyes, obscuring your vision and blurring reds and purples into a haze.

It only takes a minute, but it feels like many when he eventually halts his erratic pace, his cock lodged in your mouth, and shoots his load down your throat. You have no choice but to force yourself to swallow, your eyes squeezed shut as you choke through the deed. Scaramouche laughs at you, a short, sudden sort of sound that’s more grating than nails on a chalkboard. And only after he’s shuddered through the aftermath of his ecstasy, heaving soft breaths as he settles from his orgasmic high, does he finally release you.

You pull away with the residue of his spend sitting heavy on your tastebuds, sticky and bitter, and you’re only allowed a moment to catch your breath before he’s gripping your face with one strong hand, the cool metals of his rings digging into your cheeks. You stare at his sickly sweet smile and narrowed eyes, two indigo pools reflecting haughty victory, and your heart sinks with his next words.

“Oh, and nice try.” His finger flicks your forehead, and a taunting smile darkens his features. “But I’m not taking the chains off, kitten.”

It was worth a try, you think, swallowing a scoff and resolving to try again next time. You are nothing if not stubbornly resilient.

It’s a dangerous game, waiting and watching, hoping for a moment in which you can execute your plan. When Scaramouche isn’t glued to his monitors, when he isn’t feeding you meals that immediately send you to sleep, and when you aren’t on your knees satisfying him in the most carnal of ways, you’re wrapped in your thoughts like a mummy perfectly preserved. For a while you weren’t sure if it was worth the risk, nor were you sure if he could even come to trust you, if only slightly, but by some miracle you’ve sacrificed so much time tending to him and it has paid off handsomely.

Though the cuff remains, he’s grown to exercise some leniency, allowing you to sit on his lap while he browses online, his chin resting comfortably on your shoulder. Sometimes the two of you watch a movie; other times you play a game, gambling your dignity in exchange for a chance at victory. Lately Scaramouche has been on a winning streak—though you’re certain he’s just cheating, even if he claims it’s pure skill—and more than once have you found yourself at his mercy, submitting to wandering hands and lips, dutifully playing the role of his obedient prize. He always gloats, flashing his teeth at you in a cruel taunt, and you have no choice but to accept it. Everything you do is for the sake of survival; you’ve reminded yourself of this fact when you wrap your arms around him at night, pressing yourself against him and slowly slipping into sleep just as he cautiously returns your embrace.

You usually fall unconscious after you’ve had lunch, condemned to sudden sleepy spells that are beginning to seem more drug-induced than natural, and this unfortunate happening leaves you completely gone for many hours into the afternoon and early evening. You’ve narrowed your options down after observing Scaramouche for so long, committing his cyclical ways to memory. Either you force yourself to wake at the crack of dawn and hope he isn’t still gaming, or you wait until he’s left the room to prepare your lunch. You’ve deliberated over both, almost acting on one when the opportunity presents itself, but you’re always stopped by the uncertainty. Will this work? Will you be fast enough?

And if you aren’t successful, what will happen to you? Will he truly kill you like he claimed he would all those months ago when you first started living with him? You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

There’s a specific person you have in mind while you lie curled and comfortable in Scaramouche’s bed, feigning sleep to ward off the jittery sensation in your nerves. If he still exists within the server—and you’re hoping he does because your escape plan hinges on his presence within it—he will be your ticket to freedom.

You almost flinch out of your skin when Scaramouche’s hand rests atop your head, stroking your skull so fondly. “I’ll wake you up for lunch,” he whispers to you, pressing his lips to your cheek. And then his hand is drawing away, and your pulse settles once more. You can feel his eyes pinned on you, and you picture him standing at the bedside, casting a terrifying shadow over your slumbering form.

“It’s too quiet when you sleep so many hours,” he mutters, and you strain to hear the rest of his complaint. You think he might be in the doorway because you can’t sense him near you anymore, and his voice is distant and soft, a strange contrast to the harshness in his usual intonation. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re here.”

He says something else that doesn’t quite reach your ears, and you listen to his footsteps as he retreats to the hall and then the kitchen. You wait until you hear movement before slowly sitting up. Even though you’re alone and he’s a good distance from you, you fear he might hear your quick heartbeat. It pounds inside your rib cage, on and on like the loudest war drum, and you clutch at your chest with trembling hands.

Without wasting another second, you slide off of the bed as carefully as possible, mindful of the noisy chain at your feet, and creep over to his desk. All of his monitors are on, each luminescent screen displaying something highly contrasting from the previous one. The screen on your left showcases an online shopping site (the page he’s currently on is new microphones, each more high-quality and expensive than the last). The screen on your right blinks back at you, and you spy a photo album of pictures screencapped from every social media connected to you.

You’re not surprised, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t disgusted. Gross, you think, biting back a shiver. If he touched me with the same hand he used to—

But then your attention is stolen by the middle monitor and before you know it your fingers are gingerly tapping out keys one at a time, so agonizingly slow that you think your rapid pulse might give you away before the clacks do.

Alatus, you’re thinking, eyes skimming the member list. Alatus. Come on, Alatus. Where are you?

Miraculously, you spot his profile picture before his name—a cute, mint-colored bird with fluffy plumage and narrowed eyes. For such an adorable image, the one behind it is so silent and intimidating. You wonder how you even managed to befriend him when he’d been so terse in the early stages of your online friendship, but you’re glad to have this connection.

Relief floods through your system when you notice the tell-tale green circle near his profile. He’s online! And with that, you pull up a private chat and begin to write to him, your heart skipping a beat with every word added to your desperate SOS message.

this is gonna sound crazy but this is (name) from server need u to help me out ive been kidnapped by scaramouche call the authorities or someone just let them know i’m missing please believe me

You don’t have time to proofread it, nor can you even consider adding anything else in your frenzied panic, and so you hasten to send it. Your finger just brushes the Enter key when two arms coil around your waist, yanking you away from the desk with so much force that the horrified gasp sticks in your throat. Before you can register the danger, you’re on the floor, the chain rattling with the movement, as if foretelling of the threat that’s about to descend upon you like the Grim Reaper coming to capture a wayward soul, and Scaramouche stands over you, a kitchen knife held in a trembling fist. There is a foul tempest raging within those ominous eyes of his, each dilated pupil darkened with thick, syrupy betrayal.

You attempt to sit up on your elbows, readying yourself to reason with him before he can slice your throat to ribbons, but then he’s pointing the knife directly at you, his face contorted into a glower so monstrous it has you flinching away.

“You’re a special kind of stupid,” he snaps, and you press yourself into the floor as if you intend to melt into it. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think I was so foolish that I wouldn’t suspect the motive behind your little game?”

You open your mouth to profess faux innocence, but the words won’t come. They’ve dried up on your tongue, leaving you to wallow in silence. You’ve never been so obviously, painfully guilty before, and the evidence of your disobedience is printed blindingly bright on a screen for his perusal. Scaramouche gazes at his monitor, cold, cruel eyes taking in every word. Ice crackles through your veins, crystallizing your blood, and for a brief second you consider what might happen if you seize the knife while he’s distracted. Perhaps it works in your head and your attempt to force him to his knees with the threat of death is successful. But realistically you know it wouldn’t be that easy and he certainly wouldn’t give you the chance to one-up him like this, especially not when so much is at stake.

For once, this has nothing to do with the childish concept of pride.

“Alatus, huh?” he muses with a monosyllabic hum. “Is that your friend? Well, it’s not like it matters. You don’t need friends.”

With a sunken heart, you watch as he deletes the message you mustered the courage to draft. Within seconds the faulty plan you’ve considered for months crumbles before your despairing stare.

“I hate you,” you whisper. Brimming tears are on the verge of overflowing and you will them away with quick blinks.

“Yeah? Not the first time someone’s told me that.” He turns to face you, and you follow the knife as it’s set delicately on his desktop. It’s an obvious trap, but even so your hand still tenses as if you intend to lunge for it. He bends down to where you remain on the floor, his elbows propped on his knees. “I should commend you for your bravery. Were you working yourself up to this? Were you counting down the days until the moment for rebellion arrived? I’m not sure I should even call it a rebellion. You’re not very smart. I mean, you had access to the internet! You had so many resources at your disposal and yet you chose to message some loser on Teyvatcord! Just how moronic can you possibly be?”

What irks you more than the degradation is the fact that, unfortunately, he’s right.

He clicks his tongue at you, laughter in his tone. “I would’ve been in trouble if you actually used a sliver of your puny brain. Lucky me, huh?” His fingers cling to your chin, pulling your face closer to his. “I have the cutest, stupidest kitten.”

You narrow your eyes at him and, gathering your mounting revulsion, spit at him. It spatters on his cheek and he seems to pause momentarily, a tense beat stretching taut between the both of you, before he releases you with a huff. The next thing you feel is the harsh sting of his slap as it comes down upon your cheek. It’s more so the shock that has your head turning in time with the impact rather than the dull ache, and you lift your hand to feel raw skin beneath burning fingertips. The tears are now falling in silent streaks.

It’s hopeless. You’re stuck here forever.

Scaramouche swipes his thumb along his cheek and scrutinizes the saliva coating his finger with a frown. “Not fond of ‘kitten,’ huh?”

“Of course not, you freak.”

“Ouch. That smarts.” Feigning offense, he dries his thumb on his kitchen apron. “A shame. ‘Kitten’ suits you. They’re soft and clumsy and weak. Just like you.”

He retrieves the knife and, after admiring the red-and-purple lights that reflect off the silver blade, offers you a smile so sweet it contrasts his sour threats.

“But as cute as you are on the ground, looking oh-so-terrified, it’s not going to save you from your punishment.”

You watch him carefully, awaiting a catastrophic change in temperament. Despite how cheerily nonchalant he appears, you’re certain there is anger swelling within. It’s clear in his eyes; his glee stems from sadism.

“Should I even ask what your idea of a punishment is?” you venture. You intend to sound bold with your inquiry, but your heart is still stuttering with the aftermath of your failure and it causes you to trip over your tongue. “L-Living with you is punishment enough…”

Scaramouche hums, unfazed. “If you were in my position, what punishment would be most fitting?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not answering that. You just want me to list the worst possible things.”

“Perhaps,” he drawls, tapping a fingernail along the blade. His gaze strays to his desk drawer and he opens it and withdraws something you can’t yet see. The jarring jangle of handcuffs alerts your keen ears, and your expression must have twisted into something akin to potent odium because he chuckles. “Wandering hands ought to be properly restrained, don’t you think?”

You hold his gaze for a long minute. “Why? What’re you going to do?” When he doesn’t reply, merely continuing to watch you with that deceptive smile of his, fear sizzles within your electrified nerves. He takes a step towards you and you scoot away instinctively. “Seriously, what is it? Don’t you dare put those cuffs on me.”

“And allow you to misbehave again? As if.” He stands over you, peering down at you with a mixture of disgust and distrust. His foot is pressing on your stomach before you can even think to grab at his ankles and force him to the floor. “In case you’ve forgotten, kitten, you’re mine from now on. So unless you’d like me to tear you a few extra holes with this knife, you’d better shut your mouth and let me put these cuffs on you.”

He seizes your forearm, yanking you up with surprising strength, and you squirm in his unyielding hold, kicking out uselessly. It does nothing to deter him, but it does spark a wrestling match between the both of you, in which you fight desperately to grab hold of the cuffs or the knife before either can find themselves on your person.

“Let go of me! You can’t put those on me!” You elbow him in his ribs and he responds by shoving you down onto his bed, slotting his knee between your legs. His fingers dig into your arms with a harshness that has you wincing.

“Should’ve thought twice before you decided to act like a brat!” he hisses, squeezing tightly.

The discomfort soon becomes the least of your worries when he pins your wrist to one of the metal bed frame posts, readying it for one of the cuffs.

“No! Let go of—”

The knife is at your throat next, promptly silencing your terrified protests, and you don’t dare open your mouth.

“Try again.”

It’s spoken like a demand or a particularly harsh dare, the ice in his voice a perfect match for his scary expression. For however long his eyes bore into yours, you return his ogling with the same amount of ferocity, challenging his overbearing aura despite the blade poised at your jugular. You’re not sure how sharp it is, but you aren’t intending to find out with misplaced disobedience.

Eventually, the first cuff clicks around your wrist, and you watch warily as the next cuff attaches to the bedpost. Your arm hangs limply from where it’s been restrained, and the other receives the same attention shortly after he’s retrieved the second handcuff pair. While he’s fumbling one-handed with it, the knife is held in place in his white-knuckled grip. The cool metal kisses feverish skin; you can already smell the river of iron that will drool from a precise slice. After it’s closed around your wrist and the bedpost like its predecessor, you yank arms to test the resistance. Your wrists have been secured tightly, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Rather, it’s the uncertainty that settles under your skin, lighting your senses with raw anxiety.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper, gazing at the handle of the knife. It’s close—too close.

You think he lives to torment. He must, otherwise there would be no plausible explanation for why he presses the sharpened edge deeper into your neck, applying just enough pressure to break skin.

“I’ll make one thing clear, so listen and listen well.” His voice drops a few octaves, a perilous murmur. “Don’t ever touch things that aren’t yours again.”

You think he says something else along the lines of, “And don’t ever think you’ve earned a shred of leniency just because we’ve been intimate,” but the words sound far-off and muffled like they’ve been processed through a jar of cotton or an unfathomable depth of sea. Registering them doesn’t seem so important, though, not when the sting in your throat worsens and a thin rivulet of something slick trails its way down your neck, staining your T-shirt—Scaramouche’s shirt (but you refuse to dwell on that distinction). And this time you don’t need any laced meals to slip away. This time it’s the stressful threat of near-death that puts you to sleep.

With the world having slithered away, narrowed down to a singular point devoid of terror, you fall into a familiar darkness.

At first you think you’ve woken enshrouded in muddy earth, buried alive in some forsaken place, but then the haze of LEDs is piercing through your eyelids and you know you’re not resting amongst soil. With an exhausted groan, you peel your eyes open, searching the room for a figure who is oddly absent. Intending to sit up, you’re stopped short when your wrists catch on the cuffs, the metal digging into sensitive skin, and there is a spreading stiffness in your outstretched arms that’s becoming more unbearable with every passing second.

Something soft and scratchy is wrapped snugly around your throat. A bandage, you think, and it brings forth the not-so-distant memory of the knife and the blood and the dazed look in Scaramouche’s stare. As if he was not entirely there when he was pushing, pushing, pushing the blade into your jugular

As if he intended to carefully saw through sinew as if cutting slices from a block of cheese.

Inhaling a steadying breath, you consider your options. Escape has become a daunting challenge—an impossibility if you’ve ever known one—and with the way you’re so tightly restrained you’re certain you won’t get close to freedom anytime soon. After all you’ve endured, you’re not sure you want to fly close to that sun again.

Is it even worth it? you catch yourself pondering. I’m under a roof. I’m fed. I’m washed. This isn’t any different from my usual routine, only I have a housemate now and I’m living here permanently. Right. He’s a housemate. A housemate. A housemate.

He’s not a housemate. He’s a horror wound into human anatomy—a perfect shell for what you assumed was a normal person. But does the distinction truly matter now? Kidnapper. Housemate. The latter sounds much nicer, but then the latter is also a lie sweeter than caramel and it’s easier to swallow a delusion than confront the looming truth.

You sigh, your gaze sliding towards the monitors. They’re off this time, three dark voids silenced in the corner in which they’re kept. You tug at your restraints even though you’re aware they won’t come off no matter how much you struggle. For however long it takes Scaramouche to return, you lie on your back, watching the ceiling and counting the tiny bulbs in the strand of LEDs. Finally, there’s movement beyond the room. He pushes the door open with his foot, carrying a tray of food and bringing with him all manner of kitchen scents.

“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead,” he teases, and you muster your meanest scowl. He laughs. “You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Scaramouche sets the tray on his desk, picks up the bowl of ochazuke, and gathers a bite between wooden chopsticks. “Don’t drag this out just to be a pain in the ass. Sit up and eat.”

Slowly, you manage to sit up, your wrists still confined. “I’m not eating unless you remove these cuffs.”

“Hm. Let me think about that.” Scaramouche drums his fingers along the ceramic bowl, considering. “Not a chance.”

“Looks like I’m going hungry.”

“You are so insufferable. You had no trouble eating yesterday.” He narrows his eyes. “Licked the bowl clean and everything.”

“That was before you decided to nearly kill me!”

“But I didn’t.”

“You say that as if you’re proud! Eat your own food. I don’t want it.”

“Alas, I made it just for you,” he says with a dramatic sort of flair that does not fit the smug pride that drapes itself over him like a linen shroud. “With love and everything.”

Your lip curls into a hostile sneer. “Let me think about that. Yeah, no. Not a chance.”

“You do realize you’ll starve if not for me.”

“I look forward to that.”

“You little—”

Scaramouche covers the distance with graceful strides. He sets the bowl on the bedside table and, much to your dismay, you can’t reach it with the position you’re stuck in, unable to swipe or kick at it. After pulling his gaming chair up to the bed, he lowers into it and takes the bowl in his hands, chopsticks poised. You turn your head away when he tries to feed you and the bite he’s gathered misses its mark, poking your cheek instead. Grains of sticky rice adhere to your skin like glitter. Despite your obvious refusal, Scaramouche persists, pushing another bite of ochazuke at your lips. He’s calm for all of three seconds before the thread of restraint snaps and he grabs your chin, yanking your head in his direction.

“If you don’t want me to shove these chopsticks so far down your throat, then stop being difficult and open your mouth.”

Still, your lips remain sealed and he huffs indignantly, digging his nails into your skin in hopes of eliciting a reaction. You swallow the wince and frown instead. The next bite prods against your lips and you narrow your eyes, silently daring him to try again. And he does, his fingers tracing along your jaw to find your cheek. He pinches—ruthlessly, unforgivingly rough—and you open your mouth to snap at him. Knock it off, you intend to say, but the words never leave your mouth because the next thing you know you’re tasting a mouthful of fluffy rice flavored with bitter tea, strips of nori, and salmon flakes.

You almost spit it out, but you’re already chewing, relieved to taste gastronomical goodness. Scaramouche smirks at you, his thumb rubbing circles against your cheek.

“I win.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, turning away, mouth ajar for another bite.

He feeds you with a hum. “That wasn't so hard, was it? It’s almost as if acting like an annoying baby made this entire thing more unbearable than it should be.”

You scoff around a mouthful. “You’re the unbearable one.”

“And yet here we are.”

You don’t protest at that. What else can possibly be said? Instead, you resign yourself to the meal, finishing every bite he offers and clearing out the leftovers in the bowl. And, as usual, it’s delicious.

Scaramouche pats your head when you’ve finished, a smile sharpening on his lips. “Good job.”

You roll your eyes. “You could’ve been nicer about it.”

“I was very nice,” he says, his tone clipped, as he sets the bowl down and lifts a glass from the table. “See? I even brought you a drink. Aren’t I a portrait of magnanimity?”

He’s a pain in the ass, you conclude, but you allow him to bring the glass to your lips so you can drink. You expect a mouthful of water; what you don’t expect is the sheer burn that comes with swallowing, and your noise of surprise comes out as a cough. Scaramouche sits back in his seat while you stare at him, searching for any indication that he’s joking.

“Scaramouche—”

“You’ll be a good kitten and drink it all, won’t you? I’d hate to waste something special I picked just for you.”

Your lip curls in abhorrence at his utterance of that dreadful name. “Maybe if you stop calling me ‘kitten.’”

“Not a chance.”

He takes a sip from the glass and leans in until his face is centimeters from yours. Your eyes find his, and for a moment you’re connected only by this contact. But then, within the next second, he’s closing what little distance remains, pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy, sake-tinged kiss. His hand cradles the back of your head so that you’re pinned on his mouth as it molds against yours. His snake bite piercing pushes against your lips and when he licks into your mouth to savor the alcoholic notes on your tongue you think you taste the cold sterling silver of his tongue piercing. With mounting unease, you realize it’s not a terrible sensation. And though saliva and sake drip down your chin in a thin, sticky rivulet, it’s not the worst kiss you’ve ever had.

It’s over before you can even think of reciprocating. Thankfully—otherwise you’re certain doing so would have been more sickening than a simple teasing nickname.

He pulls away to observe your dazed expression, his dark eyes alight with manic glee. His laugh comes out breathless, almost like a gasp, and he touches two fingers to his lips. “Your lips are softer than I thought…” he mumbles, curling his fingers against his chin.

