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rebelfell · 7 months

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steve harrington x virgin!reader

Started writing about a nerdy/loser reader getting a job at a summer camp alongside the former king of her former high-school. But only bit I really liked was this piece of smut.

cw: bigdick!steve has entered the chat, fingering, oral (fem receiving), first time piv (unprotected, ‘cos I didn’t describe the condom, but he's wearing one and so should you)

18+, MDNI ︱ 1.4k

“Just, ah…” You winced slightly as the tip of his head pressed at your entrance. “Go slow?”

Steve paused, heavy lidded eyes coming up to meet yours. “Wait, are you a…have you never?”

You watched the reality of your virginity dawn slowly on his face, and squirmed slightly in his arms as you tried to refocus his attention.

“It’s fine, Steve. Don’t worry about it.”

The pressure of his length pushing against your core rescinds as he pulls away and you can’t help the petulant sight that falls from your chest.

Figures, you thought bitterly.

But Steve kept his mouth close. He littered your jaw and neck with kisses, his hands kneading your waist as he kneeled slowly and his lips continued their journey downwards. He wove a serpentine pattern across your chest, over the swell of your breasts, briefly sucking one nipple into his hot mouth while he rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger. You sighed pleasurably at the feeling and vibrations rippled across you as he hummed around your peaked bud before pulling off with a lewd pop. His eyes watched for your reaction, dark and hungry as he kissed down your sternum and carefully spread your legs further to make space for him.

“Steve, wh-what are you—”

“Just want you to be ready,” he murmured, lips skimming over your navel. “Don’t want it to hurt.”

He brought his fingers to your entrance, lazily circling it with them, swirling lightly all around it, brushing your inner thighs as he did. You closed your eyes and tipped back your head, losing yourself in the sensations of Steve’s slow, gradual build. It feels so…nice.

He kissed tentatively at the apex of your thighs, nose pressing into your mound, and internally you cringed at the thought of what you must look like down there. You couldn’t very well shave regularly when you were sharing the showers with twenty other counselors and could count on maybe a solid six minutes of hot water. And in a million years you wouldn’t have been able to anticipate this. So you almost certainly weren’t living up to King Steve’s standards.

Steve said nothing, though. If anything, he only buried his face further in the down of your hair, inhaling your scent like it was his dying breath. The wet heat of his tongue surprised you as he licked a fat stripe through your folds and actually moaned, the sound deep and rumbly in his chest.

“Fuck,” he whispered, soft and reverent as a prayer. “You taste like…summer.”

His grip tightened on your thighs, tugging you closer, smothering his face in your center, licking and sucking at you eagerly, ravenously. His tongue chased off any glimmer of insecurity you might have felt, his enthusiasm evident in the noises that filled the room.

A tingling feeling licks its way up your body, making your cheeks and chest and ears burn hot. Your hands flexed, needing something to hold onto for fear you’ll float away untethered into the ether. With one, you palmed at your breast, missing how it had felt when Steve squeezed them over your staff shirt. The other found its way to twist itself into floppy, caramel-tinged tresses.

“You can pull it if you want,” he teased, the words muffled by your cunt. “I can take it.”

He moaned instantly at the sharp tug you gave, dragging his face against your heat so his nose stroked your clit as you rolled your hips forward.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he growled. “That’s right, baby, ride my face. Make me make you come.”

You rolled your hips again, desperately chasing an end you couldn’t even see you were so lost in the forest of your feelings. Steve lips sealed around your clit, sucking it with intention as he brought his fingers back up. At last, he breached your entrance, slipping one in easily and following it close with a second that made you writhe at the gentle stretch.

The pumped in and out of you at a pace just slow enough to be torture, curling upwards and toying with that spot inside you that had you gushing around his fingers. You’re barely conscious as waves of pleasure rushed across you, chest shuddering with your moans as you gripped at him desperately. His tongue soothes your swollen flesh as he coaxes you through your orgasm, helping you ride it out to the very last second.

In more ways than one, you’re grateful for the warm-up when Steve stood between your legs and brought the head of his cock back to your entrance. Is it at all possible he’s gotten bigger?

He glided it through your folds—once, twice, three times—letting the ridges catch on your clit and making you keen with each too-brief pass. He held it at the base and lifted it slightly, only to let it drop and jolt you as it slapped heavy against your dripping pussy. A dark chuckle fell from his lips at the way your eyes bulged and you gasped at the feeling, not ready for the impact.

And then, in the kind of contrast that rivaled Jekyll and Hyde, he leaned over you and spoke sweetly in your ear as he aligned with you.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

You nodded, too choked up to answer, pinching your eyes closed and bracing yourself to finally feel him. It doesn’t happen, though. He leaned in closer, a hand coming up to cup the side of your face as he lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Hey…look at me.”

Your eyes flew open to find his face hovering inches over yours. The tip of his nose brushed your own and you could practically count his long, dark lashes that fanned around mossy eyes that were almost black in the moonlight. Pieces of his long hair fell forward, the ends of it tickling your face before he pushed it back with his hand. The moles and freckles that dusted his tanned skin were more numerous than the stars in the sky you could see through his cabin’s windows.

“If you want this, you need to tell me so.”

His voice is firm, unyielding, but it’s not mean. Truly, you believed if you were to push him away and tell him you’d changed your mind, he would just tuck himself back into his shorts and be on his way. Except you wouldn’t ever do that. Because, fuck did you want him so bad.

“I want it,” you whispered. “I want you.”

It’s all the invitation he needs.

The feeling of him finally pressing inside is intense, but not so overwhelming that it makes you whine or want to cry out. He goes slow, stretching you methodically as you take him inch by inch. And each time you think he must be buried to the hilt by now, you find there’s another stretch, another inch he can push inside. It has your chest heaving with each one.

“Too much?” he asked as his gaze flicked down to study your face.

“N-no,” you lied, legs shaking from the effort of holding them open.

As though reading your mind, Steve gripped behind your knees and pushed your thighs up towards your chest, holding them there for you. The new angle gives him enough purchase to push in deeper still, making your back arch and your breath punch out in relief.

“We’re so close, baby,” he huffed, hair falling forward again, dusting his brow that’s damp with sweat in the sticky, humid air. “You’re taking me so well, fucking sucking me in.”

With his words, you can almost feel your walls trying to engulf him. They burn from that last blissful stretch until he’s seated fully inside, his pelvis grinding against yours. The fullness you feel is exquisite. By all accounts, it shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t fit. It shouldn’t be so right.

You pictured him pressing on your other organs; twisting up your insides; the way he’ll demolish you as soon as he starts moving. Just the thought has you growing wetter by the second.

