#Cw: mutilation (minor)
Note
I love rebel fox's ridiculously big sleeves
So glad you do — I dearly love them too. So many opportunities for flourishing and swishing from a man you would expect to do exactly neither and never
Also. You have given me the opportunity to EXPOUND and I’m taking it
The sleeve is not only aesthetic, but so EXTRA
CW mutilation: Fox’s right hand index-finger: “Ahsoka’s Gift” - In the arc where Fives (appears) to get shot by Fox, enraged by this and by her treatment by the Coruscant guard during her trial arc, Ahsoka takes revenge on the offending digit that shot the gun. With her teeth, btw — it gets a bit wild. Side-note: It factors in for the other clones that Fox is not right-handed, but that’s the hand he uses to shoot Fives. Then again, most clones are trained/raised/adjusted to be ambidextrous, so — it’s just odd all around, from the outside.
GAR armor: In keeping with the AU title and inspiration (Repurposing GAR armor towards the end of pulverizing wrinkly Sith — A guide by CC-1010, ecstatically-ex-marshal commander of Coruscant), Fox has kept his GAR shoulder-guards, a cutout of his chestplate, and knee-guards (plus one shin-guard), though the paint on them has been adjusted or worn.
Oversized sleeve: Beneath the batwing sleeve and dramatic flair, Fox is hiding whatever the rebellion uses instead of the Mandalorian Whistling Birds, in addition to an elbow-mini-blaster that fires a max of four shots, and extra ammo. (Also the sleeve is removable — think detachable bridal train)
CW self-destruction: On the reverse side of his chest-plate piece, Fox has an explosive device with multiple ways to rig it to explode. While it is detachable and likely could be used to explode OTHER things, the primary intent is a last resort gesture of defiance should he run out of other options.
Fox also has a replaced tooth (which he makes use of, but no spoilers here) and a metal plate protecting the surgery point for when his chip was removed. Since Fox is Fox, he prioritized speed over care at the time, so it is permanent vulnerability due to how his skull was treated and recovered afterward.
Do you see the knifes on his thigh they are small but they are important
#fan art#artists on tumblr#star wars fanart#star wars: the clone wars#fix it au#commander fox#rebel!fox#I have quite a few hcs for this design#but also it’ll be delicious when there’s negotiations between the rebels and the Republic and Cody (who is present as the ONLY Marsh. Comm)#Is the only one who knows what’s under that stupid cape-sleeve thing bc Cody would absolutely do the same thing#Cody: *slaps Fox’s shoulder giving Obi-Wan a look right in the middle of a negotiation meeting between the rebels/GAR/Republic*#Cody: This shabuir can hold so much karkin weaponry#Cw: mutilation (minor)#Cw: Self-destruction (hypothetical)#this is so indulgent but please indulge with me#the GAR symbol over his heart and that being the piece that has the self-destruct device is the only brand of symbolism Fox can do#Repurposing GAR Armor AU#OmPu Ask Hours
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Tonight’s Thirst 🌙
The series where it’s late, and I’m horny lol
Bruno zips your outer cunt lips together and only unzips then for his own personal use
Bruno had no choice but to do it. You kept forgetting that your pussy isn’t yours to touch
You try rubbing over the pads of fat for relief, but the metal teeth scape against your clit/cock
You know that if you touched your other hole, then he’d zip that one too. Best not to even attempt it
Bruno won’t unzip you to go pee—no matter how much you beg
Your piss leaks out slowly through the teeth of the zipper and tiny gap at the bottom. Your blood and slick seep out that tiny hole too
Bruno finally decides to use your pussy after a couple weeks. (He used your throat, asshole, armpits and feet during your confinement)
You almost cry as he dissolves the zipper. He wipes your irritated sex with a cool, wet rag—it feels divine
He lubes himself up and slides in. It kinda fucking hurts. Your hole is so much tighter than usual
At least Bruno’s having a great time. He’s moaning and wailing, humping you like an old pillow with a hole in the seam
It starts to feel good for you. Bruno’s cock fills your tight cunt deliciously. You’re so close—sweet relief just out of reach
Maybe if you could touch yourself just a bit then you could get there. Bruno pants and grunts into your neck, fully absorbed in his own experience. He won’t notice if you just slowly slide your hand down t—
Bruno grabs your wrist hard. Something pops in a bad way. He pins your arms above your head while you cry out in pain. He scolds you like a child
He pumps into you until he cums. It’s anticlimactic
Bruno manifests a new zipper where the old one was. His seed drools from the small gap
You cover your face, hiding tears of pain and frustration. Your wrist and neglected sex throb. Bruno cleans himself up with the rag from earlier and discards it in your direction
In a few more weeks you’ll try again. Maybe if you’re really good, then Bruno will give you what you want
#tonights thirst#genital mutilation cw#chastity cw#dark content cw#it’s 4 am and I can’t fucking sleep#so here ya go#yandere bruno bucciarati#bruno bucciarati x reader#thirst post#not sfw#minors dni#babey writes
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cicatrix
|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort, cathartic smut || wc: 21.5k || ao3 ||
Both you and Jing Yuan are known to put well-being aside for the sake of others. You reckon with it.
minors, antis and ageless blogs dni
notes: i've been COOKING!!!! please enjoy this very cathartic, gooey oneshot 😩💕!!!!! jing yuan is so beloved and getting to chew on him and his character makes me wanna roll around and scream (positive). thank you so much to bee (@suguwu) for talking this piece out w me each step of the way and andy (@andypantsx3) for a so helpful final read through 🥺🩷 read and enjoy loves!!!
CW: reader is referred to with they/them pronouns and afab anatomy, author-created lore & worldbuilding, reader visibly loses weight due to bodily stress, general talk of weight and bodies, reference to pain during intimacy, a single pregnancy joke made entirely in jest
“You should go see him.”
This is not the first time Diviner Fu has told you this. It’s actually the third time. It’s her third time attempting to have this particular conversation with you, one which you are becoming increasingly adept at parrying around.
“Who?” You lie. You already know who.
“The General?” Fu Xuan sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “He’s awake, you know. Barely. But he has asked for you. Both while he was mostly unconscious and since he’s regained his lucidity. Go see him.”
“I’ll pass.” You shift on your knees with a heavy thump. Bone on metal. “Besides, can’t you, of all people, see I am hard at work here? I don’t exactly have the time for personal visits at the moment.”
That is not a lie. That is a steadfast truth. One both you and Fu Xuan, as the Master Calibrator and the Master Diviner respectively, fully understand.
Fu Xuan has sought you out deep within the Luofu’s inner structure. Far below the sprawl of metal-plated cities and neighborhoods, are the catacomb intestines you’ve been toiling in for... sometime now. Since whenever the Lord Ravager harnessed the Arbor, and the roots of a dead tree powered by an Aeon mutilated the Luofu’s most delicate innards. Innards you need to fix, rather than having frustrating conversations with Lady Fu.
You tap around on the interface on your wrist-bound jade abacus and curse. Your fingers are newly calloused, irritated at the tips from all of the poking and prodding you’ve had to do. You dip your hands into one of the opened buckets fastened to your belt, pulling forth when you’re sticky with iridescent sludge that slowly drips down your wrist like thick syrup.
Returning to the utility panel you were previously working on before being interrupted, you tinker with a few of its delicate dials. All thrown off by the overabundance of... Abundance and the physical impact of the roots growth, deeper in the Luofu’s structure. You concentrate and thread quantum with the sap on your hands, trying to coax the machines into a more stable stasis.
“At least consider it.” Fu Xuan says. Technically, she could order you, as she is on some administrative level, your superior and (from what you last heard) the acting General of the Luofu while the Divine Foresight has been indisposed. And yet, she does not force you.
“Fine. I’ll consider it— if and when the Luofu is running diagnostic assessments with an average above fourty.”
“That’s— somewhat agreeable. But, I do think you’re being entirely—”
“Foolish?” You interrupt her with a laugh.
“Childish.” Fu Xuan taps her foot. The sound bounces around the narrow passageway, rattling into your skull. “Can the two of you not talk like adults and settle things?”
“I’m not sure what there is to ‘settle’ with him, Lady Fu.” You twitch your index and pinky finger at the same time. The internals sing, a hymn you know, the chord is a step or two too low— fucker. “He did something supremely stupid, and I am working.”
“That’s an obtuse way to look at things, and you know it.”
“In what way?” You crack open your eyes. You hadn’t realized you’d shut them. You’re sure they’re bloodshot. “What do you think about the General’s actions in subduing the Lord Ravager, Lady Fu?”
“I do believe he was reckless— as reckless as that man allows himself to be.” Fu Xuan has clearly thought about this before. Frustration pinches in her voice. “But it was not without the results.”
“So calculated recklessness is fine if, in the worst case, you end up as the Luofu’s next Arbiter General?”
“You’re putting words in my mouth.”
“I am.” You say, sighing. Anger prickles under your skin. This is all easier to deal with (read: ignore) if you focus on the ship and its internals. Its stupid, destroyed, obliterated internals. “I apologize.”
“When was the last time you slept?” Fu Xuan asks.
“... Yesterday? Probably?” There’s no daylight. You conserve battery life on your various devices by keeping screens dim, so you don’t know the hour. Time has felt liquid for some time now.
“I could take over.” Fu Xuan suggests.
“You still have a ship to run, I assume. Unless the Divine Foresight was so eager to get back to work already.”
“... Tasks can be delegated accordingly.”
“It’s not necessary.” You shake your head. “I mean this as no slight, but the rate at which you would be able to complete repairs and calibrations would be at the same rate at which the ship’s fail-safes and functions are degrading. It isn’t worth it.”
Perhaps, under different circumstances, Fu Xuan would squawk at you for discounting her skills as a calibrator so quickly. She is trained, not to your degree or expertise, but in a pinch, she can complete repairs, hear the chords, see the quantum maps required to keep the Luofu and its many delicate parts and pieces functioning accordingly.
However, the Luofu’s current circumstances do not constitute a ‘pinch’ and rather a ‘once-in-an-era disaster that nearly killed the long-lived, beloved General, destroyed the longstanding Creation Furnace, revealed the previous disgraced High Elder of the Vidhaydara, nearly reawoke the Ambrosial Arbor’. And, as Jing Yuan had told you in confidence— “It’s a Stellaron.”
And hence, you and your expertise are best-suited for the task of repairing the insides of the Luofu.
“... Even still.” She says somewhat gravely. “This is unsustainable.”
“I recognize that.” And you do, childish avoidance of the General aside. “Once the ship’s up to forty percent attuned, the diagnostic algorithms attached to the internal citrine abaci should stabilize and begin to re-establish a self-healing cycle. At which point, my manual diagnostics and repairs will no longer be necessary at the level at which I’m completing them now.”
“What percentage attuned is the Luofu at, as of now?”
“... Twenty-seven.” This is, technically, the truth.
(However, you have little confidence in that number, as it fluctuates heavily based on time of day and your own location within the tunnels and mechanical catacombs. You imagine this may be due to any number of things— there may be a gamma leak down deeper, where the radiation sponges are not as effective. There could still be creatures and roots of Abundance, alive in the passageways, wreaking havoc on the systems in real time. The diagnostic systems themselves could be failing, or at the very least damaged, which means that prescribing a number at all to the Luofu’s condition is a stupid idea to begin with—)
Fu Xuan says your name sharply.
“Yes?”
“... I’m worried.”
“That’s probably for the best.” You wish there was more sympathy in your voice, but it sounds cold and outside of your body.
(You’re so tired.)
Fu Xuan sighs, and drops to her knees next to you, peering in one the copper box you’ve been wrist deep in for the better part of ten minutes. Distractions slow down the process so immensely.
“Your reasoning is sound, and I understand that this isn’t entirely some ploy to skirt around the General’s requests to see you.” Fu Xuan hands you a small pendant, cut of purple stone and lit from the inside out. “Please, wear this. It will transmit your vital signs and location to a monitor on the surface.”
You blanch, “Is this for you, or the General?”
“For the Divination Commission on paper.” Fu Xuan loops it around your neck. “You’re the only Master Calibrator on the Luofu. To lose track of you, or lose you, would be dire. It will also assuage some of the General’s anxieties and keep him from pestering me about you.
“The general, anxious?” You throw back your head with a laugh and withdraw your hands from the paneling. The sludge has liquified further, more mucus-y now as it drips down your forearms. You wipe away what remains with a well-used rag from your belt. “I’ve never known Jing Yuan to be anxious.”
“He is now.” Fu Xuan says simply. “Or, as much as he allows himself to be. I am not interested in delving into the General’s psychology, but I am interested in keeping you in decent condition. That pendant has an emergency function. If you tap it three times, it’ll send a distress signal with your location.”
You want to say that that’s ‘unnecessary’, but you know that’s your bad mood. There’s a reason why Fu Xuan made this journey, alone, and is speaking to you so frankly. There are bags under her eyes too.
“Thank you, Fu Xuan.” You say, softly, kinder than you have been.
Despite your grime, perhaps mutual, you wrap your arms around her shoulders and squeeze. She hugs you back and deflates, if only for a moment.
...
The Luofu’s utility organs are built downwards, filling what would be considered the ‘hull’ of the ship, until you hit the Hall of Karma. There’s insulation between the ship’s most vital part and the weary souls of the departed, which provides you some comfort as you must descend deeper and deeper.
The Luofu is as much a ship as it is a planet— a live ecosystem, adapted to fit the various immortals who call it home. The bowels of the Luofu are truthfully a combination of metal and plant matter— dirt and mechanical roots meant to hold the ground in one piece around you. Much of the organic matter of the ship is covered behind metal plating, lest risking a collapse.
Most of the damage you must tinker to fix occurs in the small, delicate panels that are placed in the walls every ten meters or so. They’re nondescript, mostly. Surrounded by a few various dials— a few circular meters are faded and out of use (relics from when the Luofu left its parent civilization, millenia ago), and a port to sync up a jade abacus to for more detailed readings.
Most of the data is slop to someone without training.
Even with training, your exhaustion is making the various numbers, symbols, and graphs feel like slop.
The panel can be disconnected with a small, quill-looking tool (there’s only a small amount left on the Luofu, maybe twenty in total. The head of the tool is carved from an old, red stone, burnt in an old fire by a forgemaster long dead. You keep track of your handful diligently, lest you lose them without another smith to make them.) Once the utility panel is pried off, it reveals a suspended layer of liquid, far deeper than it looks. If you really tried, you probably could fit your entire arm in and still have depth.
Suspended in the liquid are the mechanisms that truly run the Luofu. It’s hard to describe how they fit together. It takes an affinity for quantum, a century (or three) of training, to make sense of how to parse together the ship's parts. The parts are various small machines, crystals, living ecosystems bound into balls and sustained by astrosynthesis beyond this world.
You’re used to the awe of it.
Along your waist, you carry several pots of stellar lubricant. The grease provides... some amount of slip when poking around in it yourself. It resonates with the quantum and allows you to see the stretches of energy that allow the ship to run as it does. Tender leylines, woven threads, songs and hymns that are of many familiar beats and melodies.
Everything slips together as you pull yet another panel from a wall. The mechanisms sing out of tune, in dissonant chords, off-beat in the wrong time signature.
You dunk your hands into the lubricant, ignoring the slowly erupting burns on your forearms from over-exposure.
You shove your hands into the wall. You work. You fix.
...
Not so long ago, you and Fu Xuan were not the only two Calibrator on the Xianzhou Alliance’s Luofu. There had been an apprentice in the Divination Commission who was studying, seeking mastery, just as you yourself had. They were more skilled than Lady Fu in the arts of calibration. You think they hailed from the Yaoqing. They were soft, gentle-hearted and young by the standards of Xianzhou natives.
So perhaps, this is why they became Marastruck in the mouth of one of the utility tunnels after seeing footage of the Divine Foresight being dragged unconscious and limp into the apothecary. Gingko leaves tearing their skin, an unholy sob turning to a shriek to cut the air. You were lucky the transformation occurred while you were above ground, and a patrol of Cloud Knights was nearby.
You’re probably lucky that you hadn’t (haven’t) succumbed to Mara. If you were a few centuries younger and less trained in the arts of meditation, you might have been swallowed up like the apprentice had been.
Jing Yuan, for all of his many games and schemes and tricks, radiates the air of someone almost infallible. He is not perfect; he has never been one for edges that are too manicured. He’s far more content dozing the afternoon away or taking a stroll through one of his gardens than hosting war-meetings. He prefers to wear plain clothes to the market in hopes he will not be recognized (though, he always is).
But, he is strong and remarkably difficult to phase or bother in any setting. On more than one occasion, you’ve spent the evening trying to rile him up and get him to pounce, but the General is always content to watch your attempts with a lazy smile on his face. Content to sweetly watch you struggle in getting under his skin. He may be affected, but he is hard to break. If he does, it is with such grace that you wouldn’t have any idea he did break, and it feels as if you���ve somehow slipped, rather than him. He is cunning and sure-footed in a way that you can’t help but admire.
You’re not the only one to feel that way.
(Though, you’re the only one who shares a bed with him. So.)
The Xianzhou has little place for legends, yet Jing Yuan is old enough and well-thought of enough to have become one. So, you cannot blame the apprentice for falling to Mara. Not when they, and the rest of the Luofu, saw a legend buckle at the knees.
...
You were right about diagnostics being inaccurate. However, the reason was a mix of your two initial hypotheses.
Parts of the diagnostic system, deep and low within the Luofu’s internal organs, had been damaged. Radiation leaks from the core of the ship, usually held back by sponges and filters, was drifting upward to damage any number of sensors and organic processes keeping the Luofu operational.
(All useless details really, none of it makes sense anymore. The ship is fucked. You must fix it.)
And you have been fixing it.
You reek of stellar lubricant, skin stained pearly and glittery under the fluorescent lights that dot the tunnels. Your eyes ache; it’s gotten quite difficult to focus them. You’re lucky that there’s occasional spigots tapped into the walls, with some type of freshwater flowing from them, even if it does take awhile for any liquid to run. They probably haven’t been used in decades— maybe centuries. Most of the internals of the Luofu heal and repair on their own.
A calibrator would only need to step-in in the case of a calamity.
Time has gotten slippery. Though you send up status reports (of varying quality) through your wrist-bound jade abacus, you can’t say it’s on a schedule. You do them when you have the mental fortitude to craft something acceptable for the Divination Commission to scoff at.
You’re tired, maybe.
There are some mediary chambers between levels. Old, dust-covered rooms with a cot and some rations. Though you raid the ones you come across for emergency food stores, you don’t stay to sleep. You usually keel over on the metal flooring with your outermost robe thrown over you like a blanket. Your pillow is your own folded hands.
It’s viciously uncomfortable, but you find sleeping difficult regardless. The offensively bright grow lights are sensitive to flesh life, and will not turn off in your presence. The floor is sometimes searingly warm, sometimes ice cold. If you stop working, your own thoughts threaten to swallow you whole. You only achieve sleep in brief moments, perhaps a few hours at a time, when you’re entirely spent.
It is unpleasant sleep. A mix of recent horrors and faraway comforts.
(You initially heard from Fu Xuan what Jing Yuan had done.)
(Shortly after, footage was posted of the Divine Foresight, unconscious and being dragged across the Luofu for medical attention. Jing Yuan was entirely unresponsive and cradled in the arms of the Vidharayda’s... reawoken? Returned? (You stay out of Lizard Politics.) (Regardless, it still burns.))
(There’s chaos in the sounds captured on the video, the shocked, disbelieving voices.)
(You had turned off your phone (you have still yet to turn it back on) and dragged the apprentice to the tunnels. You ignored their crumbled expression and all of their disbelief. It would not serve either of you— anyone— in that moment. This was foolish of you.)
(You remember your apprentice and how their panic grew to Mara so quickly. How they looked sick to their stomach, braced against one of the entrances to the tunnels of the catacombs, clutching their skull. You urged them forward, begged them to hurry— that the diagnostics were grave. You could see the gnarled roots of the arbor already having penetrated some of the ancillary walls.)
(They looked so scared as they were swallowed by Mara. Eyes flashing scarlet, gingko leaves spilling from their mouth as they screamed. Flesh tearing to be healed wrong seconds later. Beautiful silk robes torn to shreds, body mutilated from the inside out.)
(They’d lunged at you, howling, and you’d barely side-stepped them. You ran to a patrol of Cloud Knights, overworked and clearly battleworn themselves and exhausted. Regardless, they took down your apprentice. Cut them at the back of the knees, called a Judge, dragged them off to the Hall of Karma.)
You dream of Jing Yuan often.
Sometimes, these dreams are awful.
Lady Fu had told you to visit him, prior to your initial descent into the catacombs. She said he was unconscious and battered. He would certainly recover; the General is particularly hearty. She urged you to see him in the Alchemy Commission. She said this as if Jing Yuan hadn’t just thrown himself in front of a being that rivaled some Aeons. She said this as if the Luofu wasn’t a few mechanical failures away from ceasing function and you were the only one aboard the Luofu able to stop it with any efficiency.
You dream of Jing Yuan being lanced through with his own guandao. You dream of him falling to the stone of Scalegorge Waterscape, eyes blooming red, and ginkgo leaves erupting from his shoulders. You dream of him mutilated beyond belief by beings so much more powerful than either of you. You dream of having to watch a patrol of Cloud Knights pin him to the ground as Mara consumes him.
Sometimes, the dreams are pleasant.
The worst are those where you think you have woken up in bed with him. Mimi purrs at the foot of his stupid, indulgently large bed. Your cheek is pressed to his chest, warm and alive and okay, and he rumbles some laugh when you seem confused. He asks if you’d like breakfast. A bath. You should go to the markets together, shouldn’t you?
You dream of his body next to yours. Well and whole and intertwined.
You prefer to be awake; it allows you to feel like you have some semblance of control over your own mind.
Horrors crop up into the forefront of your mind without warning often. Staying focused on your repairs helps you. Grounding yourself in the sting of the lubricant over your skin keeps your thoughts closer to the material, rather than the intangible fears that threaten to swallow you whole.
Leaving only you to your work. Fixing.
You wipe sweat from your brow, uncaring of the grease that smears across your skin and clumps in your hair. The panel in front of you is being particularly fuzzy. The parts are old. The impact from the Arbors sudden growth had damaged the delicate nature of the mechanisms.
So, you tinker away.
Quantum threading, weaving, unraveling, trying again. And again, and again.
Your head pounds.
...
At some point, when checking your jade abacus, the diagnostic percentages have stopped going down. They’re actually going up, steadily and on their own.
You don’t believe it at first, but after... a while of keeping an eye on it, it doesn’t appear to be a fluke. Functionality is hovering around thirty-three percent, unfailingly, and rising a percentage every day or so. The panels you check appear to be healing themselves as well, albeit slowly. Thin, vermillion tendrils snake around in the oil to poke and prod as you have. Albeit, it’s not enough, but it provides a kernel of respite nonetheless.