Before you can retort, the glass is poised at your mouth again, enticing you to drink, and you struggle to swallow the amount that’s tipped onto your tongue. You taste tropical citrus this time, flavors reminiscent of sunny days and palm trees and sparkling seas, each one so out of reach in your current predicament. Things you might never see again. Scaramouche climbs onto the bed and sits between your legs, preventing you from shutting them. With your back pressed against the bed, wrists still bound, you have no choice but to remain where you are, entirely at his mercy.

“That’s a good expression,” he purrs, reaching out to pet your cheek. You turn your head away with a scoff. “To think you could be so cute when you’re terrified of the unknown.”

“Not funny. Take off these cuffs and get me some water. My wrists hurt.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. Cry me an ocean.” His free hand splays across your stomach, applying just enough pressure to your pelvic bone, and a devious smirk twists his lips. “That’s not the only place that’ll hurt.”

The reality of his intentions—of why he has you restrained—dawns on you like a sun risen from the grave, blindingly, searingly hot.

“You can’t be serious.”

You intend to squirm, to kick out at him with your legs, and push him as far from you as possible, but your legs just won’t move. It’s as if you’re attempting to tug yourself free from a pit of molasses, crushed under a new weight. You manage to lift your foot a mere centimeter from the bed before Scaramouche gingerly lowers it back onto the mattress, all the while clicking his tongue at you.

“No need to panic. I’ll take good care of you.” He glances at you, spidery digits tracing tantalizing lines along the length of your leg. “I always have.”

The grogginess spreads throughout the rest of your body like the thorny tendrils of vindictive vines, stifling all possible movements and replacing your usual taut, alert muscles with a sleepiness that's awfully familiar. It doesn’t take long for you to reach a harrowing conclusion: He’s drugged you. Again. You blink rapidly to gain your bearings, and it takes you a moment to recognize the glass that’s at your lips. Foolishly, you drink because he’s already tilting it and you’re not sure how many more sips you take, but by the end of it the glass is empty and your head is spinning, nerves buzzing with static.

Scaramouche slips off the bed with graceful steps, practically floating about his room, to retrieve a bottle of lube and a pair of scissors. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, coming to you in nonsensical clumps as the alcohol thins your rationality, numbing you to the encroaching unease that so desperately wishes to fill your veins. Rather, you’re overwhelmed with a very pleasant, dizzying warmth. You peer at him from where you’re slumped against the headboard, and the red-and-purple lighting in his room paints him in hues so alluring you find yourself at a momentary loss, staring blankly at him like he’s a fascination you’ve only just fallen for. And then you’re reflecting on the way his lips fit against yours, soft and sweet and metallic…

The scissors run up the fabric of your shirt in a flawless snip. When the tattered material is pulled from you and you feel the rush of cold air upon bare skin, prickly realization manages to sober you.

“W-Wait…” You shake your head slowly, tongue heavy and clumsy just like the rest of your limbs. “I’ve never… N-Never done this before…”

He gazes at you, searching for a lie. Finding no such thing, he chuckles and leans in until you’re practically breathing him in. “I would’ve thought otherwise.”

“And I…” You try to narrow your eyes at him, but he’s placed his hands on your hips and so your gaze is inevitably drawn downwards. “And I would’ve thought you were letting me win all those times.”

“Not this time,” he promises, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “If it means having you all to myself like this, I’ll gladly indulge in the pity prize.”

If your wrists weren’t bound to the bed, you may have pushed him away. Or perhaps you would have embraced him, tugging him closer against your chest so that you could feel his heartbeat, taste it on your lips, allow it to thrum between the both of you. The sake muddles your mind, aiding the muscle relaxant in soothing pre-sex jitters. As Scaramouche’s hands wander, fingers tracking up and down your waist, sliding across your bare stomach, climbing further upwards to pinch your nipples between dexterous digits, someone starts to whine, each faint gasp just barely slipping past lips that have been chewed bloody.

You realize, when he pulls away to grab at the waistband of your sweatpants, that you’re the one producing such sinful sounds.

“Wait,” you whisper when he’s yanked it down to your knees. He peers at you with glazed eyes, and you’re certain you’re looking back with the same amount of lustful ferocity. “S-Scara, I don’t know if… Don’t know if we should…”

You shake your head, utter a frustrated curse, and squeeze your eyes shut. What do you truly wish to tell him? You wonder if it even matters anymore. He has you right where he wants you and, frighteningly enough, this is exactly where you’d like to stay. You have to remind yourself it’s the alcohol and the drugs and the sensual lighting that twist your reasonable senses. Even so, your fear trumps any lust that might have been simmering under heated skin.

But before you can verbalize these anxieties, he’s tugged your sweatpants down with ease. Your underwear goes next, leaving you utterly, humanly bare. Scaramouche stares for a moment, taking in the sight of you, and his licentious ogling is enough to send a bolt of embarrassment rushing through you. Avoiding his eyes, you manage to shut your legs, which earns you a breathy chuckle from him. Scaramouche lifts his shirt over his head next, casting it aside without hesitation. You’re treated to the view of his chest, porcelain-pale, creamy skin aglow under the dimmed lights, and upon noting your wide-eyed stare an easy smirk sprawls across his pierced lips. When he cocks his head to the side, you follow the way the tiny chains on his ear cuffs tilt with the movement, star and moon charms jingling faintly. He’s touched by the very cosmos above, shaded in light so beauteous he’s seraphic.

“There’s no need to be so nervous,” he whispers, drumming his fingers along your knees. “You’re in good hands.”

You open your mouth to object—I don’t want this; I’ve never done this before—but his hands part your legs, spreading them agonizingly slowly as if the universe has benevolently graced him with all the hours in the world. You watch him consider your nude form splayed before him, and the temporary stillness is interrupted when he reaches for the bottle of lube sitting so patiently on his bedside table.

It’s a chore to follow his hands as they uncap the bottle and squeeze a generous amount onto his fingers. Everything spins and blurs into a messy portrait of colors and shapes. You taste the raw acidity of bile in your throat and promptly swallow it and the rest of your apprehensions, forcing yourself to turn off what’s left of logical thinking and submit to the moment—to allow yourself to be fondled by such good hands.

The slick index prodding curiously at your unrelenting hole tightens the tangle of nerves in your stomach and has you squirming once more.

“W-Wait! Wait, wait…”

“It’s only my finger, scaredy-cat.” He laughs and lies beside you, one hand between your legs and the other curled under your chin. He moves your head until you’re looking right at him, and he’s already moving in, lips ghosting over yours. “Unless you’d rather take it raw without any prep. That can be arranged…”

With a half-lidded stare, you spy his lips rather than his eyes as they capture yours in a sloppy smooch. He chases after your breath, swallowing reedy, needy gasps, and traces a circle along your hole before sinking his finger inside. You choke on a whine and wriggle your hips in discomfort. He pulls away only for a brief respite, soon reclaiming your mouth in his greedy pursuit, experimentally curling the lone finger inside you. You’re on fire, burning up with sheer desire and shame and a dizzying intoxication, and everything tangles into a mess fueled only by mounting lust. Fears shrugged away like worthless fabrics, you melt into the mattress’s cushiony embrace, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, as Scaramouche draws little gasps and groans from you, each one spilling out in between kisses.

The hand on your chin falls away to grasp your nipple between cold fingers, and the chill slithers through your flushed form. You whine a pitiful sound.

“Look at you, falling apart on one measly finger.” His voice, hushed and husky, wraps around your head like the softest scarf. “Am I the first to touch you down here?”

Foolishly, you try to nod and shake your head all at once, but he seems to catch the truth veiled in your response, for he hums into your mouth again. You kiss back with more desperation this time, chasing his tongue with a delightful fervor. He pushes a second finger in, slick enough as to not cause discomfort, and it soon finds residence with the other digit curled within.

“No wonder why you’re so easy. It’s almost cute.” Scaramouche lazily works you open with the two digits thrust up inside you. Lewd squelching permeates the otherwise quiet room, and it spurs you into submission. Instinctively, you arch your back when he pinches your nipple harder than before, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. “See? Isn’t it better when you’re enjoying yourself? And all it takes is a little reciprocation.”

“I… I’d never—mmh—never reciprocate,” you mumble, but the words are spoken in a gasp.

“It’s a little too late for delusions and denial, kitten,” he says, practically singing the sardonically spoken pet name.

You grit your teeth in an effort to stifle your sounds, turning your head away when he tries to steal a quick kiss. “Hate you,” you mutter, jaw clenched.

Scaramouche barks out a disbelieving laugh. The finger that had been toying with your puffy nipple traces an invisible pattern along the expanse of your chest, sliding further down under he’s gracing your privates with feather-light touches. A moan hums low in your throat, betraying your poor attempt at defiance.

“That’s not what your body’s telling me.”

He scissors his fingers, stretching you wide enough so he can slide a third in. You hardly feel the pain when you dig your nails into your palms. It’s so fierce you think you might break skin, and if you do the muscle relaxant prevents you from truly feeling it. You peer at his sly smirk, but the disgust melts away when, combined with the fingers working you open and the hand petting your sex, you find yourself shuddering through a sudden climax. Scaramouche marvels at the way you clench around his fingers, and before you can even try to avoid him he’s pressing a fleeting kiss to your temple.

“Look at you, cumming from three fingers.” He removes each finger one by one just to watch you writhe bonelessly beneath him. He presses two slick fingers against your lips, tilting his head as if you’re a morbid curiosity he spies through the bars of an invisible cage. “My cute, pathetic, virgin kitten. I quite like that dazed look in your eyes. Perhaps you should look at me like that more often…”

You manage to roll your eyes, unamused. “You had your fun. Now take the cuffs off.” You fix him with a pout. “Please?”

“I couldn’t possibly when we’re just getting started.”

There’s a playful lilt in his voice, and your eyes follow his hands as they grasp the waistband of his boxers. It’s only then when you realize he’s painfully hard in his underwear, his cock outlined so starkly against the constrictive material, and your heart plummets into your stomach.

“Hold on. Wait. H-Hold on…” You try to shut your legs, but the sedative in your system has you reacting as if you’re pulling your limbs through unforgiving tar. Every inch of you craves the comforting release of a long slumber, but the alcohol keeps your nerves sparking with a fiery need that greatly outweighs any languor. “N-Not inside…”

“Why not? We’ll be closer this way.” He wipes the cold sweat from your forehead before placing a gentle kiss upon it. The look in his indigo hues is lionizing, and when he cradles your cheek in a warm hand he is uncharacteristically fond. But then of course he’d be; he likes you, after all. For all of the cruelty, you forget he does this out of love. “Don’t you want to be closer—to find all of the right spots together? We’ll fit together so perfectly…”

He’s already squirted lube onto his hand, and he runs it up the length of his erection, all the while holding smoldering eye contact with you. You swallow dread so thick it almost lodges itself in your throat, mumbling a slew of slurred protests that fall upon deaf ears.

Scaramouche forces you to look at him next, his hand still on your face, and you lean into it out of emotional instinct. He smiles—it’s tender this time, almost welcoming—and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “You’re okay,” he whispers, sincerity weaved into the promise. You blink tears away and your breath hitches when the soft, fleshy head of his cock kisses your puckered hole. His fingers trail along the bandage secured around your throat, and his eyes glaze over with an unknown emotion. “You’ll be okay.”

And hearing it twice has you believing it with a mindless nod of your head.

If your hands were free, you’d reach out to touch him, run your fingers along his porcelain chest, loop your arms around his neck to pull him into you so that your puzzle could be complete. Instead, you look up at him with pleading eyes as he cages you between his arms.

“Please be gentle.”

He noses the crook of your neck. “We’ll see.”

But his words are warm and inviting. And—oh. Oh, he cares for you! Scaramouche, the one who’d ensure you were always fed, who’d go out of his way to check in at night after a long day, who’d entertain you with an argumentative back-and-forth regarding his favorite games, who’d let you win every single match just to be able to spend more quality time with you...

Who loves you more than he loves himself, relying entirely on you in order to fill the cavernous void in his heart with sugar and sincerity and serenity.

He cares for you, and no one has ever quite cared for you in the way he does, as sickly obsessive as he may be. Knowing that someone likes you enough to look after you is more saccharine than honey.

Illuminated in red-and-purple luminosities, you shimmer beneath him, a lone star plucked from a dark, desolate sky. His hand falls from your face, finding your hip instead, and he rubs soothing circles into it as he presses in, the head of his cock pushing past rings of tight, lubricated muscle. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as you thought it would, but then the relaxant and the alcohol have you at ease. His brows are knit in concentration, breath hot and wet on your bare skin, as he slots himself inside inch by inch.

A shaky groan spills from his lips. “(Name)...” Your name is candied ambrosia in his mouth, the sweetest song. “(Name), (Name), (Name)...”

He exhales slowly, tears glimmering in glassy eyes, and locates your lips in the gloom, drawn in like a fool blinded by the deceptive light of an anglerfish. You kiss back as if this is the last time you’ll ever have the chance to do so, pursuing his whimpers in the same fashion he seeks your keening cries. And when he snaps his hips forwards to fill you completely, joining your bodies in unholy communion, you throw your head back and sob like you’ve never sobbed before. It’s a wonderful fit, snug and tight, and he rocks in experimentally. You shiver under him, crying out a string of incoherent phrases.

“Scara… Scaraaa,” you sigh dreamily, and his hands brace themselves on either side of you so that he won’t crumple when he thrusts in, settling into the rhythm, following the thrum of your conjoined heartbeats. “Aah… Don’t stop. Please, Scara, I want it deeper… Haah… Please don’t stop.”

“Kuni,” he corrects, breathing it into you in an open-mouthed kiss. “My name. Kunikuzushi.”

It’s lovely. It’s everything. It’s your own heavenly delicacy.

“Kuni. Kuni. Oh, Kuni…” you parrot, voice thick with need.

He’s moving in and out gradually, savoring each time he thrusts up into you and your bodies meet in a perfect connection, slowly rolling his hips into you as if he’s too fearful to destroy something so fragile. Or perhaps he wishes to keep himself intact—to prevent himself from crumbling into a love-drunk mess. When he kisses you, it’s flavorful passion, and the both of you exchange saliva and breath as if you’re each other’s lifelines. You’re not sure what you’re saying anymore, or whether any of it makes sense, but then he’s murmuring all manner of things into your skin as if every admission will tattoo itself upon your very being, engraved into your soul.

Though it’s spoken in a voice barely above a whisper, you catch it. Faintly, like flickering candlelight, admitted like prayer, he says, “I love you.”

And with that you fall, vision whiting out as your orgasm seizes you, and you whine your relief when he fucks you through the highs and lows of it. Your chest is heaving when you return, and you bury your face in his shoulder, wanting to feel all of him, to have his warmth affixed to you.

In that moment, there is no such thing as hatred or revulsion. There are no drug- and alcohol-induced feelings. No handcuffs or shackles. There is only love. Lots of it—all of it—filling you to the brim entirely.

The shadowed space you’ve been confined to is slightly brighter now that you’ve found a star for yourself, and he is a celestial comfort crafted by the threads of fate—for it’s handcrafted destiny that brought the two of you together in a virtual world. Regardless of what awaits you when you’re shaken from this inebriated fantasy, you hope it is just as bewitchingly dazzling as the puzzle you make with Scaramouche.

“I love you… Kuni, I love you.”

He’s crying then, tears falling in twin rivulets, and in response he drives his cock in so deeply it has you arching your back, the motions coaxing precious love cries from the depths of your very heart. Sealing what’s left unsaid in a final kiss—every other emotion, all of the twisted obsession and the horrors of the past month—he empties his load inside, moaning into your mouth. Like a lotus at midnight, you open so obediently for him, your legs wrapped around his waist to pin his body to yours like butterflies spread on an entomologist’s board.

Of course you love him. After all, there’s no one else for you to adore in this vast, lonesome outer space.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #lunar love hotel 2023 #tw: drugging #tw: dubcon #n/sfw

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shiny-kaibernyte · 4 months

Note

begging for more drayton romance hcs pls! 💜

Ask and you shall receive💜

Pokémon Headcanons | Drayton (Romance) Part 2

Pokémon Scarlett and Violet Indigo Disk DLC Spoilers ahead!

Been storing up more romance headcanons for our toothpaste man since the first one of these I wrote. hope I have met your expectations 💜💜

SPOILER WARNING AHEAD (Indigo Disk Main Story)

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He loves to hold your hand when walking around the school together. He has no shame in showing everyone you are the one he loves and the one who has a lock on his heart. If you are more shy, he will only do what is comfortable for you, so if that's no hand holding, he will simply give you a special smile only you get to see.

If you’re a Pokémon battler, expect to battle him on the regular. Not just double battles either, every kind of battle.

Forehead kisses. Drayton loves giving them to you, just holding your face in his hands whilst he kisses your forehead. It's very comforting to him. As an added bonus, whenever you two are walking together, if you feel nervous he will kiss your hand and squeeze it lightly, in a hope to comfort you even the slightest.

Sleeps like a log. He can be quite laid back by nature and can fall asleep on a dime. But once he is asleep, good luck getting him back up again! Throw water on him, asleep. Shake him, asleep. Scream in his ear, asleep. But if your poor soul is stuck under him when asleep, get comfy because you are not moving for a while. Try and roll him, and you will fail; he’s got you trapped in a cuddle lock.

Drayton can be quite lazy, he doesn’t like going on long trips. But with the right motivation, he would go anywhere and everywhere with you, so long as there is a bedroll and cover from the rain. Oh, and food!

He once tried to cook dinner for you as a surprise, he may or may not have started a fire… Crispin was his favourite person that day

Rarely ever calls you by name. Drayton’s favourite names for you are: love, sweetheart, treasure, starlight, songbird and darling. Though, he can get creative and surprise you with others on the rare occasion, just to fluster you.

If you are sick, he will react in one of two ways, depending on how sick. If it’s something small, like a minor cold, he will just make sure you get plenty of rest and stay hydrated; he knows it will pass and that if you are walking around just fine, he won’t fuss. OOOOO but if you are really sick, to the point all you want to do is lay in bed and need a bin by your side, the world better step aside because he is coming through and is bringing every possible thing you could need and more.

His love language is physical touch, he loves to just hold you close and show you that you are safe with him.

Your Agias and him have a rivalry with one another. Food is their best friend, so any time you make a sandwich, expect them to fight over them. Even if you make enough for everyone - they will try to steal the sandwich from the other. Agias has been known to just yoink it right out of his hands, whilst Drayton will throw a ball to distract Agias then chomp it like a Greedant.

If you are a gamer, he is your new player 2. If he has no idea what he is doing, expect to have the time of your life and no lung capacity. Because the things he will do will be way too funny.

Has zero sense of direction, he just wanders around and hopes for the best. And somehow, unlike Leon, actually ends up where he's supposed to be 9/10 times on time! Granted, he will not go the way he’s meant to, but will get there! You may have to go retrieve him from a cliffside at some point, though.

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btssmutficslovingfan01 · 1 month

Text

Berries and Crème

⇰ Summary: You find that not all is well in the land of Strawberryland, where there are seven men with colorful hair that have never laid eyes upon a woman before meeting you.

⇰ Words: 12k

⇰ Genre: Smut & Angst (Crackfic)

⇰ Pairing: BTS x fem!Reader (all members)

⇰ Warnings: Strawberry Shortcake AU, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Dubious Consent, Implied war, Mentions of PTSD, Voyeurism, Breeding kink, creampie, Jungkook centric, the boys are clueless and don't know what sex is until you ruin their innocence, fucking of pumpkins-food play-ish?, lots of fruit puns/references to sweet things because of the theme, comparing pussy to pumpkinussy(?), plot if you squint. A/N: I DID IT I POSTED YAYYYY! But also please enjoy, I am really tired but I felt bad so here is something I have had in drafts for a while....a fucked up strawberry shortcake au where reader isn't in a good situation-HAVE FUN! Low key kidnapping but whatever. I think I was PMSing when I wrote this. Or it was when I was in a poly relationship with two guys and got carried away.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

You remembered traveling. You were in a car, a really nice car…and you were…yes, you were being kidnapped by your uncle. He said something about some money, some money your father wouldn’t give him. And then the car crashed.

When you came to, he was passed out and you were stranded under a tree.