“Shit, look at you,” he chuckled, staring down at where your bodies meet, almost in awe. “Can’t fucking believe it…”

If you were being honest, neither could you. Part of you is afraid to breathe, convinced one wrong move will rupture something. But maybe even moreso, you’re dying to find out if it will.

“Okay, Harrington,” you sighed, shooting him a challenging smirk. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve stranger things

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undercoverpena · 7 months

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the angel + the devil

javier peña x f!reader | halloween fic for late night texts

summary: “You may be dressed like that,” he says, dropping his voice “But I know how dirty your halo is.”

chapter warnings: bonus chapter to late night texts, although you can still enjoy without reading. fluff. halloween costumes. reader does wear a dress and heels. javi flirting. office party vibes. sexy talk, alluding to smut, but no actual smut or anything (similar to most of the chapters in the series) romcom vibes ofc ✨ wordcount: 2.4k

an: i still cant believe how beloved this little series is. i hope you like this little hallow-shot of my fave pairing.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Don’t forget tonight is my works halloween party, if you’re still coming.

i haven’t forgotten baby

You say that but you forgot to bring milk the other day.

you told me you was wearing my shirt, naked

Thought high-pressured situations were your bag, baby.

well you do always know the way to bring me to my knees

Pocketing his wallet and keys, Javi stares up at your work building.

He’s picked you up from work plenty of times, but he’s never been inside. Not like this, anyway.

Over breakfast, dinners and more since the two of you have been dating—and then living together—he’s managed to collect snippets of information.

Been able to make collages from the pieces you hand him—a picture board with ribbons and string connecting things, concocting an image of what things must look like. From the place the copier is to what your desk looks like.

Tonight, he’ll get to see it himself. He’ll have the chance to see the photo strip from Houston there, a little cactus plant you’d named Randy and a set of trays (all filled with paperwork) that he’d helped you find in town.

The rest though, was blank. All fuzzy in his mind.

A puzzle, one needing to be solved.

It’s why his finger and thumb brush against themselves as he steps through the doors, the instructions you’d given him illuminated on his phone. It’s easy enough, especially with the decorations up the stairs, hearing himself being called to by the distinct sound of the Monster Mash that is floating to his ears, guiding him to you.

Maybe, he should have texted to say he was here.

You’d be waiting for him then. Likely hovering at the doorway, looking somewhat lost and nervous—it brings back memories of scribbled-out signs and bubbling apprehension at the airport.

But, if anything, that’s why he doesn't text—doesn’t announce or tell you he’s parked up and climbing the staircase two at a time to see you.

Because Javi wants to see you, capture a sight of you across the room, and give you another romantic moment to add to the ones that make the both of you so “movie-like”.

Except, as soon as he steps through the last doorway, and his eyes land on you, he realises the moment isn’t for you, but rather for him.

His stomach flutters, fingers halting in their previous nervousness, stretching out as his head tilts. He takes you in—trails his eyes from the heel of your white shoes to the nervous finger-tapping you’re doing on the red cup, before he reaches your face—flecks of glitter, painted lips.

And fuck are you pretty.

You’re more than an angel. You’re something else entirely.

Ethereal, captivating, irresistible.

The mere sight of you making his throat dry and his heart quicken all over again, just like it had done outside that airport. Just like you had done from the first text to the see you later you left him with this morning.

He pinches his thigh, just lightly—because again, he’s left with the thought, the realisation: you chose him.

A reminder that is forever there. One he normally buries in gratitude against your lips, or clutches your hand—

You tiring from an ex-DEA agent yet, cariño?

Not even a little bit, handsome.

You’d chosen him because of text messages, fallen for him because of phone calls, and fell further in a hotel room miles away. Him doing the same, re-falling each day all over again due to moments he never thought he’d get to enjoy.

Simple things, like you sewing a jacket on his Pop’s coat to the way you listened when he finally told you everything that happened in Colombia. Your face not shifting, not until the end, not until you ended up in his lap telling him how proud you were of him.

Something he believed.

Somehow, though, a small part of him still expects this to be a dream. A cruel joke from life, because you’re way too good to be true. You’re nothing but kind, generous. Doing everything to remind him continuously how much he deserves you. That he’s good, worthy, amazing.

He’s about to clear his throat, announce his arrival, when your laugh dies at something one of your colleagues says. Then, he watches in slowed time how your eyes sweep—a thing he suspects you’ve been doing since way before he arrived—before landing right on him.

It forces his heart to skip.

A smile, different than the one you’d given to your colleague, spreads and flowers across your face—the fairy and ceiling lights not holding a candle to the way it brightens up the room.

He finds himself mirroring it, letting it unfold, grow, spread, sliding up into his cheeks as he watches you excuse yourself, placing your cup down on a desk before you rush over to him.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Look at you, angel.”

His fingers slide across his jaw, half-tempted to ask you to twirl—witness how the white dress skims your knees, trailing his eyes up and down, drinking you in all over again.

If you mind, you say nothing, although he imagines your cheeks will be warm if he touches them. Your eyes dropping, fingers moving, sliding to adjust the straps of your feathered wings, before touching up the headband with your halo attached—the one he’d watched you glue the other night, tongue out, teeth perched near the tip.

“I’m glad you came.”

“You asked, cariño. Por supuesto que vendría por ti.”

Shrugging, you smile, shifting on your feet. “I know, but you still came, dressed as… wait—what are you dressed as?”

Putting his palms up at the side of him, he grins. His head dips, eyes following your path over his dark jeans and red shirt, as his fingers slide to his back pocket—pulling out a headband with little horns on, placing it on top of his head.

“A devil.”

“Of course,” you say, sliding your arms around his neck. “Very fitting.”

Smirking, he traces his teeth with his tongue, letting you stare at him in the same way he had been you, until you move closer, sliding your arms around his neck. Basking in the way you kiss him, so softly—almost innocently—but with a hidden agenda underneath you can’t display too much of in the centre of your workplace.

But, he still feels the tip of your tongue sweep over his bottom lip—even if to others it’s just a chaste kiss. He knows that in the back of your throat, there had been a little hum growing—the one he pulls from you when he greets you at home, when the decision to eat or “nap” first arises.

“You may be dressed like that,” he whispers, dropping his voice, mouth to your ear as he hugs you. “But I know how dirty your halo is.”

Stepping back, he watches as his words force your lips to part. You battle a smirk, toying with it, chewing it, before displaying an eye roll.

Then, Javi feels you slide your hand into his, bodies so close to being flush, your breath doing a dance over his jaw and neck.