Coincidentally, you run out of stellar lubricant around this same time as well.
The only option (as you’ve already pilfered the stores you’ve come across) is to ascend back to the surface of the Luofu and fetch more from the Artisanship Commission.
You feel delirious when you rise fully and stretch your arms above your head. Your hands knock into the metal ceiling as your back cracks in at least four different places. Your knees ache. Your legs have long since cramped up. You feel stiff down to your bones, but you separate from the feeling. You must, there’s more important things to worry about.
Ascending the catacombs is difficult. You hadn’t... realized quite how deep you’d gone for repairs. It takes quite some time to climb the thin utility ladders and weave the correct path upwards. You’re slowed by gravity and your own lethargy. The exertion takes its toll quickly, but you ignore it. You have a task to complete.
(Your body's slick with sweat. Your vision threatens to tunnel.)
Perhaps you’ll pick up some proper rations as well. The nutritional power you had pilfered from the tunnel’s stores probably isn’t meant to be consumed in the long term.
You come to surface through a shrouded doorway in a residential neighborhood. It’s warm, temperate as the Luofu usually is. There’s a pleasant breeze and the smell of grass and water in the air. It’s a sharp contrast to the metallic tang of oil and lubricant that you’re slicked with.
You try to think little of it. Artisanship Commission.
On your way, you get the occasional odd stare. A child points at you. You, perhaps, are covered in grime and attribute any gawking to that. Maybe? You’re due for a bath. Though with all the errands it appears you need to run, do you really have time for one?
There’s a shop on the edge of the Artisanship Commission you duck into. The shopkeeper is speaking to another customer at the counter, but goes silent when you give him a friendly wave. You’re a regular here, after all.
You grab as much of the lubricant as you can carry in your arms and place it on the counter, poking around in your pocket for your... phone. It’s probably out of battery.
“Could you put this on the Divination Commission’s tab?” You ask him. “It’s being used for official business.”
The shopkeeper is still looking at you, wide-eyed. Mouth hanging open. He stiffly nods and rings you up.
Odd.
You think little of it. He slowly loads your jars into an old crate and hands it to you.
“Be well.” You say on the way out. The shopkeeper does not reply.
The interaction leaves you with a vague sense of unease.
That feeling mounts the more you realize that people are looking at you, as you make your way to Aurum Alley for rations. One woman even tries to stop you, but you wave her off. You need to—
Get rations. Maybe take a shower. Descend again because there’s no way the systems can be sustained and heal fast enough on their own. You must work, you must toil.
And you mustn’t visit Jing Yuan.
Not yet. Not until you can forget how he looked, slack and half-dead in the arms of his men. Perhaps you should forget the face of the returned High Elder as well. You’ve— you’ve put together that he and Jing Yuan have some type of history. You know from the whisperings that the man saved Jing Yuan.
(You can’t ever save him. You are not a fighter. You’re a well-paid mechanic.)
Rations.
You’re stopped before you ever are three steps into Aurum Alley by a group of Cloud Knights.
“Halt.” One of them says, raising her weapon.
“... Pardon?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. The crate in your arms is too heavy for this. “Can I help you?”
“Please wait,” the tip of her guandao shines, “you are the Divination Commission’s Master Calibrator, correct?”
“... Yes?” You sigh. “I apologize, but I must get past you. I’m on official business. Supply run.”
The Knight rotates her blade to the butt of it against your chest, applying light pressure. Holding you there, tucked between several buildings and fairly out of sight. Your stomach drops.
“I can’t allow that.”
“... Excuse me?”
You’re about ready to snap at the nervous-looking knight once more, but you’re interrupted. The sound of quick feet over stone stops behind you and frigid air begins to spill down your neck. You turn your head painfully over your shoulder.
Yanqing, the fierce little thing, is poised behind you, spitting steam and frost. His gold eyes are angry, teeth bared. He looks exhausted.
“You are being detained,” he says, angry and sharp.
“What?” You snap, turning to face him. He looks ready to raise his blade against you, hand twitching at his waist. That’s not your concern at this moment. “Yanqing— what are you—”
Yanqing’s eyes are shiny and wet.
Oh.
“You’re being detained by order of the Divine Foresight.” He says, voice unwavering despite the tears beading against his lower lashes.
...
Yanqing seems like he’s seething as he leads you to one of Jing Yuan’s personal gardens. It’s on a terrace, high above most of the Luofu, far-away from any of the Commission's that may bother him when he is attempting to relax.
You know this garden well; it’s your favorite spot to relax in with Jing Yuan.
He leads you directly to Jing Yuan who is standing on an overlook, hand behind his back as he stares out over a roiling sea. The waves crash far below, the sound a mere echo. His shoulders are slack. He hardly looks angry. It’s rare that he ever does.
“General.” Yanqing says— he is angry. “I’ve brought them.”
“Oh?” Jing Yuan turns, a pleasant smile stretching across his face. “You found them?”
“Yes, in Aurum Alley.” Yanqing salutes and steps to the side.
You cross your arms and try not to cry.
Jing Yuan looks fine. He’s clearly in one piece. Whole. Whole. No visible injury, no new limp as he steps closer to you, examining you just as intently as you examine him.
It’s a horrible relief to see him fine— even if you should scold him. If you had the energy, you would. You would rake him over the damn coals for endangering himself as he did. You will, later. Maybe. But for now—
“Am I done being detained?” You ask, malice in your voice. “I have work to do.”
“No hello?”
“Fine. Hello.”
“Hi,” Jing Yuan says more gently, beckoning you to a lovely looking pile of silk pillows and a thick mat. The perfect spot for a midday catnap. “I’m afraid I do intend to keep you for a bit longer. Sit, please.”
You don’t budge.
“Jing Yuan,” You say his name. Your voice doesn’t wobble, and you’re grateful for it. “I do not have time for this.”
He hums, “You do.”
“You must know the Luofu’s internals are shot.” He must, right? You need to get back. You need to keep fixing. “I do not have time for tea and a chat. Be forward with me, please.”
Jing Yuan, who has already sat down on the silks, looks up at you. He’s perfectly poised, relaxed like a big cat, but with sharp, watchful eyes. He’s choosing his words carefully, albeit quickly.
“Did you know the Matrix of Prescience resumed function earlier today?” He tells you. “Early this morning, it awoke. Diviner Fu says the function is still minimal, but improving by the hour.”
There’s a wave of relief hearing that— at least the Divination Commission can resume somewhat normal activity. Fu Xuan is probably overjoyed. Maybe. You should check— you need to check. There may be calibrations to reconfigure on the surface. Aeons, there probably is and you’re foolish for not addressing those yet. You should.
Jing Yuan says your name, gentle but unyielding, “Stay with me.”
“I’m— I’m glad the Matrix is working. But, there’s still much that needs to be addressed Jing Yuan. The Luofu’s fail safes— the vitality transmitters— the gamma diffusers—”
You feel overwhelmed and nauseous. You want to lay down and cry. You want to run away to the nearest hidden entrance to the tunnels and work. So badly do you want to flee, hide, and toil and fix this stupid ship.
(Because, you can’t look Jing Yuan in the eye for too long. He’s safe, but the memory of him half-dead is still living in your mind. It’s murky, but there. You need it to die. You need it to stop. You need—)
Jing Yuan takes your hands in his own. It shocks you out of your spiral as his thumbs graze your knuckles. It hurts. You wince without thinking to muffle it. Chemical abrasions and hives litter the skin of your hands. It tracks up your arms to your elbows, you see now.
You flinch and try to pull away, but Jing Yuan keeps you there. Suspended.
“I had a meeting with the other Arbiter-Generals, just the other day.” Jing Yuan sounds wistful. “I was surprised to find out that every other ship in the Xianzhou Alliance’s fleet has at least four Master Calibrators. They were shocked to find the Luofu only having one.”
“That sounds embarrassing.”
“It was, perhaps,” Jing Yuan laughs in a good-natured way. “The other Generals were quite kind, and have sent a handful of Master Calibrators to the Luofu to assist with repairs. They’ll be here in the next day or so.”
“... Really?”
“Yes.” Jing Yuan sighs. “I’ll owe a favor or two, but it’s more than worth it.”
You don’t know what to think.
“I have to—”
“You’re actually being placed on a somewhat indefinite leave.” Jing Yuan then yanks you down into the pillows, to the thick mat, and into his arms. “I’m afraid I’ve missed you terribly. You’ve been incredibly difficult to track down.”
“I was just in the tunnels.” You try to push away from him. “Fu Xuan gave me this little tracker.”
You tap the pendant on your chest.
“You went deep enough into the Luofu that this pendant only pinged your location every few days.” Jing Yuan raises you up, so you’re perched in his lap. You steady yourself on his chest. His living, breathing chest. “At one point, it didn’t register your vitals for a week.”
Jing Yuan says this quietly. It’s admission, given the tone of his voice. He sounds a bit stricken, almost pained. His brow is scrunched as he rubs up and down your shoulders.
“... A week?”
“Indeed. You scared me quite badly, you know.”
Something in you aches. Guilt rises up your throat, but you don’t give yourself much time to examine it. Not yet.
“You’re one to talk.” You murmur, hitting a fist against his chest angrily. “You threw yourself in front of a Lord Ravager?”
“A necessary blow that ensured victory.” Jing Yuan says simply. As if he is speaking about a feint during a sparring match, or a risky move in a star chess game. “A worthwhile opportunity, really—”
“You could have died.” You snap at him, finally looking at him down your nose, baring your teeth. You are tired and angry. It feels like you could swallow the sun and you would be fine with exploding.
“I could have.” He hums. There’s more that he wants to say, you can tell. You can imagine what he could wax on about—
(“It would have been worth it if it guaranteed the Luofu’s safety.”
(“Am I not going to die already? I would think it be better to give my life for the safety of the people, rather than be decimated by Mara.”)
(“There are worse ways to die.”)
“You’re so foolish.” You want to cry. Maybe you are. Your head is pounding and your eyes hurt. “You can’t do that.”
“Ideally, I wouldn’t—”
“No, stop, just—” You grab his cheeks in your hands and bring your nose to press against his. You meet his eyes, gold and molten. “You cannot sacrifice yourself in such a way. I beg you to be selfish. If for no other reason than to give me a proper goodbye.”
(Jing Yuan had been distant in the days leading up to the Arbor’s reawakening. He’d been dodging your calls, ignoring pre-scheduled outings, and skimping on sleeping in your bed. When you’d seen the videos of his limp body and heard from Lady Fu that he was still unconscious, there was, perhaps, a moment where you believed that that was it. You wouldn’t get a goodbye. You’d only see a ragdolled corpse to mourn.)
What you’re asking of Jing Yuan is a siren song of Mara. You know this. To yearn is to suffer. To be attached is to suffer. To cling is to suffer. And suffering is to mara. You both know this. You dance with the stars and their weavings often enough to be suspended somewhat above other immortals— such things seem small in avenues of Aeons and destiny.
Jing Yuan, however, is a master of separation. Meditation. He is quiet about the skills he’s cultivated. You notice them though— the way he measures his breathing, the conscious effort he makes to keep himself loose and slack. The way his memory is diced up, not from incensed Mara sprouts, but from missing pieces. Tragedies that have either been removed or blotted out from his own practice.
To save him from being swallowed by Mara.
And yet, you beg him to remember you.
You almost retract, recoil, and run. This is too real. You have been in the General’s bed for who knows how long. It doesn’t matter that you have been his partner for the last several decades. You’ve never asked him to keep you in his thoughts— keep you like this. It has always felt too unfair of a thing to ask.
“You,” You spit through tears, “Cannot leave me so cruelly. Not like that. Let me be precious to you, Jing Yuan, if only for a short time.”
There is no such thing as being endless without consequence, but perhaps the General can spare you his affections, truly, for a brief moment. Maybe it’s a pipedream. Maybe you’re delirious from lack of sleep and hunger and the high of feeling Jing Yuan solid and whole beneath you is simply too much.
Jing Yuan coaxes you to keep your head up when you try to duck into his neck. He buries a hand in your hand that quickly slides down to your nape. He holds a wide, warm palm there to steady you.
“Dear,” Jing Yuan strokes down your cheeks, rubbing away tears you can’t stop from falling. His smile is melancholy, his eyes crinkled at the corners with a broken smile. “I’m quite remissed. Have I not made it clear that I already think of you in such a way?”
You swallow.
“Probably not.”
“I apologize.”
“Don’t apologize— just— say it.” Not on his deathbed, or Mara-struck in chains and gnarled with Ginkgo leaves.
Jing Yuan pauses, rubbing away tears from under your eyes and squeezing his hand that lingers on the back of your neck. He opens his mouth, flounders, then closes it. Then speaks.
“Beloved,” He begins and you’re already breaking. “I am sorry that I haven’t made it clear to you that you are dear to me. There are certain things that I cannot promise you as they are outside of my control as well as yours. But what I can assure you is that you are so incredibly dear to me. If I must continue to live as I do now, I would like to do so by your side. I apologize for not being forthright.”
“... So, no throwing yourself in front of Lord Ravagers?”
“... Sacrifices must be made.” Jing Yuan says, though his voice is, perhaps, more mournful.
“You are not a sacrifice.” You swallow, the words burning you as well. “You are much more than just foder. You are— you’re dear to people. Dear to me. You are not to throw yourself in the line of fire as part of a convenient plan.”
“I will not make you a promise that I cannot keep.” He is too duty-bound; it’s a practiced thing. You’ve heard he was once laze-about oaf who could barely handle a sword. You try to appeal to any remnants of that man.
“Then at least tell me.” You urge, beg. “Maybe there are other options you haven’t thought of. You get stuck in your head, you know.”
“Do I?” His smile turns mischievous and teasing.
“You—!” You headbutt him lightly and he rolls you into the silken blankets.
The moment your back touches the softness below you, skull cushioned in the palm of Jing Yuan’s hand, you can feel exhaustion catching up with you.
“You must heed your own rules, love,” Jing Yuan tells you, covering your body with his. Silver hair falls in a veil around you. It’s like starlight. The memories of oil and machine parts feel far away. “No more running yourself ragged. Or hiding in the utility tunnels for a month.”
“... A month?” Your words slur. There’s no way you were down there for a month.
“Actually, a month and a week.” Jing Yuan says. His hand smooths over your front with a front. “You’ve lost weight. And as effortlessly radiant as you are, you do look quite poorly. I’m sure it’s nothing an indefinite, relaxing, extended, paid-leave can’t fix, hm?”
“Thas’ so long,” You say, your eyes rolling back into your head. You’re slipping.
“I know.” Jing Yuan kisses your forehead and remains there. “I missed you terribly.”
You want to say more. How desperately do you want to tell him, “I missed you too. I couldn’t stop thinking of you dying. I dreamed of your bed and warmth and wanted nothing more.” But your body is simply too tired. The... month of exhaustion catches up with you within the silks and you have to fight to keep your eyes open.
Jing Yuan hushes you when you whine, grabbing at him to drag him closer.
“Rest now.” He tells you. “You need it. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Jing Yuan holds you in the soft blankets, flush against downy pillows and the plush of his chest. One of his hands finds home around your waist, the other over the crown of your head.
You are tugged down— not in the bowels of Xianzhou’s Luofu, but into the arms of a lover and the hold of a deep and inexorable sleep.
The next time you’re awake, you’re swathed in buttery linens and pleasantly warm. Your world is fuzzy and unfocused, and at first you think you are dreaming.
It’s simply too pleasant.
Your cheek is pressed against Jing Yuan’s bare chest. You can tell from the softness of your cheek squished against the softness of his pectoral, along with the bit of silver fuzz that tickles your nose. He smells like you remember— notes of cedar oils and herbs, mixing with the scent of his own stale sweat from whatever training he completes with Yanqing.
It’s comforting and familiar. This is why it must be a dream.
So you cling to Jing Yuan. The arm thrown over his chest constricts. The leg you have loosely thrown over his own tangles and hooks him closer. You shimmy higher to press your nose to the underside of his jaw and inhale.
Jing Yuan chuckles, a rumbling thing that’s hoarse with sleep, “Good morning to you too.”
You do not open your eyes. Rather, you squeeze them shut, and cling to the dream.
His hand glides up your back, finding home on your waist once more before giving you a squeeze, “You can sleep more, you have quite the deficit to make up for.”
You grumble. You’re practically on top of him, like it would prolong the pleasant illusion your mind is creating.
Your own palm rests over his chest, and you pause. There’s a texture that’s new. Scar tissue beneath your finger tips that runs little rivers over his flesh. Jing Yuan’s breath hitches as you trace them. You pull away from the safety of his throat to peer down at his chest. New scars litter his chest, all connected webs of damage. The skin is puckered and freshly healed.
This is not a dream.
“Oh,” you say, softly.
“I apologize. Your favorite canvas has been a bit marked up.” Jing Yuan sighs.
“Jing Yuan.” You squeak and bat at his chest. “Don’t speak of your body and condition in such a way.”
“Why not? I so have missed your marks on me, you know. It’s been a lonely recovery period—”
“Jing. Yuan.” You tug at his hair playfully. “It is too early for you to be teasing me.”
“I don’t think it’s ever ‘too early’ for such things.” Jing Yuan laughs. “Besides, I think you quite like it.”
“Cruel man.”
“You wound me.” There’s no bite to either of your voices. Just something warm and underused.
You press a kiss to his cheek and nudge your nose into the pudge of it, “Truly?”
“No.” Jing Yuan pulls you up by your waist, holding you flush to him as he turns to face you. You are chest to chest, nose to nose. “There’s no need to worry about the nips of a kitten, wouldn’t you agree?”
“You awful, awful man—” You say with a burgeoning smile that you can’t help but wear.
Jing Yuan cups a large, warm palm against your jaw and presses his lips to yours.
It’s indulgent, just like the ridiculously-sized bed you’re entangled in and the silken sleep pants you can feel him wearing. Your smile into it— you missed this.
Why did you miss it—?
Oh.
You pull away, eyes widening, “Jing Yuan, the ship. I have— repairs. I have to—”
He silences you with a quick kiss, racking his nails down your back and you gasp.
“The repairs are being taken care of by a few honored guests from the Xuling and Yuque. Diviner Fu is their point of contact and guide for the duration of their stay. They will be completing the remaining restoration while you enjoy your leave.”
“I mean—” You flounder, panic is bursting in your chest. “They can contact me— I know what needs to be fixed, I can at least make a list—?”
Jing Yuan hums, grip getting tighter around your hips. It’s a shadow of something you’ve seen in him before— it’s a bit possessive.
“Once again, dear, you are on indefinite leave by order of the Seat of Divine Foresight by the Arbiter General himself.” He reminds you with a glint in his eye. “You needn’t make any lists or instructions for our guests. Diviner Fu is more than capable of directing them as necessary. Actually, I believe she’ll quite like it.”
“You’re pulling rank on me?”
“As I have every right to do.” Jing Yuan doesn’t relent. More sweetly, he continues. “As your lover, I would also be much happier to see you recovering in bed than anywhere else.”
“… Are the gardens off limits?”
“No, though I’d recommend giving yourself a few days of minimal activity.” Jing Yuan frowns then. “I don’t believe you realize it, but you are quite weak at the moment.”
“... Really?”
“Lady Bailu’s cloudhymns are quite advanced these days.” He rubs a thumb below your eyes, over what must be a dark circle. “But, her skills mostly lie in healing flesh wounds and disease. You are malnourished, dehydrated, and... overall rundown.”
“... The Dragon Lady is going to give me an earful, isn’t she?”
“In time.” Jing Yuan laughs. He brings one of your hands up to his face to press his lips to your knuckles. No longer covered in burns and irritated hives, but still bearing light scarring.
Neither you nor Jing Yuan escaped unscathed.
“Do I need to prepare?”
“Perhaps not as much as you think.” Jing Yuan hums, pulling the sheets over your heads. “She examined you while you were asleep a few times. She has already scolded you plenty, even if you don’t remember it.”
“Did I wake up at all?”
“Barely. It was almost concerning.” Jing Yuan tugs you closer and tucks your head under his chin. “I did manage to have you sip some water and give you a wipe down though. Admittedly, you do need a proper bath.”
You nearly moan.
The idea of a bath is downright erotic. Though you don’t feel as greasy and as sticky as you could, given Jing Yuan had kindly gotten the worst of it off of you, the idea of being truly clean sounded pornographic.
Especially, given you were at Jing Yuan’s residence, and in addition to his indulgently large and comfortable bed, he also had an indulgently large and opulent self-heating bath. The idea of having a long soak and scrub has you burying your face into Jing Yuan chest and squeezing around his middle.
“I want it.”
“A bath?”
“Yes. And you. And a meal. Lots of things, actually.” Enough to make your head spin. It feels like your slowly waking mind is all out of sorts.
“Let’s start with a meal and a bath, then.” Jing Yuan offers. “Perhaps after a nap?”
You don’t need to be persuaded.
It’s a kinder sleep you sink into. Less bottomless and far warmer. Jing Yuan kisses you breathless and a bit stupid as you drift off, chuckling against your lips as you grumble and grouse at him, before being tugged down into sleep once more.
...
“How are you feeling?”
You ask Jing Yuan this as you give yourself a pre-bath rinse behind an ornate screen. The wet cloth clutched in your hands drips fat droplets of water onto the polished, glass tile beneath your feet. Soap clings to your body, falling into little rivulets, taking the worst of your grime down the nearby drain. Watching the iridescent bubbles distracts you from the weight of your own words.
You’ve been wanting to ask Jing Yuan this for—
(Weeks, probably, actually, in the time of the Xianzhou Alliance’s calendar. At least you since you saw him nearly lifeless in the grainy cell phone footage.)
Since you have woken and were sleepily led to Jing Yuan’s opulent, resplendent private baths, at least.
From the other side of the screen, Jing Yuan answers, “I feel fine, dear.”
“Physically?”
“I’ve had more than enough time to recover.”
“... Mentally? All over, Jing Yuan.”
You hate asking this, but you know it’s necessary. You’re sure Jing Yuan is being monitored for Mara-onset symptoms; there’s no way he couldn’t be. You don’t see any obvious ones. But, Mara is the most extreme of afflictions.
He laughs again, and you can feel him shaking his head like it can shake off your concern, “I assure you, I’m more than fine. Having to be responsible for so much paperwork again is painful, but doable.”
He’s dodging your question, albeit with less finesse than he normally would.
“Would you blame me if I doubted that answer?”
“No, not at all.”
You sigh and rinse the last of the suds from your body. It’s tedious, this roundabout game with Jing Yuan, but he is rarely forthcoming with personal information. Whether that’s memories of his life before you entered it, political stratagem, or his own mental state— it’sall veiled. You’ve gotten more adept at playing his games, but you truthfully don’t know if you have the energy to try.
You rub your hand over your face. One thing at a time.
You pluck the robe Jing Yuan had supplied from the top of the screen and wrap yourself in the (thin, wispy, objectively indecent) garment. It’s not doing much to cover you at all, as the light, silken fabric clings to the wet curves of your body. You appreciate the attempt at modesty in the same way you appreciate Jing Yuan idling on the other side of the screen.