Suddenly, a puppy with purple fur ran out. You were disoriented and had no clue what the time was but it was strange how the purple puppy that looked to be a toy poodle was running around you, barking as you looked around for anything that could help. Your uncle was unconscious and bleeding out right now so the only thing you could think of was to run away from him.

There was no telling what the man would do, especially now since you were injured. Sure, he was bleeding, but would that really stop him? He could still very well overpower you. You put your hand up to the dog, as if you were trying to silence it, pressing a finger against your lips and gently whispering: “Shhh, be quiet, you’ll wake him.” You noticed the puppy whining and barking as if it was trying to get someone’s attention.

Suddenly, you heard rustling coming from some bushes nearby, and noticed how big they were. The structure of this area was strange, apart from a few trees scattered around and a mysterious looking log cabin, there was a small fraction of the land that was surrounded by a row of bushes. It almost looked like it was covering something.

Then, a man just appeared, from the bushes. As if there was something hidden there, he just walked out, and you saw how he stepped THROUGH them. So they were fake. He had to be a magician or a wizard of some sort, as the world seemed to warp around him and you sensed something magical about him.

He had doe eyes, and a button nose which was wider all throughout. He was very handsome and appeared to be asian. You weren’t one to guess, but if you had to, you’d say he’s korean. His purple hair wasn’t the strangest thing about him-his outfit was. He was wearing a matching dark purple tracksuit and a light cyan blue and white shirt. His hair was put into a neat ponytail and….his eyes were a deep rich violet. He was probably wearing a cosplayer.

“Ist def douclf dtep?” That didn’t sound like any language you knew as he opened his mouth to speak. The puppy barked and ran around you, as you looked up, hot from the heat and dehydrated from the past hour of being stuck here.

“Please, help me.” You reached out to the man, in hopes of him reaching back to you before you fainted.

When you came to, you were in a bed, surrounded by two other men, who were peering at you with curiosity. A third man walked in, and as your blurry vision cleared, you could see it was the guy that helped you earlier with the tracksuit. The two other mystery men had strange hair colors and outfits too. One had maroon and pink hair fading into a lighter shade, and he was wearing a really long pink shirt with green and white tights (a man in tights? REALLY?) and lilac contacts in his eyes, while the other had a more normal appearance with blonde hair and blue eyes, but wore a lemon themed outfit, with a goofy lemon printed button up shirt and a plain white tee underneath with some shorts and a pair of white and yellow tights and yellow tennis shoes as well. What was it with the men in this place and their fucking tights?

“Ah, she’s awake?!” The purple haired man ran to you at once. You blushed a bit because it was so nerve wracking to see a good looking guy be attentive towards you. “Move away guys, give her some space.” He said to the other men.

“I can understand you.” You said while sitting up.

“Yeah. That’s because I brought you into Strawberryland. Normally we don’t let other humans cross in, in case they try destroying the town. God forbids that happens again…” He said with a slight dark twinge to his voice.

“Strawberryland?” You raised a brow and sat up. “What’s that?” You prayed they wouldn’t break into song and dance.

“It’s the name of this world. You see, long ago, the Berrymunchkins and Berrybugs needed a place to live, so a great wizard from the human world created a safe haven for all the creatures to live, hiding them away from all harm-along with a couple human beings to boot. It was meant to balance out. 15 people, and 9 of the creatures. However, the creatures felt wronged, tired of being used for labor as they had been previously in the human world. So, they retaliated. Slaughtered half of us. You see, we had siblings. There were two of us in each house, and we were happy! My sister…” He clenched his fist. “I’ll never forget what they did to Plum,” He gritted his teeth. You could tell he was going through something at the moment. Definitely looked like PTSD. “Sorry. You probably didn’t need to hear that. But it’s the current state of things. Sorry I couldn’t do more for you than offer a heatpack for your stomach and a hot towel for your forehead. We are pretty much out of medical supplies because the bug workers at the local hospital went on strike.”

You sit up slowly, wincing from the sudden pain.

“What kind of a city is this? Berrymunchkins and bugs, the color….I don’t understand how it’s so…wait, are we in a giant plum right now?” You looked around the house and noticed the shape of it. It was decorated purple, everywhere, and the windows looked candy-stripe themed as well, with green and white peppermints serving as the panes for the glass.

“Yes. Well, that is the magic of strawberryland. We weren’t born here but it gave us these physical changes. Pretty sweet if I say so myself.” The one with the blonde hair spoke up, chuckling in between.

“Wow. And this place was hidden right where the car crash happened? Wow, I guess I got lucky.” You said, sighing in relief.

“Car…crash?” The man who helped you originally asked. “Is that the name of the vehicle that brought you here? My pet, Lavendar, found you and got my attention. I almost never venture out but then when I saw you I had to help. Plus, she’s a good dog. She normally never barks like that,” He said. “Might I add…” He scans your body. “You are unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.” He said.

“Can I ask you how long you’ve been in this place?” You piped up. You had to know.

“Uh…I think a hundred and ten human years, at least?” Your eyes widened. “Time doesn’t pass for us, just barely. We don’t remember the world before this one. We don’t remember why our physical appearances changed or how, all we know is that we’re here now,” He added with a smile. “Together.” He looked back at his friends and gave them a small smile.

“Okay, so to recap: this place has powers and…you don’t have your memory from before you were here and there was a war and your siblings died, and now I’m the first human to cross the magical threshold in a century?!”

“Yep, that sounds about right.” He replied, nodding.

“I’ve gotta be dreaming. Wake up!” You yelled. Nothing happened. The men just stared at you like you grew a third arm.

“Ugh, why isn’t it working?” He sat down on the bed, next to you as you slapped your face.

“Please stop doing that, you’ll give yourself a concussion at this rate.” He said with a softer tone. You felt oddly compelled to listen to everything he said without protest. Technically, he did save you. You blushed as he grabbed your arms to keep you from smacking your forehead a fifth time.

“I uh…thanks for saving me,” You sighed. “Actually, I was in danger before you found me anyways…” You weren’t sure if you wanted to share.

“It’s okay. You sound shaken up. Makes sense, you were trapped there for a long time. Look at your skin, you’ve been sweating so much, and your body is barely sitting up straight. We need to get you some food and proper care immediately.” He said, making your heart skip a beat yet again.

Your stomach grumbled just as he said that. Damn you!

“Uh…sir?” You asked hesitantly.

“Yes?” He parted his lips and looked at you with so much focus you thought you would explode.

“What’s your name?”

“Jungkook.” He smiled at you.

“I’m Y/N.” You smiled back at him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” He kissed your hand. He let his lips linger there for a moment and looked back at the other men before looking back at you. “I’ll let my friends here introduce themselves to you. I gotta take Lavender on a walk.” He said, before leaving through the front door.

“I’m Seokjin. ‘Jin,’ for short.” The blonde said, standing tall.

“And I’m Jimin. Also go as ‘Jimmy,’ or ‘Chim.’ But only my friends call me that really.” The pink haired one scratched his head.

“Okay, I have a weird question for you guys but…promise not to judge?” You asked, blushing a bit as you tried not to stare at the outlines of their bulges.

“What is it?” Jin asked curiously.

“Why are you wearing tights?”

It was as if you asked ‘how do you breathe?’ to them, as they started roaring with laughter.

“Honey, I don't know what to tell you. We’ve always worn tights. Why do you ask?” Jin asked, completely oblivious to the fact that even though he was wearing shorts the tights did press down on his dick.

You look at Jimin, who was wearing the shirt and suddenly noticed it was JUST the shirt. You licked your lips. That was very interesting to know that you were seeing everything below the shirt, even though he was wearing tights.

“You’re not wearing pants.” You said.

“Of course I’m not! I never wear pants.” He folded his arms.

“He’s protesting them because the rest of us tease him about his habit about walking around naked in his house.” Jin shared with you.

“I get it. So you all live alone?” You asked, changing the subject. That’s enough ogling Jimin’s obvious bulge for now. At least you had confirmation he was pantsless.

“Yeah. We do.” Jin says. “There’s seven of us, at the moment.”

“Oh?” You perked up. There were more? If the trend follows they were all gorgeous men.

“Might I add, Jungkook was right,” He slowly let his fingers trail down your chin. “You are quite interesting to look at. We’ve never seen anyone with your eye or hair color around, and that skin tone.” He was vague, but that was okay, as you knew you were exhausted and didn’t look your best.

“Sorry…I think I need a shower.” You felt rude, but Jimin walked you out of the bed towards it. The shower and bathroom was pretty similar to home so you were thankful. After you were done you changed back into your bloody clothes, which caused both Jin and Jimin to freak out.

“Here, take my shirt!” Jin said, throwing off his button down.

“You can take my tights,” Jimin said, and before you could stop him…penis.

You were staring. It was just..out in the open. And Jin wasn’t even batting an eye! Did these men have no concept of shame? You blushed. He wasn’t even wearing underwear.

“What?” Jimin looked at you. “Did I say something?” Jin shrugged as you simply ogled Jimin.

“S-sorry. Uh…in my world it is customary for men and women to not show their genitalia to each other unless they are practicing sexual relations with each other.” You explained.

“Sexual…” Jimin started.

“Relations…?” Jin finished.

“What’s that?” They both had no clue what the fuck sex was. Your mind went to a very bad place. You decided, the opportunity doesn’t present itself often, you needed to get your mind off the fact that a few hours ago your uncle kidnapped you, and Jungkook had gotten you horny beyond belief. Not to mention, these two seemed more than intrigued by you anyways.

“You want me to show you?” You raised a brow.

“Show us how?” Jimin asked, his cock swinging back and forth as he spoke.

“You know the thing you use to pee with?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Jimin smiled. “My penis.” He said.

“Correct. Did you know you could also put it in something and make it feel good?” You said, smirking.

“Like what?” He asked.

“Anything, different textures. Obviously you’re both novices so I’ll just give you something easy to start with,” You looked around and noticed two pumpkins sitting on the counter, with all the seeds scooped out of them. “Oh, I know…guys, is Jungkook using those pumpkins?” You ask.

“No, he was planning to throw them out soon cause they go bad in a few days.” Jin says.

“Okay great. So I want you guys right now to take the pumpkins,” You say, smirking as you had a great idea to ‘teach’ them, without fully corrupting them just yet. They listen to your instructions. “Pull down your tights and take out your penises,” You tell them. They do that. “Now, slowly move your penis into the hole Jungkook cut out, it should be big enough,” You observe them slowly, smirking as they started, eyebrows furrowed like they were learning a new skill. “Every time you move your hips back and forth, it’s called fucking,” You say. “Congrats on learning how to have sex. Basically, you just masturbated, or ‘self-pleasured.’” You tell them, clapping.

“Fucking. Mmm…Y/N, this feels really good.” Jimin groaned. His moans just got you riled up.

“I feel like I might explode, from the inside…” Jin said, his white shirt patched with sweat, and you could see his nipples were erect through the shirt.

“Let it happen, it feels like you’re about to pee? That’s called an orgasm.” You said.

“Orgasm,” Jimin repeated. “O-orgasm….Y/N, I’m about to orgasm!” He said, as if he had just learned a new vocab word.

“Come for me Jimin, baby…come for me.” You whispered against his ear, sucking the shell of it as he continued fucking into the pumpkin, the sound of his cock hitting the back of it could be heard. The slosh of Jimin’s and Seokjin’s cocks moving in and out of their respective pumpkins were all you could hear at the moment.

“Ahhhh nnnnnggg…” Jimin moaned, filling the pumpkin with his semen at the same time as Jin, who came and groaned, looking at you ecstatically.

“That was great!” Jin smiled. “I wanna do that all the time!” He told you.

“Well that’s the thing about sex, it’s good. It feels good, or is supposed to feel good.” You explained. “I haven’t had sex in a few months.” You sigh.

“Do you wanna try?” Jin handed his cum-filled pumpkin to you in hopes of trying to cheer you up.

“Sorry, Jin,” You pushed the pumpkin back to him, crinkling your nose a bit. The smell of cum wasn’t bad, it was just the idea of having cold cum on your hands. “Women have a different anatomy than men. I might as well teach you guys the second lesson.” You explain.

“Hm?” Jimin asked.

You slowly pull off the tights Jimin lent you. The men crouch down, so they can take a look. They were staring at your panties.

“You’ve never seen underwear before?” You asked.

“No.” Jin said, staring intently between your legs.

“Us women have a different body structure than yours. We don’t have penises to fuck pumpkins with…” You said, chuckling slightly at the end of your sentence. “…instead we have wombs and holes that are meant to be fucked…” You slowly pulled off your panties to show them, blushing pink as they stared at your exposed clit.

“Oh…” Jin looked at it, with a mouth-watering expression.

“Wow…it’s so pretty.” Jimin said, complimenting you.

“C-can I touch it?” Jin asked. You knew this was already a pretty slippery slope but he was the one asking.

“Yeah, sure, if you want.” You whispered. Jin slowly squeezed on your clit, and circled his fingers around slowly.

“Does that feel good, Y/N?” He asked, staring directly at you. “It smells so yummy,” He whispers. “Can I eat it?” Oh god.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

“H-huh?!” Jimin looks at Jin with a blush too. “No fair-I wanna eat it!” Jimin said.

“O-or…” You piped up. You should probably stop talking. “You could both share it.” You said, slowly taking their hands and placing one on either side of your inner thighs while you sat on the bed.

“Okay…” Jimin nodded.

“Yeah, I don’t mind.” Jin said in agreement. They both slowly slid their tongues up your clit as you moaned. It had been too long since you had a guy or two go down on you.

“Sorry, does it hurt?” Jimin was confused but he had the right idea as you groaned.

“Mm, no, it feels good.” You admit. You sigh, before Jin slowly trailed his tongue down to your sweet spot. You gasped.

“Ah, watch it…that’s the hole…” You tried to explain. “Like the pumpkin?” He didn’t say it like he was clarifying, it was almost like he caught on what you were trying to do. One thing you knew for sure was that these guys learned fast…perhaps their intellect was also enhanced in this colorful twisted Strawberryland. “I understand…so you want us to stuff your wet fleshy hole in the same way?” He said, now using a bit of his saliva to part your inner lips, spreading it apart to get better access to you. You let out a ghastly moan as your juices mixed with his, and as Jimin kept sucking your clit all while this was happening all you could do was moan out, your eyes squeezed shut.

“That makes her feel good, huh?” Jimin’s voice was raspy now, as he panted, staring at your body almost like he was taking you in before destroying you.

“Let’s do the fucking,” Jin said, toying with your clit and using another finger on your exposed opening as your body sucked him in with ease. Your weeping cunt was forced to take his fingers, as he realized he could fuck you with two instead of one. “She’s like a keyboard, Jimin, we play her with our fingers and she makes wonderful music with her lips.” Jin said so innocently yet with his erotic expression and the raging boner he was rocking you begged to differ.

“Maybe she’ll like it here…she’s also a little sour.” Jimin asked, as he moved his hands further up your body to try and find your other weak spots. Then he stopped at your breasts, squeezing them through your bra and shirt. Jimin lifted your shirt off your body before you could protest.

“W-wait…” You whispered, but Jin was already too busy licking your sopping clit and thrusting his digits in and out of your hole while Jimin was focused on the new part of you he had just discovered.

“So that’s what you look like underneath…” Jimin said with a light glimmer in his eyes. “I wanna fucking you.” You suppressed a giggle at his flimsy attempt at using the word but soon enough it turned into a moan as he pinched your nipples, hard.

“Ah!” You screamed.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you want me to help you orgasm?” Jimin asked, with a small pout on his lips.

“Y-yes, but…it hurts when you squeeze me like that. Don’t be too rough, okay?” You told him gently.

“Sorry.” He leaned in and kissed you softly at first, while you thrust your hips back and forth reflexively on Jin’s fingers. Jimin’s lips were plump and juicy as his ass looked earlier in those tights, and you could taste a faint hint of raspberries on them…he tasted like a sweet treat! He kneaded your breasts with his hands, circling them around as you came on Jin’s hands and face.

“Cumming!” You moaned, as you came to a climax. Your body was still aching for more though, as Jin licked up your juices and trailed kisses down to your clit again before stringing beads of your cum back up with his nose. The sight in itself was marvelous. “Please give me your cocks,” You begged. “I need it.” You whispered, with a shell of a moan.

Just as Jin was about to speak and Jimin was playing with your breasts some more, you heard the front door open and a few moments later, footsteps. You stopped your activities when the door swung open and in came Jungkook, who looked confused.

“W-what’s happening?” He asked, noticing how you were naked, sprawled on the bed between Jimin and Jin in a compromising situation.

“Um, nothing!” You quickly hid behind the sheets, as Jimin tried to continue grabbing you. “Jimin, stop!”

“Why are you suddenly so shy? You were begging for our penises just moments ago.” He said with a seductive inflection in his voice.

“That’s because-it’s private! You normally don’t do that with just anyone. I was just showing you and Jin because you asked.” You explained, blushing as Jungkook simply tilted his head in confusion. You saw his eyes filled with curiosity and innocence too, but alas, you couldn’t corrupt him too!

“Ah, no fair. Can’t we just show Jungkook too? I mean, you can’t blame us. You’re the first human woman to show up here that knows about this. We have never even heard of “sex” before you showed us!” Jimin said excitedly.

“You do have a point there…” You said. “Jungkook, would you like to see my pussy?” You asked, covering yourself still with the thin blankets.

“Pussy?” Jungkook’s face turned a faint pink. “O-oh, you mean like…”

“Wait, could it be that you know about it, Jungkook?” Jin asked, slinging his arm around the man as he scratched his head.

“I learned it from Doctor Genus, the berrymuchkin prodigy,” Jungkook explained. “Remember, I was trying to learn to become a Doctor because of the shortage in hospitals?” Jungkook explained. He looked at you, with widened eyes. “I’ve never seen one of our own species before…I do wonder what it looks like.” He said.

“So you wanna see it?” You asked. Jin and Jimin licked their lips, as Jungkook replied.

“Yes.”

At once, Jimin and Jin pulled the covers off you to reveal your naked body to Jungkook.

“Wow…it’s so…pretty,” Jungkook slowly crouched down to inspect it. “Definitely not like a bug,” You felt like his reaction so far has made sense in terms of what you’re used to for men your age (which still in their mid-twenties is still pretty shit considering a lot of them lie about their experience). “May I…inspect it?” You gulped. He was being so respectful. You nodded slightly, spreading your legs so Jungkook could get a better look. “This is great. A real pussy!” He sounded more excited.

“Yeah. And guess what Jungkook?” Jin said.

“What?” You were a bit afraid of what the two were about to say to him, as you knew if they started they would get hooked on your pussy.

“She gave me and Jimin permission to fucking her.” Of course, the one time he used it grammatically correctly was of course when he was describing it to the one man which probably had a better grasp of sex than the others. You clenched your jaw. What if Jungkook thought you were a whore?

“Fucking?” Jungkook’s lips parted and he let out a sigh, his hands on his hips. “What’s that?”

You gasped as Jimin, who was fully naked waist down since he gave his tights to you, and Jin, who was still sporting his hard on were right next to you.

“We can show you,” Jimin smirked. “Y/N, do you want us to fucking you?” You smiled at Jimin. He was still learning.

“First; it’s called fuck. You ask if you want to fuck someone. Fucking is the action of doing that. There. And yes, I would love to, but you will have to be more gentle with me than the pumpkin because my body could get more hurt. Remember I was in an accident earlier.” You explained. Jimin nodded, looking more serious. You guessed he got the hint that you were telling him this so he could have better guidance.

“It’s okay. When we’re busy using our fingers on you like you’re our keyboard, you won’t even notice if we’re being a little too rough.” Jin said, grabbing your face so he could kiss you. You groaned as he forced his tongue into your mouth.

“Mmmm…!” You groaned. He tasted like lemons, smelled like them too, but it was more of a citrus smell than just lemons. It smelled like a variety of fruity perfume from Zara. He tasted delectable.

“Get a chair, Jungkook,” Jimin said, as he stroked his pretty pink tip. You moaned, seeing his dick in front of your face as you sat up in the bed and Jin started removing his remaining clothes. “I’m putting it inside, Y/N.” Jimin warned you, as you nodded and he pushed his hips forward. You moaned like a little bitch in heat. You could hear Lavendar barking downstairs.

“Give me a second, Lavender normally never barks. Let me go see what she wants.” Jungkook said, before departing the room.