“I think we can make it dirtier. Can’t we?”

Pausing, he tilts his head, brow arching—watching you just smirk, far more devilish than angelic.

And, Javi suddenly wishes his jeans weren’t as tight as they are.

where have you gone, one of your colleagues is eyeing me up

Well, maybe you should try being less good looking.

funny

I’ll be one second, got caught coming out the bathroom by someone from finance.

do you need rescuing

You gonna throw me over your shoulder?

if i do that i’ll be carrying you home

This is why you’re the devil and I’m the angel, my thoughts are pure.

if I put my fingers between your thighs i bet your body says otherwise

Javi!

Handing him a cup, you tap yours against his, shooting a wink.

He doesn’t miss the way you eye him—not at all in a way different to the one he’d been getting from your colleague earlier.

“¿Te estás divirtiendo?"

Sliding closer to him, you press a kiss on his cheek. Angling yourself, the front of your dress moving, shifting, forcing his eyes to drop to where some of the glitter has fallen across your collarbone and cleavage.

“Such a bad girl.”

Smirking, you take a sip. “Angels don’t just fall from heaven for anything, or anyone, Javi.”

There’s a retort brewing—readying on the tip of his tongue—but someone approaches. A snort escapes you before they call your name.

He’d met so many of the people he’s heard things about—having been able to stitch faces to names, to hear their actual voice, and not the one you adopt when you’re telling him stories about your day. But this person's name doesn’t come to him with ease, nodding, agreeing it was lovely to meet them too.

Javi listens to you wish them a good weekend, hugging them, your wings brushing against his side as you do.

Then, the two of you are alone once again.

The whole night, between speaking to people, the two of you have traded in whispered angel and devil jokes—deviousness coming to him with ease, your eyes sparkling, somewhat twinkling as you hear each of them. Sometimes, your retorts silence him, rendering him useless—forcing you to slide more in front of him, his fingers digging into your hip.

Fuck, he wants you on his lap now.

More so, as the punch thins out and the party dwindles—some excusing themselves for home, for better offers or fraternisation with other departments—and the two of you are left him to a corner.

We can go soon. If you want?

Your eyes meet his, hands stroking up and down his arm—soothing, calming, genuinely wanting him to choose.

We can go whenever you want.

The two of you standing, his hip flush with yours, the scent of your perfume doing a swirl in his nose, watching as you smirk against your cup.

It’s hard not to feel that familiar surge inside him as he watches your lips. Because he never tires of you, is never bored of just admiring and observing.

“What you thinking about, cariño?”

The look you shoot him is one of pretend innocence. He can tell. He’s become an expert in you—both in the subtle shifts in your expressions and the way your body talks to him.

“Just thinking, that if I’d thought about it more, you could have come as a pencil and I could be your crossword,” you smile. “Y’could have spent the evening filling me in then.”

He’s mid-drinking when it hits him, making him choke, and splutter.

Your smirk rises as you bring the cup to your lips. “Two can play that game, Peña.”

“Touché, baby.”

For a moment, he lets you be smug.

Let it grace across your features, teeth peering out, eyes twinkling under the unflattering fluorescent light—that you still manage to look stunning under.

“Or, I could have come as a vampire,” you continue, eyes averting, a smirk desperate to grow, “I am really good at sucking.”

He almost crunches the cup, his head tilting, eyes burning into you as his brain fills with thoughts—ones that almost ravage him. Smother over the purer ones he keeps forcing himself to manifest, innocent things he’s yanked up so he doesn’t get a hard-on in the middle of your work office party.

Because you’re dressed as a fucking angel.

“Did you want to see my desk, baby?”

“Is it far?”

Shaking your head, you drain your cup, placing the empty in a nearby trash bin as you offer your hand. Leading, guiding him, pointing out little things that offer some clarification to stories he’s listened attentively to when the two of you have eaten.

“It’s just in here,” you announce, pointing to a closed door before the two of you enter.

As soon as the door clicks shut, his palm is against the wall—caging you in, his body close. Your laugh light, airy, brushing over his face as your fingers slide up his cheeks.

The two of you are flush, but not so harshly against the wall to crush your wings. He wants them intact, needs them to be there later.

“You like my costume, baby?”

He groans, tightening his grip on your waist. The light from the hallway splays across your face—illuminating your eyes as you stare up at him. Noticing the usual flecks of lust and need that swirl whenever the two of you are like this.

“You thinking innocent thoughts, cariño?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Your fingers tangling into his hair, his hips light in their efforts to press you against the wall. The air tightening, anticipation building, and building. It all layering, more so as his fingers drop, tracing under the hem of your dress.

His lips curl, the tip of his tongue dragging across his lower lip. “I like your office.”

“Bring back memories for you?”

Snorting, he grins. “No. I didn’t… I didn’t do that.”

“You want to?”

He considers it. More so when your lips slant back across his, when you whimper lightly when the kiss deepens.

Javi traces his finger over your thigh, half-tempted to slide it further up, skate it over whatever fabric you’ve chosen to wear between your thighs.

But he stops himself, halts.

Instead, he slides his fingers back under your chin, tilting it up. “Rather take you home. To our home.”

He watches as your smile curls up, lips pursing, eyes flicking down before meeting his. “Take me home then.”

Your fingers lightly flutter along his cheek, the top of your nails scraping gently against his skin, into the hair above his ears.

“Not to be a devils advocate, but we don’t have to wait until we get home, do he?”

Smirking, he lets a soft laugh exit under his breath.

“Seven letters,” you whisper, teasing his hair in your fingers, “Highest point.”

He kisses you. Pressing his smirk against your lips, feeling yours emerge as he does.

“You’re a real fallen angel, aren’t you?”

Snorting, you slant your mouth over his, likely wanting one more before the sea of goodbyes and see you in a week have to be said.

“Fallen straight into you, though. No regrets from me,” you add.

Pressing a kiss to your lips, Javi mumbles, “Not from me either.” Hands sliding around your waist, stealing another moment. “Need you to keep the halo on.”

Tilting your head, you pull from his lips. Breaths dancing, shared between the two of you.

“Wanna see how long it takes until I can fuck it off your head, cariño.”

Grinning, your tongue sweeps over your bottom lip. The slightest of head shakes. “Think you knocked the real one off my head ages ago—when you made me moan your name down the phone.”

an: if you have any ideas of what our pairing can get up to, let me know. i can't promise I'll always write them, but you never know.

#javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #mm: late night texts #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

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manicpixiefelix · 4 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 13.