You feel like a doe on uneven ground still. Jing Yuan probably expects this.
He guides you to the bath, steering into more light-hearted chatter. He tells you what Yanqing has been up to since he has resumed his office, once again asking for swords and seemingly training with a new vigor and intensity. He has been begging the General to spar with him all hours of the day. Or, call back his newfound friends from the Astral Express for a round or two. Qingzu will be taking a much-needed vacation in the coming weeks. Jing Yuan’s carmelias and bluebell astrums have begun to bloom.
You nod along, only half-there.
Jing Yuan eases your robe off your shoulder as he speaks. His voice is low and a bit rough from his own nap. The broad planes of his palms and fingers smooth over your shoulders and peel the fabric down. His thumb worries the marred skin of your forearms.
“We’ll make sure your next meals are particularly hearty. These should heal up quickly, wouldn’t you say?” He coaxes.
You nod, staring at the burns. They’ll be nothing but worn-looking scars in a matter of weeks.
Your robe is slung over a cart, filled with a collection of luxurious bath oils and soaps. Jing Yuan only has a few indulgences— his sprawling, soft bed, his many gardens, and his opulent, resplendent private bath laid with emerald green glass tiles and a sunken tub that could’ve been counted as a pool given its size. You’re grateful for it— though you’ve only used it a handful of times. The General has a habit of taking quick showers, unless he has the better part of the day to lounge in the perfectly-warmed water.
You try not to linger on your own nakedness, though you can feel Jing Yuan surveying you. There must be bruises on your waist from the heavy belt you were wearing. Visible weight loss too. You busy yourself by untying the sash of Jing Yuan’s robe and pulling it from his shoulders. It had already been somewhat open, revealing the marred expanse of his chest. Thin, spidery scars that clearly stretched over most of his body.
Typically, Xianzhou Native bodies heal with little scarring. But, these wounds were carved by a Lord Ravager. You’re unsure if they will follow the same logic.
You will love Jing Yuan, obviously, regardless of any lasting marks. But the thought still makes you sad— something in you aches. You trace the scars leading down from his chest to his softened tummy to the v of his hips. His cock is soft between his legs. It’s too dark in the bath to tell if the scars extend there as well.
“You look troubled.” He says, pausing his stories.
“I worry for you, so much.” You tell him.
Meeting his eyes is difficult. The honey-stone color of them looks darker in the dimly-lit chamber, but you can easily see the crease between his brow. There’s clear concern, perhaps a bit overwritten by his need to conceal his hand.
Perhaps he is too tired himself to be as careful as he usually is.
(Good. If there’s anyone who he can let his guard down around, Aeons, let it be you.)
Jing Yuan helps you into the tub. First, he enters, sliding into the steaming water with a shudder. He extends his hand to you as you take unsure steps onto the slick tiling. The water is the perfect temperature— not too hot, but pleasantly warm in a way that won’t lead to overheating. You hide your body under the water and sink up to your chin and sigh.
It feels heavenly.
Jing Yuan chuckles as you do and smoothes a hand over the top of your head. He’s already reaching for a few bottles on the nearby cart, pouring a few under the steady gurgle of water that flows from a wide tap. It’s entrancing to watch— equally as entrancing is the breadth of Jing Yuan’s shoulder, marred by the scarring. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your stomach knot.
You end up settled with your back pressed to his front, laid in his lap, almost dozing as he massages shampoo into your hair.
“I’m filthy, aren’t I?” You ask.
Jing Yuan hums, “I’ve never seen you this unkempt, no.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He kisses the back of your soapy skull. “You needn’t apologize for anything. I’m not upset with you.”
“... Okay.” You concede. He goes back to dutifully washing your hair, then follows it with conditioner and securing your hair up and out of the water as necessary. His idle talk has stopped, the space filled by the running water and your own breath.
“May I wash yours?” You ask.
“You still have your body, love.”
“I know,” You reply sheepishly. “At least let me get your conditioner in?”
Jing Yuan laughs, and coaxes you to turn with his big hands wrapped around your waist under the waist. You spin his lap, straddling him. It’s a precarious position, but you... missed it. Nudging yourself closer, you lean into him, chest to chest, and deflate.
He laughs, something rich and warm that radiates from his body into your own, “It really is hard work, bathing, isn’t it?”
“No,” You muffle your words into his collarbones. “Just give me a minute.”
“Of course,” His arms wrap firmly around your waist, locking you together. He’s hot— he runs like a furnace even when not in a toasty bath. There’s a bit of sweat dripping down his neck and you’re tempted to lick it away.
Maybe later, for now you bask.
You bask in the fact that Jing Yuan is here, warm and alive. You want to commit him to memory— better than you have. If it forsakes you to Mara in a few decades, you do not care. You had forgotten the softness of his chest, the curve of his waist and the point of his nose. The details of Jing Yuan had become so fuzzy in such a short time. You’re sure Lady Bailu would assert it had something to do with your ‘chronic sleep deprivation’, but you’re not sure if you agree with that potential diagnosis.
Spending too much time attuned to immaterial quantum fields erodes your psyche, probably.
“So deep in thought.” Jing Yuan runs a head down your back. “Take a break to rinse, hm?”
“I haven’t gotten yours in yet, though?”
“We can take our time. Besides, I bathed this morning. This is all for pleasure.”
“... Pleasure, huh?”
Jing Yuan flashes you a grin burgeoning on mischievous, “Yes, pleasure, in whatever form that may come. Is that what’s plaguing you, dear?”
“No, not at all.” You sigh and lean back from him, cupping his cheeks. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Jing Yuan says. His cards are showing— his voice is straining, pitched in a way that indicates he’s sad in his chest. The thing between your ribs aches.
“I was worried.”
“So you have said.” Jing Yuan cajoles you down, slipping your head half in the water to rinse away your conditioner. He suspends you with a single arm. His musculature is obscene.
“How could I not be?” You clench your jaw. “I saw videos of you being taken to the Alchemy Commission— you— you looked—”
Half-dead.
Corpse-like.
Steps from death’s door.
On your way to the grave.
Dead.
Jing Yuan calls your name, rubbing soothing little circles over the small of your waist, “I’m well now, dear.”
“But you almost weren’t.” Your voice breaks. You don’t mean for it to. You tuck yourself into his neck and hide.
You don’t want to cry, but you can feel something welling up from within your guts. It’s the thing you pushed down relentlessly in the bowels of the Luofu. As you tinkered and toiled in the depths of the ship, you never let this ache spill over, lest you drown. Whether that’s in Mara or a less permanent type of suffering, you do not know.
“But I am.” Jing Yuan assures you. “I am here now, aren’t I? Whole and in one piece.”
You know this. You know this. But— You drag your fingernails over his shoulder blades. Jing Yuan shudders as you do.
“It’s hard.”
“I know.”
The hands around you squeeze hard enough to bruise.
“I thought you were going to keel over in the gardens when Yanqing first brought you to me.” Jing Yuan confesses. “I’d been pestering Lady Fu on the hour for any updates about your whereabouts and communications.”
“... I wasn’t communicating with anyone, though.”
“I know.” Jing Yuan has a thread of... contempt to it. “I wish you would have.”
“What could I have said?”
“I’m not sure,” Jing Yuan tangles a hand in your washed hair and tilts your face to meet his. “But, I’m sure you would’ve found the right words.”
He kisses you. Or you kiss him. Who’s to say.
You don’t have the right words— you may never. Certainly not in your mind or on your tongue now. The thing that rises in your throat is carnal and old and writhing— want. Verging on need. You struggle to keep the kiss chaste, closed lips pressed together after so long apart
Perhaps Jing Yuan has a similar depth that’s clawing at his insides.
He tilts his head, dragging you closer. Close as can be. He kisses you in a silently desperate way. You accept his advances and tangle your hands in his hair. Tug him closer and closer and closer.
(Don’t go. Please don’t go. Not yet.)
(Not until we’re both split apart by gingko roots and dappled in noontime sunlight.)
You gasp his name as you break apart for breath, smoothing your thumbs down his cheekbones and jaw. His pupils are blown and desperate.
“Can I touch you?” He asks, always so polite.
“Please—”
Jing Yuan kisses you again, deeper and pulling you into the depths of the bath. His hands trail down to your thighs, squeezing along the way. Calloused and wide, familiar. The feel of them is coming home, you hadn’t realized how much you missed this.
You keen against his lips and Jing Yuan laughs— the gall of that man.
His flips you easily, caging you against the edge of the pool. This way, he has height over you. He looms, casting a flickering shadow in the amber light of the beeswax candles scattered about. You swallow as you watch droplets of water slide down his throat, chest, tummy. His forearms make you feel dizzy.
“May I have you?” He asks, once again. “Not yet— but I don’t want to progress if you’re not feeling fit for it.”
“N-No,” You feel desperate, you sound desperate. Sensitive and clawing, the beast that you buried in the depths of the Luofu crawls out of your throat and wraps itself around you. Tears spring to your eyes. “Please? Just— be slow—”
Jing Yuan must see your eyes water. He softens.
He thumbs over the fragile skin beneath your eyes, as if wiping the stray tear could wipe away the dark circles punched there as well.
“Of course.” He assures you and presses his lips to your forehead.
...
Jing Yuan takes ‘slow’ both seriously and literally. You are both grateful and horribly frustrated by this. You almost regret not telling Jing Yuan to simply bend you over the lip of the bath and fuck you senseless, though Jing Yuan probably would not have granted you that even if you had asked. He loves to savor when he can. Bedding you is no exception— even under more typical circumstances.
And these aren’t typical circumstances.
Perhaps you should’ve known Jing Yuan intended to break you apart and stitch you back together.
He doesn’t escalate things much further in the bath, despite petting down your sides and seeming to always have his lips on you. You wash his hair as you’d ask to, scratching at his scalp and relishing the almost-purr he lets out as he wraps himself around you. When you start to just barely grind in his lap (squirm, more than anything), he is quick to still you with an iron-like hold on your hips, pinning you down and over his thighs.
“Not yet,” He tells you, nipping at your jaw. “Be patient.”
You huff.
Jing Yuan takes charge of finishing washing you, using gentle touch and a soft cloth from your ankles to the crown of your head. His touch lingers, starting some low burning flame low in your gut that you have a feeling won’t be quenched for quite some time.
It’s tortuous. It’s wonderful.
After you towel each other off, he leads you back to his rooms, only in the damp robes and undergarments he’d dutifully remembered to bring along. The silk clings to Jing Yuan’s bulk as he walks beside you. His hand is on your lower back. Little bugs chirp in the courtyard gardens you pass. There’s the gurgle of a fountain. The soft breeze that Luofu always keeps, even on the most temperate days of summer. It’s all so different from the acrid smell of lubricant and the ambient machine hum you had become so used to.
“I’m only on leave, not house arrest, correct?” You ask as you enter his wing, to his bedroom.
He locks the door behind you as you step inside.
“No, no house arrest.” Jing Yuan hums as he strips off his robe. You want to bite him. “You’re free to roam within reason.”
“Does ‘within reason’ include the nursery that outlander keeps in the Exalting Sanctum?”
“Of course. Though I may assign you a chaperone.”
“Really? Would you send Yanqing with me for a quick run to grab a new shrub or two.”
Jing Yuan laughs, something rich and full that rolls over you like a fleeced quilt, “I figured that I would be your chaperone, dear. If you’d allow.”
“... You’re making this sound like a date, General.”
“Am I?” Jing Yuan smiles so honeyed, it makes something in your chest begin to crack. You lay your hands on his bare chest and hold your ear to his chest. He laughs when you do. “I’d like it if it was. If you’d have me.”
“Of course I would.”
You say it so simply.
You want to crawl into his body and live there, and break any spindly seedlings of Mara away with your own two hands.
Jing Yuan kisses you, walking you back into the door. His lips are soft, a bit chapped in a way that’s familiar and comforting. You run a hand up and down his chest, stopping to squish one of his ample pecs. You muffle a laugh into Jing Yuan’s lips as he stutters out a groan. Sweet, sweet man.
“I missed you,” You tell him once more, hoping your words seep past the seam of his lips, down his throat and sink into his guts.
Jing Yuan responds by pressing you into the door, using the warm line of his body to flatten you to the wood. His kiss verges on desperate, tongue insistent at the seam of your lips, hands tugging you close, close, closer. You yield to him, whining as his tongue licks into your mouth, the taste of him so familiar it makes you ache.
You tug at his hair and urge him closer, if that is possible.
His touch is searing as he breaks away, panting, eyes hot. Scalding. His hair is down, drying to a fluffy, untamed mane around his cheeks and shoulders. It’s charming. You thumb over his cheeks with a smile. He leans into your touch while giving you a soft smile.
“The reign you have over me.” He sighs. You don’t get a chance to question him— his thigh slots between your own and your breath catches with the contact.
You haven’t been touched in so long.
You cling to his shoulders and just barely grind on his thigh— as much as his hold on your waist will allow. Jing Yuan’s kisses trail from your lips to over your cheeks and down your throat. He stops at the juncture of your neck and shoulders, nosing into the spot.
“Such a lovely scent,” He hums.
“I-I bet I smelled horrible before, h-huh?” You laugh as he begins to worry a patch of skin. Tender and fragile, perfect for bruising.
“Hm, I wouldn’t say that.” His teeth graze your throat and your head falls back into the door with thud. Jing Yuan shields your skull with his hands a beat later. “You’d be surprised how many times we’ve shared a bed and you’ve reeked of your favorite brand of astral lubricant.”
“Jing Yuan!” You shriek with a laugh and bat at his shoulders. “You’re so cruel.”
“What, do you not like when I tease you?”
“Scoundrel.”
“I think you do like it.”
You missed bantering with him.
“I love you.” You tell him. He knows— you know this. Declarations of love are rare for the long-lived. At least so directly— to care so deeply is to damn yourself to a faster descent into Mara. Though, to live and deprive yourself of companionship and love is to be dead while living. There’s a tender balance between connection and detachment. Both you and Jing Yuan are intimately familiar with it and indulge together.
Jing Yuan bites down on your neck.
It hurts, enough that you jolt and squirm against his body. Jing Yuan holds you into place, sucking on the skin he’d sunk his teeth into. It’s higher on his neck than he’d usually mark you.
(He’s leaving it to be seen. You are Jing Yuan’s, loved and held.)
(What a wretched man.)
By the time he pulls away, you’re panting. Tears have welled up on your lash line. It hurts and it hurts even more when Jing Yuan runs a high thumb over the quickly rising skin. You gasp and Jing Yuan catches your chin in the wide palm of his hand.
You meet his gaze, intense and lighting-vibrant. You’re panting with an open mouth.
“How lovely.” And he presses a kiss to a corner of your mouth.
Jing Yuan guides you to his ridiculously large bed (that could surely fit up to five bodies and a fully grown, white lion.) The sheets have been changed, though you have a feeling they’ll be dirtied again by the morning.
It’s gentle, the way he hastens you higher up the mattress before giving you a light shove into a mound of pillows. You hook your legs around his waist, drawing him as close as he’ll allow.
He massages the meat of your thighs. His gaze goes long, and a bit unfocused, though it's trained on you.
(You wonder what he’s thinking. Jing Yuan is so careful, always so ginger and measured in his steps. Still, there’s a fire in him that you often overlook. It’s the part of him that keeps a lion as a housemate, raised a young boy into a champion, and... you suppose urged him to become the Luofu’s sacrificial lamb in the face of the Destruction.)
You gulp, throat bobbing. Perhaps, you know your General to be a docile, indolent man who prefers naps and board games too much else. Perhaps you have overlooked, or rather forgotten, that you once saw the Divine Foresight as a warlord, given what you’d read about him in the data banks during your studies on the Yuque.
Jing Yuan’s hand drifts down your front. You’re still wearing your robe. Gentle touch peels it away, leaving you in just a pair of thin panties. They’re a soft, breathable fabric— the kind that will surely show your interest in the General. (You have a feeling Jing Yuan picked them out for that reason expressly.)
Jing Yuan presses the pad of his thumb over your clit through the fabric.
You aren’t expecting it, and arch your back with a squeak. His hand lays hot at the innermost part of your thigh, at the fragile skin where it meets your more sensitive parts.
“I-I thought you said you’d go slow.” You squirm.
“Of course.” Jing Yuan remains unmoving, applying just enough pressure to be maddening. “I intend to.”
With how sensitive you are, you need him to be slow. Your body feels tender out of the bath— cooked and raw all at once. Your muscles still ache from your time in the tunnels and you feel... atrophied, if anything.
Jing Yuan must know this, and you trust him to keep his word.
He makes his way home between your thighs, laying over your front to kiss you once more. This is slow, every lick and nip thoughtful, every barely-there roll of his hips is intentional. You’re not sure where he finds the restraint.
You pet through his hair, softening incrementally with each soft touch he gives you.
He pulls away, lips kiss-bruised and cheeks flushed. It’s cute to see the General so disheveled. He’d never look this out of it and starry-eyed outside of this shared bedroom. It makes you giddy. You smother his cheeks with kisses and let him muffle laughter into your skin.
It’s all soul-splitting.
It’s good. The proximity is warm and inviting. You missed the richness of his bed, the scent of incense and the candles you stock the room with. You missed the roll of his muscles underneath your fingertips and the mirthful glint that flashes in his eyes whenever he thinks he has you on the ropes.
You were so scared of losing this.
It hits you in the chest, caving you in, breaking rib and bone. You were so scared— terrified that this dance you’ve become so adept at sharing with Jing Yuan would end before you were ready for it too. You know that you’ll both fall to Mara, it’s inevitable— but you don’t want it to happen yet. You’re not ready for the final flourish. You weren’t ready for Jing Yuan’s cradled, near lifeless body to be the dying gasp of the partnership you had.
You know it's foolish to think this way. Things— all things, are bigger than mortal minds. Paths cut by the stars, brushstrokes by Gods and Aeons that dictate the lives and destiny of all. You are one mind, one body, one tender spirit. You cannot fight against such forces. You will be crushed.
But, for now, you savor. Take each moment and be grateful even as it slips, honey-warm and molten, between your fingers to be replaced by another in the next instant, equally as lovely. Piled on each other. It is enough.
You crush Jing Yuan to you, hard and fast enough that the wind is knocked out of him, “Please be more careful with yourself.”
I can’t lose you just yet.
“I will try.” His voice is a comforting curl over you. He strokes over your temples and forehead.
“N-No, you must.”
You don’t know the words yet for what you want to tell him. The feelings are too large, too unmanageable. Maybe attuning to the Luofu’s quantum fields has rotted your brain. You’ve lost your words.
With some cajoling, you flip Jing Yuan onto his back.
Sitting up over his hips, you set upon his neck. First with soft kisses, just as he gave you, then with nips and stronger bites. Then a chomp below his jaw. His hips crest upwards, his hands spasming around your waist as he holds you steady. The sounds that leak from him make you want to crawl down his throat.
You suck and bite at the mark until you’re satisfied, pulling away to see his pale skin bruising darker by the moment. You admire the popped blood vessels with what must be a dreamy expression on your face.
“Leaving your mark on me?” Jing Yuan asks, breathless and light.
“It’s only fair.” You kiss his smile, sharing it, “Just as you did to me.”
Running your hands down his chest, you frown at the scars.
“What if I joined the Cloud Knights?” You ask him.
Jing Yuan looks a bit... surprised, “Why would you do that? Though, perhaps, giving up your position as Master Calibrator would be reasonable, given recent events.”
“No, no, it’s not that.” You watch the rise and fall of Jing Yuan’s chest with an ache in your own. “If I was stronger, I could protect you, couldn’t I?”
Tears well up in your eyes.
Jing Yuan opens his mouth to speak, you hear his inhale, but you cut him off, “I-If I was a fighter, or just a Diviner, couldn’t I help more? Could I— could I have stopped this? Or stop something horrible from happening in the future? I don’t want to see you hurt like this.”
It should be a bit funny, maybe, that you’re sitting on the waist of the half-hard Divine Foresight, in tears, asking him if you could protect him. A man treated as nearly infallible, a legend amongst people who so rarely have them. He has an eternal spirit gifted by an Aeon tied to his very being.
And yet you, something of a mechanic and professional tinkerer, beg to protect him.
“Oh, [Name].” He says, mournful.
You swallow down a sob and tears drip from your eyes to splatter on his chest. Your vision blurs and you rake your nails down his chest. More raised marks— yours struck on him this time. Jing Yuan winds a hand in your hair, strokes down your neck, tries to calm you but it's hard. You can’t catch yourself.
“I’m s-sorry—” You tell him between gulps of air. You’re supposed to be being bed right now, fucked stupid and more brainless than you already are, but you’re crying and the panic welling up in your chest feels bottomless and vast.
“No apologies,” Jing Yuan hushes you, rubbing away tears. “You’re alright. I understand.”
“You do?” You snort. It’s blotted out by a proper sob that you hide in Jing Yuan’s chest.
“How could I not?” He rubs over your dark circles under your eyes, then the bruising around your hips. The softness around your waist that’s not as plump as it was a month ago. “Do you think I didn’t contend with traversing the tunnels myself and pulling you out by your scruff?”
“... You did?”
He pauses.
“Everyday.” Jing Yuan admits after a moment. Any admission from him is hard earned.
“Oh.”
You blink, and cry all over again because you feel silly and foolish all over. He hushes you, petting over your cheeks, back, hips— anywhere he can reach. He’s good at soothing, knowing what strokes to provide and where.
“Did you think I didn’t worry?”
“I—I don’t know,” You shake your head. “You had more important things to worry about, right? And— and you were recovering.”
“I asked to see you, you know.”
“... I was told.”
“What did you think that meant?”
“... I don’t know.” You don’t. “I just— I was being a coward. I was scared to see the extent of your injuries before the ship was repaired fully. I wanted— I wanted things to be okay. I didn’t want to go to the surface and see that Vidyadhara who saved you.”
“... Dan Heng?”
“Sure.” Lizard. Fucker.
“... You’re jealous?”
“No.” Oh, yes. Entirely. “I just— he got to carry you. I have to join the Cloud Knights and get strong enough to do so myself. It’s only fair. You’re mine, not some lizard’s.”
Jing Yuan looks startled, then his expression softens.
You besmirch the not-quite outlander easily. You do not know him— you’ve heard whispers. Nothing from Jing Yuan, and you do not pry at his past (and he doesn’t pry at yours.) You know they have a connection from before your time on the Luofu. You don’t fully know its nature, but judging by the passing... grief that Jing Yuan wears, if only for a moment, you can guess. Infer.
(Something of lovers. Almost lovers. If nothing else, Jing Yuan cared for him very much.)
“You needn’t worry about Dan Heng, dear,” he gently. says. “Such things are in the past now. He has moved onto a different shore, and is quite happy on the Astral Express.”
“... He’s not coming to steal you?”