“It’s okay, he can watch when he gets back. Do you mind still doing it?” You were surprised how Jimin went from being a totally horny boy to asking for your consent before continuing. It was a nice change of pace, but that just told you more about his character than anything.

“Yeah…be careful. Short strokes. Your dick isn’t humongous but it is on the larger side so it may be difficult for you to put it in.” You explained, while Jin watched as Jimin was being careful with your body.

“Okay.” Jimin slowly slid his cock into you with ease, as you were already wet enough. He started thrusting sloppily, unable to do it at an expert level but still reaching your deepest spots with every thrust as he fucked you best he could as a novice.

“Oooooohhh…Jimin!” You groaned.

“MMmmm…it’s so warm, and gripping me so hard.” He sounded desperate to climax as he held your thighs while you rolled your body back and forth while he thrusted up. Your skin smacked together in a way where the wet noises resounded through the room. Jimin’s pinkish cock was inside of you, and you were even more aroused when you heard voices downstairs and then the door slammed shut before Jungkook ran back up to join you.

“Sorry that took so long. Namjoon was making his last runs. Just got a fresh batch of oranges!” Jungkook said to Jin as he joined you back upstairs.

“D-don’t worry…y-you didn’t m-miss…much…” Jimin moaned as he was now fucking you in missionary position, now on top of you as opposed to you riding him. You groaned with every thrust and your eyes rolled back as you felt close. “Mmm, gonna….orgasm…” Jimin moaned, kissing your neck as you groaned and rubbing his face in your breasts before thrusting fully and sending you to your own personal creampie heaven as he came.

You loved creampies, of all shapes and sizes and varieties. It was your main kink. So the thought of getting gangbanged and potentially creampied was your biggest dream come true. This right now, with Jimin, Jin, and Jungkook, all felt like a dream. You groaned as your body rocked and you chased your high, thrusting your hips upwards in hopes of drawing out the orgasm and using Jimin’s pretty pink cock to get yourself off. You came, just as he pulled out, you actually squirted.

“I…” You said, too overstimulated to move as he didn’t touch you for a moment.

“What was that?” Jin asked in confusion.

“Did you pee?” Jimin asked in a teasing tone.

“N-no, I squirted, it rarely happens to girls when they orgasm but it typically contains cum…and just a hint of urine,” You explained sheepishly. “Sorry, let me change the sheets.” You tried standing up but wobbled and fell back down on the bed. Jimin held you tightly, as if he was comforting you.

“Try not to stand too quickly. Besides, Jin here wants to also try out your hole,” Jimin said gently. “Are you sure you can handle that?” You were still slicked with cum and your own jism that you didn’t care.

“Yeah.” Was all you said as Jin slid beside you, while Jimin moved off the bed. It was a queen sized bed so it definitely wasn’t all that spacious for three people. Jimin and Jin were kneeling while they ate you out earlier too so that’s why it worked out. As for now…Jin teased your entrance with his fingers before pushing his cock in with ease. In contrast to Jimin, Jin was a more passionate and aggressive lover, pulling you close to him and making sure you could see his face while he piledrove his dick into you. You gasped and shuddered with every thrust, he was facing you, you could see how his hips met yours, and how his cock couldn’t completely fit in, so he went only halfway. You had to measure later but you wanted to say he was closer to 10 inches?

“Jimin’s right, it is warm and tight…” Jin smirked. “I like pussy.” Jin said with a cheeky tone in his voice.

“Y-you better, it’s meant to be enjoyed.” You said back seductively, moaning into the pillow as he pounded you for all you were worth.

“Jungkook, isn’t she something else?” Jimin said as he sat on a beanbag next to Jungkook.

“Yeah. She’s beautiful. And this is…sex?” Jungkook looked like he was making mental note of it as he watched Jin’s cock slide into your hole once more.

“Yep, and she’s a fantastic teacher.” Jimin said with a grin.

“I wanna have sex…” Jungkook looked at you with lust.

“Mmmhmm, me too, Jungkook.” Jimin smirked, looking back at you. “Here, let me show you how to masterbate…” Jimin slowly tugged his own cock, looking back at you and Jin on the bed as if he was watching an early morning special. Jungkook followed suit, removing his joggers to reveal his throbbing tanned dick, which was at least 8 inches. It was a bit bigger than Jimin’s, which already was pretty big to begin with. Do all the men here have big penises? You wondered. You watched Jungkook and Jimin stroking themselves, moaning as Jin continued fucking you before blowing his load. You gasped and your pussy clamped down on his cock, sucking him in before the white volcano splashed and the suction loosened, letting him go with a slow squelch. Your body collapsed out of fatigue.

“That’s enough for tonight, guys. She’s exhausted. Let’s let her sleep.” Jungkook ushered the other men out of his house after lending Jimin and Jin some spare tights and then switched off the lights. He bought you some dinner while checking up on you.

“Aw, thank you Jungkook,” You smiled at him. Suddenly your face turned pale. “Uh, did you by chance throw those pumpkins out earlier?” You asked. Jungkook furrowed his brows in confusion before nodding.

“Yeah…why?” He asked.

“Whew, nevermind,” You wiped the sweat off your brow while Jungkook watched you eat for a bit. “Why do you all look at me like that?” You asked, having had enough of the staring for a day.

“Sorry if it’s weird, we have just never seen a woman in so long, especially one that looks like you. And I know I told you of our past, but it’s so much more complicated when…” He fell silent. “I used to have a sister,” He sighed, before leaning back, the dim lighting of the bedroom was enough for you to make out that he was pondering something. “After the damn war, she was lost. So were the others. You’ll get to meet the remaining few tomorrow, the other humans I mean. And maybe Mr. Caterpillar.” Jungkook said with a small smile.

“I hope so,” You smiled back at him. “And I hope they’re just as nice as you guys have been to me so far,” Jungkook smiled a bit, before leaning in. “Y/N, may I taste your lips?” You raised a brow.

“Huh?”

“Every one of us has a distinct taste. Jimin tastes like Raspberries, Jin like lemons, and me, like plums. I wonder…since you’re not from around here what you taste like?” You were a little weirded out. How the hell does he know what his friends taste like? Although, honestly earlier while you were kissing them you noted their delicious tastes. You wondered if they all regularly made out or something to know that. “What are you thinking about, I wonder, silly girl?” Jungkook called you silly.

“Hey, I am not-” He leaned in and kissed you. After a second, you kissed back. He was really good at that. You wished all boys would shut you up the same way. After a small amount of time, he kissed your forehead and bid you adieu. You fell back, and it was off to dreamland.

You were awoken to the sound of the door opening, you weren’t expecting him to be back so soon but you supposed he couldn’t hold back after seeing you earlier. He slowly slid into bed beside you, hugging you from behind. You don’t know what you were expecting, but you stayed still. Then…you felt wet hot tears on the back of your neck. Was Jungkook…crying? He was. You heard his sobs muffled by him rubbing his face into your back and his hands.

“Plum…I miss you so much…” He cried softly, and after a while his breathing slowed. You sensed he was asleep, so you turned around to find him passed out like a baby. You slowly wrapped your arms around him and stroked his shoulders as he nestled his head into your neck while he slept. You spooned him as you gradually also followed suit, and drifted back to sleep.

When you awoke Jungkook was still sleeping. He was gorgeous. He looked like any regular ol’ human, minus the purple hair and eyes, but he was. And his skin was pale, but not so pale it washed him out. You watched him sleep for a few more seconds before he shifted and his eyes met yours with a sleepy, “Good morning,” From him.

You smiled and kissed him softly, as he hummed and pulled you on top of him. “You noticed me?” He asked. “Sorry for sneaking into your bed in the middle of the night. I just had lots of memories…” Jungkook yawned. “Anyways, wanna get breakfast?” You gave him a sad sigh, but nodded.

“Sure, watchu got?” You asked him.

“Oranges!” He set them down in front of you after you joined him downstairs. Because you wanted some dignity, you had wrapped one of Jungkook’s shirts around your hips as a makeshift skirt. It was baggy and loose so it sat around your hips nicely after you had tied it best you could.

“Thanks,” You ate the fruits and then saw the puppy. She ran out of her doghouse to greet you. “Hi puppy!” You pet her as she yapped in your face.

“She’s happy to see you alive and well!” Jungkook smiled at you, grinning. “By the way, you taste like…whatever you eat! I tasted the noodles I got for you last night.”

“Yeah, that’s generally how it works for us normal humans.” You explained to Jungkook while playing with Lavender.

“Is that right?” Jungkook finished cutting up some more fruits. “Anyways, I have to get to work soon, but you’re welcome to join me today if you wish. You’re probably sore from Jimin and Jin’s…uh….play session yesterday, right?” You nodded.

“That’s alright. But…I do wanna return the favor to you Jungkook,” You hugged him softly. “You’re just so damn cute..” You whisper, trailing your hands over his tracksuit pants again.

“Ah-ah….Y/N, what are you doing to me?” You tie your hair back, and get on your knees.

“Jungkook, can I please suck you off?” You asked directly. That was required in this land where the men are hot but their brains don’t have a clue about it.

“Uh….are you sure?” He asked softly. “I-I…don’t wanna pressure you…”

“I’m fine.” You looked up at him for confirmation before he finally gave you a yes. You immediately got to work, all while his dog whined from her doghouse on seeing you fuck her owner with your mouth. You knew sex wasn’t a concept here but you were ready to change that. Damn your overactive sex drive.

You sucked from base to tip, kissing his veiny length as best you could, before licking the surface in full and using your mouth to pleasure him. You had to be careful so your teeth didn’t scrape him but in hindsight, all attempts were successful as within five minutes, he came in your mouth. You guzzled his cum, opening your mouth wide as he released it all, and lapped up the remaining strings of semen off his thighs. His cum tasted sweeter too, just like vanilla or whipped cream. You knew it had to do with this wonderful berry land.

“Yum.” You said with a final huff. He hadn’t said a word apart from moaning every time you sucked him in, but he simply kissed you and wiped excess off your face.

“Thank you.” Jungkook smiled at you, panting slightly.

“My pleasure.” You smirked, washing your mouth before untying your hair again.

Jungkook took you into town. He said he used to help his sister with her dance studio but after a while passed it to his berry best friend, Hoseok. You were to meet him next, and you were nervous as you learned the guy was a professional dancer. You’d always wanted to give it a shot and Jungkook invited you to go to a practice lesson but today you were just visiting the studio. Jungkook still collected rent on the place, and today Hoseok’s rent was due.

When you walked in, you noticed tiny creatures running around and dancing. They looked like children, and you looked at Jungkook with confusion.

“Those are the mini-berrykins. They are produced once every winter when the spores spread from the trees and a new batch of 12 appears.” He explained.

“So they’re like…baby berrykins?” You asked.

“Yeah, I guess you can say that, in a way.” You and Jungkook walked up to the instructor, who was a red haired man, who looked to have a heart shaped smile and a very adorable and cheerful face. He was also very attractive. Your heart skipped a beat as he turned around and greeted you both.

“I hope you’re having a wonderful day, Jungkook Pudding,” He said with a smile. “Oh and who’s this? A new friend?” He peered at you with a curious expression. Upon closer inspection, he had a red themed outfit too, to match the cherry beret he was sporting. You noticed he looked similar to Jungkook with his casual leisurewear, which unlike Jimin and Jin with the tights, he was wearing dark magenta cargo pants and a hot pink and purple polka dotted t-shirt. He still looked hot, even with the outfit. You thought he’d look like a clown but he ended up looking better than you’d expect from a dude in such a fit.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Welcome to the dance studio Y/N. I’m glad you could join me today. I’m Hoseok Jam, I moved to town last so it’s strange seeing another new human being here,” He scratched his neck as you simply smirked at him. He probably had a better idea of what was what. “Especially a girl.” He added with a grin.

“So Y/N here was in a car accident and she was in trouble. So I brought her with me and she’s staying at my house,” Jungkook explained softly. “She’s been teaching me a lot of new things.” He said.

“Really? Like what?” Hoseok asked with a twinkle in his eyes. “Do you dance?” He asked you.

“Well, not really. But…I was teaching Jungkook about sex yesterday.” You explained sheepishly. There was no point in being a prude when no one in town knew any better.

“Sex…?” Hoseok looked clueless.

“She can teach you,” Jungkook looked at you with a soft gaze. “Right, Y/N?” You were already leaning against the barre, as Hoseok and Jungkook walked up behind you.

“Right. I’ll try my best,” You looked at Hoseok. “It helps you dance. It’s sorta like dancing but….dirtier.” You tried explaining.

“Oh? Dirty how?” Hoseok was inquisitive, that’s for sure. “What is it?” He asked with a soothing voice. You felt hypnotized as he pulled you towards him. You were a couple inches away from his face. Jungkook had turned on some music so you could dance.

It took you a moment, as the upbeat pop song urged Hoseok to move more vigorously, and he slowed down, grinding his hips against yours as you smirked and got close and personal with him. He grabbed your ass, smirking cheekily. You had a feeling these men weren’t as clueless as you originally thought, either that or you awakened something within him.

“Mmmm…you mind?” Hoseok asked as he grabbed your thigh.

“What?” You bit your lip, as he trailed his hand down.

“I wanna make sure if I touch you, that you’re okay. Teach me this new ‘dance’ then?” Oh….he was asking. And Jungkook was watching for now, but slowly stepped over to you, pulling your shirt off your body swiftly.

“Oh she’s more than okay with it…” Jungkook answered for you, slightly rubbing your hardened nipples through your bra. “...See that? It means her body is ready to be fucked.” The tone he used, the way he sounded while he was kneading your breasts, it was as if his innocence was a charade, merely an act kept up by him before his true nature was brought to the surface.

“That’s not…you know you have to ask before you do this sort of stuff?” You said with a faint blush dusting your cheeks.

“What? Really? Because it seems like you’re pretty much up for everything regardless…” Jungkook pouted slightly. “Can’t we just do it whenever we feel like it?” It seemed Jungkook had your enthusiasm confused for consent. You didn’t blame him, from your previous actions it seemed like you were more than ready to consent to that.

“I suppose you have a point…but still, asking never hurts!” You coddled him as if he was a child.

“Okay…I promise to ask,” Jungkook hugged you softly, wrapping his arms around your waist while Hoseok ogled your breasts as Jungkook unclasped your bra. “Can I fuck you now?”

You couldn’t say no, not when you saw his eyes. You began kissing him and Hoseok looked on with curiosity. You smirked, before breaking the kiss and turning to kiss Hoseok. Hoseok was a little confused at first, but slowly responded by placing his hands on your shoulders and leaning down so he could meet your lips. He tasted vaguely like cherries.

“Mmmm.” He moaned. “Ah…you’re hard…” You whispered as you saw his cock bulging through his pants. It was begging to be freed, while you looked at Jungkook with half-lidded eyes. “Jungkook, Hoseok, remove your pants.” You told them in a lowered voice. You prayed nobody would walk in but it looked like everyone had left. Now you, Jungkook, and Hoseok were positioned on the floor on a foam matt as Jungkook was at your head and Hoseok was positioned between your thighs. He was exploring you, following whatever his body urged him to do as you groaned between them. Jungkook held you on his lap, smirking and encouraging Hoseok.

“Oh, she liked that. Suck her there again, Hoseok.” Jungkook smirked at him. You simply moaned, as Hoseok’s tongue swept over your folds, and he suckled your clit.

“Ah!”

“She tastes so good….in a different way. I’ve never tasted anything like it.” Hoseok said with a small smile.

“I know, that’s just her pussy. Her lips taste better in my opinion,” Jungkook smirked, before leaning forward and spreading your pussy cautiously. “Now just put your penis in here. Trust me, it is so much better than going to the bathroom.” Hoseok was confused but watched with curious eyes as you guided his cockhead into your pulsing hole, as you groaned from his size. He was a grower, something you hadn’t experienced in Strawberryland yet.

“It’s so warm…I feel like I might pee.” Hoseok groaned, closing his eyes. “W-wait, don’t pee! It’s only for pleasure.” You said with an exhausted moan.

“You tired, Y/N?” Jungkook asked, holding you tighter. “A little…”

“Let’s change the position. Hoseok, how about we continue this in your office?” Jungkook reminded him of the rent again. It was so wonderfully debauched as you took Jungkook’s cock in your mouth and Hoseok’s cock from behind, while they talked about the rent and finances in Hoseok’s office. You were propped on the desk on all fours, moaning like a bitch in heat.

“Yeah, so the projected rate looks like it’s only growing. I don’t doubt that but I would like to see how it changes based on the changes I proposed.” Jungkook said, placing a hand on his chin as he pushed his cock all the way into your mouth. You choked, groaning as he ignored you and kept going despite seeing how it affected you.

“Mmmmm, too much.” You croaked, but he responded by gripping your hair and thrusting into your mouth harder. Hoseok noticed and picked up the pace, fucking you at a slightly more advanced pace now.

“I think it’ll be f-fine. Ah, I’m…I feel strange, Jungkook.” He said, gripping your waist.

“How so?” Jungkook questioned.

“Something is coming out of me, and going into Y/N.” He gripped your sides harder, his fingers forming small red marks on your skin.

“It’s an orgasm, Hoseok. You’re cumming.” You explained between breaths, moaning and gasping and letting go of Jungkook’s cock as Hoseok came all over your ass. He had pulled out, luckily, and decided not to cum inside you. You still weren’t sure what the consequences were but it was exciting nonetheless to have sex with so many gorgeous men thus far.

After bidding Hoseok goodbye, Jungkook took you to visit three more of his friends. Luckily, they were all together, busy with selling fresh fruits to the citizens of Strawberryland. You met Yoongi Shortcake, Taehyung Muffin, and Namjoon Blossom. You also found out that Namjoon was the one that delivered those oranges to Jungkook’s house the night before. Their personalities: all different. Yoongi was more introverted, he didn’t say much but his bright pink hair made you believe he was a real life anime character. He certainly looked handsome enough to be one, that’s for sure.

Taehyung had shockingly bright blue hair and a blue outfit to match, and he was extroverted, quickly offering you a fresh cookie after hearing about the car crash and hearing that you were in an unfamiliar world. His touch was warm, and he made you feel comfortable. Namjoon had a ‘dad’ type of vibe. When you met him, he gave you a smile and chatted with you about sales. He was really cute, all in all.

All three had their own charm, and every guy treated Jungkook like he was their little brother. You loved how close they were.

“So those were all the humans in town. It’s just us seven.” Jungkook said as he laid down on his couch after you arrived back to his home.

“I’m glad you have each other.” You said with a small smile.

“Oh I forgot, tomorrow, we’re having a bake off. Any dish we want,” Jungkook smirked. “I’m gonna win this year.”

“How do you know that?” You folded your arms.

“Just a feeling. So Y/N, how do you feel about having more fucks?”

After sleeping on it, you agreed to his idea. Jungkook, every man that met you here, so far everyone had been more than willing to indulge in you. Your hair was different, and biologically, a woman. They had some sort of a male instinct awakened in them whenever they looked at you.

Luckily, you were able to get cuter clothes from a Bug Shop which Jungkook agreed to buy if you agreed to help him. So, in your new green themed corset dress, and white tights and black Mary Janes, you walked over to help Jungkook setup. He smirked when he saw how the other men looked at you, like he anticipated it. He nodded at you and licked his lips but didn’t say much as you went around to talk to the others.

You walked up to Namjoon first, who was unfolding some chairs but stopped abruptly upon seeing you.

“Hey Y/N,” He scratched his neck. “You look lovely today.” He smiled shyly.

“Thanks Namjoon. I’m just wishing everybody good luck.” You winked at him. His dimples were honestly so adorable as he thanked you for wishing him.

“Thanks Y/N,” He stopped. “Hey, would you like to maybe hang out sometime after the competition?” He asked. You were expecting it.

“Sure,”

You visited Yoongi’s booth next. He had set up everything, sighing when you walked up to him. “Is everything okay?” You asked him.

“No, they gave me the wrong shipments! I was supposed to get strawberries, not blueberries.” Yoongi sighed.

“Blueberries?” Taehyung piped up. “If you’re not using those can I have them? I can always make another batch of my sister’s famous blueberry crème brulee!” Yoongi reluctantly gave Taehyung his ingredients. “Wow, thanks bro!” Taehyung slapped his back and walked off to continue. You felt a little bad for Yoongi, it looked like he couldn’t participate in the bakeoff.