Summary: As you promised, you spend the morning with Farleigh as moral support for Oliver's upcoming visit. Perhaps getting reasonably high and discussing your sex life wasn't the best move, all things considered, but it definitely seemed like a good idea at the time.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, kind of explicit discussions about sex, reader gets high and is high for the second half of the chapter (based on my experiences & understanding of weed)

A/N: 6673 words. OH WE ARE SO BACK. we get to spend more time with farleigh this chapter, i love him so very much omg. also the reader's experiences/behaviour while stoned is definitely reflective of my experience, and everyone experiences these things differently so that's that. also felix being down So Bad for the reader when they're high because of how fucking adorable he thinks they are??? man is In Love. but please, leave a comment letting me know how we're feeling about getting back into it after a break for some AU and oneshot shenanigans! next chapter will be from oliver's POV and im THRILLED about it.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

On your first morning back at Saltburn, you wake to the smell of cigarette smoke. Felix is beside you, sitting up against his headboard, cigarette in one hand and book in the other. Groggily you lean over, bumping your forehead to his lowered elbow, and he smiles down at you. In the morning light, Felix is ethereal; at Saltburn, in his element, completely relaxed and at home, he glows.

You'd lost count of how many times you'd woken up next to him, it feels like hundreds, possibly thousands at this point, but something about this, the thousand and first, is different. Is better. Soon enough this dream-space will be broken by the idea of breakfast, and the anticipation of Oliver arriving, but right now you bask in this one, tiny piece of perfect.

Your room.

"My Felix," you mumble mostly to yourself in the morning light. It's more like a sigh, like a dreamy reminder of the Summer to come. Felix goes pink, which you don't even see, eyes closed and wearing a blissful, sleepy expression, half pressed to the pillow by his side.

You'll never be entirely privy to the ongoing thoughts of Felix Catton, no matter how well it may seem that you can read them. But you've always wondered. Sometimes you ask, and you know he wouldn't lie to you, but you always find yourself curious about the things he leaves unsaid. Not now, of course, now you're falling back asleep, but it's moments like this, moments you wonder about how he perceives the vague, offhand possessiveness - or overt possessiveness, if that afternoon you'd spent meticulously marking him said anything - you so frequently display. It's not always intentional. You wonder if he's ever found it off-putting.

It's never been a conversation the two of you have outright had; why not me? Why not only me? It's never had to be asked; beautiful, fanciful people should not be confined. What a shallow answer. Because you are the home I will always come back to, I promise, I promise, I promise. But there's no way to say that out loud. There never has been, even if you've both known it for years.

But none of that plagues you now; the bed and the early morning are both pleasantly warm. The heat from Felix sitting beside you is as comforting and familiar as is the smell of his cigarette amongst the fresh air from the open window. You're drifting back off for what little more sleep you could capture before the day begins, and you don't see the way Felix is watching you in this moment.

There are no eyes on Felix now, no-one to watch, no-one to judge. No-one else who knows how you smile when you sleep next to him.

Breakfast has everyone else in the house buzzing. Venetia's hungry-eyed across the table from Farleigh, her food practically untouched as she demanded as much information from him as possible after complaining about you and Felix being stubbornly tight-lipped. As you hear them gossip, you and Felix share an exasperated look at the edge of the room, you with two plates of food and him with two steaming mugs, before you both head back to the table.

"Y/N, dear," Elspeth cuts over Farleigh's sarcastic remarks about Oliver's fashion choices the minute you settle yourself down. Looking to her with a polite smile, as was custom, she smiles back, "Duncan has put together our Summer event schedule for you, would you still like it to be left in the lilac study?" You nod, quiet and grateful, trying to start on your breakfast before she adds, "as always we've made particular note of the events which your parents have been included as part of the guest list for, so please do just let us know ahead of time whether you plan to be in attendance also -"

"Mum," Felix hissed, to which Elspeth looked rather confused and startled, as if she couldn't understand what she'd done wrong. Pamela, as ginger as you'd ever seen her, and clearly having come back to the house despite not having been here over Christmas, looks to you with that doe-eyed softness that she always seem to have.

"Darling, I didn't know you had parents," she mused with her trademark far-away tone of voice. Her words, however, set off both Farleigh and Venetia, who couldn't help but laugh, and even Felix was grinning behind his mug.

"Of course they have parents, Pamela," Elspeth whispered loudly to her, clearly embarrassed on the woman's behalf, while you just tried to enjoy breakfast, and the absurdity of it all.

"No, I always thought-" Pamela frowned for a minute, looking between Elspeth and Sir James, "aren't they one of yours?" Her gaze turning back upon you, then to Felix next to you, "I recall something about you two being twins, isn't that right?"

"No, dear, that's not -" Elspeth is desperately trying to salvage the conversation despite Venetia all but crying with laughter. Both yourself and Felix, after sharing a vaguely horrified look about the whole situation, try to focus on your breakfasts, even as Elspeth continues, "Pamela please don't say something so crass at the table."

"What's crass about the idea of Y/N and Felix being twins, Auntie Elspeth?" Farleigh asks, wearing a smile that's all teeth as his Aunt freezes momentarily. Venetia's laughing has gone past the point of being audible.

Felix chokes on the coffee he's been trying to hide behind, right as your eggs go down your windpipe and send you into a coughing fit.

"When was Oliver set to arrive again?" Sir James asks like he's absolutely oblivious to the situation that has arisen at his breakfast table, instead lowering his paper to smile brightly at his son.

"Um," Felix takes half a moment to compose himself once more, before levelling a weak smile at his father, "I believe his train gets in at three."

"Wonderful," ever enthusiastic, James nods, "we'll have a car sent out and waiting for him." As if the Cattons have ever made anyone catch a taxi if they didn't have a town car of their own. Forever eager to be the perfect hosts.

"Do you think he even knows what a town car is?" Farleigh asks disdainfully, which sets Elspeth off and cooing about the sorry state of their upcoming guest, while you attempted to swat Farleigh's arm for his comment.

"Hey, no," he leans out of your reach, all but oozing contempt at the reminder of Oliver's impending arrival, "you're my ally in this today, you promised; no being bitchy about my opinions just because I don't want to save a horse, ride a pauper like you do -" even as you snap at him, the eyes of most of the table are on you in an instant.

"Farleigh," you snarled under your breath, feeling yourself growing flustered.

"You're a dreadful fucking pest," Felix frowns at his cousin around you, but Farleigh merely shrugged without even a shred of remorse. Several pairs of newly intrigued eyes are still fixed on you.