“No,” he laughs, looking mournful again. “I’m certain he has no interest in such things.”
He speaks so sadly. Not heartbroken, it’s not that fresh. He speaks through a wound with a type of melancholy that resonates in your chest like a minor chord. You resist the urge to say, ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
“Do you wish he would?”
Jing Yuan pauses.
“No.” He shakes his head, “Not anymore. We have both grown.”
And he pets over your cheek before kissing you. You know he’s telling you the truth.
...
Jing Yuan does not allow haste, and neither do you. Perhaps, you both are feeling fragile. You keep breaking each other open, only to help the other reassemble their pieces a moment later.
Jing Yuan enjoys savoring physical contact, regardless of circumstance or propriety. He steals touches in public in a way that’s indulgent, but never overt. He licks into your mouth with the pace like cooling honey. Each does is meant to brand. You’re meant to feel it, feel him, for as long as the moment will allow. He savors you with hitches of his own breath, a desperation of his own bubbling under his surface.
You can be a bit shy when he truly gluts himself this way. It’s so overt. It tears something in you, and reveals a squishy, softer center that you’re anxious to show anyone. Even a lover like Jing Yuan who has shown you time and time again there is nothing to fear, other than his own foolhardy decisions.
Jing Yuan probably likes it when he gets to be this slow. Peeling back layer after layer of you, forcing you to luxuriate in the unfamiliar warmth, and be reminded that he is there and sturdy.
Jing Yuan is laid between your thighs, your legs over his shoulder. His thick forearm is braced across your navel, your hand held in his. Your fingers are intertwined. His other hand pets at the back of your thighs as you shudder.
You’re sensitive.
Jing Yuan eats your cunt with the pace of a man who has nothing to lose, no phases of the moon to observe, and something to prove. He laps at your center, squeezing your hand with each jolt of your hips against his mouth.
The stroke of his tongue is slow and unhurried. He’s enjoying himself, savoring your taste, humming and groaning when you inadvertently grind against his mouth. During a more routine fuck, Jing Yuan enjoys when you anchor yourself with a grip in his hair and fuck his face. Any impulse you could have to indulge in such a way tonight is quelled. His grip is unyielding on your hand. Your free hand is tangled in the sheets, occasionally shakily pushing Jing Yuan’s mane away from his forehead so you can watch him tongue fuck you with the pace of the lazy, sunbathing cat.
You drop your head to the nest of pillows behind you with a groan and throw your arm over your eyes.
Jing Yuan chuckles against your cunt and flicks his tongue over your clit. He sucks and you want to sob. He hasn’t let you built up to any release— it’s long form teasing, it’s torture. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs, sticky from your own slick and his saliva. You’re messy.
(This is how Jing Yuan prefers it anyways.)
Jing Yuan had made a point to tease you in your thin panties before putting his mouth on you at all. Stroking over the fabric, barely dipping his fingers under the thin, lace waistband. He kissed your covered pussy until you were almost tearing the sheets in your balled up fists.
Jing Yuan still hasn’t put anything inside of you. You know it will be— tight. Jing Yuan has large hands and a proportionally large cock (that most Xianzhou Alliance gossip forums still undersize). Part of his slowness is necessary.
The tip of a finger teases your hole and you kick at his back in surprise.
“F-Finally giving in?”
“I’m not giving in at all,” Jing Yuan pulls away from your cunt to speak, wet and sloppy around his mouth. Eyes half-lidded and so, so content. “I’ve never had anything other than the intention to open you on my tongue and my fingers. What gave you any other impression?”
“Bastard.”
He nips the apex of your thigh and you yip.
“Yours.”
You smile, stupid and a little love drunk, and stroke his hair, “Mine.”
Jing Yuan’s gaze darkens for a moment— something passes there. A thought you can’t read from him or glean anything from. The headiness of the moment temporarily breaks, and for an instant you think that something is wrong. You almost push yourself off the bed in a fit of concern—
But Jing Yuan begins the slow press of his finger into your cunt.
You gasp and squirm, flinching almost. Jing Yuan bears his weight on your waist and keeps you in place as you do, intently watching your expression and parted, wet lips. You’re flayed. It’s just a finger, but it feels big. His fingers are big— a bit calloused, but softer than you’d think.
As he sinks the digit into you, you pant. He kisses your clit, encouraging you to open up for him, murmuring little words of praise that sit in your brain pleasantly but are hard to make distinct. You go slack into the mound of pillows as his mouth returns to your cunt, the single finger fully inside you, resting as you tremble.
With a suck to your clit, he crooks the finger up.
It feels good. The spot is tender. Jing Yuan knows just where to apply pressure, the pace and angle are so, so good. He’s memorized this part of you. A month apart isn’t going to remove that knowledge.
He teases you like this— never letting you rise too close to release. The roiling tendrils of arousal in your gut stay there, like stoked embers without tinder to light anew. You take it— you take what he gives you. You relish each touch, lick, and kiss.
“Jing Yuan—” You gasp his name as he removes the single finger to begin to stretch you with two.
Two is— it’s a lot. Normally, it wouldn’t be. Maybe, you’d beg for more, and beg for more faster. But now, two stings and aches on your insides. You claw at his hair and whine in the back of your throat. Jing Yuan hushes you and spits on his fingers, the extra bit of lubrication helping somewhat, but you’re tight and wound.
“Are you alright?” Jing Yuan asks as he massages the most sensitive spot in your cunt. He asks genuinely, not as a tease.
“‘S tight,” You squeeze out, wiggling your hips.
“Am I being gentle enough?”
“Uh-huh,” You pet over his forehead. “Thank you?”
“Of course.” Jing Yuan chuckles. “Does it feel good?’
“Y-Yeah,” You whine as Jing Yuan curls his fingers, thumb pressed against your clit and rolling the pearl of itl. “I-It’s unfair.”
“What’s unfair?”
“That you make me feel s-so good,” You don’t know how else to articulate it. The feral thing in your chest crawls over your body once more, and jerks your hips for more of his touch. You urge his fingers deep, wordlessly beg for more pressure against your cunt.
“You’re so sweet,” Jing Yuan coos, rising to his knees and taking one of your legs with him. Your middle falls open. It feels... vulnerable. You feel exposed and sliced. Your stomach churns for a moment. You nearly ask Jing Yuan to stop.
(Except, Jing Yuan has fucked you enough times to know that you don’t enjoy the physical vulnerability of your sensitive core. It sets you off. He knows that you prefer to cuddle with his massive hand against your belly. He knows you even wear clothes that provide some protection, billowing fabrics and belts. You’re a sensitive thing.)
He slides his broad hand over your belly, and presses down as he leisurely pumps his fingers in and out of your core. The pressure of it burns— scalds you and your arousal feels white hot. He’s prodding you from the inside and the outside, and you feel something bubbling up.
“You’re close,” Jing Yuan says with a catlike smile. “Would you like to come?”
“P-Please—”
Jing Yuan hums, slowing, almost ruining the impending crest, but clicks his tongue and continues. It’s a farce, a little game he’s playing, and much to your (enjoyed) frustration, you’re his other player.
“I would love to hear you beg,” Jing Yuan croons, leaning over your form, bending your leg at an angle that is unfair in all regards. “But, I’d also like to be kind tonight. I think you deserve it— you need it, don’t you?”
“I—” You do. His hand quickens and with his other, he braces behind one of your knees. He ducks down to retake his place between your thighs, eating your cunt with a persistence and vigor that has your eyes roll back in your head. He drills your insides with a deep, steady rhythm that. Maybe could get you pregnant.
Who's to say.
“I’m—” You gasp, ready to beg regardless of what Jing Yuan wants or expects from you. You want to give him everything.
“That’s it. Let go.” He beckons you and you break.
Your orgasm slams into you. The teasing and playful edging made you sensitive and like a livewire. When you finally cum, you choke on your own breath, eyes rolling back into your head, and you shove your face into a pillow to muffle the half-sobbed moans that spill from your lips out of your control.
Jing Yuan continues his ministrations through it. Dutifully. Unyielding, even as you twitch with oversensitivity and wisps of exhaustion.
He gently lowers your trembling leg with a sweet smile. He pets you like a cat.
“You’re beautiful.” He says, softened in a way you only get to see.
“Thank you.” Your words slur as he settles beside you, tucking next to you.
He’s hard— so hard that there’s a wet patch on his bottoms from pooling pre. You can feel the length of him against your thigh, and you reach for him. You should really grab some oil—
Jing Yuan stops you with a gentle hand on your wrist.
“Slow, remember?” He reminds you with a grin that is mischievous. “Let’s take a break, just for a moment.”
“Are you sure?” You look down.
The bulge of him makes your mouth water.
“Entirely.” He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a reverent kiss to your wrist. “How about a quick snack, hm? I can fetch some fruit to cut.”
“... That would be nice.”
“Would you like peaches?”
“P-Please.” Your voice is watery and small. Jing Yuan looks smitten to hear the tone. “... Meldberries too? And apples?”
“Of course,” Jing Yuan looks happy. Relieved. Deflated in a way that makes you realize that he had been so tense before. Since you met him in the gardens, haggard and exhausted.
(You’re in his bed, sated and watery and being taken care of.)
“Can I come to the kitchen with you?”
“Are you sure you can walk?” Jing Yuan teases, thumbing at your trembling inner thigh, littered with fresh bruises.
“I can now—” you huff, playfully indignant. “We should bring some back. For... later. When I can’t walk. Hopefully.”
“Hopefully?” Jing Yuan tilts his head, eyes half-lidded and amused.
“Oh, don’t act so innocent!” You laugh and headbutt him lightly. If you had more energy, you’d play fight with him and ruffle the sheets up more than they already are. “I’m sure you’d like me immobile by the time you and your ridiculous cock are through with me.”
“... Ridiculous cock?” Jing Yuan can’t hide the laughter in his voice, or the flush on his cheeks. “So cruel.”
“I— I forgot how big it is.”
“I’m still covered, dearest.”
You gesture, panicked, below the covers to the bulge and still growing wet spot, “Your dick is close to the size of my forearm, Jing Yuan. I can see it without... seeing it.”
“You’re so complimentary.” He practically giggles. “So sweet. I had forgotten how sweet orgasm makes you. Or, is this your fatigue talking?”
“... Both? I missed you.” You say, using your un-held hand to pat Jing Yuan’s covered cock with a smile. “Missed this too.”
Jing Yuan almost squeaks at the unexpected contact. He apparently is just as sensitive as you. He hides his light blush in your neck, and you can’t help but laugh, and think about how sweet the peaches will be when cut by your lover’s hands and shared from the same plate.
...
Jing Yuan keeps his word. The early evening stretches into late evening, every touch and sensation coaxed and unhurried. Slow-stretched sugar, lest it shatters.
In the kitchen, Jing Yuan cuts you a plate of peaches while you rest on his lap, watching the hypnotic carving of his knife with half-lidded eyes. He feeds you slices on a small fruit fork while sending off a message or two from his jade abacus. He carries half a dozen other fruits back to his bedroom and prods you for a more substantial meal order at some point.
You finish off the last few slices while draped in his robe, dazed from your previous high. You feel— out of it. Raw and scraped out. Not much different from how you felt during your time in the utility tunnels, but instead of feverishly working, you’re in the warmly light room of your lover. His warm hand is splayed on the small of your back, rubbing little circles.
You want to ask him:
“How do you do this?”
And Jing Yuan, mirthful, would say:
“Do what?”
And you would say:
“This.”
This:
The way your mind resists fullness, empty by familiar nature. You’ve been cored, like the apple Jing Yuan dutifully cut and fed to you. Your thighs continue to shake. You’re bruised, marked, all his, in a way that cows and strokes the feral part of your mind still half-convinced this is all an elaborate illusion.
How could any of this be a fabrication? When Jing Yuan is so warm behind you, happy to bask in your presence while you bask in his. Jing Yuan’s contentment is infectious, it always is— but so quickly, he has stripped you of your ability to parry it. You can’t hold concern. You can barely hold your body upright. You want to fall into him, ask to take more, and hold him until you simply can’t anymore.
You do not ask Jing Yuan how he undoes you. Predicting the conversation seems— easy. Too easy. (Probably because calibrating a machine meant to sustain a civilization for weeks on end does damage that’s yet to be fully healed. Prediction is a symptom of overuse, divination a side effect. A cumbersome one.) You can imagine the way Jing Yuan would dance with his words, effortlessly sparring in a way that you simply couldn’t keep up with. You are already disarmed. You need his candor, and nothing is more honest than the General’s body.
“Come here.” Jing Yuan beckons you into the sheets to lay with him properly.
(It’s uncanny how he can predict your needs like a diviner himself.)
You follow his direction and let him tug you into his side. Your cheek rests over his chest, soft and a little rounder than it was when you first met him. He’s gained weight since then— which is good. He’s always been bulky under his uniform and regalia, toned muscle from centuries of training and sparring. But there wasn’t much else to him— he used to skip meals if it was too inconvenient to eat. If you were sharing a plate, he’d offer you a larger portion.
It was something so slightly self-deprecating. At first, you hadn’t noticed it. Jing Yuan is not a proud man, he is keen and clever in all regards— but his ego has stayed in check for as long as he’s been Arbiter-General. He commits this quiet act of self-harm, so miniscule that most wouldn’t bat an eye. His lack of appetite was a manifestation of some burden— as he will continue to live and slowly waste away, why should his body not as well?
You’d like to think you’d broken him of his destructive eating habits. Or, at least contributed. Warm meals, arm-in-arm snacking on street foods at night. Vendors are always happy to give the Divine Foresight a free treat, even if he offers them strales every time. He eats well around you, and you know it extends farther. He takes lunches with Yanqing at least once a week. There’s a stash of homemade honey oats and dried apricots stowed in his desk.
You are glad he eats. That he is full.
You appreciate the feel of him under your fingertips, how he has softened and grown a bit less worn during his own leave. He deserves a vacation. Maybe, you’ll sit on his cock and beg him to fucking retire with the promise you’ll be happy to stay that way for as long as he pleases if he does. Anything to keep him this lax and soft. You want to commit it to memory, but you still feel fuzzy.
“Enjoying yourself?” He laughs as he speaks, busying himself with the tacky skin on the nape of your neck. He pets you there.
“Yes.” You grab his chest, thumbing dangerously close to his nipple. “You feel nice.”
“I’m glad.” Jing Yuan says, tone curling and smitten. You feel drunk with it. He hums. “You seem a bit lost. May I guide you back here?”
“I don’t think I am.” You pout. “I’m here.”
“Are you sure?”
“... Fairly sure.”
“May I try anyway?” Jing Yuan asks. “It would make me very happy too.”
There’s no harm to it, really.
“I’ll be good.” He adds and holds your wrist so tenderly in his palm. “I’ll be gentle with you.”
Jing Yuan drags the thin skin of your wrist over his lips, kissing the flesh as he does. It’s reverent, slow as he promised. He peeks up at you as he does, a curtain of his silver hair almost obscuring the warm gold of his eyes. There’s want there, so caramelized that it makes you ache.
Jing Yuan rolls you, so that he’s above you, sitting over your hips. It’s— not too heavy. The weight of him is comforting if nothing else. The heat of him is grounding as he hovers over you, nosing at your jaw, nipping bruised skin. He licks the brutal bite he left earlier and you yip. You don’t have it in you to chastise him for it— you— you maybe like it too much to do so.
Like this, it’s easier to notice how Jing Yuan wants. How his hand is sliding between over your sternum, between your breasts, down the soft line of your belly and navel, and back up again. It’s slow, radiating a yearning that sinks down into your organs heat from a hearth. He thumbs over the line of your throat and kisses you.
He’s more insistent now, licking into your mouth immediately, keeping his rhythm slow and actions drawn out.
Jing Yuan pulls back just enough to speak, warm breath over your lips, “You’re doing so well.”
You feel warm in your cheeks and tug him closer. If only you burrow in his flesh bones, flush the marrow out to replace it with yourself. You’d do it if it meant keeping him upright for longer.
“I’m right here.” Jing Yuan hushes you, gathering your wrists in one hand. You hadn’t realized desperate little keens were leaking from your throat, soaking the room. Jing Yuan doesn’t seem to mind. “No need to fuss. You’re alright.”
“You’re sure?” You ask, you feel out of your body.
Jing Yuan knows this and he tethers you to him with a kiss and firm touch, “I’m sure. You trust me, don’t you?”
“So much,” you admit.
Jing Yuan looks down at your softly, expression beginning to shatter. He is a difficult man to work with— he wears many faces, several hats, and speaks in riddles more often than not. To receive his honesty is— a fucking gift. You want to hold it in your hands and swallow it. His hair falls over his face as he peers down at you, thumbing over the lines of your throat.
“You’re so good.” He says gently, quiet. Like it’s a secret for the two of you. “You’d do anything I’d ask you to right now, wouldn’t you?”
You nod, then think about what he asked. You still would. Probably. Maybe give him some grief along the way, “As long as you’re not too mean about it.”
“Oh?” He teases. He teases, even now. Even when your core is exposed and you’re bare and he’s stalling despite being hard against your thigh. “You’re still so sweet when I’m a bit mean. I think you enjoy it.”
A broken, nearly-pathetic noise drips from your lips. You clutch at his arms and try to bury your face in the sheets. Your face feels so warm, it's making you dizzy.
“No need to be shy,” he sounds smitten, a smile bleeding into his tone. He kisses you with it, again and again until you’re breathless and stupid once more. He pulls back until you’re nose to nose, hand drifting to the apex of your thighs.
You squirm, bucking your hips, urging him closer.
“Patience, love, I’ll give you what you need.” He tells you and kisses the corner of your mouth. You believe him.
Jing Yuan settles himself between your thighs, holding them open with his own. He is not a small man, and it leaves you very exposed. More exposed than you would like, and it makes something in you writhe. Jing Yuan hushes you, soothes you as he’s so good at doing as he drenches his fingers in oil.
(The first time you fucked, you did not do this step. Oil and any type of lubricant was skipped, and you paid the price the next morning with a bit of light bleeding and an ache that would send Jing Yuan to the Alchemy Commission to fetch some specialty painkillers. He was very apologetic the morning after, guilt-ridden even. At some point, he started carrying little vials on his person and insisting lubricant be used regardless of how impromptu of a lay it was.)
(That is all to say that Jing Yuan’s cock is huge and has the capability to break you.)
He presses a finger into you— it goes in easily, slides with the aid of lubricant and your own slick.
“Oh,” Jing Yuan breathes, gaze drifting from your parted lips to the finger he sinks into you. “You’re so wet.”
You want to be snarky. Of course you are, he’s already had you on his tongue earlier in the day— now, he’s been teasing you, playing with you, and being sweet with you. How could you not be? It’s the only natural response to your lover treating you in such a way.
However, you do not get a chance to show him any sass as he crooks his finger upwards and rubs the pad of his thumb in a familiar pattern, little circles over your clit. A gasping moan spills from your lips and Jing Yuan holds you down with his free hand on your hips. He pets you when you shake and yearn for more too quickly.
“‘S okay?” You ask.
“Very.” Jing Yuan smiles, beaming, almost purring. “I’ll tell you if it isn’t.”
“Okay.” You nod, feeling wrung out already. Beads of sweat rise between your breasts and drip down your skin.
Jing Yuan must notice too, as he ducks forward to lick a firm strip over your tacky skin, groaning as he does before moving to one of your nipples. He kisses around the bud, nips just enough to make you fuss, before wrapping his lips around it. He bites, sucks, and groans into you as he does.
You pet through his hair, scrapping your nails down his neck and back. Marking him however you can.
Jing Yuan pulls away from you, panting, and kisses you hard on the mouth. It’s a clash, really. Harsher and more desperate than he usually would give you. He’s usually not this messy, but your teeth clack together awkwardly and you swallow around the discomfort. Jing Yuan is quick to correct himself, deepening the kiss more sweetly as if to apologize.
He slips a second finger inside your cunt, next to the first, drenching your hole in slick and lube. It’s— messy. It is wet. The sound is obscene, even if Jing Yuan is being slow and gentle with your most delicate parts. Arousal pools in your gut, and want makes you feel like a sinking puddle, spreading out over the sheets like you’re going to absorb into Jing Yuan’s lavish mattress.
You open up for him, relax with the contact and let him take care of you as he wishes.
He presses another finger into you— this one stings, despite the preparation and slick drenching you down your thighs and the sheets below you. He moves slowly, kissing your cheeks and hushing you when you whine.
“I’ve got you,” He smiles, and drags his lips over your cheeks. It’s reassuring, and something blooms from the base of your spine up to your throat. He gives you playfully chomp over the apple of one and you let out a little laugh. It bubbles up out of you and Jing Yuan shares it with his own deeper one.
He fans out his fingers inside you, slowly, with each thrust. It’s measured, practiced. Despite the time apart.
Jing Yuan is hard against your leg. You can feel him, though Jing Yuan is still wearing his own robe and silks which simply will not do. Tugging, you drag it off him, and push yourself half up. You attempt to reach for his cock, you want it— him. But Jing Yuan stills his fingers inside you, clicks his tongue, and knocks you back into the mattress with a gentle (albeit firm) shove.
“Not yet.” He scolds, though there’s no bark behind it.
You frown. “But I want you.”
“And what if I want you too?” Jing Yuan asks.
It’s something he’s never raised directly before.
He’s made such a fact known, however. You know he wants you. Jing Yuan was happy to complete a number of courting gestures, prior to becoming something of an official couple. He keeps you close, he is kind to you, he even tells you a secret or two. He fucks you like he loves you and wants you close. He leaves marks all of you, from your neck, all the way down to even your ankles and calves on occasion. He shares drinks with you in his gardens, offers you a place in his bed and somewhere in his heart, even if you’re still (after decades) understanding where that is.
But, so rarely does he state that he wants you so plainly.
Want is dangerous. Yearning and all. Yearning must be a passing emotion if one is to resist Mara. If anything, Mara is accumulated and rotting yearning.
Jing Yuan has lived a long life due to how he copes with yearning.
To admit to it— it is an act of vulnerability. To admit a weakness, a thing that could tear him full of undying roots and strike him down. It is the danger of the Divine Foresight finding a partner and becoming coupled. It invites such feelings.
You had assumed Jing Yuan hadn’t entertained such notions directly. To give them time in his mind could bring rumination. Which— could easily go sour.
“... You want me?”
Jing Yuan tilts his head cutely, “Yes, of course. Was that not obvious?”
“I inferred,” You feel sticky and sloppy as Jing Yuan withdraws his fingers.
He climbs off the bed, only for a moment. He shucks off the last of his clothing, leaving him bare. Candle light casts shadows over the contours of him. His cock looks— painfully hard. As he climbs back into bed, it bobs, swollen and dark red at the head. Almost purpling. It’s slick with pre that is still beading from his slit.
“... Can I suck you off?” You ask, a bit entranced. “Please?”
“Not now,” He tells you with a laugh. “Later, if you ask me nicely again.”