“Yoongi…what about strawberry jam instead?” You asked, showing him the box of extra ingredients. “You could create the same flavor out of these, right?” You asked him for confirmation.

“You have a point but…I’ll use them on one condition.” You stop moving the box.

“What is it?”

“You’ll have to help me.” Yoongi smirked, as if he had been planning this from the start.

“O-okay.” You weren’t going to protest. You didn’t know him well, none of them really, but you knew enough to know they were all really friendly people.

“Start with mixing the batter,” You nodded and followed his instructions. “What are you doing? You’re not supposed to mix the eggshells in with it!” He gaped at you as you took the spoon out in confusion.

“Sorry, I don’t cook.” You grinned sheepishly. He sighed and started cracking the eggs for you.

“No eggshells. Those are like poison,” You sighed as he shoved the new bowl into your arms. “Start mixing.” You nodded, getting to work at once.

You set Yoongi back 10 minutes but after seeing how poor your skills in the kitchen were, he eventually took over, only making you watch over the timer. You didn’t mess that up, as at the end, his concoction was done. A custard dish, with strawberry flavored spongecake. Taehyung, who was right next to the two of you glanced over as you worked, and his eyes widened when he saw how it turned out. Then he had a wild idea.

“Wait, you should mix these in. Trust me. It’s gonna be like heaven in your mouth!” He was helping the enemy? You didn’t understand the ethics in Strawberryland and Yoongi accepted extra blueberries from Taehyung. After reworking it and getting another batch out, you noticed how the blueberries enhanced the flavor. Taehyung was right, it’s even better.

With that, Yoongi was crowned the winner. You went to see Jungkook, who was sad but ultimately happy for Yoongi. At least he wasn’t a sore loser. Yoongi looked at Taehyung as he accepted the trophy.

“Actually, I don’t deserve this. If it wasn’t for my friend Taehyung, I would have never won. Everyone give it up for Taehyung: the real winner of the bake-off!” Yoongi said, holding his hand up in victory.

“Really?! Thanks Yoongi!” Taehyung hugged him, laughing and taking the reward. “I think first place should go to everyone!” To your dismay, Taehyung started breaking off pieces of the trophy and handing it to all the participants.

Okay if you didn’t already think you were dying from blood loss under a tree, you definitely did now. This was some disney channel bullshit! You watched how happy they were, as if this was a resolved ending!

Then night came. Oh how wrong you were. Jungkook invited everyone to the house with you, while offering some sangria. You all had a few sips when the conversation took a turn.

“You think our sisters would be proud of what we’ve become?” Jungkook asked Namjoon as he leaned back.

“If what we’ve become are our better halves the bloodshed would’ve been worth it.” He said with a slur, his eyes shutting as he looked at Jungkook slowly.

What? You were more than confused now.

“We promised not to talk about this,” Yoongi broke the momentary silence. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He yelled at all of you. “I’m sorry.” He apologized after calming down. You had a feeling something wasn’t right. Why there are only seven humans here and not 15….why Jungkook cried while holding you and saying someone else’s name. You had a gut feeling it didn’t have anything to do with fruity metaphors.

“I know something that can cheer you up.” Jimin said with a cheeky smile. The look on his face and how he looked at you was enough for you to pick up what he was putting down.

“Yeah, and she’s sitting right next to you!” Jin said, lurching forward and pressing a wet kiss against your lips. You gasped into his mouth. “S-sorry, are you okay with me kissing you?” He asked after breaking the kiss.

“Yeah. I’m fine with it,” The wine from earlier had made you horny already so you didn’t mind. You kissed him back best you could which was pretty sloppy already. Then suddenly, Jin was pulled away from you. “Wha? Why’d you sstop?” You asked with furrowed brows, before blinking and realizing that Jungkook had pulled Jin away from you. Jin looked at Jungkook like he could kill him. To which Jungkook responded by tilting your head back and kissing you.

“Y/N, I’m gonna make you my bitch tonight.”

Wait, where’d he learn how to say that?

You were about to ask, before Jimin grabbed you by the neck and took a taste for himself. He tasted lovely, just like raspberries. His plump juicy lips brushed against your chapped, thinner ones. His lips could compare to the feel of a pillow, as plush and soft as he felt, but wetter. Then you realized something as Jimin’s hand wandered down to your panties. As he kissed the side of your neck and his lips wandered down more, you gasped. He suckled. He left a mark.

How did Jimin know how to leave a hickey?

“My turn…” Namjoon sneered, before kissing you in turn. Your tastebuds felt like they were on air as he kissed you, as he tasted like oranges and lemons. You loved the citrus taste of his lips, which refreshed your own breath. You were panting as he pulled back slowly, he gave you a sultry stare. You felt hypnotized by his gaze, and your body was hot as Jimin slipped your shirt off you unknowingly.

“What’s happening?” You looked at Jungkook for an explanation as he took his shirt off. His skin underneath was flawless, save for a few scars on his body that seemed to have healed from stab wounds, a wide line spread around his torso, almost like someone had dragged it out.

“You figured it out,” He threw his shirt to the floor. “Smart girl.”

“Did you think we were stupid?” Jimin asked as he kissed your ear.

“Of course we know what sex is, you dumb girl.” Jin said, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up again as he kissed you. Namjoon continued kissing down your jaw, and collarbone.

“You see when we saw you, we knew….we just had to have you.” He said while nipping your collarbone and leaving another mark.

“Ah…you lied…” You sighed, closing your eyes as the men focused more on pleasuring you.

“Not just lied, sweetie, we’ve been deceiving you…so each and every one of us could have a taste of your sweet pussy.” Jungkook’s words turned your insides into mush. You realized it was a great deception after all.

“M-my…huh?” You were confused. “Why me?” They could have chosen literally ANY woman. And chose you.

“Because you’re so cute.” Jimin whispered in your right ear.

“And your body is so sexy.” Jin whispered in your left.

“And we haven’t had a woman in years. It’s been too long.” Namjoon groaned, releasing your skin from the clutches of his teeth.

“It has…?” You wondered about that. Why there were only men in this town.

“Yeah. You see, every time we feel the urge, we turn to each other but…it’s not cutting it anymore. An ass isn’t the same as a pussy and we decided enough is enough. And now….we want yours.” Jimin licked his lips, before kissing you again, his fruity scent mingling with yours. You loved the way he tasted! How they all tasted distinctly like fruits.

“But the car crash…” You looked out the window of Jungkook’s house.

“Forget him.” Jungkook said, standing up.

“What?”

“Forget about your uncle. As of now, he is none of your concern. He tried to hurt you. I saw it. Lavender alerted me and I saw how he was startled and crashed into the tree, but then I saw you, and I knew you were helpless. You were drugged Y/N. Did you know that?”

You didn’t.

“You saved my life.” You said again. “Thank you.”

“No need. I wanted to. We have each other now,” Jungkook placed a hand on your chin. These men loved doing that to you. “Will you have us?”

You took one look at all of them and knew this was better than any alternative you could have imagined. They all wanted you, desired you as a woman. You had never felt this loved in your life. And they were giving it to you.

“Yes.”

Jin lifted you up to the master bedroom, with the six men in tow, right behind you as he opened the door to the room. You were nervous with anticipation as he gently set you down.

“Be mine…” He whispered. You nodded as he began kissing you and removed your tights. You sighed, as he kissed down your face and then pulled back, now Yoongi and Taehyung staring down at you. Red and pink mingled together as the three of you shared a kiss. You groaned, Yoongi tasted like strawberries while Taehyung tasted like blueberries. It tasted like a smoothie in your mouth, as you gasped, groaning while Taehyung smirked and suckled one of your nipples while Yoongi worked on the other. Both men were eager to have you now, while Namjoon and Jin stood behind them, patiently waiting for their turn.

Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok were of no concern to you as there was too much to focus on. Taehyung’s blue hair under your fingers, Yoongi’s pink hair buried between your legs as he explored your clitorous, and Taehyung’s face next to yours as you studied him.

He was handsome, with a round face and well defined jaw, he appeared to be ethereally gorgeous. They all were gorgeous, but Taehyung’s beauty felt like something blessed by a god. You could feel a warmth from his smile and his gaze out you at ease. His wide smile and cherry red lips made you feel hot, as you blushed and looked down at Yoongi.

“Oh…he’s doing a good job?” Taehyung teased you as you could merely glance at the man, foaming at the mouth.

Yoongi was beautiful as well, his eyes drooped as if he was tired but naturally very pretty and green as he stared at you. His stare enraptured you, as he reminded you of a cat with how steadily he moved his hands down your left mound, and flicked his tongue over your exposed pink slit. You let out a moan.

“Y-oongi!”

“Mmm?” He whispered, vibrations against your pussy as he answered tiredly.

“That feels good.” You whined.

“Sweet girl, of course it does. He’s eating it well, right?” Taehyung’s comment was so innocent and erotic at the same time as he cupped your breasts at the same time. “Shall I eat your cunt too?”

You gasped, as both men fucked you with their tongues at once, making you remember what Jimin and Jin did for you the day before.

“She tastes so good, I can’t stop.” Yoongi moaned.

“Fuck…I’m hard.” Namjoon groaned, stroking his cock with one hand. You didn’t notice how quickly the others got undressed.

“I must…princess, may I fuck you?” Yoongi asked after pulling away.

“Yes,” You groaned, spreading your legs for him as the dark pink haired man slowly slid into you. You gasped as your pussy wrapped around him snugly and he fit right with you. “Ah!” You let out a ghastly moan.

“Fuck…” Yoongi groaned as the other men watched you get used by him. His cock was making you come undone at the moment, and all they could do was watch.

“Ah…please…gather around me…” You encouraged them as they jerked off around you. Seven cocks, one hole. You gasped as without warning, Hoseok stuffed his in your mouth. You still took it without complaint, as this was expected of you now.

“Ah…Yoongi…” You groaned as he snapped his hips back and forth.

“Yes…” You groaned.

“God, you were just made to take my cock, weren’t you?” You gasped as he made you arch your back. Yoongi was too good at dirty talk. You moaned as some of them came on your face, and your body was covered with white jizz. It was hot, sticky, and smelled good. You bit your lips. The sight was making you even slicker and turned on.

“God, we knew you were a huge slut when you made us fuck those pumpkins but looking at you now, we know you’re a total whore.” Jimin smirked at you, walking forward as he came all over your face. You gawked as he leaned forward and smacked his cock on your cheek, as if you weren’t even a person but rather an object for sexual gratification.

“I am a whore!” You admitted. “A big, dirty whore who loves cock.” You were ready to admit anything so long as you got dicked down. As Yoongi pulled out and left some cum inside you, Taehyung swiftly moved down and had his turn next. He was slightly more gentle with you, grinning as you would moan every time he hit your spot. You noticed he was more focused on giving you pleasure than taking it.

“Ah…that’s a good girl.” He said to you, kissing you softly as you moaned. You groaned into his shoulder as he fucked you deep and hard, but still executing a gentle passion with every movement. And then he pulled out. You groaned, as Jungkook replaced him, and at this point you were far gone.

“Sorry it took so long,” Jungkook pressed a kiss against your forehead as you simply nodded. “Finally.” He sunk into you, moaning as he held you tight. He slowly rutted into you with more passion than the last two, possibly because you connected throughout the past few days.

As time went by, you could only stare into his deep violet eyes, a small breath escaping your chapped lips as you reached out. You were so tired…your eyes heavy lidded as Jungkook came, and you came with him. You needed rest, so you blacked out.

When you came to, the men were whispering around you with worry. They were all concerned about you. It seems they had taken the liberty of wiping you up and giving you a fresh change of clothes. A simple pair of shorts and a blue drop top.

“Sorry for worrying you.” You sat up slowly.

“No, we’re sorry for being too rough with you.” Taehyung shook his head.

“Are you feeling any better?” Namjoon handed you an orange, which you deeply appreciated.

“Yeah. Thanks Namjoon,” You smiled. “I think I’m just tired. Could you guys possibly let me rest a bit before we start again?”

“Of course.” Namjoon nodded.

“Sleep well, princess,” Yoongi kissed you on the forehead. “Thanks for helping me win.” He gave you a small smile which made your heart skip a beat as he walked towards the door and left.

One by one they all left Jungkook’s residence, leaving you alone again. They were all so patient and attentive, it made you worried. You didn’t want to leave but going out and checking on your uncle would have been the right thing to do.

“Y/N…” He hugged you tightly. “I need to tell you somethin…” He gripped your waist tighter. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. “Those damned bugs killed our sisters…killed my lover too. I hope you know that now I have you, I intend on never letting you go.” You were beginning to come to terms with it.

“Okay.” You answered him genuinely. You were fine with it, actually.

“Really?” He asked with widened doe eyes.

“Yeah.” You giggled.

“That makes me so happy, Y/N I could kiss you. But that would just lead to fucking, so I’m gonna hold off,” You nodded, as he let go of you and left you to your own vices.

You woke up to Lavender licking you. She was barking up a storm when Jungkook lifted her off you. “Sorry. She got excited.”

“No problem.” You smiled as he placed her back in her doghouse.

“We’re planning to meet up at Jimin’s house later. Would you like to come?” You nodded immediately, giddy as the raspberry-themed man seemed to have a slightly more kinkier side you appreciated. The thought was enough to make you aroused again, but instead of acting on it you decided to take a breath. You needed to rest.

Of course, at Jimin’s house everyone seemed to get the message as no one approached you wanting to have sex. However they still looked at you. You made chatter with everyone and enjoyed your time there. It seemed all the men were taken with you and everyone wanted a piece of you. You felt great.

“So, Jungkook, when is she gonna move out of your place?” Jin asked softly.

“Never! She’s mine.” Jungkook whispered possessively.

“Kook! Play nice.” Namjoon scolded.

“Sorry Joon. Y/N, do you wanna keep living with me?”

“It just occurred to me, I officially have nowhere to live. I happened to come here because of Jungkook.” You answered.

“It’s only right she stays with him. He brought her here,” Jimin nodded. “You like Jungkook a lot, Y/N?” You smiled sheepishly.

“Of course I do.”

Jungkook and Jimin shared a smile before looking at you. You kept it in mind as you sat down next to Namjoon and snacked on some crackers. After a while, you all started talking about your kinks.

“I don’t know about that one, but try this on for size: when your partner has complete control over you, including when you breathe.” Namjoon laughed.

“Nah, breathplay is child’s play. I’m saying blindfolded bondage is where it’s at.” Taehyung smirked and said in rebuttal.

“I want—hear me out…to be bred. Like stuffed until it’s just cum leaking out of me, y’know?” You explained your kink to the men who were left in shock. All except Yoongi were surprised.

“You’re such a whore, Y/N,” Yoongi smirked. “You want us to start now? Think you can handle it after yesterday?” He looked at you knowing damn well what he was doing.

“M-maybe not yet. I’m exhausted.” You explained.

They left it alone, shifting the topic as Jimin got some more food out for everyone. You and Jungkook stayed behind to help with cleanup. You suddenly felt Jimin’s lips on your shoulders, through your shirt.

“Chim, you should stop. You know I’m tired.”

“Yeah but I don’t wanna. I want you, Y/N.” You sighed at his plea.

“Okay.” You sighed as he picked you up and placed you on the counter. He swiftly removed your shirt and shorts, followed by your bra and underwear.

“Jimin! I got the leftovers in the tray—Oh.” Jungkook’s face fell when he saw him but then a mischievous smile appeared on his lips as he slipped next to him and joined in on torturing you.

You groaned.

“Oh crap, Jimin I left my umbrella—” Namjoon stopped in his tracks and his eyes widened as he saw you naked on Jimin’s countertop. Jungkook smirked at him.

“You wanna tap in?” Jungkook smirked. “Me and Jimin were about to have another taste.”

You gasped as Namjoon and Jimin were both inside you at the same time. Jungkook was watching, as he got more than enough from living with you. You felt them tearing your insides apart, reshaping your holes to fit their cocks. Jimin was entering you from behind, Namjoon in your pussy. Your eyes rolled back as Namjoon moaned and smacked your hips, making you recoil in surprise.

“So fucking tight. Fuck…fuck…” He groaned. “Take my cock…” His words encouraged you as you sighed and continued bouncing back on his cock, your ass smacking against Jimin’s hips every time you would go between them. One would snap his hips while the other pulled back, and it continued in a forbidden pattern. It felt like they were playing a game with you as their pawn.

“Fuck…her asshole is getting stretched out.” Jimin groaned, spitting on your rear end and spreading out his saliva with his fingers. You groaned as you felt your holes stretching out even more with the movements.

“J-Jungkook…I think I can take you too…” You said with uncertainty. You’ve never taken two in one hole before, let alone two in both holes. And now Jungkook was about to join. He sank down, between Namjoon and Jimin.

He slipped in…right into your pussy.

You screamed.

“JUNGKOOK!”

The movements were becoming faster as the three men grunted in unison, their hips synced in a rhythm as they were closer to their climaxes. Your lips fell open, as you panted, while Namjoon’s face contorted into one of pain, which you assumed meant he was in total heaven. Your climax hit as Jungkook fucked up into you, reaching spots Namjoon missed, while Jimin’s cock rubbed against your inner walls in a different way. They split you apart as the decadent sex between the four of you sent your mind into its own Havana while you orgasmed.

Their cocks touched in ways they never would have thought of, as they finished inside of you. When they pulled out, cum was gushing out of your ass and pussy, while all you could do was watch helplessly.

“That’s a good slut.” Jimin smirked mischievously.

“She’s ours now.” Namjoon said, as if he was still in disbelief.

“I hope you liked being bred, baby. Because there’s a lot more where that came from.” Jungkook said, revealing his erection to you.

“Again?” You asked.

“Honey, for you, always,” gave you a small smile. “Now open wide.”

102 notes · View notes

jinxxsims · 1 year

Photo

*Deep Breath*

Okay, so I started work on this download back when it was 100, but life got busy and when I was able to resume working on it, there were 150. Life got busy again before I was finished, and now there are 250 of you amazing people... but I’m actually getting this thing out there, so yay for that.

There are 61 meshes in this download, and hundreds of recolors. A quick rundown of what’s included:

Some of @aroundthesims 4t2 tattoo parlor set. The chair is cloned from pikkon’s tattoo chair, so it’s a double for the makeover chair. The single rolling drawer is an end table that is slaved to the double sideboard, so you need the double for the single to show up.

High School Years’ Starry Eyed prom/dance set, which contains the balloon arch (sculpture), backdrop (sculpture), dining table, dining chair, and banquet table, cloned from a very similar table by @veranka-downloads

And finally, I converted at least one thing from every expansion pack and game pack from Sims 4 currently released that hadn’t been converted before, plus a few deco things from Sandy @ ATS that I really wanted in my game.

From top left to bottom right...

Girl Scout cookies (ATS, sculpture) • Pepperidge Farm cookies (ATS, sculpture) • Royal Dansk cookie tin (ATS, sculpture) • Teddy Grams (ATS, sculpture) • Arrrmed Dining Chair (Base Game) • Captain Rodrigo Dining Chair (Base Game) • Salyut Aeronaut Chair (Base Game) • Booping Shnoops (Cats & Dogs, sculpture) • Crate End Table (Cats & Dogs) • Town Statue 4 (Cats & Dogs Debug) • Town Statue 5 (Cats & Dogs Debug) • Fuzzread Article (City Living) • M.A.P. Most Amazing Player (City Living) • Chicken Competition Prize Ribbon (Cottage Living Debug, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and participation ribbon recolors included) • Food Platter (Dine Out Debug) • Party’s Over Chair (Discover University) • Polymer Chameleon Barstool (Discover University) • Very Impressive Lawyery Desk Chair (Discovery University) • Very Impressive Lawyery Desk (Discover University) • Fabric Sampe Book (Dream Home Decorator Debug) • Bougie Burlap Sofa (Eco Lifestyle) • Biochemical Medical (sculpture, Get Famous) • The Queen’s Gossip Chair (Get Famous) • Seat of the House barstool (Get Together) • Doctor of Medicine Diploma & My First Simolean (Get to Work) • Ever-So-Versatile Chillbox End Table (Get to Work) • Modern Metallic Illuminated Display Case (not illuminated, but functional table, Get to Work) • Stainless Steel Fab Slab (Get to Work) • Bubbly Barstool (High School Years) • Cheer Megaphone (sculpture, High School Years) • Clear as Crystal Coffee Table (High School Years) • High School Event Banner (High School Years) • Modest Marcel Dining Chair (High School Years) • Call Me Ottoman (functional living chair, Island Living) • Bug Bite Cure (Journey to Batuu) • Supply Crate (functional end table, Journey to Batuu) • Stool de Selvadorada (Jungle Adventures) • Fenwick the V Banquet Table (3-tiled table, My Wedding Stories) • Not Your Average Firewood Loveseat (Outdoor Retreat) • Timber Log Chair (Outdoor Retreat) • Brohill Barstool (Parenthood) • Magical Crystal Cluster 2, 3, and 4 (Realm of Magic Debug) • Violets are Blue Flower Arranging Station (functional table, Seasons) • Spirit Doll (Snowy Escape) • Pillow for Deep Thoughts (was a throw pillow, but I turned it into a functional bean bag chair, Spa Day) • The Sign Saw You (Strangerville Debug) • You Saw the Sign (Strangerville Debug) • Dead Hawthorn Tree (sculpture, Vampires) • Fenry Chompsalot Jr. (sculpture, Werewolves)

When it comes to the downloads, there are two options for you to choose from. One offers each of the meshes in a separate folder with its recolors and the textures for each so you can pick and choose what you want to keep. The second zip is all the recolors merged with their respective meshes, so there are 61 total files. You only need to download one.