"Felix had mentioned that you were fond of Oliver, pet, isn't that right?" Elspeth began tentatively. You kind of wished your chair would spontaneously collapse beneath you, if only to give everyone something else to talk about. Alas, it remained sturdy, and you remained pinned like a butterfly beneath Elspeth and Venetia's gazes, "I never really thought to ask what you thought of the boy, which is foolish of me, he's your friend too, is he not?"

"Clearly," Venetia said, smile surprisingly wolfish.

Oliver's constantly searching eyes shine blue as the sky in your mind. Everything Oliver Quick says, does, and is, seems so deliberate; he's constantly a man with more thoughts than words, so you know that what he chooses to say always has meaning. You love that he's capable of directness that so many others will shy away from, but is able to chatter through small talk if it's to be had. He can read a room and let it affect his approach without feeling the need to change himself; that's why so many of your friends back at Oxford found him so off-putting. It's one of the things you loved about him.

Oliver is Oliver at the club, at the pub, walking to class, in the grocery store listening to you and Felix argue about pasta sauce, in your bed, smiling at you and kissing you and murmuring the kinds of things to you that none's ever taken the time to say, the kinds of things that makes your heart beat hard against your ribs and in your throat in a way that you don't get from people who aren't Felix anymore -

"Uh, yeah, he's a good friend," you shrug and try to seem as nonplussed about the discussion as you're able to, while your eyes are all but burning holes into your plate, "he's really quite lovely, and he's got such a beautiful, unique face; I think you'll be very charmed by him, Elspeth." Beside you, Felix coughs very deliberately to cover a laugh.

Chancing a glance at him, you're both pleased and vaguely mortified to see, not the jealousy you would have seen perhaps a week ago during a discussion like this where he is privy to far too much information about your feelings regarding Oliver. Instead, you see your best friend trying not to laugh at your casual act knowing your casual 'he's a good friend' and 'he's really quite lovely' actual means 'I've been absolutely railed by the young gentleman coming to stay at our house, so yes you could say I adore him'. This is much better than the jealousy. This is one of the many reasons you love having Felix as a best friend. You also desperately wished you weren't at the breakfast table with the entire rest of his family.

Elspeth, however, seems pleased enough by the answer to let you finish your breakfast in peace. Felix does too, but he's wearing this amused little knowing smile the entire time. Okay, if it means Felix isn't being weird and jealous about it, you'll take it.

After breakfast, you allow Farleigh to pull you outside to the picnic table you'd had installed in the middle of your favourite flower garden. He'd asked you to paint his nails, promising to return the favour, claiming to desperately want to spend his last hours of freedom surrounded by beauty while he could.

"You're mad at me," he says bluntly as you're concentrating on painting the nails on his left hand black. Like Freddy Mercury used to, he'd told you.

"No..." you murmured distractedly, trying to wipe carefully at where you'd gotten a bit on his skin.

"You don't have to be here," Farleigh could be heard rolling his eyes, and as you dipped the brush back into the bottle, you paused for a moment, looking up at him in genuine confusion.

"You asked me to spend time with you today," like it's the simplest thing in the world.

"You are aware that you're not actually a robot, right?" It surprises you how genuinely concerned he looks in this moment, leaning forwards, as if proximity would better impart the importance of his words, "you don't have to do just what everyone says; you have free will."

Looking down at the bottle, as if to continue your work and not to hide your expression, you once again tell him that you know. You move onto the next nail, and Farleigh falls silent.

It is beautiful out here. The garden itself that you found yourselves in was actually considered to be yours. It had been a birthday gift from James and Elspeth after hearing some of your idle musings as a late teen. It was an overwhelming offer, one you'd tried to turn down countless times; there were books about the Saltburn Estate as it was, they shouldn't allow you to alter it in any way! But they'd been terribly insistent. Our home is your home. You won't even lie; you started crying on the spot at that.

They'd asked you if you wanted to hire people to get it all taken care of, and while you'd accepted in part, the actual planting and initial maintaining of the garden itself was something you put an entire Summer into.

A circular design with a beautiful vine-covered arch as it's entrance, two thick rows of flowers in various shades of pinks, blues, purples, and whites bordering the outside, with a bubbling stream separating them. Smooth stones lead through the arch to a circular opening of lush, green grass, itself encircled by another small stream. The picnic bench sat at the back of the inner circle, while several small white chairs and benches with ornate tables between them sat either side, still leaving a generous patch of grass that you'd often had picnics on in the years since it's creation.

When you had come back over the following break after the garden had been completed, you see that a single statue had been placed flush against the back of the picnic table, between it and the edge of the stream, fitting perfectly. Far more understated than most of the other statues littering the Saltburn estate, it was of a young woman, her hair tied back and looking even to be quite short if you looked at it the right way, in a surprisingly shapeless toga, arm raised, hand poise to her mouth as if she's about to eat whatever's in her hand. Four large seeds. The figure looks gleeful at the prospect of eating them. The figure kind of almost looks like you. But you've always brushed it off; you're not that vain.

The Cattons have always had loved their mythology.

The family called it the Fairy Ring Garden, and Elspeth especially enjoyed hosting gatherings there.

Now, it was peaceful, just as Farleigh had hoped, smelling sweet even when the flowers weren't all in their full bloom. You cap the bottle, reaching for the top coat.

"They're not going to kick you out," Farleigh breaks the silence as you're shaking up the formula and waiting for his nails to dry. But his words have you stopping dead.

"I never said I thought they would..." you say slowly, while something uncomfortable begins to gnaw at your stomach. Farleigh's expression, while unimpressed at what he knows is a lie, is still full of that concern.

"But you do think it."

Logically, rationally, you know they won't. But you also know that you can't even bring yourself to say it in a way that was believable. Farleigh's looking at you like you're a puzzle he can't even being to solve, a friend with a problem he doesn't know how to talk through. So you ignore the comment altogether.

"I am mad at you," you say instead, looking up at him with a humourless smile.

"About... this?" He frowns.

"About implying that I have the hots for Oliver at the breakfast table, you dick," and you got back to shaking the nail polish as Farleigh laughs in that sharp and familiar way that breaks all the rest of the tension.

"I was not expecting breakfast to be such a shitshow," he wheezes with laughter, his free hand coming to rest on his chest as he kept his hand with it's black nails still on the table for you, "Pamela is a riot, God I love her."

"Where did she get the impression that Fi and I were twins?" You crows with amusement, which just set Farleigh off again, "and Elspeth's horror at the thought - did you see her face?!"

"I'm not even lying to you, I didn't realise she like, actually knew you and Felix were boning until she made that comment to Pamela -" Farleigh grinned with a scandalous little gasp.