“Okay.” You can do that.
Jing Yuan huffs out another laugh with a shake of his head, “Insatiable thing.”
“I missed you.” You tell him. Your voice is watery. Your own admission.
Jing Yuan flips you by your midsection, coaxing you to raise your hips enough to sandwich a few silk pillows between your hips and the bed. His hands linger over the bruises on your hips, then slide down the swell of your ass to the backs of your thighs. He pets you until you’re relaxed, boneless.
He parts from you over for a moment, rummaging through a nearby cupboard for oil. You hear him slick his cock. The sound makes you squeeze your thighs together and bury your face in the sheets.
Jing Yuan surprises you by pressing a finger into you from behind. A sound rips from your throat as he finds your sweet spots, adding another finger quickly, then a third. You’re drenched between your thighs, so slick you feel drunk. Jing Yuan positions your legs a little wider and settles between them.
“D-Don’t aggravate your injury,” You remember, beginning to push yourself up. A moment of lucidity as you can sense Jing Yuan lining him up. “Not on my account.”
“I won’t.” He promises, running a hand down your back from tailbone to nape to coax you back against the mattress. He presses a kiss to the base of your spine. “Always so caring and diligent.”
“I—” You cut yourself off as the head of his cock teases your folds. Rubbing. “Jing Yuan—”
“I want you.” Jing Yuan tells you, doubling back, bumping against your clit as you moan.
“Y-You can have me,” You want to see his face, rub his cheeks. “You do have me. You’re mine and I’m yours.”
Damning yourselves.
Can’t the General be selfish in lieu of his looming retirement? Can’t the Master Calibrator enjoy the company of others, and not the mechanical hum of a God Ship?
“I have you?” Jing Yuan asks, beginning to push into you.
You can’t reply— you can’t. Despite the prep, and oil, and arousal all together, it’s still tight. Jing Yuan is thick enough that it’s outlandish, and you’re feeling every inch of that girth as he enters you. You clutch your balled-up hands in the soft sheets near your head. You try to keep your breathing even but it’s hard. Jing Yuan pets down your sides, leaning over your back, whispering little words of praise and encouragement as you take him.
“You’re so lovely. Look how well you’re doing.”
“You’re going to take all of me.”
“I’ll be gentle. I’ll be good to you.”
He is, and you don’t mean to cry, you don’t, but you do when he bottoms out, and you can feel him so, so deep, it’s in your throat. The heat of him inside you is searing. You’re changed. You’re being carved out by him anew, and he wants you.
“You h-have me,” You tell him. You scrambled a hand behind you, shaking as you brace yourself against the bed. You manage to get a handful of his head and drag him down over your back. “Jing Yuan, please have me.”
You’ll beg for it; shame has been lost.
You want to stay here. In his bed. By his side. You want him to want the same with you. Not with old flames. You don’t want Jing Yuan to deny himself pleasure in the face of duty, as if the two cannot exist. As if rules cannot be bent or changed by the hand that rules them or the Calibrator who tweaks the vessel that you both live on. Things change. It is the nature of life and starshine.
Even with the Xianzhou Natives' lifetime, they are bound to grow, endlessly.
Jing Yuan pauses above you, stills so deep in you. You’re worried for a moment you’ve crossed a line. That your desperation has spurred him away, rather than closer. It terrifies you. It grips you so hard that it feels like your heart could shatter to pieces.
(Your worry is misplaced.)
Jing Yuan lets out a shuddering sigh, pulling out almost completely. You panic (“no, no, no, don’t, ‘M sorry”) and nearly flip over to try and recover the situation. However— you’re mistaken.
He groans as he slams back into you, curling over your back, gathering you up in his arms, and rolling his hips. He’s scraping the insides of you. You’re raw.
“N-No apologies,” His voice breaks. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Y—You offer me yourself so sweetly. I only feel guilty that—”
He cuts himself off with another deep thrust that punches a broken sound out of you. Tears begin to drip down your cheeks.
“No guilt—”
“I feel guilty,” Jing Yuan punctuates his words with a cant of his hips that has you going slack in his arms, ragdolled by pleasure, “that you think you must beg to be had. I feel immensely guilty that you could have any doubt toward me as a lover.”
He guides you back down to the bed, steadying himself with a searing palm on the back of your neck and a hand leveraged on your lower back.
You really won’t be able to walk tomorrow.
“I don’t doubt y-you like that.”
(It’s less about some nebulous insecurity you keep as his lover, and more about the solid knowledge that Jing Yuan is so careful with his connections. You cannot believe yourself to be the exception.)
(Sometimes, you doubt that he has any tether to anyone. Like he’s waiting to die. No matter how fond he is of you, that this will supersede it. It damns his well being. It damns the future. But, how steadfast does it make the present? You’d like to think its enough for him to keep you as company due to legitimate desire and care, rather than balming of some wound as your insecurities tell you it could be.)
In retrospect, you’ll feel foolish for thinking so little of Jing Yuan’s feelings toward you.
He grabs you by your cheeks in one hand, craning your neck back to face him the best you can on your tummy. He levels his face with yours, nose to nose. Eyes alight. He looks... almost angry. Jaw tight, seated and still inside you to the hilt. You’re full— bursting at the seams, but you have enough lucidity to focus your vision and see how pained he looks. Pained and enraptured, loving and loved. He’s bound up with it, the same way that you are.
“If I could, I would keep you in this bed. If not this bed, then the gardens I would follow you into your tunnels and learn the harmonies and chords you know, even if I couldn’t keep a tune. I would keep you full like this. I would cut you stone fruit whenever you’d like something sweet.”
It’s a declaration. It might as well be a proposal.
You don’t get a chance to reply. Your breath is knocked out of you, like every thought and fear and insecurity that you’ve been shouldering. Jing Yuan fucks you with the full force of his hips, thighs bracketed with your own. It hurts— barely. Enough that you’ll feel it for days and carry a limp for just as long.
His pace is quick and deep. He’s not chasing— he’s creating. Marking a spot inside you that’s just for him. Only him. It makes you feel giddy and stupid and you laugh through the tears streaming down your cheeks. It’s— all a lot. Jing Yuan keeps you tucked so close, pressing you into the silks sheets. He breathes through his mouth, panting against the back of your neck , sucking more marks into the skin, darkening the preexisting ones. Claiming, in a way that feels different from the hickeys he had given you in the past.
You sob as he tilts your hips up. He drills downward, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. You’re— you’re going to explode. The friction of the pillows below your hips isn’t enough to come,but Jing Yuan drilling your insides is getting you close to something. It feels like a peak you’re not meant to climb, and you sob at the sensation. Like you’re free falling.
Jing Yuan holds you closer, wrapping an arm around your midsection, and the feeling disappears.
He sneaks a hand to your cunt. First he feels where you’re joined. The sticky, sloppy mess of pre, slick and lube that you’ve made. You’ll need another bath. Maybe two. He runs gentle fingers along the seam of your cunt, where he’s slowed his thrusts so he can feel where you’re practically tethered together.
“Taking me so well,” Jing Yuan is breathless. He rubs your clit, bracing himself over your front, and fucks you so wonderfully that your vision begins to darken at the edges.
It’s unfair how quickly he gets you to your peak, touching you like this. He knows your body, and you squeeze down around him with a cry as you crest. Your cunt clamps down as the knots in your gut unfurl. You jolt back with the sensation, overwhelming and all consuming. Jing Yuan moans behind you, a beautiful sound you want to have so committed to memory so that even when you’re riddled with mara, you’ll remember the sound.
Jing Yuan doesn’t chase his relief, he lays over your back like a blanket as you shake through the aftershocks of your orgasm and fucks you slow and deep. He only hastens when you let out a warbling little sound, something hurt from your bruised insides making themselves known.
He quiets you with a soft, dragged out whisper of praise. He thrusts harder— faster— and moments later there’s a gush of warmth in your guts that makes your eyes roll back into your head. You want to come again, and you can’t help the temptation to reach down and get off, just once— more.
Jing Yuan nearly growls as you do. He bats your hand away, flips you so you’re belly up. Your hips are raised on the mound of pillows and it hits you what he intends to do.
To have both of you.
He throws your legs over his shoulders. Your thighs shake around his cheeks as he gives them a quick kiss, before diving into his meal. He moans and groans into your cunt, out of breath from fucking you still, but no-less diligent. He fucks his cum back into your with a thick finger for a few thrust, just barely— you’ll be too sore and he knows it.
He eats his release from your cunt. It’s— debauched. It’s so, so much and you can’t do anything other than writhe and tug at his hair. Your hips hurt, but you still find it in you to grind against his mouth. It’s— one of his favorite things. He likes to be used sometimes. This is one of his favorite flavors, when his tongue is inside of you and you drag him closer by his hair and let the friction bring you to orgasm, however long it takes.
You, truthfully, do not have much left in your body to chase this.
Jing Yuan must know this, or he is feeling similarly— or both. Probably both. You’re too floaty and gone to tell. You’re still crying as he moves to your clit, licks and sucks until you fall apart on his tongue once more, full and sated with him.
Both had by each other.
You fall into the bed sheets as you finish, dragging a sweaty Jing Yuan closer. So close. He keeps you closer still, over his chest, cheek pillows on the swell of his pec (breast) and a dusting of silver hair. You’re shaking from the high— so is he. You feel like you’re going to fall into a million pieces.
(It reminds you, briefly, of how it felt when you first dropped into the utility tunnels, after the calibration apprentice went Mara-Struck. How you felt so— alone— gone. How fragile you felt sprinting through the tunnels with the knowledge that your world was being torn apart by forces beyond your control.)
(You felt small and helpless.)
The feeling is quickly extinguished— or maybe made to feel pleasurable. Jing Yuan practically purrs underneath you, petting you, stroking over your new bruises and marks. You keep a hand buried in his hair, petting over his cheeks. Staying lucid— is hard. The last thing you clearly remember was hopelessly fond, adoring, gold eyes, gazing back at you so lovingly, that they could remake you.
Perhaps, they already have.
It’s sometime later, in one of Jing Yuan’s gardens. This one is nestled, lush, in the large courtyard in the center of his home. A pond gurgles with the bubble of fat fish that swim near the surface of the water. You fed them earlier and they’re still looping, searching for an extra snack.
You lay some distance away from the pond on a blanket that Jing Yuan has designated as your ‘outside blanket’ as it is particularly large (tall enough for him to sprawl out on and more than wide enough to fit the both of you) and thick. Your head is pillowed on Jing Yuan’s arm as he is curled toward you, legs tangled with your own. It’s late afternoon, and the General is taking one of his beloved naps. You’ve taken to combing a hand through his hair, scratching along his scalp and behind his ear and contenting yourself with the little sighs and almost-purrs he lets you.
It is good to rest.
Your leave has, overall, been quite restful. Mostly. Aside from the times that Jing Yuan cannot keep his hands of you and you end up fucking whereever is convenient before retiring to your (now shared) bedroom. The bouts leave you tired and worn, but in a satisfying way. Jing Yuan has been particularly dutiful and attentive post-fuck, always handing you chilled water to sip and offering a treat. Sometimes a fruit or a candy he has apparently been stashing away. He gives you as many kisses as you can bear, and you return the gesture as much as you’re able.
Jing Yuan has become... handiser. Needier. You’d say clingier, but as much as he tends to cling when he’s around his estate with you, it never feels overbearing. He indulges in closeness with you in a way that feels shameless in the best way.
It’s the same in public. You’ve gone to the night markets, once or twice to indulge in street foods, and Jing Yuan is equally as touchy, albeit it’s more subtle. A hand on your lower back, standing behind you while he orders with an arm wrapped around your waist. You hold hands when you walk, or you loop an arm through his elbow if it's particularly crowded. He did these things before, but they seem more... necessary. Like he has to keep you close. The contact he shares with you is firmer. Richer, even. He’s always been intentional with you, it's his nature, but now his actions have taken on a different shape. Intentionally showing want, rather than showing closeness.
It creates both a softness and an edge to him that you are thoroughly enjoying.
There’s softness in how lax he is next to you, dozing the afternoon away after completing the bare minimum of work for the day. His cheeks are rounder, and a bit rosy. It’s warm today. It’s the softness of skinship, how you’re both seeking out each other’s barest parts, even if it's only for a moment or two of skin-to-skin contact. It’s how his care is so explicit these days.
The edge of it is how the General is anxious, perhaps. It’s a possessive flavor that Jing Yuan has, perhaps, always has, but is simply more apparent now. His touches in public flaunt the fact that you’re clearly a couple, nevermind what gossip magazines and street whisperers will say. It’s the consistent marks he leaves on you— those visible hickeys on your neck, down to the dark, sore ones he leaves on your inner thighs and the softness of your stomach. It’s the way he commissioned a set of earrings, one for each of you to wear.
(He had looked a bit melancholy, just for a moment, when he first presented you with them. Like a memory had surfaced but then was quickly let go and set adrift in favor of the present.)
The set is crafted with gold connected with a flat, rectangle of stone that dangles down from it. The stone is red, inlaid with gold veins. Some alloy that was probably mined on an asteroid— a rarity. They’re beautiful. You hardly know what to say when you receive yours; Jing Yuan had presented you the gift while already wearing his.
Marking each other as each other’s.
It’s brazen— and you like it. The beast of feeling that tore you to shreds in the utility tunnels feels far away, lately. Your extended leave has been good and you’re... grateful Jing Yuan has been quite official (and strict) about keeping you away from work.
You run the pad of your thumb under his eye. The skin is delicate, wrinkled just the slightest. It’s a tragedy, for many reasons, that you both are long-lived and cursed with Abundance. You’d like to see the crow’s feet Jing Yuan would have, if his skin did not keep itself so elastic and young.
Apparently awake, Jing Yuan grabs your wrist and brings it to his lip. He sets upon you with a lazy smile. His eyes open, just halfway, and he looks at you, so adoring.
“Are your thoughts entertaining?” Jing Yuan asks, gentle as he holds you closer. “You seem quite lost in them.”
You hum, kissing his jaw with a drag of your lips, “Not lost. Just reflecting.”
Jing Yuan hums himself, nosing into your temple. Then your hairline, where he leaves a line of kisses in his wake. You shudder with the feather-light feeling.
“Would you like to share?” Jing Yuan asks. “Or, perhaps take a rest with me? Though I am very appreciative of the head massage, I do believe you could use a rest. Unless you wish to take a stroll, and turn in early?”
“A stroll sounds lovely in a bit. I don’t mind sharing, though,” you answer.
Jing Yuan smiles against your skin. You wish it could brand you, “I’m listening, whenever you’d like.”
You gather your words for a moment. It takes— a second. A long one. The Dragon Lady says that you’re experiencing some lasting effects from being attuned to the Quantum fields for too long in the wake of the Stellaron Crisis. She seemed confident your impairments would heal but your mind is that of a mortal. It will take time.
Jing Yuan is ever patient with you.
“I suppose I’m grateful,” You tell him. “I am glad I have a space in your life, and I am grateful that you show it to me in the ways that you do. I would be— very sad, if I was not by your side, I think.”
It is a simple way to put something much larger.
Jing Yuan seems to understand regardless.
He takes a deep breath, then squeezes you to his chest. It forces the air from your lungs in a way that makes you light-headed.
“How kind are you.” Jing Yuan sighs, nuzzling into your hair. “To think of me so sweetly, without prompting. I’m very fortunate to have you as a lover. I hope you know that.”
“I try to remind myself.”
“Do I need to remind you more myself?” Jing Yuan asks, his smile turning a bit mischievous. He rolls himself over you, caging you. “I’m happy to.”
“You’ll spoil me!” You laugh and bat at his chest, slipping your arms over his shoulders, locking your hands behind his neck.
“I quite like having you spoiled.” Jing Yuan contends with a cute tilt of his head. “I should resolve to spoil you more, actually. Do you have any ideas on how to do so? I’m happy to listen.”
“Jing Yuan—” You huff with an uncontainable grin. Your heart is going to burst from your chest. You would let it. You’d let Jing Yuan take its place. You practically already have.
“I think,” Jing Yuan whispers in your ear, breath warm and sweet. “I ought to keep you in bed for the afternoon, perhaps pause the plan for a stroll until later in the evening. Starfire flies have been gathering in one of the gardens near the Exalting Sanctum— what do you say to a post-coital jaunt?”
“I mean—” You flush and bump your nose into his cheek, like a cat giving ample affection. “I don’t think I’ll be properly spoiled if I can still walk after you’re through with me.”
“So, I’ll carry you? That’s doable.”
“No— I mean— You can—”
“I’m teasing you,” Jing Yuan murmurs with a tone so sweet and warm, you could melt into the soft blanket and soil below you. “Whatever you’d like. We can decide along the way.”
You smile.
“Yeah,” Your chest feels tight and warm and lovely all at once. Jing Yuan pulls away, and the earring that twins your own dangles, catching the falling sun in its veins of gold. “I’d like to decide along the way with you.”
It means more than this instance, it’s encompassing. To be long-lived and coupled is to tread the shallows of what could be Mara. To wear the mark of another is to dare to swim closer to the roiling beast of Abundance that none of the Xianzhou Natives can truly outrun.
But you think that, perhaps, you and Jing Yuan will be alright until that day, whenever it may be. You will spoil each other, hold each other, and take your steps while extending a patient hand to the other if they’d like to take it. You’ll listen to echoes together and learn to forget them. You’ll harmonize with stardust and Jing Yuan will play his games of many dimensional chess until he (hopefully soon) retires.
The smile that grows on your face is warm like a hearth, honeyed like a spiced tea, and kind. It splits the both of you open, and Jing Yuan kisses you like he can’t help but to do anything else. You don’t lose your grin, and you give it to him against his lips, laughing together as you share breath.
It’s sweet and lovely, you think, as Jing Yuan touches your foreheads together. You have this, and you’ll be happy to have this for as long as Fate and Aeons allow. You think that Jing Yuan will be happy too— with a coveted smile so kind given to you and a bed, shared.
You bask in it— this. The gardens and the heat of him and the warmth in your chest, for however long you’re given.
#lore writes#jing yuan x reader#jing yuan x you#jing yuan reader insert#hsr x reader#cooking complete. meal on the table :'^)#enjoy loves!!
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Hi! I love your writing sm!!🥰 can I request a jealous Nikolai or Fyodor (nsfw pls) it doesn’t matter either one 🙏
jealous – nikolai gogol + fyodor dostoevsky . . . .ᐟ
NSFW CONTENT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
wc: 1.5k
cw: explicit sexual content, gn!reader, language, dirty talk, brief mentions of ownership/belonging, toxic ass men. nikolai: mentions of injury/threats/murder, edging mention, oral (m!receiving), rough facefucking, wrist restraints, cum eating, nicknames (dovey, angel, sweetheart; kolya for him); fyodor: teasing, mild degradation, mild spanking, one religious reference, fingering, penetration, i love yous, nicknames (pretty, my love, whore, милашка/milashka=cutie; fedya, my only/everything for him)
reid: hey anon, thank you so much for the kind words uwu why not both?? inspo for this struck me as hcs/scenario format, hope that's okay <3 this is my first time ever writing for nikolai! he's so insane and he was actually a lot of fun to take a shot at. enjoy!
. . . .ᐟ
i can see NIKOLAI being easily made jealous.
even if you don't mean to provoke it, he's got a screw or two loose enough that his paranoia will get the better of him
and in true nikolai nature, he'll do some unhinged shit in the name of protecting his relationship with you.
he definitely maimed, shot, and mutilated a couple innocent flirters before you could really sit down with him and express how much you...disliked that methodology.
he does not play about you.
he gets better about it further into your relationship - no more murder on your behalf, you tell him, and he can manage that much! with this man, however, the unfortunate soul who fucketh around shall still findeth out.
oh, how he enjoys the look on the handsy stranger's face when he slinks up behind you to curl around your waist and portal-hold the tip of a blade to their chin
likes your reaction even more!
the way you squeeze his arm when you realize it's just your beloved jester behind you -
the blush on your face as you explain to the scum that this is your dear boyfriend (and apologize for the knife pointed at their face) -
the smooch you whip around to press to nikolai's cheek while he withdraws the weapon but never breaks eye contact with the stranger as they back away -
it all works like a charm!
what he loves most, though, comes later...
He's been edging himself with your mouth for god knows how long.
"If other bitches get to hear you talk, it's gonna be with that pretty voice wrecked," Nikolai groans, out of breath. "Feels- ngh, s'fuckin' good."
You can barely take it anymore. The blood's rushing to your head, first of all - it's been hanging off the edge of the bed practically since the minute you got home. Your jaw aches as Nikolai continues to use your throat. Most frustrating, though, is the pulsing heat between your legs that you can't even sate because your lover has bound your wrists up near your chest - all you can do is arch when, off and on, Nikolai reaches down to play with you while he fucks your mouth.
But he's getting needy, you can tell, because he loses himself a bit - he hasn't touched you in a good few minutes and his thrusts are getting greedier. He's long quit letting you come up for air. You think you've run out of tears - all you can do is breathe furiosly through your nose as he holds each side of your head and grunts from his chest as he ruins you.
You claw at him. "So good, dovey," he tells you, "almost done. Keep bein' good f'me- yeah."
You move your tongue how you can, hum around him when you can - eventually your dedication is rewarded when he pulls all the way out and strokes himself frantically over your tongue - and you cough a little, curling up into yourself.
You can hardly help your open-mouthed smile, however, when Nikolai releases the rough grip on your jaw to caress your cheek as he cums in thick spurts across your face. Your lashes flutter, he's moaning - "fuck, angel- angh!" - and you let out the garbled beginnings of a giggle as you lap up what makes it in your mouth.
You feel him scoop his load off your skin before his finger's in your mouth. Immediatley after you suck the rest of him down, he's bending down to kiss you sloppily and uncuff your wrists.
"That's my dovey," he affirms (more to himself than you). He peppers your face with kisses, his messy, snowy bangs brushing your face. "C'mere."
He works you upright just to lay you back down, more comfortably this time, finally and with fervor circling his fingers around your clenching hole.
"Kolya-" you rasp, sore.
"Took me so good, sweetheart," Nikolai shushes you, eyes alight with mania as he starts trailing kisses from your neck to your stomach. "Now that you remember who owns you, 'm gonna show you none of those motherfuckers could make you feel as good as I can."
. . . .ᐟ
oh, demon FYODOR.
i think he's less jealous than he is simply possessive.
he's not super concerned about people flirting with you, doing things for you, checking you out...in fact, he kind of likes watching those things happen! not that he doesn't expect it, you're perfect after all <3
because he knows, as you settle in his arms to whisper about the compliment you received or giggle at the person who offered to pay for your coffee, none of it will ever compare to the sweet words and pure love he showers you with, and he relishes in that fact. they can try anything they want, but you will never belong to anyone but him.
doesn't go needlessly far with expressing his jealousy when it does crop up - he's a tactful man, and he's not going to act out in a way that might put you off like nikolai will
he's patient, too. he's so composed around others. no one expects it - anyone who doesn't know better would assume the idiot who makes a pass at the demon king's beloved would get the whole room aired out in a matter of seconds
on the contrary, fyodor will sit with the closest he can get to a humorous grin on his face while he waits for you to make your way over and kiss him or sit on his lap or hook your arms around his waist
he'll tease you a little about it. "getting some attention?"
if you smile at him reassuringly, lean in, and tell him, "none that truly concerns me," all will be peaceful.
if you tease him back, however - maybe cross your legs away from him and shoot him a smirk and a quick "maybe so" - oh yeah, you're in for it.