I hope everyone finds at least a few things they can use. Enjoy! And thank you for following!

Download Individual Files

Download Merged Files

#sims 2 download #download #s2cc #4t2cc #4t2 conversion #AroundTheSims

668 notes · View notes

twogyuu · 11 months

Text

[1:41]

pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader

genre: fluff, inspired by 'strong woman bong soon' - vague implications of an office romance (colleagues-to-lovers but in this scene they're in this gray zone), hints that oc has super strength powers

warnings: none

wc: 720

. . . .

Save.

A satisfied smile spreading across your face, you quickly renamed the updated document and exited the folder window, logging off and shutting down your computer for the evening. The blinked once, changing from the default blue Windows home screen to a black one, your reflection greeting you . . . and him.

Guilt churned in your chest – you had definitely forgotten Seungcheol was waiting for you to finish. His pouting and complaining had fallen silent for about an hour (or two?) ago. Elbows deep into editing the final version of the contract with the graphic design company, you were quick to brush him off.

Cheek pressed into the stack of papers on the corner of your desk, his lips formed a crooked pout, his thin-wired glasses also sitting lopsided on his face as his overgrown fringes skimmed messily across his violet lashes. You couldn’t even get mad at him for having drooled a little on the papers. Contrary to his stern demeanor, his thick brows knitted and his nose always crinkled upset at some sort of hiccup, during the day, here, he looked so . . . peaceful and soft.

Not only that, but the very thought of Seungcheol actually taking time out of his busy life to just wait for you to be done with work definitely made you warm. Your heart was giddy, timidness overtaking your body as the thought was taking over your mind as you recalled something your dad told you a while back: “A good guy will always wait with you to make sure you get home safely.”

It was in the context of when your best friend’s now ex-boyfriend had just abandoned her in the library when she was studying late at night and you had to pick her up.

Maybe, your dad wasn’t wrong after all. Seungcheol was stubborn and pouted too much, but admittedly, it was almost as if God placed him on earth as living proof that chivalry was not dead.

“Cheol,” you reached and shook his shoulder gently.

He stirred, but didn’t quite seem to hear you.

“Seungcheol,” you tried again.

At this, he groaned and shrugged off your hand.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Seungcheol,” you poked his rib this time, jolting him up from his leaned over position, “We’re still at work – let’s go home.”

“Hm?” he hummed, finally sitting up. He opened his eyes slowly, letting his pupils adjust to the bright office lights. Like a meerkat, he turned from side-to-side, examining his surroundings, the realization that you were both still at the office and he waited for you, finally hitting him.

You stuffed a few folders into your satchel and slung it over your shoulder.

Would it be too soon?

You held out a hand to him, shaking ever so slightly – you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“Office hours are finally over,” you said softly, “Let’s go?”

“Can we stop for food first?” Seungcheol asked, taking your hand as if it was second nature. Your face warmed at his touch, his fingers wrapping firmly around your palm.

“Hungry?” you asked.

“A little,” he yawned and stretched his back.

“My treat – Korean barbecue?”

He tilted his head happily, grinning from ear-to-ear. “My favorite.”

As you made your way to the elevator, all too conscious of your linked hands, you told him, “Thank you for staying late with me – you didn’t have to,” you gave his hand a firm squeeze. “I’m more than capable of making it home safely.”

Seungcheol chortled, more awake now. “You certainly are,” he nodded slowly before turning to you. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But I still wanted to.”

“Hm,” you hummed, teasing, “How greasy of you.”

“How else am I supposed to show you my affection if I wasn’t?” he shot back. He shook your linked hands. “In fact, I think I’m the winner tonight – I finally got you to hold hands with me.”

Your breath hitched, in sync with the elevator dinging open.

“Didn’t think I would notice, huh?” Seungcheol chuckled.

“Shut up,” you tried pulling your hand back to yourself.

Seungcheol only tugged you closer, your body running into his arm, though it didn’t really bother him as he nonchalantly put his free hand into the pocket of his suit pants.

“Don’t even think about it,” Seungcheol said, pushing through the glass door.

“I’m stronger than you,” you protested.

“Doesn’t matter,” he sang into the night, “I know you don’t want to let go!”

And he was right – you didn’t.

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios

136 notes · View notes

howlingday · 1 year

Text

The Dirge

"That should do it for the fire tonight." Lie Ren said as he swiped his palms together, clearing off the residual sawdust from his hands. It had been a week since Team JNPR, or rather Team JNR joined Ruby Rose in her quest to head east, towards Mistral and Haven Academy. The past few hours have been strenuous to say the least.

"Finally." Nora Valkyrie huffed as she dropped her load next to the pit. "It feels like we've been carrying logs for hours!"

"It was only for ten minutes." Ren assured. A crack from behind alerted him to the sudden presence of his team leader, Jaune Arc, and their friend, Ruby Rose. He turned to find them walking away from the makeshift tent. Looking past, he could see Ruby's uncle, Qrow Branwen, laying inside. "How is he?"

"He doesn't look good." Ruby said, voice full of concern. "That weird guy stabbed him with his tail, and he's been running a fever ever since."

"He'll live, though." Jaune voiced in a very matter-of-fact tone. "He just needs rest and antibiotics."

"The second of which we don't have." Ruby pointed out.

"He'll live." Jaune repeated. "Haven's only a few miles away."

"Can we make it, though?"

"We can," Ren said, though not without a very begrudging tone, "if we cut through Kuro Yuri." Nora flinched at the name. "I'd prefer not to, but it is the fastest way there."

"Anything you want to share, Ren?" Jaune asked.

"No." He shook his head. "There's nothing but ghosts there."

"...Like, real ghosts, or...?" Jaune let the question hang.

"No. Ghosts aren't real."

"Are you sure about that, Ren?" Jaune knelt next to the pit and began scraping flint and sent sparks flying into the dried leaves. Almost instantly, the fire came alive with a crackling snap and pop. Jaune then seated himself on a log. "We've already seen a lot."

"Grimm." Ren clarified. "A ghost is different from a Geist."

"I wonder about that." Jaune said with a smile. It then faded as his blue eyes stared into the contained inferno. He almost looked hypnotized by the dancing flames.

As the others sat down, Jaune began to start humming a tune. It was deep and low, like a bellow from Ursa, yet softer and somehow more wild. Nora opened her ration pack, carelessly tossing half a granola bar to the blaze. Jaune reached across, through the fire itself, to snatch the healthy treat from it's scorched fate.

"What were you singing?" Ren asked, choosing to ignore the self-inflicted burning his leader had placed upon himself.

Jaune smiled. "Just an old song I used to sing for my family." He continued to stare into the fire pit. "I usually sing it to myself when I miss them, or whenever I need to ready myself for the worst possible scenario."

"Like a song of bravery?" Ruby asked, biting into her granola.

"Not quite."

"Can you sing it for us?" Nora asked.

"I don't think you want to hear it." Jaune waved his hand. "It's not very good."

"Come on!" Ruby whined.

"Pleeeeeeease?" Nora pleaded.

"Another time." Jaune said, standing up. "I'll go check on your uncle. Maybe get him to keep some food down."

"Aw! Okay..." Ruby and Nora pouted.

Ren watched as Jaune entered the tent, and noticed something off. In the encroaching twilight, darkness settled in, and the sky dipped from it's orange hue to a more violet and blue shades. Yet Jaune's eyes remained an icy blue, clear to be seen in the approaching dusk.

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

This was a dumb idea. Stupid! Idiotic! Hands down the worst idea Ruby ever made in her entire life, and possibly the last she ever made in her life.

Twigs and dried leaves crunched as she hammered her feet through the forest. She could hear the growling Beowolves behind her over the thundering in her chest. She should have stayed at camp, stayed where it was safe. In her excitement, she left behind her precious Crescent Rose; a sin she would never repeat so long as she lived.

As for now, she chose to follow a phantom she caught floating amongst the shadows of the forest. A phantom she recognized from only a month ago. Her curiosity would be paid in full by the Grimm if she slowed down.

She tripped over something, and her body's momentum carried her over the ground. She fell down a hill rolling along the ground until she came to a stop. Her back slammed against the boulder, knocking the air from her lungs. Cornered by two Beowolves and out of aura, Ruby knew it would be where she died.

"I'm sorry, Mom..." Ruby wept a single.

As the cold wind blew, a low hum carried through the air. Beneath the shattered moon, she saw him. His piercing blue eyes the only light within his indistinguishable silhouette. With a click, a red block held by the end shifted and extended into a long-bladed scythe. It was Crescent Rose, and without a care, she flew through the chilling night air, landing at her master's boots.

"Pick it up." The voice growled. Ruby looked confusedly between the shade and her weapon. "Pick. It. Up."

Without a second thought, Ruby scrambled to her feet, gripping her baby tightly in her hands. The ghost began to hum, and the night suddenly grew colder. Especially in Ruby's spine as she noticed the two Beowolves had multiplied into almost two dozen.

"This is it, Little Rose." The shadow called out to her. "This is where you prove to me how bad you want to be a huntress."

Before Ruby could ask what he meant, her battle began as a Beowolf lept for her. With a turn, she twirled her scythe and rended the Grimm in two. Without hesitation, the next one came, swiping it's insidious claw. Ruby ducked, then severed it's legs from it's body. As she spliced it's head apart, two more jumped at her from behind.

On and on, her dance of death continued. Her muscles ached and her breath grew more and more ragged. The air grew colder, and the humming grew louder. She could almost hear words echoing from all around.

She was down to the last Grimm. Her lungs ached as her throat burned. It was the only warmth her body felt as the night air grew colder and colder. She lept for the last remaining Grimm, when her body suddenly seized itself. She watched in horror as the Beowolf stalked closer, pure malice glowing in it's eyes. She choked back a scream as it's fangs drew closer to her eyes.

In a blink, it was all dust. The Beowolf suddenly died, and she uttered a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever it was that saved her.

"I wouldn't start praying yet, Little Rose." The voice came back, and she felt herself being turned over. A hand found it's way to her throat, and her head was forced to turn with bony thumb and index finger. The digits were cold as ice, and the chill bit into her skin. "Oh, there's still some life in you. Too bad about that last one, though. If it was your time, you would have died there, unfulfilled."

"Please, don't kill me." Ruby's eyes welled with hot tears as she stared at the gaunt face in front of her.

"Oh, I don't kill people, Little Rose." His hand released from her neck. "I simply watch them die, and then help them move on to their next life."

"Who-" She swallowed as she sat up. "Who are you?"

"I am the last thing you will ever see." His eye seemed to twinkle at her. A flash of blue. Just like that night. "Oh, that wasn't me." He said, as if reading her thoughts. "That was somebody else."

"What?" Ruby wiped her eyes. "I don't understand! Who are you?!"

Taking a deep breath, the figure turned and began to hum. The wind blew again, only it was accompanied by singing once more. However, Ruby then noticed that these voices in the night air weren't singing. They were screaming. Begging. A thousand souls, maybe more, all pleading with agonized voices.

"Please, no!"

"I'll do anything!"

"Take it all!"

"Take me, not her!"

"It's not my time!"

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

Ruby blinked and she was elsewhere, laying on a tree. She clutched her chest, trying to steady her beating heart. The tears poured hotly from her eyes as she panted.

"Ruby?!" She looked up to see a familiar face running towards her. "Are you okay?! Where have you been?!"

"I..." She panted. "I-I-I saw a shadow, and I followed it, and then there was a Beowolf, then another Beowolf, and then I fell, and- and-!"

"Easy, Ruby." Jaune held her hands and rubbed her back. "You're okay. Everything's okay."

"I... I almost died." Ruby gulped.

Jaune didn't say anything. He simply sat next to her and held her. She looked up to see Crocea Mors laying against a tree, next to a scroll. The scroll was powered off, and the tree was dead. Every tree around it was alive, but this one was dead, and being carved into by Jaune.

"Were... Were you training?" Ruby asked.

"Yeah." He looked up. "I found this dead tree earlier, so I thought it would be good practice."

"Wouldn't one of these other trees be a better target?"

"Yeah, they would," Jaune nodded, "but I don't want to cut their lives short. Not before their time."

Ruby looked to the ground and saw a pile of dead leaves laying at the base. For some reason, she felt her soul resonate with the dead, scarred tree.

#rwby #rwby au #jaune is hades au #lie ren #nora valkyrie #ruby rose #jaune arc

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tokuvivor · 10 months

Text

Duckverse June Week 4: Beach Day

Oh, this is going to be fun. This story is based around the Clamboree, featured in @justaboot’s story And a Sixpence in Your Shoe! If you haven’t read it yet, you absolutely should. And with that, I give you…

Clamming It Up (A Sixpence Story)

The Clamboree had been going full steam all day. All told, it was one of the best days of Huey’s life.

Not just because his mom was finally home for them to do it together (though that was a big reason).

After the chaos that had hung over the family the past few weeks with the presence of Velma Vanderbucks, especially yesterday’s wedding, the Clamboree proved to be the perfect respite following the madness.

The sun was shining, the temperature was just right, and there was plenty of action. He loved seeing the enthusiasm bursting not just from his family, but from all the families scattered around the beach.

He felt that the orchestra could have sounded a little better, but in the grand scheme of things, he didn’t care. He was just happy to perform with his fellow Woodchucks. Besides, it wasn’t like they had to be perfect in their execution.

As the afternoon gradually slipped into evening, Huey beamed proudly at all he and the rest of the troop had done. Sun, sand, and seafood. What more could one ask for out of an end-of-summer shindig?

After Huey was done performing at the bandstand, he felt that warranted another round of food. After all, performing music was hard work, especially for an instrument like the cello.

His family seemed to be scattered around the beach in various places. Uncle Scrooge and Goldie were crowded together, as were Uncle Donald and Daisy. Webby camped out between them, trying to balance eating with keeping an eye on The Pete House. Dewey, their mom, and Launchpad were eagerly waiting for their turn at karaoke. Mrs. Beakley was still on a roll at the dunk tank, and Louie had ultimately surrendered to the carnival games and decided to fix a plate of food himself.

Huey looked over near the rocks, noticing a log lying next to the array, and two familiar figures perched on top of it.

Huey perked up, making his way over to his two friends.

“Violet! Boyd!” he exclaimed. “Room for one more?”

The other two Woodchucks looked over at Huey.

“But of course!” Violet replied.

“C’mon, Huey,” implored Boyd. “There’s plenty of room!”

Violet and Boyd scooted over, and Huey slid in between the two.

The two of them had clearly been exerting themselves quite a bit over the course of the day, too.

Violet had, of course, come with her fathers and Lena. All day, she had ambitiously buzzed around the beach, taking in everything, helping out wherever she could. She was also impressively strong when it came to hauling in lobster traps. Her dark, curly hair, usually pulled into a tight bun, hung loosely around her shoulders, her Woodchuck hat perched on top. Her uniform was partially unbuttoned, exposing a bit of her teal bathing suit. The cuffs of her pants were soaking wet.

Boyd, meanwhile, for the first time, had come with Dr. Gearloose, whose usual aversion to going outside was prevalent in the fact that he had brought a massive bottle of sunscreen for himself and Boyd. In fact, the little parrot still had some white blotches visible on his face and arms. He had been busy all day himself, catching various forms of ocean life, both for consumption and observation, running items back and forth for the various areas, and, like Huey and Violet, performing in the orchestra.

“That’s a rather interesting facial design, Hubert,” Violet commented, noting Huey’s face paint.

“Oh! This,” responded Huey. “Webby and I got matching Scars of the Ancients.”

“Fascinating. I am impressed with the detail.”

“Webby showed Mila a picture for reference,” Huey explained. “Anyway! Wow. This has been quite a day.”

“Yep!” Boyd responded.

“Indeed it has,” Violet agreed. “Our troop has certainly pulled it off well.”

Huey nodded. “I can’t believe how many people came this year!” he exclaimed.

“I’m glad that Dad was willing to come,” Boyd said happily.

Violet peered over at the chicken scientist. “He is certainly covering all his bases when it comes to sun protection,” she noted. “Anyway…uh, may I address the elephant in the room here? Well, not a room, but you two know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Huey replied. “Go ahead.”

“Excellent,” Violet continued. “I just wanted to note, on a whole, this has certainly been more enjoyable than yesterday.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” muttered Huey.

“I agree,” Boyd concurred.

“I cannot believe that your uncle almost ended up marrying that…that she-devil,” Violet spat out. “I must say, she seems to make even Magica De Spell look like a saint.”

“Hey, you’re just lucky you didn’t have to, for all intents and purposes, live in the same house as her,” Huey reasoned. “Also, thanks again for your assistance with all that, Violet. You and Lena, really.”

“Any time,” Violet responded. “I will admit, it was rather fun assisting with the whole plan to get Ms. O’Gilt to crash the wedding. Admittedly, prior to yesterday, I had only seen the crashing of weddings in movies. Trust me, our fathers have seen a lot of those.”

“That was quite the reveal, though!” Boyd exclaimed in between bites of paella. “How you all just laid it out, piece by piece, for Ms. Vanderbucks, her plan just gradually seeping through her fingers like sand.” He leaned over and scooped up a tiny fistful of sand to make his statement, letting it run out through his own fingers.

Huey laughed, then stopped abruptly.

“What is it, Hubert?” Violet asked.

“The plan…” he began.

“What about it?” Boyd wondered.

“It wasn’t just about taking control of Uncle Scrooge and, by extent, his riches,” Huey explained. “It was also about splitting us up. Including, but certainly not limited to, taking me, Dewey, and Louie away from Mom, as the courts would have ruled her as unfit, and sending us to boarding schools.” He put particular emphasis on that last S.

Violet and Boyd were in absolute shock.

“I would very much like to say that she could not do that, but given both your mother’s past and her doubtlessly countless ties to many, she very much could have and would have,” Violet snapped.

“And she would’ve gotten away with it, too,” Boyd added.

“And it would not have been fair, all the same,” Violet finished. “But that, I guess, is how the hush puppy crumbles.” She took a bite for emphasis.

“No. It wouldn’t have,” agreed Huey. “I’d have been away from my brothers, away from my family, away from you guys, and I just wouldn’t have been happy with any of it.”

“Neither would we,” Boyd responded. “Being a Woodchuck wouldn’t be the same without you here.”

“Concisely put, Boyd,” Violet agreed. “That is why, structurally speaking, triangles are the strongest shape. Each side needs to rely on the other two for support. Two sides, all on their own, would just result in a collapse.”

Huey beamed. He pulled his two friends into a side hug. “Thanks, you two,” he replied. “I’m glad to have friends like you.”

“So am I, Huey,” Boyd added.

“Here, here,” Violet finished.

They spent a little more time talking, laughing, and joking, and then they heard, “Hey, Huey! You coming or not?”

The three noticed Dewey, waving madly.

“Wait, what?” Huey yelled back.

“Mom and Uncle Donald are taking us to the Creamery for milkshakes soon!” Dewey replied.

“Oh! Right! Coming!” Huey called.

He looked back between Violet and Boyd.

“I take it that is your cue,” Violet deduced.

“Yeah,” Huey replied, sighing. “This was still great, though! I’m glad I had a chance to talk to you two, at least. I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Okay!” Boyd responded. “Bye, Huey!”