"I hardly did either, except yesterday she got all weird about Fi and I officially sharing a room while Oliver was here, and it was clearly because she knew we sleep together; I have no idea how much she knows, or how long she's known, but she definitely knows," you offered with a smirk, while Farleigh ate up the gossip with glee.

As your focus returned to your work on the final layer of polish on his fingers, the conversation died down for several, serene minutes.

"Felix is going to show Oliver to his room when he arrives -" Farleigh's voice was unfortunately once more laced with disdain.

"Can I ask what your genuine problem is with him?"

It's quiet, but there's a distinct, irate hum from across the table after half a minute. Farleigh, when you glance up at him, is frowning down at his fingers, at you painting the final one, carefully cultivating his thoughts.

"There is an inherent unwillingness to engage in the stylistic aspects of, well, everything, despite how he is a constant, lurking watcher of the world, and must still see the value that is placed on it, that I find... off-putting," he says very carefully, and the minutes you've finished his nails, he picks up the base coat from the table and starts shaking it, waiting for you to present your hands for him to return the favour. "He acts like this weak, little mouse, but he's the cat, always watching every fucking thing, judging all of us but pretending like he's not and he's innocent. He's like you, but at least you're upfront about it," it's not a surprise when he finishes your first hand and looks up to gauge your reaction.

It's the second time someone's compared you to Oliver. Somehow you think you like this comparison better. Still, it feels strange to hear. Farleigh only waits for half a second, however, before he starts on the next hand.

"You..." you too carefully pick your next words, "have clearly put some thought into this."

"Adriana is going to hear a lot about Oliver tomorrow in our session; I'm trying to put some of the work in before I get there," he says flatly, though you can't help but genuinely smile.

"Adriana?"

"Therapist; phone session scheduled for tomorrow. Organised it before I knew about yours and Felix's little coup of my Summer, but I'm more than glad for it now."

"You're still going to those sessions? Good for you, man."

"Yeah, mom and Uncle James thought it might help me stick it out at Oxford," he sucks his teeth loudly for a second, "guess they were right." Then, without even looking up, "she still think you need therapy too," he practically sings, and you hum noncommittally. Farleigh's mentioned once or twice that the few times he'd brought you up in his own sessions, his therapist had seemed reasonably concerned about you. You had chosen to ignore it before, and you would continue ignoring it now.

"You brought weed, right?" That was the other thing about the Fairy Circle Garden, it was tradition to get high if it was any combination of the four of you children. Farleigh grins as he finishes off your left hand, both because your obvious attempt to dodge his statement, and because yeah, obviously.

"Let me finish your nails first; did you bring your iPod?"

"Of course."

You'd chosen a pale, gold polish, something almost close to a cream colour, that sparkled in the light, and spent the entire time Farleigh was furiously searching his pockets for his lighter admiring them.

In the afternoon sun, you and Farleigh lay in the grass of the Fairy Circle Garden, sharing a joint and listen to a shuffled mix of Queen songs. Elspeth had put one of their albums on after dinner, which the whole family let themselves enjoy, and it had been on all your minds ever since.

"Can I ask you something?" Farleigh mumbles, holding his hand up to the sky to admire the shiny, black polish adorning his nails.

"My dearest Fars," you grinned widely at him, "you can ask me anything ever in the world; it's me, you know this, but -" you turn faux serious, though only for a second, taking back the almost finished joint, "now you can ask me anything." And you breathe deeply, letting the smoke sit in your lungs, passing the last of it back to Farleigh. He takes his time, however, and your head swirls the longer you let the smoke settle in your lungs.

"I genuinely cannot picture Oliver being any fucking good in bed," he blurts out, and turns to you; unfortunately there's a look in his eyes that's genuine rather than disdainful, "granted," he amends, seemingly actually reasonable about this, "sometimes my mind does replace him with the puppet version of Pinocchio, from the cartoon - I'm actually not trying to be mean here, my brain just does that -" while you're actually rolling on the grass with laughter, both from his apparent situation, but also because the weed has definitely already hit you.

"Farleigh, oh my god -"

"Stop it," he's starting to sound genuinely distressed, "I've had sex with you, I know what you've got going on down there; I can't stop vividly imagining you getting puppet dick!" Your attempts to comfort him aren't particularly successful when you're still cackling even as you try and hug him. At least he accepts it, returns your hug despite sulking at your continued laughter. Then, and you can actually hear him getting over his distressed bit as he adds, "it's wooden, right? And it grows like his nose?"

It takes you a full five minutes to calm down from your laughter once more, but at least this time Farleigh's laughing too.

"Christ, Fars -" you're wiping tears of laughter from your eyes, sitting up, your legs crossed. Farleigh is still stretched out, lounging on his side and propped up on his elbow, "I'm never going to be able to watch Pinocchio again."

"Now you know how I feel," he shrugs, "and that was before I knew you'd -"

"Whatever weird, possible puppet-based euphemism -"

"Oh, you know me so well," he smirked, though the look in his eyes is warm.

"- I'll pass on," a lull comes in the conversation, and you lay yourself back once more. Checking your watch, you're surprised that there's still quite some time before lunch, "why would I lie?" You lower your arm, and prop your hands behind your head. Farleigh makes a confused noise, "about Oliver; do you think I'm lying?"

"My dearest Y/N," he echoes your tone and affection from minutes earlier, before sliding to his more familiar cadence, "you can, will, and have gotten in bed with every person who's caught your fancy. I have watched you transcend sexuality literally all over the globe, and I know from countless personal experiences - thank you by the way - that you rate sex by how good you can make your partner feel," he looks up at you for just a moment where he's laying on his back like he's remembering those countless personal experiences and you do not have the self restraint to not roll onto your side to face him, to watch him. Farleigh both knows what you're doing, while also finally making his point; "I don't think Oliver Quick is good in bed, I think you just made that man find God."

It's quite the compliment, and if it were anyone else, he'd probably be right.

"Fars-" your smile widens bashfully, and he has to close his eyes for a moment, shaking his head.

"Don't say my name like that, you're derailing the conversation," he mumbles, sounding rather bashful.

"Like what?"

"The way you do when you're high," he huffs an embarrassed breath, cracking an eye open to look at you. You hadn't realised that there was any special way that you would say it, but you apologise faintly, shifting yourself to lay at an angle, your head on his chest, facing him. Farleigh closes his eyes again, wearing a faint smile as he runs his fingertips up and down your arm in a soothing, repetitive gesture. Which does nothing but feel like teasing in your current state.