He works you up, makes you a mess - then he throws it in your face.
"My gosh, милашка-" He doesn't take the Lord's name in vain even while he's drawing downright sinful noises from your body. "-listen to yourself. Shameless."
Fyodor's a patient man, as mentioned before; he uses it to his advantage in situations like this. He's stretching you out on his lithe fingers, slowly, almost painfully - his other hand traverses your thigh, landing a hard spank to the side of your ass each time you roll your hips unwillingly. You really can't help it either way - you have to watch and feel his pretty, pale fingers disappear into your hole, so it's either squirm and get smacked or whine and get mocked.
You're in a lose-lose situation, it seems. It felt amazing at first, the slow curl of his knuckles inside you, the gentle circling of his wrist, the concentrated sighs that left his rosy lips as he watched you relax into his touch, but now it's just torture. Now, you can only clench furiously and cry out please, please, just a little faster, Fedya, please!
Your eyes water when he finally gives in a little, moving fractionally faster.
"Do you deserve it, my love?" He cocks his head, looking at you as if he really values your opinion on the matter. "Or, my whore - since you're comfortable entertaining the advances of strangers."
You weren't, you must've sworn up and down ten times by now. You were being polite, you promise, but he shakes his head, his soft black locks waving as if mocking you too.
"Polite? You're lucky I haven't forced that filthy mouth shut. That's what got you here, after all," Fyodor explains excruciatingly. Sure, you got a little sassy with him after he accused you of being just that, a whore, after you'd flashed a humble smile toward the fellow restaurant patron who'd sent you a drink. And sure, that was tone deaf of them, considering Fyodor was very clearly holding your hand across the table and sporting your love bites on his neck, but you just couldn't be rude.
His eyes soften when a fat tear rolls down your cheek.
"Oh, pretty, don't cry." He shifts his legs beneath himself; his pace stays the same, but he reaches deeper inside you. "You remember who you're talking to, yes? You learn your lesson?"
You nod frantically. You whimper. "Of course, of course, Fedya, my only, ‘m sorry..."
You yelp like you've been burnt when he pulls his fingers out of you, but soon enough his hand is gripping your waist, his tip is teasing your entrance, and he's cooing into your ear, "Your only. You only love me, right? Say it."
You cup his face, grab at his shoulders, grind into him as you tearily reply, "Only love you, Fedya. I love you. You're my everything, please. My everything. I love you."
He knows you do. He just has to make you say it - make sure you know you do.
Fyodor's tongue finds yours as he thrusts into you - you're his everything, too, and he won't admit that, but he'll fuck you so good you know it's true.
"Relax, my love. Let me make you cum."
#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#nikolai x reader#nikolai gogol x reader#fyodor x reader#fyodor dostoevsky x reader#bsd nikolai x reader#bsd fyodor x reader#nikolai smut#fyodor smut#bsd smut#bungou stray dogs smut#angelzai original.ᐟ#devilzai hours.ᐟ
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➳ pater noster (a yandere!om!belphegor x gn!nun!reader) w/ a hint of solomon x reader
synopsis: some faces are not meant to be trusted but what if your faith towards father himself was just a mere illusion? or is it perhaps that the prince of sloth took a liking for you and do whatever it takes for your innocence to be tainted.
cw: yandere themes, religious au, gore (includes mutilation and blood), minor character death, manipulation, fic has a cliffhanger.
a/n: happy halloween everyone! this fic has been kept on my notes for over a year now and publishing it in the spirit of halloween (also college has been killing me slowly so this is the reason why I am not that active here anymore ;_;;).
No one knew how humankind can feel the sense of paranoia when attending the church’s grounds, despite it’s gruesome and horrid history from the 18th century. Some say that it’s because of the church’s dark history while the others passed down the same story that you heard from your childhood that several unrested souls had haunted these holy grounds you stood above since the day you’ve arrived. Thus, beginning your mission as a devoted nun to the high divines.
You didn’t blame those people. After all, the church had stood from thousands of years ago as many of your ancestors were executed for the sake of appeasing the gods, or perhaps is it the demons who are offered these so-called sacrifices. You didn’t believed the words from that crazy woman you’ve encountered this morning that a demon took it’s residence in the catacombs below the old ancestral chruch, knowing that those words are nothing but blasphemy, words that could taint the same people you’ve worshipped and adored.
As the bells of St. Michael Parish had rung, signifying that the mass (which had begun an hour ago) had concluded. Many of the people (who attended) and your peers had left, ready to celebrate grace together with their beloved families, going out to eat or spending time alone in the covenants while a certain nun had stayed behind to make up for the missing prayer they missed this morning.
Speaking in the words of old religion, they closed their eyes and began their session alone to give their thanks to Father himself. The empty church had given (M/C) the sense of peace and quiet they needed after hearing such loud noises during the day, preventing them from having a peace of your mind and soul. They firmly gripped the small rosary that they’ve kept on the side of their habit as they spoke the prayer that indicates the beginning of their daily prayer.
“In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti”
As you lit the candle, you think about your own family. How are your siblings doing? Are your parents doing fine since your departure? Are they well? Do they missed you terribly?
They prayed for an hour, forgetting about the concept of time and was contented with Father hearing their prayers. Each hail mary’s and our father are spoken many times and it finally concluded with a small “amen.” You feel the soreness of your knees from kneeling on the tuffet as you stood up and make the sign of the cross while staring into the giant cross you say your prayers with. Before you went back to the covenant to join the others, you lit a candle and spoke a small prayer before you make your way towards the others.
Of course they are. After all, you almost recieved countless of messages from your family about your well-being. You spoke your prayers towards them for they will have a good and lasting life, away from the dangers lurking around their lives. You’ve closed your eyes for a bit until a voice interrupted your alone time. “Making up for the missing prayer for this morning, (M/C)?”
“Ah!” You jumped from the voice behind you. “Father Solomon! I didn’t know that you’re here for your nightly walks. You scared me for quite a bit and yes, I did make up for this morning’s prayer.” He replied with a soft hum and lights up another candle for him to say his thanks before he calls it a day. The looming light for the tainted windows of the solemn adds some light aside from the many candles that was lit as the buildings source of light. You find peace within these walls and the peaceful silence doesn’t even bother you, contented with your closest friend by your side.
Speaking of your friend, he breaks the silence and asks a single question that sparked up your curiosity. “Say my friend,” He solemnly spoke, lighting another candle but this time, the color of the candle he lit up was black. “Do you believe these rumors that the demons roaming this sacred grounds? Aren’t you afraid of such creatures who would lured humanity into an endless pit of sin and everlasting pain?”
Hearing that question makes your skin crawling and feeling uneasy. Speaking this kind of question during night time is kinda scary and quite unnerving at the same time. You didn’t want to upset your friend and just went with the flow upon answering his question. “While I do believe in the concept of those creatures, yes. I believe that the demons are still roaming around these holy grounds, tempting for us to succumb into their sin and no, I am not scared. Don’t you forget that one of my closest friends is an exorcist?” You patted his back as you refer to the young priest as your closest friend. The old bell rang from the tower above, signifying that the time for prayer and seclusion has been completed and what better way to call it a day was to eat dinner together with your fellow nuns.
“Now, come along now, Father Solomon. We don’t wanna miss out today’s dinner special won’t we?” Before you make your way towards the kitchen, Father Solomon stopped you on your tracks, held your hand and gave you something. “Wait, my friend. There’s something I should give you.” He handed you an item that was small and light, the first thing you thought that the item you hold was a small jewelry of some sort. “Think of this as my gift of appreciation for being one of my most trusted friends.” The priest then opens his hand and showed you a ring. The ring looks really minimal with the exception of a purple gem on top of the small jewel.
“I found this while I was tending in the gardens the other day and it turns out that this precious gem doesn’t have an owner. Plus, the color kinda reminds me of you and I want you to have it.” Speechless, you took the ring from his hands and slipped it right into your ring finger. It was a perfect size! It wasn’t loose nor tight. You loved this ring but you’re still hesitant upon accepting your friends small gift. Solomon noticed that you were nervous and hesitant on wearing that ring. “Don’t worry about that ring being cursed. For I have already blessed it with the blessings from the celestial realm. That ring definitely can protect you from any harm.”
His words convinced you that this ring wasn’t cursed but just an ordinary ring. You slipped it right back to your ring finger and thanked your friend for the small gift he gave you. “Now come on, let’s get to the cafeteria first before we ran out of those delicious juice they served!”
“You can go first, my friend. There’s something I need to tend in the gardens. I don’t want the children to be playing outside of the gardens this late.” You nodded and proceeded to walk towards the dining area where the rest of your peers gathered. It was quite unusual for your friend to tend the gardens this late, considering that the children are given strict rules when it comes to them roaming around the grounds without adult supervision. Plus, Father Solomon only tended the gardens every Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays.
Today was Thursday and it was supposed to be his turn the next day, which is strange to say the least. As oblivious as you are, you shrugged it off, thinking that it was just a mishap or just a mere coincidence that happened today.
The dinner was good and not long after you finished your meal, everyone in the room heard a scream from the outside. Children are escorted and ran outside from the dormitories, which is led by the nun who took charge in watching over them. “What happened?!” The reverend mother spoke as the young nun shook in fear while trying her best to answer her question. “The demon attacked them! I saw the creature devouring the poor child in front of my eyes! A creature surrounded by darkness as their teeth feast on the poor child!” You hugged the shaken nun, collapsing into your arms as she sobbed and sobbed, knowing that she failed her duty in watching over the orphans, now paranoid and scared due to what’s happening outside of their dorms.
You quickly ran outside towards the scene of the crime and what came out from your mouth was a gasp and felt the feeling of dread and nausea seething through your stomach; a child’s mangled form is laying on the floor, lifeless as blood continuously flow from it’s main source, staining the dirt below. Their eyes wide open, mouth distorted into a scream, as if they had called for help. A bite wound can be seen on the side of the child’s stomach, exposing their remains.
Colors of red and blue, flashing throughout the entire grounds, despite all the noise and commotion the police made, all you can hear was a deafening ring on your ears. Your legs gave out after you knew which child is assigned to this gruesome fate. It was none other than the child whom you’ve taken care of ever since their infancy, the same child that gave you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen and the one who made your day even better. You began to cry hysterically, catching the attention to your closest friend as he gave his shoulder to cry on.
“There there, it’s okay (M/C). I know it’s hard for you to process what happened and I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect them in time.” Solomon rubbed his hand back and forth on your back while watching their body being placed in a body bag and placed on the back on the ambulance, ready to be examined by medical professionals to see who’s the main perpetrator of this horrid crime.
You couldn’t sleep that night after you went back to your residency alone (due to Solomon being one of the people being questioned). The more you blinked, more tears slid from your cheeks, staining your pillows, thinking on what happens if you rescued them in time. Will they still be the same child you took care of? Will they grow up and obtaining their dream profession after they graduated college?
You wished those events can happen in real life but alas, they couldn’t because they finally succumb to their untimely death. You felt the numbness coursing throughout your body while staring towards the dimly lit ceiling of your room.
Despite trying you best to fall back asleep, you couldn’t shake the vivid and gruesome scene. You became scared for a bit but prayed to the celestial beings that you and the others are guided to a safer path. You prayed and prayed until you couldn’t feel your knees anymore as tears continuously poured down your cheek. After what it felt like hours, you lay down on your bed as eyes finally closed, taking a good night’s rest for tomorrow’s occasion.
. ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
You woke up on a strange environment, standing barefoot on the stone cold ground gave you goosebumps throughout your entire body. You’re still wearing the exact same clothes you went to bed but didn’t remember that you put on the ring right before you went to bed. It’s strange to say the least, you remembered that you took off that ring and placed it right on your bedside table.
The ring itself began to glow, bright violet specks of light flickered as more fog appeared in this strange place. The more you walk in this endless loop, the more the temperature became colder and colder to the point that your body began to shiver. The thin clothing that clings to your skin doesn’t help and you felt like you’re about to pass out due to hypothermia.
Out of nowhere, a voice called out for you.
“(M/C)”
It was a man’s voice. It echoes across the void. You whipped your head back and forth to see who’s the owner of that voice. At first, you thought that it was Solomon’s voice but it isn’t or wasn’t it Simeon to begin with? No, it’s not the same person who spoke your name.
“Come home to me. For you have committed such crime and sin, a sin that belonged to one of my brothers.”
There it is again! And what crime is he talking about? You? A nun who’s devoted to Father himself, committed a sin that belonged to the 7 deadly sins? That’s absurd! You never commited such acts, not after you became a nun in the first place. “What are you talking about? Who are you and what crime did I even commit? I’ll never turn my back against God and commit a sin!”
The voice chuckled and that’s when you felt your ring finger began to tighten up. You tried removing the ring in your finger but it felt like it was glued on your poor finger. A bruise began to form on your finger as it cuts off the circulation. “Who I am doesn’t matter, little one. After all, you’re gonna meet me soon.” You screamed as the ring began to bury deep within your skin, blood dripping from the newly formed wound. “As for your crime, well. You already know what that is, my dear. You’re gonna find out about that soon. But for now,” You screamed in excruciating pain, more blood came rushing from the cut as your finger was completely cut off, laying lifelessly on the cold stone ground.
Before you know it, a shadow looms over you. Ram like horns on each side of it’s head and it gave you a eery smile, taking pleasure on the pain you just went through. It’s violet-pink eyes stared into yours and in response, you gave this malicious entity a sharp glare as you bare your teeth, both in pain and to show your bravery despite being in pain.
The demon surely loves your bravery towards him and it amuses him. He picked up your severed finger, keeping it as a souvenir and leaned in closer towards your face and spoke,
“It’s time for you to wake up.”
A sudden jolt of energy woke you up, sweat dripping down from the top of your head while the beating of your heart becomes faster and faster the more air you breathed in. You look around your room; the light of the sun seething through your window as the fresh breeze of cool air makes its way to your room. In a panic, you checked your ring finger. To your relief, it wasn’t severed nor wounds appeared around the finger. As for your ring, the simplistic jewelry is still on the same area you’ve placed since last night.
It felt so real. The pain, the blood dripping from your wound and the way your ring tightens up. You thought that when you woke up, all that was left on your finger was torn up muscles and blood staining the comfortable bed sheets. Not to mention how that mysterious entity pinpointed a crime that you didn’t even committed, let alone considering that it was also a sin.
A sin that belonged to one of his brothers.
Instead of becoming scared due to your horrible nightmare, you’ve become even more curious not only towards that entity but also to the ring Father Solomon gave you yesterday. And it looks like you have something to talk about to the young priest himself.
. ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
“Solomon!” You called out to your dear friend from afar, seeing him reading the sacred scriptures underneath a tree that’s located from the outskirts of the old church. “There you are. I was searching for you everywhere and it’s unusual for you to be alone in this tree since you almost spend your time in your office.”
The priest only hums softly, moving aside to indicate that he’s inviting you to sit with him, which you gladly accepted. “I hope you’re doing well since the incident last night. Condolences to you and the others.” You smiled in sadness from the words you heard from him. “It’s fine, friend. They’re still trying to find the killer. I hope they caught them fast and finally have some justice to [c/n]. Poor child, may God let them rest in peace.”
You wiped off your tears, still remembering the sweet, innocent smile the child gave to you. They’re such a good kid, taking the role-model as an older sibling to the other orphans and even taking some of the blame if one of the orphans made a mistake. The thought quickly subsided, shaking your head and a serious look appeared on your face. “The kid’s not the reason why I’m here. May I ask you something, my friend?”
Solomon placed a bookmark on his book and placing it over the soft patch of grass. Wait a minute – you noticed that his eyes are quite strange; eye bags and the soft color of purple and pink hue over his brown eyes. You saw how his eyes twitched as if he didn’t sleep well last night. You’ve become so distracted over the color and the eye bags of his eyes that his voice broke your trance. “Ask away, (M/C) and I’ll try my best to answer those questions of yours.”
“Do you know this ring’s origins?” You showed him the ring around your finger. His smile widen when he saw you wearing the ring. “Quite beautiful, isn’t it?” He took your hand on his, inspecting the piece of jewelry he gave you yesterday. “Yes, I agree with you but I have a dream- nightmare rather, about this piece of jewelry.” The priest’s giddy expression suddenly dropped as soon as you mentioned the term ‘nightmare’. This concerns Solomon and he felt the atmosphere between the both of you became serious.
“What nightmare, (M/C)? Please do tell me what happened there?” You hesitated at first, still vividly remembering how a demon appeared out of nowhere as the ring began to sever your poor finger. The lingering pain still subsided within your mind, for the pain you felt was too real in the awakening world.
You randomly rubbed your hand against your ring finger while looking at the green patches of grass, noticing on how each sway of the individual leaves was caused by the cold winds blew across the courtyard. After what felt like hours, you’ve spoken about this gruesome dream of yours. “I’ve encountered something…evil from this dream of mine. I saw an entity that we feared and loathed, it’s horns are long and twisted, a tail which can choke a mere human to death in under a minute and his white sharp eyes.”
You shivered alone by just describing the demon’s features but it didn’t stop you from telling your close friend what such events had left you shaken since this morning. “I also remember how the ring you gave me tighten and remembering the pain I’ve endured as I try to pry off this cursed piece of jewelry. Believe me or not, this caused my ring finger to be severed, blood dripping non stop from my veins as I screamed in agony and pain while that demon watched me cry in satisfaction. What does that filthy creature even want from me?”
Solomon only listened to your words with a fixated expression on his face. “So your saying that this ring I gave you is the main reason why you have a nightmare last night?” You nodded, still feeling the your body shaken a little after you told your horrid story of a nightmare. “I thought this ring was blessed by you, father. Isn’t the blessing by the celestial beings cleansed this ring from the likes of 'it’?”
“I did blessed this ring. In fact, I performed a ritual that has been done way back thousands of years ago. I thought that the ring couldn’t be possessed by any entity unless..” Your priest of a friend suddenly stood in silence and after what felt like hours, he finally break the silence. “I did blessed this ring. In fact, I performed a ritual that has been done way back thousands of years ago. I thought that the ring couldn’t be possessed by any entity unles..” Your priest of a friend suddenly stood in silence and after what felt like hours, he finally break the silence.
“I think that the ring isn’t the target to begin with.” His words send chills down your spine. Hands are sweaty from paranoia and nervousness, eyes widen a bit from the words his spoke and your mouth wide agape; no words are even coming out from your mouth. Solomon looks at you in a serious manner for he knew that your life is in danger.
“The demon wants you, my friend. You are in grave danger…”
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#tw yandere#obey me shall we date#yandere obey me x reader#yandere obey me#obey me x reader#om belphegor#obey me belphie x reader#belphie x reader#yandere belphegor#obey me one master to rule them all#obey me fic#obey me x you#obey me x y/n
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i want to be taken
used, hurt, damaged
i want to get worse
i want you to make me worse, rend my mind, tear my body to shreds, leave me to rot
i want to feel no pleasure from what you do, only pain, constant horrifying pain beyond that which i can even imagine, mental, physical
i want them to rip into my body, get me so high i can't move or think and tie me up just in case and pin my body down, use it how they like, let anyone use it if they want to, then lock me into the corner of the room, starve me, whip me, shove things into my mouth, until they take me out, force a cocktail of drugs down my throat, and start to cut me, then as the passion and insanity take them over, slice a slit just under my ribs, put fingers, toys, cocks, whatever they have to put inside it deep, cover us both in blood, spit on me, cum on me
slice further along my body, lengthening the abused hole, and cut deep once it gets to my womb, full of cum from being bred constantly for weeks, turn me into a sleeve, fucking into me, through the new hole, into my guts, out of my body, drenched in blood
tie me and string me from a hook like a piece of meat, let the blood and with it the life pour down the drain
use my cold body
desecrate the corpse with cum and blood, dress it for whatever deity you're praying to for your immortal soul, for forgiveness
drink the blood if you like, mutilate it if it makes it easier to use, or keep it intact and admire your pallid, freezing, rotting dead boy, the beautiful corpse boy you've been admiring for months, finally the hollow broken fucktoy you've wanted it to be, finally all yours
cw: vent post, triggering tags, minors dni, op is very sick and should be interacted with cautiously, etc.
#sid dying#r4p3 fantasy#cnc r@pe#cnc intox#cnc free use#obsessive love#n3crophilia#wound fucking#su1c1dal#ftm kink#bpd#self h@rm#trans ana#send fucked up asks#make me worse#r4p3 m3
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Dreamling Circus AU
[CW animal death (rabbit), violence (humans)]
So, Hob is broke, homeless, and will do anything for some food and shelter. He takes a job at the Burgess Circus that no-one else will work at because Burgess is an asshole and old fool and perv and everything bad that people can come up with. Hob doesn't like the man but he's desperate for a job so he sucks it up and applies.
Hob can throw knives. Quite well, but not good enough to make it to the show. He can throw knives outside and entertain people before it is showtime. But his main job is to care for the animals and... beasts.
So, logically, there aren't any real beasts, right? Right...? They are all just exotic animals, animals that were born with some mutations, or even mutilated animals that he can only feel sorry for. Same goes for most of the strange people that are a part of the circus. A woman with an unusual amount of body hair, who is NOT a werewolf. A muscular man, who is NOT a demigod, just really strong. So, logically, the vampire also has to be fake, right?
Except at the end of the day, while everyone sleeps in their huts, the "vampire" remains in a cage. Nobody dares to even come close unless they absolutely have to, but Hob is told to toss a small animal in the cage. He is not sure how he feels about it. He leaves that cage for the last, preferring to feed the tigers before approaching the strange, naked man in a cage. And when the night is dark and everyone is asleep and Hob is sore and tired from all the work, he carefully brings a bowl of soup to the cage.
The black-haired man merely looks at it with disgust and then continues to stare into emptiness. There is an air of pride around him, even though he is naked, humiliated at daily basis, locked up in a cage. “Would you really prefer to eat a live rabbit over soup?” Hob asks incredulously. He gets no reply, but the "vampire" looks at him again. His eyes are black, but it must be from the dim light around them.
“Serve yourself, then,” Hob shrugs and opens a small cage full of rabbits, taking an unlucky or lucky one out and tossing it in the cage with the man. He expects the rabbit to land on its feet and run. They are fast motherfuckers and Hob will surely never see it again. Well, half of that is true.