“Farewell, Hubert, Warrior of the Ancients,” Violet added cheekily.

And Huey set off towards his family, making sure to throw his plate and cup away in the process. ‘What a weekend,’ he thought. ‘I mean, a wedding, stopping an ancient snake deity, living it up at the Clamboree, now milkshakes? I’d like to see that be topped. Just not immediately.’

He took one last look at the beach, then turned back, visions of milkshakes dancing in his head.

#ducktales #huey duck #violet sabrewing #boyd gearloose #duckverse june #beach day #ducktales fanfiction

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

Text

Part One ¦ Part Two ¦ Part Three ¦ Part Four ¦ Part Five ¦ Part Six ¦ Part Seven

Part Eight

Despair ripped through Cassian’s chest as his boots hit the hard Illyrian ground. For once, it did not feel like home. It was a prison. His home was back in that ramshackle cabin with a female who brandished a broom with the finesse of a master swordsman.

A bolt of magic hit him the moment his wings spread, ready to launch him into the sky.

‘Do not,’ warned Rhys.

Magic grappled with Cassian, forcing him into the log cabin. His siphons flared in warning, but stony-faced Rhys continued pushing him across the threshold into his home.

In heartbeats, Azriel appeared outside. His face was grim as he followed them in. ‘What’s wrong?’

The door slammed shut. Cassian felt a shield lock around the cabin, tight enough to make his ears pop.

‘I need to go back,’ he begged, voice desperate.

‘No.’

‘Rhys.’

It was a plea, more ragged and starved than anything he’d ever uttered before. There were no limits to what he would do for another moment with Nesta. He would fight a war for her, sacrifice himself to the Mother – anything.

He turned to the door. The handle rattled, but the door refused even to shake as he tried to open it. With a boot, he kicked at it. The wood had warped to pure steel.

‘You’ll break your foot if you carry on,’ Azriel chided. He perched on the arm of a chair, glancing between the two of them for an explanation.

Cassian was caged in like a wild animal, so he paced. He canvassed the windows – upstairs and down – checked every door, every crack for a weakness.

‘Let me out,’ he begged, running a hand through his hair. ‘Rhys. I need to go to her. She’s my mate.’

For once, Azriel had been caught off guard. With his gasp, shadows skittered away.

‘She’s what?’

Rhys shook his head. ‘It cannot be, Cass.’

Cassian thumped a fist against the wall. A painting fell from its hook and the glass frame shattered. He could best them both in single combat, never together. Azriel’s magic was lethal and Rhys’ was unrivalled. Cassian knew he’d never be able to fight his way out of the cabin, not with Rhysand’s magic engulfing it. But a reckless part of him wanted to try, needed him to try. Every instinct, every nerve ending was screaming at him to be back with his mate. The feeling was overwhelming. The urge was a juggernaut that flattened every rational thought.

A cold shadow gripped his wrist. Azriel stared at him, hazel eyes shrouded by weariness. ‘Do not try something stupid.’

Rhys held out his hands in a placating gesture. ‘Nesta is mortal. Only fae have mates – and mates are rare enough.’

‘Maybe they’re rare because we do not mix with mortals. All I know is that I’ve waited my whole life to meet her and I can’t be without her.’ The anguish cracked his voice. ‘You could scent the bond.’

Rhys turned his violet eyes to the ground. He dragged the toe of his boot across the floorboards as if he was working out a scuff in it. ‘I don’t know what it was. It’s not possible.’

‘You accepted the mating bond?’ Azriel’s face softened. ‘The mortal is truly your mate?’

His chest was caving in the longer he was apart from Nesta. ‘I didn’t realise. She presented me with food – a final meal. I took one bite and it snapped into place. The world stopped turning. It was only her. Only her in the world. And always will be for me.’

He slumped down on the floor, back leaning against the panelled wall. Mating bonds were supposed to be a joy. All Cassian felt was grief. Grief worse than when he realised his mother was dead. A grief so cold and dark it swallowed everything.

‘I need to go to her.’

Rhys swallowed and exchanged a pointed look with Azriel to get ready. ‘The last thing she needs is a faerie showing up in a mating frenzy.’

‘Don’t you dare pretend to know what my mate needs,’ Cassian shot, lurching back to his feet and charging across the room at Rhys.

Azriel barrelled into him, the force so strong it shook the cabin. It did not stop Cassian. This time, he threw a punch that hit Az squarely in the jaw, rattling his teeth.

‘Cass,’ Rhys roared above the chaos. ‘You could seriously hurt her if you show up now.’

The notion that he would do anything to bring Nesta harm knocked something loose in his crazed state. The accusation stung. ‘I’d never hurt her. Never.’

‘Not me though,’ muttered Azriel, rubbing his jaw.

‘You are huge. You are strong. Stronger than you realise sometimes. Mortals aren’t gifted with fast healing. If you go there now, instincts pounding, you will get carried away and you will hurt her. It’s not up for debate.’

Everything in him was telling him to snap Rhys in half. Rhys seemed to sense it, Azriel too.

‘We’re keeping him locked here until the frenzy passes?’

It wasn’t a frenzy to have Nesta’s body or to fill her with his child. She was alone in those woods in the middle of winter with little food or means to cope. He had a duty to ensure she was cared for. Nesta could never touch him again and it wouldn’t matter as long as she was safe.

Rhys let out a long breath. ‘I will send a message to Helion to see if there’s anything he can do in the meantime while we figure out how to sever the bond.’

Cassian’s blood ran cold. He didn’t know how to breathe. ‘What?’

‘It’s a mating bond,’ Azriel replied and Cassian was glad to hear the shock in his voice too. ‘It’s sacred.’

It wasn’t jealousy in Rhys’ tone, but Cassian almost wished it was. Maybe it would have sharpened his words and made him bleed to distract him, rather than these gentle ones full of pain and care. The high lord gave a slow, sweep of his head. ‘It is for the best for you – and for Nesta.’

Both Azriel and Rhys braced themselves for the storm.

There was a golden sky after a storm so Cassian focused on that, focused on what could come after these wild instincts to carve his way to his mate. Nesta. The goodness that was Nesta. Every thrum of his pulse called her name. He would master himself for her to prove that he was worthy of a mortal mate. There would be days in the sun where she would tease him and tip back her golden head in wicked laughter that she had managed to trick him once more.

He forced himself to inhale then exhale. To do it again. And again. His breathing finally settled. The crimson siphons embedded in his armour seemed to sigh with relief.

‘You make these decisions with love in your heart and I’m thankful to have you as my brother, but there is not a force in this world that will keep me from my mate, Rhys. Even if it’s only fifty years or one that she can give me, any time with her is a blessing.’

Cassian had never been able to walk away from a fight. Even when the odds were stacked against him, pride never allowed it. As a boy, he’d been skinny and that didn’t stop him from fighting bigger boys, for starting arguments to prove himself. They’d picked on him as often as they could. Overnight, he’d shot up as if stretched. He was gangly and wiry, all sinewy muscles and unbalanced wings. Still, he fought. He had more to prove. Each day, he bulked up more and more until he was the biggest boy. Even now, he hated to walk away from a fight. In his heart, he’d always be the abandoned little boy who had nobody and nothing except the fire in his heart to survive.

He sat in his old bedroom. There was a bed for him and one for Az from when they were boys. He used to sit with his feet against the wall, back wedged against the bed when he'd been told off, but he was far too large for that now. It had taken everything in him to walk out of the lounge without a fight with his brothers that night.

The harsh light that broke through the window seemed almost blue because it was so bleached of warmth. Azriel’s footsteps pushed against the silence deliberately. His brother lowered himself on the floor beside him.

‘How can I help?’

‘Tear down Rhys’ wards and take me to her.’

‘Besides that.’

Cassian scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘Can you go to Velaris and I can write you a list of things she needs.’

‘You want me to do her shopping?’

A growl tore itself from Cassian’s throat that had Azriel leaping to his feet. He gestured with his hands for Cassian to calm down. ‘Not a time for sarcasm. Sorry. Give me the list and I’ll get it to her tonight.’

***

A choked sob broke free from Nesta when she peeled back the front door and both Cassian and Rhysand were gone. She staggered over the step into the snow only in slippers, hoping to catch them flying through the starry sky. They were gone. That couldn’t be it. That couldn’t be goodbye.

Nesta remained there, numb to the cold, numb to the bitter winds. Her heart felt like it was cracking into a thousand tiny pieces.

It wasn’t fair. She had never asked to be a sacrifice, never asked to be exiled, to be the eldest daughter with her family’s burdens resting on her shoulders. She had never asked for a faerie to crash onto her roof in the middle of the night and win her heart. She had chosen not to go with him. She had been the one to say no. Cassian had offered her a future and she had been the one to refuse it. Any regret was her own making.

Two figures were coming closer. Nesta could only just make out their outlines in the moonlit forest. Then she heard it, the brusque shushing of one to the other.

‘Feyre?’

‘Nesta?’

‘Oh, Nesta!’ The second figure cried out.

Elain’s arms were engulfing her. Through the darkness, in the heart of winter, her sisters had come to her. She clutched a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in agony. Although she loved her sisters, Nesta wished terribly it was a different set of arms around her.

In a blur, Nesta made her sisters a hot drink and wrapped them in her blankets in front of the fire. Both had cheeks pinched by the cold and the tips of their noses were pink.

‘It’s so dangerous for you to be here,’ Nesta said, combing through Elain’s damp hair. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘Where is the fae?’

Nesta scrambled for the mask she had worn for so many years. It had become like a second skin. She had mastered indifference, conquered carelessness, and pillaged dismissal. Yet the mask wouldn’t come to her. The delicately polished armour that she had worn through their years of poverty shattered around her.

She managed to step away from the fire and push her hand over her mouth when the first breach of tears came. Her forehead pressed against the wooden wall as she fought against her crying.

Elain came to her the quickest, pulling her blanket around the both of them and touching her face into Nesta’s neck.

‘Did he hurt you?’ Feyre whispered, reaching a tentative hand around Nesta’s back.

Words would not come. Instead, she shook her head.

Somehow, she and her sisters fell asleep together in the bed as if they were still in their own cottage. Nesta wasn’t sure if she could have gotten through that night without them. Never before had she needed to lean on anybody. Never before had her heart ached with such ferocity though. There was a gaping hole in her chest as if part of her had been torn out.

Elain slipped from the covers first, gasping at the cold. She fumbled through the cupboards and took four attempts at lighting the stove while humming away to herself. Nesta turned over in the bed. Feyre was already awake. Their eyes met.

‘I’m sorry for what I said the other day,’ she whispered.

‘Me too.’

Feyre swallowed. ‘Are you sure he didn’t hurt you, Nesta?’

‘Cassian would never hurt me. Never.’

His absence was like a festering wound that demanded to be felt. She was unable to concentrate, unable to even think without Cassian invading her mind. A few days of company should not have rendered her so unable to move on with her life. Was this a life? Her sisters had come to her under the veil of night, in secret, because their lives would be forfeit if they were found associating with her. She would rot away in this cabin. Marriage had always been a path that she was supposed to tread until her number was spent and she was condemned to be an exile. Now, however, letting another man hold her hand after Cassian had blazed into her life was unthinkable.

You refused his offer of a home, she told herself each time her eyes filled with tears.

In a sort of disbelieving state, Nesta lit a fire for her sisters then checked the snares closest to the cabin. One had caught a rabbit. Its body was stiff already, but not yet frozen.

In the sink, Nesta peeled off its fur, holding her retch.

‘I never imagined you doing such a thing.’ Elain squirmed from her seat on the bed.

Nesta didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to be in this cabin for the rest of her life, killing rabbits and being swallowed whole by loneliness.

She blinked back her tears long enough for Feyre to take over. In her sister’s hands, the rabbit was prepared quickly.

Nesta took her time washing her bloodied hands outside in the icy water to give herself the chance to repair. Cassian had fractured a part of her. All of those generous smiles and warm touches had cracked the walls that she carefully guarded.

‘Nesta, could you sit down a moment.’

This was the reason her sisters had come. Elain worried her bottom lip with her teeth, but Feyre steeled her shoulders just as Nesta had done for years in the face of unpleasantry. She stayed standing, brow already furrowing.

‘Isaac came to me yesterday evening. His father and the other elders, they don’t understand why you are still alive. They’re saying that you’re a witch.’

That was as good a death sentence as any.

‘They think that we will be cursed either by you – or the monster because it hasn’t been given its sacrifice.’

‘What are you telling me, Feyre?’

Elain turned her face downwards so that her brown eyes fixated on a loose thread in the blanket rather than help Feyre with this uncomfortable truth.

‘They will kill you,’ she said. Feyre gulped and faced her. ‘While it’s a full moon, they’re afraid you’re most powerful, so they won’t act. You have about eight days until the moon waxes. You can run. Go with your faerie. Go to Prythian. Just go and be safe.’

Fortune did not favour Nesta, it seemed. She pretended not to see the tears leaking from Elain’s eyes or the pain in Feyre’s. Nesta could not bear to tell her sisters that she had sent away the one man that she had ever let into her life.

Knowledge that her people planned to slaughter her caused far less pain than the moment Cassian had walked out of the door. Everything she wanted was trickling away, just as she deserved.

‘Your Graysen,’ she said, addressing Elain who thumbed her engagement ring on instinct. ‘Will he protect you even if you’re associated with me? Will he protect Feyre?’

‘He is a good man.’

‘Will he protect you both?’ She demanded, voice as sharp as a blade’s edge.

Elain did not hesitate when she said, ‘Yes.’

‘Then this is my path to walk alone.’

#the exile and the injured #nessian

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evilliyes · 1 year

Photo

With the Evillious event in Project Sekai ending tomorrow, here’s an after-holiday post with some information about the event (as well as content I will be able to provide.) Pictured above are all the screens for the “Memoirs of Wrongdoing” gacha, starting with a picture of all five characters, then a screenshot of each individual character. On each individual screen, the picture in the upper-right is a music video showing the character dancing in full costume.

With this event ending tomorrow, all collectible items come to the following:

From logging in, one can obtain: - “Brioche”, an item used to restore 10 units of extra energy - 2☆ Miku card, titled “The Slothful, Sleepless Widow” with the skill “The Sleeping Princess’s Gift”

From the gacha, one can obtain: - 4☆ Rin card, titled “The Arrogant Princess” with the skill “A Wish In A Bottle” - 4☆ Len card, titled “The Twin Servant” with the skill ““Family” Discord” - 4☆ Luka card, titled “The Madly Envious Tailor” with the skill “What The Violet Dream Showed Me” - 4☆ MEIKO card, titled “The Evil Food Eater” with the skill “Unyielding Gluttony” - 4☆ KAITO card, titled “The Greedy Judge” with the skill “Get Rich Or Burn Trying”

I got incredibly lucky (I honestly probably used up all of my luck for the rest of my tenure with the game) and was able to pull all five gacha cards within 15 pulls (probably more like 7 or 8, since my first handful of pulls yielded no Evillious cards) in the order of Banica, Allen, Kayo and Gallerian in the same pull; and, finally, Riliane.

Each card (except for Margarita’s, of which there are none) has two stories associated with it, and I’ve unlocked and watched all of them except for the second half of Conchita’s story (I saved hers for dessert, haha). As for costumes, the body of the costume (Riliane’s dress, Kayo’s kimono, etc.) is unlocked when the card is obtained, but unlocking the hairstyle requires significantly more work. As of right now, I’ve only unlocked Riliane’s hairstyle. I only have one picture of the opening of the event (Miku appearing and saying that she senses a new “Sekai”, and that it is not one that is new, but rather gives the sense of someone who’s been through a long journey), so I hope that someone uploaded that onto YouTube.

What I can provide in the coming months are screencaps of information about the gacha, the Evillious cards, the world that the Evillious characters are in, and little “conversations” each character has, along with their little sprite.

The event ends tomorrow at 4:00 PM PST.

#evillious chronicles #proseka #chronicles of wrongdoings #mobage

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badteavee · 1 month

Text

The golden ticket winners in a Minecraft Smp together

( Expand images )

Augustus Gloop :

- Kills any and all animals in the area of his house , only would give others a piece if they asked

- Good at pvp but never wants to do it

- Didn’t want to build a house or get that many resources so he lives in a village

- Doesn’t replant the village crops

- Horrible tools only

- Constant peace offerings

——————————————————————————

Veruca Salt :

- Actually pretty good at the game

- Carries around the bow and arrows in case Mike is on at the same time

- Constantly in the Cherry blossom biome

- RESOURCE HOARDER

- Refuses to use armor so it doesn’t cover her “beautiful skin” ( Her skin is of herself )

- Can’t pvp to save her life

- Made Violet build her house

——————————————————————————

Violet Beauregarde :

- Only on to build / is the only actually good builder in the smp ( Ironically doesn’t have a house , just an enderchest )

- Will not log off until the build she’s working on is done

- Tied for hardest grinder with Mike

- Has and will win pvp with a stack of glass blocks

——————————————————————————

Mike Teavee :

- Blossoms and diamonds from killing Veruca

- Practically lives in the nether , only comes out if he’s out of food or wants to harass other players

- The one who introduced everyone else to the game / The one who made the smp ( using his mother’s credit card )

- Ungodly at pvp

- Uses others beds to sleep as he refuses to make any kind of base outside of the nether

——————————————————————————

Charlie Bucket :

- No clue what he’s doing half the time , still trying to work out controls

- Genuine interest in the farming mechanic

- Most of his supplies are from Augustus or Violet

- Violet built him a house after witnessing this kid sleep in a dirt shack

#catcf musical #charlie and the chocolate factory musical #gtws #augustus gloop #veruca salt #violet beauregarde #mike teavee #charlie bucket

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hehosts · 2 months

Note

👃

splash of ambrosia — food of the gods — a distinct floral

top notes of night air — a cool tone.

base notes of violet, moss, and frankincense — violets are a rich, purple floral that’s very pleasant. they have ties of faith, mystical awareness, inspiration, spiritual passion, profuseness and sovereignty. moss is a rich, masculine tone, and means protection and guidance. frankincense is very fragrant when burnt. it has many connotations, a lot of them biblical, but was chosen primarily for its medium tone between the moss and violet, and less for its symbolism.

bottom notes of cedarwood and vetiver — together, they create a somewhat charcoal scent. cedarwood symbolizes of greatness, of nobility, of strength and of incorruptibility, as well as having a medicinal value. vetiver is known to have a calm cool energy, and uplift the emotions.

bottom wash of light rosewood — rosewood is a potent, somewhat woody but not woodsy scent. it’s said to smell like rose, freshly split logs, undertones of curry, and and somewhat close to lavender due to the terpene linalool in the recreation of rosewood. rosewood has many meanings and is a spiritual wood — it can be useful when dealing with knowledge and creativity.

this scent was more crafted by the actual notes and feeling.

@boundcd asked me to make a scent for their muse!

#boundcd

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innocence-wont-save-you · 1 year

Text

Data Files: The Local Flora

An external record of the varied plants found in the regions surrounding you. Logs will be updated when new plants are encountered.

Current entries: - Worm grass - Bubble seed - Cherrybomb - Flarebomb

Worm grass

Old food crops, run rogue after accumulating several dozen mutations. Once, they were a hyper-engineered strand of wheat, designed to persevere through extreme temperature fluctuations, heavy rains, freezing, drought, among other severe weather conditions. At some point down the line, however, possibly owing to the poor nutrient value of the soil they were growing in, they became carnivorous, actively seeking out nearby movement in hopes of edible creatures.

Each singular strand is one organism, but their roots stitch together into a complex web that enables nutrient sharing; if a small cluster of worm grass latches onto a creature, more will be attracted to drag it down, and the whole patch benefits from the sustenance. The grasses also differentiated into several distinct strains, with yellow worm grass being the most genetically similar to the original wheat strain. It is also the least aggressive, though its height and immense denseness make it dangerous to traverse still. Red worm grass and blue worm grass, in decreasing magnitude of height but increasing magnitude of aggressiveness, diverged from the main strain some indeterminate amount of time ago. Blue worm grass in particular is an aggressive colonizer of the areas around it, and will voraciously consume structures in search of more food. They all still, however, retain their original nutritional value, if they are neutralized by severing them from their roots.