"Why do you care so much about Oliver's dick-game?" You try and focus. It catches Farleigh off guard, judging by his bark of laughter.

"As you have so thoroughly pointed out at least twice by now, the man has a limited number of features that would be arguably hot on someone with a better personality -"

"Oh, right," you nodded, "your repressed crush on my poor friend who you hate," tone flat, you brace for whatever response you know you will get, but still yelp when you receive a hard pinch on the arm. "Those are some big words, by the way; Adriana should give you a gold star - ow! Fine!" You pout, doing your best to cross your arms despite not actually moving yourself from Farleigh. It takes a few beats, but you hear the faintest laugh echo in Farleigh's chest, and moments later he returns to idly running his fingers up and down your arm.

The moment settles around you both, and you let your eyes fall closed. This moment of contentment almost mirrors the one from this morning, but your head swirls too much for it to be entirely perfect.

"I'm not lying," you finally say. Farleigh makes a noise of interest. Eyes still closed, you're kind of willing to bet his are too, "you said so yourself; Oliver's like me, he... watches," you wet your lips, hesitating for a moment, "he listens."

"But you listen," Farleigh says like the equation isn't adding up in his mind. God why did you have to talk about this in the first place, now all you can think about is Oliver, Oliver, Oliver -

Harder, he'd actually listened. Hold me here. Listened. This angle. You can bend me like this. Pull. Bite. Move. Fuck.

You had to open your eyes; Farleigh is watching you, half seemingly aroused by whatever picture he has in his head, half still relatively confused. Every sensation in your mind feels tenfold right now, you could have said any number of things to prove your point, but there's one that sticks. Slowly, you sit up, half bracing yourself over Farleigh, hands planted in the grass either side of him as your silhouette blocks the sun from his face.

"Fars," you've already forgotten that there's something about that nickname that always gets him, even soft and serious like this, "Ollie's the first person outside of Felix who's made me cum before they've gotten the chance to finish in my entire memory."

Farleigh, who'd been grinning up at you, gently running his fingertips across your cheek and down your jaw, actually looks a little stunned.

"That can't be right." He mutters faintly. Your answering expression is grim and telling, "oh my god," with the exact tone of someone discovering shocking, world altering news about situations far less trivial, but the apology in his eyes and faint horror in his voice is rather amusing.

"Doomed to the life of a - what did you call me that one time?" You grinned despite yourself, sitting back a little, "a service bottom?"

"Oh my god I definitely did!" Farleigh lights up at the memory, glad too for the breaking of tension once more, and you rather eagerly add.

"So it was nice to be, you know, be listened to, taken care of the way I kind of take care of people?" You try to put it to words, "but I still- uh, I think I was just a regular- um -"

"Oliver Quick; service top," Farleigh muses like it's of great importance, which is enough to make you laugh once more. But your arms are getting tired of holding you up, and your self restraint is worn past the point of no return, so finally you lean down to kiss him. Farleigh grins against your lips, "hey."

"Hi," you murmur, everything about you radiating a syrupy kind of fondness, "I'm not mad at you."

"Clearly," Farleigh chuckles faintly, pulling you back in. The second day of Summer and it feels like freedom already, and of Summers long passed. Getting high and making out in the Fairy Circle Garden is not an unfamiliar experience, and you'd always considered it a good way to pass the time. In your mind, it seems like a great idea at the time to share another joint together; you end up with Farleigh's knee between your thighs by the time you realise that you're almost late for lunch.

"Oh my god, Fars, they're going to kill us," you couldn't contain your laughter as you briskly made your way back to the house.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Farleigh called out from a few feet behind, and you stopped, looking at him with concern for his urgent tone. Instead, he swooped in with a grin to give you one more kiss before passing you, "they're not going to care," he adds.

"They're so going to care!" You hissed, voice a guilty mix of concerned and amused as you stepped into the house. Then, after a moment, "I care if they know!"

"That is not something I can help you with, pet," Farleigh shrugged, "but I think they might care about the grass stains on our clothes." And with that he swans away, radiating a bright confidence that you can't help but be endeared by in this moment, that distracts you, if only for a second, from your nerves.

Back in your room, the nerves set in tenfold when you find Felix to be there as well.

"How's Farleigh coping?" He asks with a pleasant smile.

Be totally cool and stealthy and not high right before Oliver's meant to arrive. You can do this.

"Surprisingly well," you responded cheerfully, raising your hands to show off your nails, "we listened to Queen," maybe a non sequitur, but not an incriminating one, you tell yourself, "and..." frowning for a moment, you pull at the shoulder of your shirt, trying to examine it for the grassy faux par Farleigh had been accusing you of. As you're trying to figure out if you really do need to change, it appears that your mouth takes on a mind of it's own, adding, distractedly, "... grass stains. Fi-" you look to him with sudden intensity, not having realised that in your attempt to see the back of your shirt, you'd tried to turn to get a better look, like a dog chasing it's own tail, "Fi, is there grass on me?"

Felix, taking you by the shoulders to steady you, is giving you a truly bemused look. It's enough for you to already be pulling away from him, stripping off your shirt to look in your drawers.

"I'm going to kill Farleigh," but you can hear his exasperation is highly coloured with amusement. He chuckles faintly, "and you, probably."

"Ooh~" you mused mostly to yourself, "see, I told Farleigh this would happen," you clicked your tongue as you squinted into the drawer for the perfect replacement. Then, very suddenly, you processed all of what Felix had said; "and boo, don't kill me," you pout, pulling out a button down and taking a few moments to check the size on the tag to see if it was yours or Felix's, "I'm capable of a great many things, Felix," you tell him matter-of-factly as you pull the shirt on. Satisfied with your change in wardrobe, you look to see him sitting on the end of the bed, looking thankfully endeared by your antics, "and we're late to lunch, almost," despite how you strode over to him with purpose, standing yourself between his legs, arms draped around his neck, "poor form showing up late, covered in blood, and with a dead friend in the other room;" he can't help himself, he laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist, looking up at you with the most loving exasperation in his eyes. However the sound of his laughter is absolutely what you would consider a victory, "see, don't kill me I'm occasionally funny."

"You're so fucking high." He laughed a little helplessly. Drat. At least he seemed to find it funny, leaning forward to press his face against your chest for a long moment as he let out a faint sigh. Felix is warm, his breath on your skin through the fibres of your shirt, his arms around you, knees pressed against your legs; Summer is sweltering, and if he were anyone else you'd be extracting yourself in an instant, but you want to melt into him in this moment.