The rabbit never lands, as the "vampire" (he can't be a real vampire, right?) lunges, almost faster than light, and catches it, burying his fangs in the squealing animal and silencing it forever. Hob takes several steps back but doesn't run. He watches on in fascination.
The black-haired man licks his hands clean when he is done with the animal. He ignores the filth - loose fur and some straws - on his hands, just licks and sucks his skin until he's consumed every single drop of blood. When he is done, he looks at Hob, but he still doesn't look like a wild beast. He looks pleading, hungry, helpless. If he were a vampire, theoretically speaking, one rabbit probably wouldn't be enough, Hob reasons as he tosses another one into the cage before turning his back to leave before he could do anything more stupid.
The next day, Hob confronts Burgess. The Magus keeps insisting that everything in his Circus is real, even the werewolf and demigod and dragon and all that bullshit. Hob can't get him to admit to anything, but he notices that Burgess calls the vampire "it" while everyone else gets to be treated like human. “Don't worry, it's not human,” Burgess assures Hob. “Just do your job or leave.”
Hob has a minor moral crisis. If he leaves, he will be hungry, homeless, and the winter is coming and he won't find another job at this time of the year. But if he stays, he will have to be witness to the inhuman treatment the "vampire" is getting. It's certain death or basically allowing slavery.
He allows himself to contemplate for another few days, often stopping by the vampire's cage. He never speaks, but he always looks up at Hob with hope. There is not always enough extra "food" that Hob can give the man, but he tries to make it up to him in other ways. By seeing him, by acknowledging him.
Finally, Hob snaps (there was no other way it could go, was it?) and opens the cage. He has to steal the key from Burgess’ neck chain, but fortunately, he is a bit of a thief. He naively expects gratitude when he opens the door, but instead, he gets tackled to the ground, head yanked to the side and fangs in his neck. He makes no sound and tries to make peace with his deities, thinking that at least one of them will get to roam free and hungerless.
But the vampire doesn't kill Hob. He drinks for a while, his whole body warming as he does, and then he reluctantly pulls away, kissing the spot that he almost mutilated in silent apology. “Stay down,” he says quietly, and his voice is much deeper than Hob expected. Pleasant to listen to for sure. And not that Hob has any other option but to liten.
Several minutes later, the whole Circus is on fire. There was a brief moment of screaming, but those screams didn't last longer than seconds. Now it's just animals roaring and howling as they run free, and flames consuming all buildings. Hob finally realises that he should get up and save himself when a wooden hut collapses next to him. He is dizzy but manages to stand, but he only makes a few steps before he is stumbling to the ground again.
Strong arms wrap around him and lift him up without effort. It is the vampire, now wearing a black robe, face and neck covered in blood. Hob stares in awe and fascination as the mythical creature carries him away from the danger.
“I may have taken more than I should have,” the vampire says sheepishly as he helps Hob stand on unsteady legs, the circus burning in the distance, nobody screaming or calling for help because they are all dead.
“I can give it back,” the vampire suggests, and it takes Hob's fuzzy mind embarrassingly long to understand what he means.
“No, thanks,” he grimaces, and the vampire snorts as if he had done something endearingly stupid.
“How can I repay you, then?”
Hob feels like he could ask for anything then. Power, eternal life, fortune. But hunger and losing it all had put his priorities in order. “I don't suppose you know of a job?” he asks with a laugh. “I'm recently once again unemployed.”
The vampire tilts his head, studying Hob. Hopefully, he doesn't read minds, Hob thinks. Finally, he says: “I have a long road ahead of me. A travel companion that knows these lands would be appreciated.”
#dreamling#circus au#vampire au#vampire dream#hob x dream#alternate universe#dream of the endless#hob gadling
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GN!READER x 3 YANDERE OC’s
thinking about how Enix, Lucy and Issac would be the first three of my OC’s to cut our legs off if we disobeyed them or tried to run away an i MMMMMMMMMM
CW: GN! Reader, no body descriptions for reader, dismemberment of reader, reader referred to as they/them, murder, drugging, vomit(non descriptive dw), spoilers for lucky, permanent body mutilation, non con, p in whatever hole you have, somno(in Enix’s part), reader has hair in lucy’s part mentioned (not described) Not proof read!
!!MINORS DNI!!
Enix~
When you first awoke in shackles, you couldn’t imagine staying! this guy that you had once thought was just a shy nerd, turning out to be a psychopath to this extent!? You can’t!
You think of a plan to escape as soon as you can.
He let you loose after a while. you promised you’d be good, schmoozed up to him too, pretending nothing had changed. And he believed you.
You ran the first chance you got. A neighbor saw you running in your underwear and hurried you inside. You asked to call the police, she rushed to find her phone.
But too soon after, Enix busts through her front door.
He has a pair of hedge trimmers in his hand… You tried to run but you were frozen solid watching him beat the old woman to death with them. You tried to tear yourself away from the gorey scene unfolding, you tried to run, but he caught you.
“Butterflyyyy~ Looks like Ill have to rip off your wings after all…” He holds you tightly in his grasp, his tall body fully encasing you. “I really didn’t want to”
He injects you with something as he’s holding you, and you feel your body grow suddenly so heavy and your vision fades.
Now he’s looking over your precious, sleeping form, you are even easier to watch and protect! and he can’t help but love how dependent you’ll be on him from now on.
His dick throbs.
You’re so perfect, even just sleeping under anesthesia. He lifts your stumps and gently feels his work… He shouldn’t. He stops himself. Not yet anyway, he wouldn’t want to injure you while you’re in a serious recovery phase.
But soon, he’ll definitely put you back under to fully enjoy what he’s done.
Upon waking you feel terrified… Something is so very wrong! you can’t move your legs! You shoot up into a sitting position, and see the reason…
You vomit over the edge of the bed.
Your legs are gone.
(He definitely mounts them on the wall in the bedroom with a little plaque and everything like they’re one of his prized specimens)
Lucy~
You’ve disobeyed her too many times recently, you’ve ran and hid yourself inside the forbidden red doored room.
You didn’t anticipate how obsessed with you she turned out to be.
The room is completely filled in every corner with something that has to do with you. Pictures and posters of you cover the walls, they look professionally taken. The shelves are filled with photo albums, journals detailing your days and old documents. Some have your thrown out med bottles, vials of what you can only assume is cum in some and blood in the others…. You shiver. You don’t want to keep looking, but it’s all around you.
There’s what looks like some kind of Alter at the front and center of the room.
You find it hard to breathe in here…
You think you might get sick if you stay too long.
There are two windows that don’t have screens on either side of the alter. You dash to one of them and try it, luckily, it slides right open.
“Where are they!?” She screeches. You hear her heels clicking against the wood down the hall. “Find them.”
You escape down a trellis covered in blue morning glories, and run into the gardens.
All too soon you’re being tackled to the grass, as one of Lucy’s guards finds you.
Lucy walks out next, taking her time to get to you, building up even more of your tremendous anxiety. Your heart is thumping in your throat, you can see each beat pulsing in your vision. You’ve never seen her so mad!
The guard holds you down obediently.
She’s got an axe.
“You don’t need both of your legs, right Y/N?” She stands over you.
“Wh-what??”
“Hold them still.” She says to the guard.
“Lu-Lucy!?”
She brings down the axe onto your thigh, a harsh, heavy pain bursts through you and you scream out. Your bone definitely snapped but she wasn’t strong enough to take off your leg in one clean hit….
She brings it down a second time, missing the same spot and just causing you more blinding pain, you scream until you’re coughing and almost vomiting.
“LUCY!!! STOP!!!!” You beg and plead but she looks wildly ecstatic as she brutally mutilates your body.
Again the axe comes down finally separating your leg from your body. the pain is immense and your blood soaks the garden bed. You’re so dizzy and you feel sick, you’re writhing and sobbing just glad the worst is over.
“Call the doctor. And a taxidermist.” She licks your blood off of the axe before she throws it and picks up her dress instead, and steps over you. Her body falls over yours, cradling your face in her arms as she now sits on your midsection. You’re fading in and out of consciousness and weakly try to do anything, but the pain is overwhelming.
“Aw… You’re so cute Y/N, I can’t stay mad at you~!” She pets you and wipes some sweat slicked hair off of your forehead.
Her soft lips come down to yours, you barely register the sensation. As you’re fading you feel her rocking her hips on you.
(She def keeps them in her worship room)
Issac~
“This is necessary, Y/N!”
“NO ISSAC PLEASE!!!!!” You threaten to rip your vocal cords with how loud you’re screaming!
He brings the hacksaw to your thigh, right under your cheek. You feel the rough metal touch you and flail wildly.
You’re on your stomach so you thankfully don’t have to watch…
“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!” You repeat over and over, snot and tears staining your face.
“I hate to do this to you i swear! But you’ve made me! we told you not to run!!”
“I WONT I WONT I SWEAR I WONT!!!”
“We already gave you that chance.” He states coldly.
The metal touches your flesh once more, but this time he slides it across with pressure enough to cut right down to your bone. You feel the vibrations against the solid part of your body and shiver. The pain is intense and you don’t recognize the voice coming out of you anymore.
You writhe and curl into yourself against the concrete while he pushes the saw back over you, and then again.
The pain doesn’t stop when he stops cutting.
It’s the most intense thing you’ve ever felt.
You’re biting your lip and groaning and wailing when he puts it in you.
“What!!” You cant wrap your head around what’s happening! He’s entering you, while your bleeding out from your thigh!
He spreads your legs wider, you hear him sloshing around in the puddle of your blood.
He fully shoves himself inside you without regard, he can’t help himself every time that you’re completely at his mercy.
You’re all out of wailing at this point, you’re throat is too dry and torn. Your vision is filling with black spots and you feel terrified. All you feel is the throbbing numbness of where your leg used to be, and his huge dick slowly stroking your insides.
You feel the familiar sweat inducing sensation of a saw blade against your other thigh now, You can’t even scream anymore or beg him to stop, you just feel your skin start to be torn open all over again and pass out.
He cums inside you and it spills out around his length mixing into your blood puddle.
#cookie speaks#my oc#yandere#oc x reader#oc x you#yandere x reader#yandere x you#my fic#tw yandere#dead dove do not eat#yandere male#female yandere#yan smut#tw g0re#oc smut#x oc#x you#x reader#reader x oc#yandere smut#yandere oc
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Trans Eddie Munson WIP
There's always demand for some trans ftm Eddie Munson content. And today I offer the first section of my wip fic.
I'm hoping to have this whole fic finished by the end of the first week of March, we shall see. But I thought that I could focus on trans Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington works during the month of March. If that's something people are interested in.
CW: General Dysphoria, Referenced Minor Character Death, Deadnaming (him figuring things out)
🏳️⚧️—————🏳️⚧️
There’s something about her body that Elizabeth Munson can’t quite put her finger on. Something different and wrong. Maybe…Maybe wrong is a strong word, but that’s what it is, she supposes. She had soft areas on her body that she often glared at with disdain. The curves and small pouch of fat at the bottom of her tummy. Which, she doesn’t hate all that too much, her mama told her about how that pouch is protecting her. That it’s meant to keep her insides safe. But she still, very much so, wants it gone. Wants a lot of herself gone. Her long hair, curly and wild—like her mama’s, but it’s prettier, and gentler less ill-fitting on her mama. She wants what her period is giving her to be shunned to another realm. The breasts, as her mama calls them, her smile all nurturing and sweet and doting. But they make shirts sit weird, and they’re kind of heavy, and they remind her too much about having babies. She doesn’t think she wants to have kids, not in the way she was made to have them. That doesn’t feel good to think about, either. Her fingers are long and narrow. Which, they aren’t too bad. Useful to learn the guitar with. But she looks at them and believes that they aren’t what her eyes are meant to see.
She finds herself admiring boys a lot. How they often don’t have to think about their body, unless they’re playing sports. They make her chest hurt. Like a quick staple in her skin. The boys in her school have short hair, first of all. Tidied up, shaved cleanly on the sides, high tapered and shaped nicely to their heads. Boys have lean bodies with defined muscles. They have flat chests and flat tummies, for the most part, and big feet, big hands, thick fingers.
Why did she have to come out looking like herself, she often wonders. Why couldn’t she have meaty muscles and hair all over the place and a deep rasp in her throat? How come she’s gotta smoke cigarettes to achieve the voice of her dreams? Why does she even dream about having a different voice, a different body, even a different name?
When she stands in front of her mirror, much like she does this morning, much like she does every morning, she sees an imposter cloaking her soul. If monsters exist, she believes that they have wrapped themselves around her bones, mutilated themselves to be human flesh and skin toned, and they inhabit her brain.
Her fingers comb through her hair for the thousandth time, frustrated beyond belief. She can’t make her hair look good or normal or right.
In a feeble attempt to make some sense of herself, she wraps her palm around her heavy head of hair, tugging it back behind her ears, above her shoulders, and imagines herself without it. What she’d look like. All rounded facial features and pouty lips, her mama’s eyes and her daddy’s crooked smile. Wraps her free arm around her chest, pushing and prodding around until her breasts are practically as flat as they can possibly be. She steps back from the full length mirror of her bedroom, the portal to monsters and Narnia and Wonderland, and sees it for what it is for the first time: A simple bedroom mirror.
Because there, in the reflection where her body once stood, is a little boy with scraggly arms and a chubby little belly and knobby knees. A little boy who’s mama doesn’t know how to cut hair all that well, maybe settles for a bowl cut each time, and each time he thinks she did a great job. A little boy who’s freshly twelve years old and doesn’t want to go to his first day of seventh grade, where the other kids will mock him. This little boy who seems to smile.
And she realizes, dropping her hair in haste at the rapid knocking on her door, she is not a girl. No, not at all.
Elizabeth Munson is a boy.
—————
Boys act tough. Boys are rowdy. Boys are stupid creatures.
Elizabeth mimics them as well as he’s able. He still hasn’t figured out his name, not yet. But he knows how to growl and retort. Can take up space with big gestures and act all bothersome at the prospect of sitting like a lady. He can do all kinds of things.
But the one thing he hasn’t been able to do yet? Shake the sensation of his heavy hair.
He goes home one afternoon after a difficult day of school. Where he got called pretty and ugly and chic and darling. Shoved into lockers and teased for not wearing makeup. For stealing his daddy’s flannels and covering himself up, like he doesn’t want to be seen. He sneaks into the bathroom and finds his dad’s shaving kit.
If he can’t go somewhere and request for his hair to be cut a certain way, then he’ll just have to do it himself. He’s not sure how to successfully do it. But he begins with snipping away the ends. Up to his ears. Cuts off his bangs all choppy like. Drags the razor across his scalp. The tufts of hair falling to his shoulders. His naked shoulders. His naked torso still shining like dull copper in the mirror, heavy breasts and curvy waist and slim shoulders.
He shakes himself off like a dog.
And when the razor is unplugged, repackaged, put away for nobody to find. He takes himself in.
There in the reflection, is a…person with a shaved head. He throws on a t-shirt. And sees, truly, a little boy with his mama’s eyes and his daddy’s nose and unruly little scars from being shoved into things at school.
But he sees a boy. Or the outline of a boy. He sees the imprint, the footprint in wet sand, an initial carved into a tree. Then he thinks about his introductions. About going, “I’m Elizabeth.” The grimace that brings to his face. He holds a hand out to the mirror, his reflection almost mocking his movement. And rolls some names off of his tongue.
“Hi, I’m Allan,” he starts. Maybe he should be named after his father, but that doesn’t taste all that well. Another Allan Munson would be the end of the world. If being a boy in girl’s skin doesn’t kill him, then being the appendage of a criminal would. And he’s already had plenty of close encounters.
He takes a deep breath. “Hi, I’m Sam…I’m Sammy,” he tries. His mama’s name is Samantha, so maybe he should go after her. But if she was considered a hippie basketcase to the rest of Townsend, Tennessee, then he will, too. By default. Seems like maybe going the family route won’t work in his favor.
“George,” he shoots. “Georg—ie.” That’s another option. He wants a nickname.
Elizabeth garners Eliza and Liza and Beth and Bethany.
Allan gets Al. Samantha is Sammy or Sam or Mandy.
But he can’t, for the life of him, think of a single name that fits like a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. Can’t find something sweet, maybe a little sophisticated. Something that rolls. A name that would be easy for himself to remember. Or one that a person could hear in passing, maybe think he said something else.
What about famous artists?
“I’m Jonathan, but I prefer Johnny,” he mutters, thinking of Johnny Cash. He shakes his head and resets on his feet. “John, but I like Johnny.” John Prine is on his mind for that one. Flaps his hand to get rid of the ache from holding out for so long, drops it to his side, switches to the other. “Woody,” he whispers, but that’s not right either. Woody Guthrie has that.
He sighs. Never in his life did he think finding a name would be so hard. Briefly, he wonders how his mama did it. How she remembered his birth name even after heaving and laboring for hours, coming out exhausted and bloody and sobbing. God, he hopes he never has to experience this again. But, knowing his luck, he may as well start making lists—who else in his life may want a new name? Seems like he’s got plenty to pull from the recycling bin.
Holding out his palm again, he thinks about Eddie Van Halen. Thinks about fast music. Thinks about music that bonds him to the floor, that thrums his heart, that boils his blood. He imagines playing to sold out crowds, being called out to the stage. The crowd cheering, voices a concoction of screaming and wailing. “Ed-die! Ed-die! Ed-die!” They shout.
“Eddie,” he murmurs. Looks himself in the eyes. Big and brown. Just like his mama’s. Thinks of her holding his head. Kissing his temple. Folding the collars of his shirts, helping him tie his shoes, teaching him to brush his teeth. Of her saccharine voice like honey on the shell of his ear, sticky and golden.
Her lips to his sheared hair. Holding him by the shoulders. Her eyes watering from pride. Whispering, “You make Mama proud, you hear me Edward? My little Eddie’s gonna make Mama proud.”
Thinks of her body not ravaged by illness, her tummy fluffy and her arms full, her hair still long and tickling his neck. Thinks about the day she called him to her arms, announcing that she was sick, but that her biggest accomplishment—the thing she’s most proud of—was that she had a wonderful little kid. A brave kid. A tough kid.
“A precious little stone. ’T’s what you are, baby,” her voice had lilted. That Tennessee drawl to her bottom lip. Her nimble hands, just like his, soothing the ache in his sides, showing him how to take care of himself. Where the pads were and how to get blood out of clothes. Of her applying mascara, but nothing more, because less is more. He thinks of her hands on his cheeks. Murmuring all sweet like, “You were almost a baby boy, you know that? How funny that would’a been. But, you wanna know something, angel?” And he had nodded in her hold. “I would’a named you Edward. Cause you are the guardian of my heart. My heart is yours. And you are my heart. And whatever you do in this world, baby, I will be right there with you.”
Her voice against his cheek, kissing away his tears. “I’ll be right here,” she whispers, tapping his heart. “And no matter what you do. No matter who you are. Where you end up. You will always have my heart, my pride, my joy.”
He thinks of her at the end of her life. He’s nearly twelve years old and he’s feeling all too awkward about himself. She holds out her palm. And he takes it. She squeezes, murmuring, “Never change your heart, angel, never change your heart.” Her breath gone. And him, that ache and her palm, but those words being all that was left.
“I’m Edward Munson,” he introduces to the mirror. “But you can call me Eddie, if you’d like.” And yearns like a sunflower in the middle of winter.
🏳️⚧️—————🏳️⚧️
More to come later, but here's your first serving.
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Day 8
Rating: Explicit 18+ Minors DNI
Pairing: Priest Wolfwood X F!Reader
CW: Dub con, Penis in vagina sex, Fingering, Church, sex in a confessional, accused of being a witch, memory loss, animal mutilation, Smoke inhalation, burning to death, almost burning to death
Word count: 2040
A/N: Day 8, You headed to the church in your village, tired of the rumors running rampant about you being a witch. Hoping the local priest can be a voice of reason, too bad once you arrive you don’t hear the voice of your local priest but someone else.
With careful steps you made your way inside the church, lifting your muddy skirt as you climbed the stairs. Lately the whole town had been on edge, livestock stolen and ripped apart in the woods. Blood slathered over house doorways as if the townsfolk were being marked.
You weren’t stupid either, you had always been a bit of an outcast living on the edge of the forest just outside of town. Your father had been the town apothecary and when he passed you had taken up his trade, and when it had been your father providing potions and poultices he was treated with respect. Now that it was you? Half the time you were spit on and called a witch.
Now with everything going on, you felt it was a good idea to play the church a visit and going during the middle of the day so people could see you going inside. Too many of them believed a witch couldn’t enter a church, which you were hoping would help keep the pitchforks at bay. Half your garden had been destroyed by a group of young boys claiming it was to stop you from making a witch's brew.
Once inside you looked around, no one was in sight so you made your way to the confessional. Closing the thin wooden door and taking a seat. Within moments hearing the wooden opening to speak through sliding along it’s grove. “Forgive me father for I have sinned.” And you spoke of the anger sitting in your heart at being accused of being a witch.
Surprised when a deep gruff voice spoke from the other side, what had happened to Father Micheal?
“Is that all my child?” Something about their voice made you feel… more relaxed.
“No. I’m afraid. I’ve… been hearing voices at night. Whispers from the woods. I’m” You paused to lick your lips, feeling the sweat beginning to form on your brow your bindings feeling tighter than it should have. “I’m afraid Father. Afraid something is using me to do these terrible things.” Why are you admitting to that? You came to show the townsfolk you weren’t a witch, not admit you thought it was you!
“Perhaps child, the devil has been using you to work his tasks.” You swallow hard, something about his voice, the low drawl of his words makes something inside of you feel warm. The sound of a door opening reaching your ears, firm footsteps, and then the door you had closed yourself when you sat in the confessional opening. Heart jumping in your chest as you swallow once more.
The priest in front of you is not Father Micheal. No, this priest is taller, and broader, with his tan skin and dark hair. The slightest bit of stubble, and you notice his Adam's apple moving in his throat, while you’ve been having indecent thoughts about the handsome priest. “Father Nicholas, Father Micheal should be back in another two weeks or so.” He’s holding his hand out to you, and you feel yourself placing yours in his, a warmth-encompassing feeling as he pulls you to your feet. Something isn’t right as he looks down his nose at you almost appraisingly, a hand tilting your jaw while he moves closer, his warm breath washing against your ear as he whispers “Since the devil has been using you, we’ll have work to purify you.”
What in the world does that mean? Opening your mouth to answer to can only gasp as you’re swung around, back pressing against his chest, and pulled into his side of the confessional booth, him slamming the door shut and sitting with you flush against him. The hand at your throat sliding up to cover your mouth, the hand that he used to pull you up and against him now hiking the layers of your skirt up.
This. This isn’t right. You should be fighting against this, but something in the back of your mind is whispering. Whispering how you can trust the priest, how he’ll take care of you.