Bubble seed

An old cultivar selected for the subtle beauty of its flowers. Colloquially referred to as bubble fruit for the unique feature of its seeds, these plants were occasionally planted by the people of old as a recreational activity. The flowers produced are small, bearing a delicate fragrance, and range from hues of light lavender to a deep violet. Most variants are biennial, but when seed production is incomplete or intentionally obstructed, the flowering cycle will lengthen, allowing for more enjoyment of the modest blooms.

The seeds have a double seed coat, from which their colloquial name is derived: when placed in water, the external seed coat draws water into its desiccated cells, causing the seed to swell to up to six times its original size. This process makes the seed more enticing to critters and protects the plant embryo as the seed is consumed. When not hydrated, the seed is extremely tough, and several cases of deliberate injury with bubble seeds have been reported. The swollen outer seed coat is surprisingly nutritious, though not as much as traditional food sources; it is a possible source of nutrients when food stores are running low.

Cherrybomb

An esoteric spice occasionally cultivated by your creators. The colloquial name of 'cherrybomb' came about from its appearance, which superficially resembles an extinct type of primal flora, and its mildly explosive quality. It was never popularly grown by the people of old for its beauty; its flowers, though large, are largely invariant without a notable fragrance, and also decay quickly. Rather, it was chosen for its ability to add heat to a dish, a quality that its perennial growing cycle compliments. A single seed pod yields upwards of twenty seeds, which can be roasted and then ground up to be used as a garnish in dishes. More adventurous chefs would cook the seeds whole, allowing their naturally pungent flavors to seep into the other ingredients.

Both the seeds and the seed coat produce a volatile chemical as a means of self defense and for propagation. At rest, the compound is inert and stable, but when enough energy is provided, whether by means of mechanical stimulation or the input of heat, it rapidly oxidizes in the presence of oxygen, expanding and releasing heat. This expansion causes the seed pods to pop open, emitting loud crackling in the process; the seeds are then propelled away from each other. Reportedly, this made cultivating cherrybombs difficult, contributing to their poor popularity.

The chemical secreted by the seeds and seed pods is mildly toxic, often causing symptoms of digestive distress such as diarrhea and intestinal cramping in low doses. It is neutralized by cooking the seeds, though care has to be taken to raise the temperature slowly so as not to set off their explosive nature. In high doses, regardless of whether the compound has been neutralized, it accelerates cell apoptosis due to chemical irritation, often leading to necrotic tissue accumulating where it was applied. Cultivation of cherrybombs was thus strictly regulated to prevent its use as a biological weapon, and there are various guidelines around safe consumption of its seeds.

Flarebomb

A plant in the same genus as cherrybombs. Its colloquial name takes after its more abundant sister, both because it was discovered after cherrybombs and because its applications are limited. This is exacerbated by its unusual growth requirements: flarebomb plants wilt in direct sunlight and prefer gentle shade. It also, unlike its sister, has an annual life cycle, so it was often only cultivated by the most avid of gardeners.

Its seed pods are much more studied than the rest of the plant. Similar to cherrybombs, the seed pods and seeds of flarebombs secrete a chemical that, when sufficient energy is provided, react to produce heat. However, the predominant compound produced by flarebombs is bioluminescent; the heat released is a byproduct of the oxidation of this compound. The light produced when the seed pods are shaken is variable over a range of deep purple to a light blue-green, but most commonly shines a vibrant blue. The seed pod itself is remarkably translucent, allowing the light produced from the seeds to pass through when gently shaken. Older children often enjoyed using the seed pods as a portable light source.

Notably, the reaction occurring in flarebombs is sparingly reversible, allowing a single seed pod to be used for an appreciable number of days, but eventually all of the compound is converted to its non-bioluminescent form. This is greatly accelerated by puncturing the seed pod and allowing oxygen to react directly with the seeds.

#data files #innocence won't save you #rain world #i figured it was probably about time to split the fauna and flora post #i wish i could provide hyperlinks to sections in this post but alas #the limitations of tumblr #unless there's actual html for that lmao #i can't be bothered though #remember these logs are also on ao3!

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sims4t2bb · 1 year

Text

weekly update

Hello everyone! The weekly update can be found under the cut — onwards and upwards!

— Base Game

Arrrmed Dining Chair, Captain Rodrigo de Pablo Dining Chair, and Salyut Aeronaut Chair conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Practice Potty and Refined Potty Chair conversions by @nonsensical-pixels have been added.

— Expansion Packs

Get to Work

Ever so Versatile! Chill Box 9200, Modern Metallic Illuminated Display Case, Stainless Steel Fab Slab, and Doctor of Medicine Diploma conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Get Together

Seat of the House conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

City Living

FuzzRead Article (Rare Print Edition) and M.A.P. conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Cats and Dogs

Booping Shnoops, Crates a Million: Small, debug Town Statue 4, and debug Town Statue 5 conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Seasons

Violets Are Blue Flower Arranging Table conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

Get Famous

The Queen's Gossip Chair and Biochemical Medical conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Movie Madness Advertisement Bench conversion by @hugelunatic has been added.

Island Living

Call Me Ottoman conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

Discover University

Party's Over Chair, Very Impressive Lawyer-y Desk Chair, Polymer Chameleon - by Piper Plastic Products, and Very Impressive Lawyer-y Desk conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Eco Lifestyle

Bougie Burlap Sofa conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

Snowy Escape

Debug White Spirit Doll conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

Cottage Living

Chicken Competition Ribbons conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

High School Years

Modest Marcel Chair, Starry Eyed Collection Dining Chair, Bubbly Bar Stool, Starry Eyed Collection Formal Dining Table, Clear as Crystal Coffee Table, Cheer! Megaphone Decoration, High School Event Banner, Starry Eyed Collection Formal Backdrop, Starry Eyed Collection Balloon Arch, and Starry Eyed Collection Banquet Table conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Rebellious Ivy Trellis Small, Bread n' Butter Toaster Clock, and Royal Reflections conversions by @kayleigh-83 have been added.

Lunch Special Cafeteria Station conversion by @neosimi has been added.

— Game Packs

Outdoor Retreat

Timber Log Chair and Not Your Average Firewood Loveseat conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Spa Day

Pillow For Deep Thoughts conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

Dine Out

Debug Food Platter conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

Vampires

Dead Hawthron Tree conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

Parenthood

BroHill Bar Stool conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

Jungle Adventure

Stool de Selvadorada conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

Strangerville

Debug signs conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Realm of Magic

Debug Mystical Crystal Clusters conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Journey to Batuu

Supply Crate Side Table and Bug Bite Cure conversions by @jinxxsims have been added.

Dream Home Decorator

Debug Fabric Sample Book conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

My Wedding Stories

Fenwick the V Banquet Table conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

Werewolves

Fenry Chompsalot Jr. conversion by @jinxxsims has been added.

#weekly update

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that-weird-breton-girl · 6 months

Text

Irideis, Part Twenty-One

Parts 1-10 here, parts 11-20 here

After packing up my alchemical equipment, I nervously headed over to a large clearing near the forest where the party was set up. In one area, tieflings stacked bowls on top of shabby tables. Nearby was the refugee cook, chopping an assortment of vegetables next to a large boiling cauldron. In the centre, encircled with large stones, was a gargantuan stack of logs, kindling, and tinder. A violet-haired bard sauntered around the unlit bonfire, starting the evening with a gratifying tune on her lute.

I approached Zevlor, who was addressing Shadowheart and Lae’zel. “…It isn’t much, but I hope you all can enjoy the festivities tonight. It is because of your efforts that we can finally resume our journey to Baldur’s Gate. We can’t thank you enough.”

I waved hello to Shadowheart and took my place next to her.

“Ah, I didn’t see you yesterday.” The weathered tiefling commented. “It’s good that you could make it. Rolan’s about to start.” He gestured towards the bonfire.

The bard paused her music temporarily and stepped back to allow the wizard apprentice adorned in dark blue robes to take the stage. The two people who always followed him like ducklings eagerly awaited his next move. I think they were his siblings.

“Behold!” Rolan exclaimed.

From his palms, a bright ball of fire grew, and he extravagantly shot it towards the bonfire, which ignited immediately. I took a small step back as the massive wave of heat hit me. Humongous magical flames of orange, blue, and green flickered, and adult and child alike clapped in glee. The wizard bowed, and the upbeat plucking of lute returned.

“Well then, enjoy! Take this time to drink, eat, and make merry. We both have long days ahead of us.” Zevlor’s tired smile faltered slightly, and he took his leave.

While the sky darkened and the bonfire became the primary source of light, I kept mostly to myself, observing from a distance. Shadowheart mingled with some of the refugees in small talk, and Lae’zel stood out like a sore thumb, astutely watching the refugees amble about.

What could only be a toddler waddled up to her with big round eyes and stared in awe. The growth of his horns hadn’t yet begun.

“What are you?”

“Oh my goodness, Leucis!” In a panic, the woman next to the child scooped up and scolded him. “That is not a nice thing to ask someone!” A nervous and apologetic glance at Lae’zel. “I am so sorry about that.”

“Do not apologise. The unlearned youngling has clearly not seen my kind before. I am Lae’zel, a githyanki of Crèche K’liir, future kith’rak of Queen Vlaakith. You’d do well to remember that title.”

Not completely understanding all the words from the gith’s mouth, the woman breathed a sigh of relief and hurriedly carried her child away.

There was a break in the music, and the lute was replaced with the graceful, noble strings of a violin. Having only seen that one bard in the refugee camp, I circled around the perimeter to see if she was still playing. To my disbelief, it was the human we last saw at the goblin camp, who sputtered those ridiculous verses in the derelict courtyard. In front of the colourful blazes, he swayed to the push and pull of his violin bow while the first bard took a break for food and drink. Like a smile of its own, the upward curl of his moustache reflected the sense of joy he must have in entertaining others. But how anyone could stand that close to a giant fire like that was beyond me.

When he began to conclude an uplifting, jolly piece, I neared him, keeping my distance from the intense heat. His eyes brightened in glee at my appearance.

“Aha! One of my esteemed saviours!”

I thought you were dead. “…Volo, right? What are you doing here?”

“Why, after you slew those dastardly goblins, I was able to sneak out with an invisibility potion and scurry back here!” He pranced toward me and beckoned. “Come now, settle in. I do hope you have partaken of something bracing; this may well take us all night.”

“What are you talking about?”

He was taken aback. “Why, your naming, quite obviously! That ballad from earlier was but a crude preview, a frame without its crowning jewel – your nom de guerre.” Each r rolled off the tongue. He contemplated. “Something iconic, but not too much of a mouthful. We don’t want to exclude the common folk, after all. I intend this tale to enrapture all.”

“But I already have a name: Irideis.”

“A wonderful one, indeed, but,” Volo lifted a finger, “your deeds loom larger than life now, my friend. You simply must have a title to match.”

I crossed my arms. “Killing some goblins is ‘larger than life’? That’s not the kind of thing people sing about.”

“Ha! You may believe that to be true, but every heroine and hero has their humble beginning, even it is something as insignificant as defending a grove from an onslaught of barbaric intruders and eradicating their accursed camp.”

Heroine? “Fine, you make your point. Have something in mind?”

“Far too much, in fact – this is the very problem.” This clearly troubled him. “If you could set aside your many triumphs, carry out one defining act…not to belittle your achievements to date, of course!” He became lost in his thoughts, stroking his beard. “But besting a dragon, a giant, a god, perhaps… hm.” He snapped out of the trance and shooed me away. “I must deliberate. Go – enjoy the night! I shall have work for you in the days to come.”

“O-okay then.”

As I departed, he pulled out an exquisite quill and some parchment, and began to furiously write with fervour. The other bard returned and lifted her lute, picking up where Volo left off.

Seems like I’ll be seeing more of him in the future whether I like it or not.

A while later, a delectable aroma wafted by. I searched for its source and found a small queue formed by the cauldron, where the elderly cook served steaming soup. At one of the tables, Lae’zel heartily ate a bowl. A small child anxiously walked up to her; it was the bald Asmodeus I saw earlier today playing at our camp.

He fidgeted in his thin cap, not looking at the gith directly. “Erm, ‘scuse me. Is your kitty still around?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Lae’zel drank the rest of the bowl’s contents and lightly regarded him. “No.”

“Oh, okay…” The child murmured dejectedly, dragging his feet away.

Does he… mean my familiar?

After giving it some thought, I retreated to the forest and manifested a glowing magenta sigil. In its place, a long-haired tabby, identical to the one from the day before, was summoned. I knelt and gave her my directive. Once received, the cat emerged from between the trees and trotted straight to the diminutive child.

He quietly gasped in awe as the familiar mewed and brushed up against him, and he crouched to let her sniff his hand. I returned to the party, sat down at a table, and watched them. Soon enough, a couple of other children excitedly gathered around the familiar, jumping at the chance to pet it.

Someone took the seat next to me. It was Zevlor. He inhaled, taking in the scenery of merrymaking, then exhaled.

“You have no idea how good it feels to see these people smiling again. Though,” he considered, “the singing we could probably do without.”

Staggering from side to side next to the bards was a rather inebriated woman belting loudly offkey.

I chortled. “At least she’s having fun… I think?”

He put his arms on the table and clasped his hands. “You know, our journey hasn’t been one without losses. Little Mirkon to harpies, Lihala to gnolls, Nymessa, Damays, and Bryseis to the wilds. If it weren’t for you, Arabella would’ve been next, and possibly more. Thank you, again, for intervening.”

I followed his line of sight toward the Mephistopheles girl, who was sitting patiently, albeit bored, with her parents while they conversed with other adults.

The embers in her eyes looked up at me in terror as Kagha’s viper coiled around her small shoulders, prepared to strike at a moment’s notice. Had the serpent lashed out, the young tiefling’s heart would’ve stopped before she crumpled to the floor.

Giddy laughter came from the group of children as my feline familiar wildly leapt to bat at a branch of loose leaves that the Asmodeus child dangled above her. The creases above Zevlor’s sharp cheekbones deepened. He looked like he could’ve been a father himself.

“We had to abandon everything when we were exiled from Elturel, and it affected everyone’s morale, especially the children. It was all they’ve ever known.”

The child stretched his arm as far as he could above his head, shaking the branch, and the familiar pounced, causing him to fall backward with a giggle.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Umi and the others this happy… I didn’t expect you to summon a familiar to play with them.”

There were a lot of animals I wanted to keep as a child. A badger mouse, a hare, a flying snake...

“We were all kids, once.” I replied.

The golden fires that ringed Zevlor’s pupils dimmed, and he unclasped his hands. “I should apologise. I had my reservations about you, but you’re unlike any drow I’ve met. You see, I’ve never known your people to care for outsiders. Should we meet again in Baldur’s Gate, consider yourself among friends.”

I gave a slight nod.

He gestured toward the cauldron. “Have you tried the soup yet? It’s an Elturian special – or, at least, as close to it as Okta can manage, with our current resources. You should try some before it’s all gone.”

“Sure, I’ll get a bowl. Thanks.”

I arose from my seat and took my place in the queue as Zevlor continued to solemnly observe the party. When I was next in line, the cook gave me a fatigued smile.

“Thank you for helping us. We were cooped up in that grove for so long…” She took a dented bowl with a spoon and poured a few ladle’s-worth of soup into it. “Back to worrying about road rations it is. So many mouths to feed, but… well, that’s not a bad problem to have.” She handed it to me. “Enjoy.”

I accepted the hot meal and was about to sit back down at a table to sup until I realised something. As I surveyed the area for Astarion, the tiefling bard strummed a slow and sentimental tune on her lute. The party’s liveliness began to simmer - less instances of singing and dancing and more relaxing and conversing around the bonfire.

“Can’t believe we’re actually going back on the road tomorrow.”

“Dunno about you, but I’m ready to start my life again in the city.”

“Hope the neighbours are a bit more welcoming.”

It’s not that big of a party… where the hells could he be? I then considered the possibility that he couldn’t be bothered to attend. That was definitely in character for him.

Finally, from my periphery, I saw him sitting on a log right where the clearing met the forest. He sulked, holding a green bottle between his legs, staring at the partygoers. An empty bottle lay near his feet.

I ambled over, bowl in hand. His crimson eyes followed me as I approached.

“Hey.” I said.

“Hello there.”

“Mind if I join you?”

He unenthusiastically waved to the space next to him. “Be my guest.”

I put a little distance between us as I sat down, held the bowl in my lap, and watched the scenery as he did. I blew on a spoonful of soup and ate.

“You know, I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” Astarion nonchalantly tilted his head back, downed three long gulps, then sneered. “I hate it. This is awful.”

“If it makes you feel better, they’ve been thanking Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and me. You’re not really ‘here’; you’re just watching the party. And besides, it’s not that bad. Think of all the goblins you killed.”

“True. That was fun.” A fang peeked from his grin, which quickly dropped back to a scowl. “Still, I would’ve liked more for my trouble than pocket change, a pat on the head, and vinegar for wine.”

Pfft. I grabbed the neck of the bottle that balanced on his knee and took a swig for myself. It was a heavy, rich red wine. “Damn, I didn’t realise everything tastes bad to you.”

“Not everything.” Astarion gently yanked the bottle back and chugged some more. “Alas, I can’t even get blissfully drunk when the occasion calls for it.”

With my tongue, I rubbed the bitterness against the roof of my mouth. “You really can’t taste it?”

He rested his chin on a palm and stared ahead. “So it would seem.”

“Well, it’s red wine.”

Judgement from the corner of his eye. “I can obviously smell that it’s a red, dear. It’s my palate that’s diminished, not my olfactory senses.”

I reached for the bottle. “C’mon, let me try some more.”

Unenthused, he handed it back to me, and I took another gulp. The taste was similar to wine I tried in Veltalar once.

“…It’s dry and has a pretty sharp taste to it.”

He lifted his head with intrigue. “…Go on…”

I scrounged for more descriptors after another swig, to no avail. “I don’t know what else to say; it just tastes like some wine I had before.”

He groaned. “You are the worst connoisseur there is.”

“I’m just repeating what the barkeeper said! I don’t drink wine all that often; I’m more of a beer person.” I glanced at the bowl in my lap. “I mean, it goes pretty well with this soup.”

He sighed and resumed brooding once I returned the bottle to him. I ate some more of the soup, which consisted of a clear broth with random legumes, root vegetables, and tiny pieces of meat.

“It’s a savoury bone broth.”

“Hm?” It sounded as though he was lost in his thoughts just then. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. It has fowl meat, but I can’t tell if it’s chicken or pheasant.” I took another bite. “I think it’s pheasant. It also has lentils and carrots.”

“Sounds awfully plain.”

“You could be using this time to hunt rather than mope, you know.”

“I already did tonight – a deer.” He subtly shook the bottle. “Not like it’s much better than this.”

The bonfire had died down a bit, and Volo weaved a new story with his violin. I closed my eyes so that I could feel the music better. This tale began somewhat upbeat, establishing the scene. But as the bard played on, the strings vibrated with sorrow, loss, and reflection.

Reflection of the past, of what’s to come, or both?

The melancholic notes descended, then steadily built up, as if with the determination to reach some hopeful conclusion.

Interesting choice for a party.

I opened my eyes to see Astarion silently tracking the movements of partygoers.

My cheeks flushed. “Would you… like my blood, instead of that ‘vinegar?’” A heavy stone then dropped in my chest. “I mean, is that what you still want? After last night and this morning, I just don’t know where we stand.”

He softly set the nearly empty bottle down on the grass.

“If you don’t want it anymore,” I continued, “that’s alright with me; I understand.”

He faced me. “My sweet, there’s nothing I’d like more.”

My heart sank, conflicted with the pet name. “You say it’s just a misunderstanding, that when our parasites linked, you were taken back to the mind flayer ship, but what you said really hurt. I can’t get it out of my head.”

“You’re right, I was reliving that cursed moment all over again. But those words weren’t directed at you.” He inched closer. “This is clearly troubling you. Surely there is something I can do to make up for it?”

My nerves began to race as I saw hungry want in his eyes. I could gaze at his beauty forever. “There are some things I want to talk to you about.” I desperately wanted to place my hand on top of his but thought better of it. “I want to know more about you.”

An alluring smile. “Say, you know that cove not too far away from here? The one with a gorgeous view of the river and sky?”

I nodded.

“Let’s find each other there.” He lifted himself up from the log and began to sultrily delve into the forest. “I’ll see you soon.”

#irideis #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #lae'zel #shadowheart #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x mc #irideis part 21

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