Gasping behind his hand as his probing fingers slide down along the skin of your belly and pushing the fabric of your underclothes away to access the area between your legs. The rough pads of his fingers making you shudder under his hold, something about this making a warmth spread through your center. It reminds you of a time your own fingers had pressed against the area, it had felt good, so good, but afterwards for some reason you had felt dirty. In this moment however, as his fingers moving against the curls between your thighs something feels different about it, softly whining as he explores you.
“Hm. Such a good girl you are. I can see why the devil is interested in you” his voice has dropped lower, feeling the vibrations of his lips moving next to your ear and what you thought was the briefest press of his lips against the shell of it. His fingers delving deeper, both of your hands moving to wrap around his wrist when one of them presses against part of you making your hips jerk. “Ah. There we are.” You can feel something hard pressing up against your back where you’re pulled against him.
Whimpering and jerking lightly against him as he keeps the pressure against that spot, a different finger pressing against it while his other fingers are tracing the folds between your legs. The warmth in your belly is starting to spread and grow, feeling warmer and warmer, and while he keeps the rough pads of his fingers moving you feel a wetness starting to form. While you kept gasping and jerking against him, he kept pressing his fingers and before long that warmth felt like a fire licking at your core, shuddering in his grasp as you felt something race up along your spine and slumping back against him, almost boneless.
A low chuckle from the priest behind you, certain this time you feel his nose nuzzling into the back of your head against your hair. “Almost purified. Now stay silent for a few moments.” Keeping his hand between your legs and removing the other from your mouth, his hips pressing into your butt to get you to stand with him. The sound of pants being undone and fabric hitting the floor, the back of your skirt being hiked up and your underclothes pushed to the floor. Something hot and hard pressing against the bare skin of your butt.
His fingers leave your front, feeling his knees bend behind you and that hardness is moved between your legs, pressing against your dripping body, rubbing against it and making you gasp once more. “Prepare to receive my mercy.” It’s all he says before he pushes inside of you, pulling you back against him so you're both seated once more with his member deep inside of you. Tears coming to your eyes from being spread, being filled. From your lessons with your father you knew men had different parts, and had to lance boils for some men that had not been careful with themselves. But. Never had you thought about taking one of them inside you, you might not have been the best follower of the church's teachings but you knew this wasn’t something that anyone unmarried was not supposed to do. Now you had a priest of all men inside of you, parts of your mind at war with yourself as he replaced his hand over your mouth again and started moving your body so you were moving along his length. The pain slowly subsides the longer he moves you. One part screaming how this wasn’t right, and another saying this was how it was supposed to be.
That same warmth is building in your belly again, and your body is starting to move on its own, more fluid dripping from you and around his member inside of you. The hand he had been using to move your body slides along your skin to press against that hardened bud again. The sound of the church door opening makes both of you freeze “Stay silent little lamb” whispered in your ear before the priest starts to move his fingers once more.
The voice of the village elder coming from the confessional booth you had been in just a short while ago. And as he speaks you feel yourself growing angry, he’s the reason those boys had ripped up your garden! The longer he speaks the more anger you feel. He’s the one who even before these events had started was spreading the rumors of you being a witch! The priest almost sensing your anger turns your head, pressing his lips against your forehead before speaking to the village elder.
“The lord works in mysterious ways. If there is darkness here, trust in the lord to find it and bring it into the light. Your actions belittle you.” Hearing the priest, his voice tinted with a hint of gravel echos around you as he tells the elder to provide prayers for the salvation of his soul and to beg forgiveness.
It surprises you that once the elder leaves the confessional the priest goes back to working your body, feeling his thickness as it slides in and out of you, his fingers moving at that quick pace once again. Panting lowly against your ear. Swallowing as you feel him twitching inside of you, panting yourself behind his hand as the fire inside of you turns into an inferno and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Hissing as his mouth sinks into the nap of your neck, using your skin to muffle his own noises as something burning fills your center. After a while as the thing inside of you seems to soften, the priest lets go of your skin with a slick pop. “You’ll find. I'm full of mercy little lamb.” The hand on your mouth moves to push your hair to the side “just a few more times.”
When you leave the church, dusk is approaching, you carefully make your way back to your home trying to avoid anyone seeing you since they would no doubt question where you had been in the church. Unaware the village elder watched you leave.
You should have been more careful.
Later that night as you prepared to sleep you find your door being broken down, villagers grabbing you and tying you up to take you to an unlit pyre, tying your body to the centerpiece. Liquid is pouring from your eyes, you don’t understand until the elder is screaming, a gag tied around your lips. “Here is the witch! The corruptor!” At the corner of the crowd, you see him, a large cross held behind his back, Father Nicholas watching as this all plays out. “Even today she worked her evils! Forcing the priest to do her vile bidding!” What! That wasn’t what had happened! “Even the lord’s servant is bound to her whim! He confessed himself and gave testimony, tonight her wickedness ends!”
All while he’s screaming you’re looking at Nicholas, his parting words from earlier ringing in your ear. “Have faith, our lord will save you.” He hasn’t said a word since you’ve been dragged out, just letting the villagers join in with the elder about the things you’ve done wrong in their eyes. Some of them would have died if it hadn’t been for you, and now they were calling for your death. Ignoring them you look to Nicholas once more, his eyes clear and a curt nod sent your way.
“Now! We burn this wicked hag!” Watching almost in slow motion as the torch is put to the kindling around the pyre at your feet. It doesn’t take long for the kindling to start to take the larger pieces of wood, feeling the heat already starting to become too much and your lungs were starting to hurt. The gag in your mouth isn’t helping and you feel yourself starting to feel faint, your head pounding and a ringing in your ears, head slumping forward. You must be hearing things. You think you hear the sound of something flapping like leather in the wind.
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#trigun#nicholas d. wolfwood x reader smut#trigun smut#nicholas d. wolfwood smut#nicholas d. wolfwood#trigun stampede#wolfwood x reader#twink writes#Wolfwood X Reader Smut#trimax#31 days of monsters#nicholas d. wolfwood x reader#trigun maximum#tristamp
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For my legal guardians (I am twenty) @13tinysocks and @itsabee for the irreversible brain rot they have bestowed upon me. As a fair warning, this is not proofread. If I did not publish it today, I would have to wait until Monday at least and I just couldn't.
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Ptolemaea | nonbinary!Bloody Painter x afab!reader | 2.2k words
one-shot masterlist | mdni | cw: religious hedonism, body worship, bloodplay, sadomasochism, knifeplay, enthusiastic consent, accidental edging, tease and denial, minor body mutilation/mentions of body mutilation, crying ho1c
There xe sat, in front of you like a Thanksgiving feast. The image alone filled you with a giddy sense of pride. It was not very holy of you, but Helen thought otherwise. To them, you were absolute divinity. You didn’t need to be pure. You didn’t need to be perfect. Xe wanted you unadulterated - even the messy bits that your Master didn’t like. Oh, how he’d fume if he saw you sat mightily in a chair, Helen prostrating at your feet. It made you feel good. Overwhelmingly good, like stealing a cookie from a cookie jar or playing hooky.
Helen’s hand reached out to grab your ankle, gently caressing the flesh before wrapping their fingers around it. Xe looked up to look into your eyes, their glare chilling.
“How lucky I am to meet eyes with such beauty,”
Trying to hide the warmth splayed across your face, you tilted your chin. Xe pulled on your leg as a response.
“You aren’t getting shy on me, are you? You know, I was hoping you’d let me portray the more… intimate side of you someday,” their voice tilted into a deep mumble as xe stared between your legs, “My actions are not hindering the chance of this, are they?”
Speechless, you meekly shook your head. It was so wrong. Xe wanted to paint you naked? It was an action your Master would execute you for, yet Helen wanted to memorialize it. Regardless, the idea itself made you squirm. Helen’s observative gaze raking over your body would drive you mad. their laugh arose beneath you, light yet bold and gorgeous on your ears.
“I’m glad. Perhaps for a separate occasion, though,”
You continued to let them lead the conversation, as they clearly knew what to say more than you did. It wasn’t your fault that you did not know how to be worshiped. Usually, you were the one worshiping. Frankly, you were unsure how to handle it. It was a bizarre change of pace. A gentle kiss to the front of your ankle tore you from your thoughts.
“As you’re ready we can start liturgy, yes? I can’t wait much longer,”
“I’m ready,” you said.
“Wonderful,” a second kiss was placed, now higher than the previous. You tried to hide it, but you were spiraling. You were being worshiped. It left you with an out-of-place sense of being. You’d spent so long groveling on your knees, giving, and being taken from - you could stand taking for once. This time with your own rules in place. Helen made you believe you belonged here.
“Let me show you my devotion, then we can begin.”
The third kiss xe placed reached your knee, pressing gently against your bare skin. From beside them, sat on the floor, xe grabbed an athame. Xe made it themself: a ritual blade to share between the two of you. Its blade was simple; the handle, a lovely embossed steel flaunting their intricate handwork. It was exquisite, not brutish or cruel. Xe made this to show their devotion to you - to hurt themself in love for you.
Xe ran the blade along their forearm, sharpness cutting down any stray black hairs that lingered. Xe sighed.
“If only we weren’t hindered by our afflictions. I think a scar would be rather lovely. Alas, we make due,”
Blood poured from behind the knife as xe sliced, seemingly materializing out of thin air. It was mesmerizing, the way it flowed down their arm and fell off their wrist, splattering into tiny droplets on the tiled floor. You wondered if they’d stain, purposeful or not. You wondered if - years from now - you’d notice those tiny speckles and recognize them. Xe exhaled into the action, growing noticeably hard between their legs.
“You have no idea how important this is to me,” blood flowed as xe spoke. “no idea how long I’ve seen myself in this exact spot.” Eyes rose to gaze upon your breasts. Legs inched closed in response. Helen’s studio wasn’t exactly warm. As a result, your nipples were hard. The thought of them looking made you feel exposed, but what could be more exposing than sitting in a chair naked? their head rested against your right thigh and xe moved in closer. Showing no pain, xe swiped a finger over their wound letting it pool at their fingertip. Silent, xe traced lines of blood across your thigh.
You supposed this was their attempt at creating runes for the two of you, representing this false religion you’ve created. Admittedly, as you watched, the runes meant nothing more than gibberish. The lines, shapes, and symbols xe drew had no translation. They might as well have been some satanic henna designs, yet you adored them. Xe carefully mapped out a sun, drawing rays of light with their blood before they spoke.
“Nothing to say? Are you enjoying yourself?”
Your thighs rubbed against each other. You could be enjoying yourself more. A smile rose on their face.
“I’m alright,” you told them.
Helen’s wound was already starting to heal, blood coagulating and clinging to itself. Xe made another slice. This time their breathing shook.
“Really? I was hoping you were waiting for something more,” xe traced bloody finger paintings further up your thigh, nearing closer towards your pussy. You were trying to hide how embarrassingly wet you already were. Xe hadn’t even done anything to you. If marking your leg up with blood was enough to make you horny, maybe you were a slut. Maybe it was exactly what xe wanted you to admit. Tell them. Tell them you want them. Tell them you’re a slut. Tell them to make you theirs. You resisted these urges.
“Something more could be nice… What did you have in mind?”
“My muse,” they giggled, “you and I both know exactly what I have in mind.”
Helen’s left hand reached up to grip your waist. Sprawled over you like a Renaissance painting, xe whimpered, “Please?”
Xir begging went straight to your core. Aching for them, you leaned back, shyly opening your legs. Helen’s head instantly found itself nestled in front of your pussy. Xe used their thumbs to spread you open, looking at you before swiping their tongue along your folds.
“You’re glistening,” xe said, mystified, “my prayers must’ve been answered.”
Xe continued to lap away, seemingly drunk in you. Each glide of their tongue - though lazy - was practiced. Xe didn’t neglect your clit, looping back and forth to suck, flick, and tap against it with the muscle. Their expertise had you squirming. Flinging your legs, you wrapped them over their shoulders for support. Quickly, you found your hand in their soft hair. A loud moan filled the echoey room as you tugged the strands. Instantly, xe shoved their lips back up against you, muffling the noise with your body. You keened, causing you to pull harder, spurning the two of you on.
“Don’t hold back. You sing like a choir,”
You let yourself cry for them as xe swirled their tongue around your clit. Unable to hold back, you held their head down, pushing them nearer to you. Tears brimmed your lash line as xe ate you out. Letting loose, you bucked and squirmed and pleaded with them, “Don’t stop!”
In return they teased, slowing down into a traitorous pace, barely pressing kisses against your puffy clit. Pulling at their hair you wailed, “Take that as an order!” You fought the want to say please. Someone of your status should not beg to be worshiped.
Dominance felt sexy in your hands. It felt different. Was this what it was meant to feel like? Was this the confidence of knowing you could ask Helen to do anything for you and they would oblige? There was a playful glint in their eyes as xe sped up, returning to a proper pace. You couldn’t think about it much, suddenly overcome with the returning pleasure. Feeling the sensation build, you panicked. Shit. Were you gonna cum already? Xe just started, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes!
Surely reading your thoughts, xe focused on your clit, sucking heavily and humming against you. You gripped onto them for dear life.
“Fuck, no!” you cried.
“No?” xe stopped, face painted with concern.
“Helen, I need you,” you mumbled, panting. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,”
Worried you’d lose your orgasm, you attempted to push them back down but they resisted.
“Promise me-” they started. “Beg me. Let me know that you want me. I need you to say it before I go any further.”
“Please, please, please, don’t stop. I’ll do anything to cum, please. I want you to make me feel good. Make me cry, make me scream, put your cock inside of me! Ravish me, Helen. Worship me.” -but you were already crying and screaming; fingernails clawing at their shoulders until bright red rivets trickled down.
A smirk crept upon their face. Wordless, xe tore you down from your chair and laid you flat on your back. Teeth nipped at the nape of your neck, forming love bites that busted the skin and deepened in shades of blue. Lining themself up, Helen slipped inside of you agonizingly slowly. Each time xe fucked you, xe still managed to stretch you open.
Moaning as xe bottomed out, xe sucked more loved bites into your skin, prodding until your breasts were spotted with bruises. Xe didn’t stop until your collarbone was lined.
“Please,” you sobbed, “how much longer do I have to beg? Didn’t I get the point across?”
Helen dragged their cock out, making you whine.
“I hear you my little muse,” slamming back into you xe groaned. “I just like hearing the words you say. Bless me with them for a moment longer?”
They started at a slow but rough pace, slamming into you and filling your cunt to the brim each time. Pussy aching, your toes curled. Their cock hit every part of you and each thrust brushed against your g-spot in all the right ways.
“Oh my god,” you muttered.
“Does it feel good?” you nodded, unable to speak, but that wasn’t what xe wanted.
“Tell me, my muse.” xe moaned.
“I don’t want you to stop,”
“I won’t,”
“It feels fucking wonderful,” you managed. Chuckling, xe thrusted. The sound of xir balls slapping against you was intense, but it only reminded you that everything happening was real. You were defying your Master again. You were committing among the most loathed acts among your cult, yet it was never really yours to begin with. Was it? You were being a slut and you had no regrets. Eyes snapped shut, you vowed to never let such trivial matters deprive you of human relationship. Zalgo could suck your dick.
“You like it too, don’t you? You like to fuck my pussy?” The flavor of dirty talk was odd on your tongue. You used the same words, but it didn’t sound the same as when Helen spoke them to you. However, xe didn’t seem to notice, enamored by your change in attitude.
“Fuck-” the word came out gargled and deep, “I love fucking your cunt. You’re made to fit around my cock aren’t you? Why else do you fit so perfectly? We’re meant to be together, muse”
“Then please, can you fuck me deeper? I need you,”
“That’s it, my love.” xe swung your legs to wrap around xir waist. Instantly, you felt how much deeper xe was, reaching the point of too much. Eyes rolling back, you spoke, “I can’t go for much longer.”
“That’s okay. Show me how beautiful you are while we cum together,”
The rough pad of xir thumb ghosted around your clit. Helen knew just how sensitive you’d become and knew not to push you too far. Just a little bit would be enough. As xe rubbed your clit and pounded into you, you quickly neared your orgasm again. You felt dizzy and your legs shook with voracity.
“Are you close?” you asked, trying your best to hold back.
“Yes, my muse. Cum around me. Let me fill you with my cum.”
Helen said this knowing that the moment you’d clenched around them they’d be completely at your mercy, unable to hold himself back any longer. Moaning, you hugged them, wrapping your arms around their neck.
“Cum for me,” they repeated.
Your body twitched and spasmed mercilessly underneath them as you came. It was dizzying how rapidly your cunt pulsed around them and you thrashed as you rode it out. Helen held you in xir arms until you’d both cooled down; after that lying down to be by your side.
“Come here,” xe nudge you to face them, leaning you over to trace lines up and down your back. You wiggled your feet. Your muscles felt loose, as if you’d had the perfect stretch.
“Can you stand?” xe asked.
Could you? You began to worry. Everyone would definitely know Helen fucked the cult-follower out of you if you couldn’t walk for days!
“Why do you look so scared,” xe laughed, “no worries. I’ll take you to your room.”
“Could you stay after for a bit? I’d like to keep laying beside each other.”
“You’d like to cuddle?”
The word felt so squishy and silly from xir mouth. You shrugged.
“I guess so, yeah. I’d like to cuddle. If you’re up for that.”
“Of course I am.”
#I literally dropped my mouse on the floor like four fucking times when writing this#creepypasta#creepypasta smut#bloody painter smut#bloody painter x reader#creepypasta bloody painter#bloody painter#🤍 nova's one shots
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cw: possessive behavior, manipulation, implied murder, suggestive, minor mentions of gore
i adore and thirst over yandere!monsters but i also love the idea of yandere!human x monster.
a human who encounters a monster they should be terrified of but finds themselves filled with intrigue instead. when the monster spares them for whatever reason the human burns with curiosity, restless until they can find out more about the alluring creature.
more encounters leads to some sort of undefined relationship, but the monster must like them right? see them as special in some way, which stops them from harming the human and instead allows the human to get to closer. to give the human the opportunity to understand them on a deeper level.
the human becomes convinced that they are the only person capable of understanding the monster and looking beyond their appearance. they know the monster needs them as someone who is unafraid of the intimacy that grows between them. that encourages them to reveal every grotesque part of them. to allow the monster to have emotions they didn’t think they were capable of.
their love for the human is surely evident in the way they protect the human from any living or natural dangers they encounter. dangers that seem to occur more frequently after the human meets the monster.
they can’t help but feel a pang of envy if they hear someone else has seen their monster too. and they absolutely can not allow anyone to have a growing curiosity that leads them to seek out the monster again. their only choice is to plant rumors around town of all the gruesome things the monster has done. how many innocent people have fallen as their prey. the indiscrimination of their cruelty. they need everyone to be terrified so they stay away. and if these rumors need something to substantiate them, then maybe there needs to be some mutilated bodies found to ensure everyone takes extra precautions to be safe.
maybe they should feel guilty for painting a very dark image in everyone’s mind of their monster, but in the end it’s for the monster’s benefit. no one is truly capable of understanding them so it’s better to spare the monster the hurt of someone running away when they’ve seen too much.
the human will never betray them like that. not only do they see them for who they truly are, but they make the effort to find out how to fulfill their every pleasure. they convince the monster there’s no need to hold back, no need to restrain themselves in fear of hurting the fragile human. the human wants to see and experience every part of them even if it eats away at parts of themselves, turns them into something unrecognizable.
and of course there’s always the chance that the monster is toying with them, viewing the human as nothing but entertaining prey from the very beginning. they’re so desperate to be someone special to the monster that they’ll take whatever consequences come with that role. even if it means sacrificing themselves to fulfill the monster’s desires. why wouldn’t they when the monster convinces them their feelings for the human are so great that they can’t control their primal urges. that tearing into their flesh is the most intimate thing they could do, proving their closeness can compare to no other bond.
the human’s obsession consumes them until they themselves are consumed
#yandere hcs#yandere drabble#yandere scenarios#yandere human x monster#cw terato#cw yandere#cw implied murder#cw gore
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Oasis Update
Hi everyone! I'm about to do something that may disappoint some of you, but I can't leave you all hanging without an explanation.
I'm sorry, but I'm taking a break from writing.
I promise, I won't disappear for months on end, it'll just be a little while (I don't know how long exactly, but I'm DEFINITELY NOT DONE WITH OASIS).
There's a lot that I have planned, and I WILL continue, but I've got some stuff going on and I don't want to share lackluster writing for this AU - at least not of the main story.
I was on a roll with future works, but at the moment I not in a very good mindspace to finish/create works that I'm happy with.
I'll be back with more stories in the future!
In the meantime, have some vent-art I made about my sona (Estro) in the past hour or so.
THIS IS NOT FOR SENSITIVE VIEWERS OR MINORS
CW: Gore, blood, body horror and mutilation under the cut
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
I promise it's not as bad as it seems, this is just some exaggerated vent art.
Until we meet again!
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KNOCKOUTS: Her Tale of Shim Chong (2017 - 20)
Her Tale of Shim Chong is a Korean webcomic written by Seri and illustrated by Biwan reimagining the korean folktale with a yuri twist.
Based on a Korean folktale, two very different women find themselves making the same wish - to leave this world behind. One is Shim Chong, a young beggar living off the kindness of others to support herself and her blind father. The other is the bride-to-be of old Chancellor Jang, sold off to him for the sake of her family. When Shim Chong rescues this new bride from the river, their relationship triggers both love and hidden intentions. But will these two women be able to find their way forth in a world that favors men?
- TappyToon
ENG available through Pocket Comics (or TappyToon) & KR available via Comico.
CWs under the cut. General severity rating: significant.
suggestive scenes
misogyny <- major theme of the text. patriarchy and the crushing weight of gendered expectations are a constant source of struggle.
sexual harassment <- protag gets groped in ch27 & harassed in ch35.
victim blaming <- one side character is constantly pinning men being trash on the protagonist, ie calling her a seductress for like. wearing intact clothes.
suicidal ideation <- women thinking about killing themselves to escape their situation is a common throughline throughout the manhwa.
poverty & homelessness <- protag lives in extreme food insecurity and lives in a tiny wooden shack.
violence <- somewhat frequent violent scenes, including fight scenes, blunt force trauma, knife wounds, and murder. there's blood, but it's not excessive & it doesn't get any gorier than that. a few more minor instances of choking throughout but most significantly in ch72.
self harm <- ch16, character slices her own hand in an attempt to remove one of her fingers.
unsanitary food <- someone puts dead rats and insects in another characters food without their knowledge.
physical abuse (inflicted by a husband) <- a side character is a victim of domestic abuse. you see her being struck in ch20, and beaten with a wooden stick in ch26. she's shown with heavy bruising later in the series.
child abuse <- ~ch57 a child is locked in a storeroom for misbehaving
harm to animals <- dead rabbit is mutilated in ch20 (body not shown). birds (chickens, i think?) are killed for a ritual in ~ch54
#knockouts#her tale of shim chong#rly regret putting this one off i loved it sooooo bad#korean utena. to me.
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