"Shh," you stage whispered, petting his head, "don't tell Felix, we've got an important guest arriving today," and he looks up to see the apologetic smile you wear as you run your fingers through his hair. You drop the bit, "it seemed like a good idea at the time, then I..." you hummed for a moment, frowning, "lost track of... it. Time."

Felix's gaze softens as he looks at you, eyes shiny and pupils blown wide, holding him so tenderly. Does he even know that he looks at you like that? Does he know how much it means to you?

"You make it frustratingly difficult to - we have lunch-" he has to firmly remind you, even though he is grinning and endeared by your antics, as you bring one leg up over his, knee settling beside him on the bed. Your smile is only guilty because you know it should be, not because you feel any kind of actual guilt. You bring your knee off the bed, but are now straddling his thigh.

"We have lunch," you parrot back with a nod. But Felix's hands are still on you, still wrapped around you and holding you to him, watching you with this look like he's endeared, like he's almost mesmerised by you in this moment; you, who keeps echoing 'we have lunch' until it starts to lose all meaning, and you kind of forget that you're still just standing in your room with Felix, until you're chanting those three words under your breath like a little song that you're bopping along to. Any real thoughts had absolutely left your head about a minute ago.

Felix is watching you with that look in his eyes like he's never loved anyone more in his life.

"I am so hungry," you finally broke out of your little, strange trace, before lighting up, "oh my god we have lunch!" Suddenly enthused, as if you'd forgotten the entire few minutes that had just passed, you step back. Taking Felix's hands, you pull him to his feet as he laughs sweetly, "come on," tugging him through the halls, he lets you lead him by the hand, "once we finish lunch it means its almost time to see Ollie, and we love Ollie!"

Very suddenly three rooms away from the dining hall, you stop. The pace you'd set was eager, so Felix practically crashes into you without a warning, and has to catch you both on a doorframe. You've got your hands flat on his chest, the airy, pale linen shirt he'd chosen for the warm day, staring at them as he's braced over you. Then, very suddenly, your focused expression breaks into a smile like the sun from behind a cloud, looking up at him with absolute joy.

"We match."

He looks down; your nails, his shirt, almost identical shades, though your nails still sparkle faintly.

"I should have said I was stopping," you added, though neither of you had moved. You were still looking at your hands; "I should say more of the things that I think in my head out loud." Then, after a long few moments, and Felix continuing to indulge you, he hears you mutter, "I can feel your heartbeat in my hands."

You should definitely move and go to lunch and not stand here and be close to Felix for an infinite amount of time even if you know that Felix loves you and would definitely indulge you and would let you stay in this space and this moment and this close to him forever and ever if you asked. None of which you say out loud. Instead, what comes out is -

"I like that we match," and you drag your hands down his chest to take the hem of his shirt between your fingers, momentarily tugging on it as Felix finally stepped back.

"You're an absolute terror," he says fondly, taking your hand.

"Yes, but I'm your terror, fuck-o," you tell him with a childish kind of glee, and Felix was rather glad you couldn't see the way the silly little sentiment had made him melt.

As much as he adored the way you became overwhelmingly talkative, loving, and bold whilst high, he still had to stop you both outside of the dining hall to remind you to tone it down.

"Mum and dad can't know," Felix insisted, and you nodded very seriously.

"Mum and dad can't know," you agreed in a whisper, collecting your composure as best you could. For the record, you did pretty good; you didn't serve yourself an ungodly amount of food despite how hungry you were, you used the correct knives and forks even if it took you about twenty seconds of squinting to identify which would be best, and you made a point to be pretty much monosyllabic in conversation. It was working. For the most part.

"It's such a wonderful day, such a lovely omen," Sir James cheerfully gazed through the large windows in the dining hall, clearly glad for the sun.

"Yes, I forgot how beautiful it is to see you all taking advantage of the grounds on days like today," Elspeth added, "I think I saw you two heading out there," looking up, you see her gesturing to yourself and Farleigh with a polite smile, "how was it?"

"A beautiful place to cope with Oliver's impending arrival," Farleigh says through a humourless smile. Venetia leaned over her plate to leer at you both.

"Fucking in the Fairy Garden again?"

"No," you replied arguably too forcefully, mouth half full of food and gaze focused on your plate, terrified of giving away your state right now. Pamela, across the table, spluttered into her tea.

"Venetia," Elspeth admonished, scandalised. However, as much as you were trying to act normal, considering your relationship with three of the individuals at the table, it didn't register until it was too late that your normal may not be everyone's normal at the table -

"It's the middle of the day, Ven, I have a sense of propriety when the sun can see me," then, clearly losing your grip on self restraint while Venetia grins upon seeing her mother's exasperated face momentarily in her hands, you leaned a touch closer to Farleigh, "oh, and Felix is going to kill you."

"I'll add it to my calendar," Farleigh rolls his eyes with a smirk.

"I'm going to kill you both," Felix himself chimes in blithely.

"See, I told you so," you again leaned in to Farleigh, who just gave you a fond, amused smile in response.

"What?" Comes Elspeth in the lull, unsurprisingly befuddled, "Felix, darling, why are you killing your cousin and Y/N?"

"No reason!" You respond jauntily with a sincere, sweet smile. It seems like Elspeth's trying to decide if she should be concerned or not. After a long moment, she decides to accept that it's a joke.

"Well don't do it where I can see," she sits back primly, "or if you must, I request it not be bloody."

"I'll exsanguinate myself in preparation," Farleigh says flatly without missing a beat. No-one at the table had been expecting anything like that, and the mood breaks, turning as light as the sky outside, with the sound of everyone's laughter.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start imagine #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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plutosfallenangel · 1 year

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Random Astrology Observations | natal + transit ⚔️🥀🪐

(*from personal experience+knowledge, please don't copy+paste as these are my own words*)

-As an 8H stellium I'm always around to hear other people's grievances and bad news.. even if I don't know them that well, I just happen to be there at the right place and time. I also noticed this with any pluto dominant. They can really help transmute some of the sudden pain, it's like they are there to filter out some of it. There is a sense of stability people can come to them for that doesn't necessarily exist within themselves, but they can provide it. Like a safety raft in a stormy sea, they'll always have a line to throw someone because they know what it's like. They know what it's like to need a safe space. Hopefully, the same people accepting the line they throw are the same people who would offer one back

-Mars in Aquarius is masterminded chaos

-Natal Vesta conjunct NN makes it easy for one to make strong commitments to what they need to learn/expand on in this lifetime

-If you don't have the greatest relationship with your mother or a mother figure, a transit Chiron conjunct natal moon can allow you to heal wounds with them, but only after you crack open the wound.. fully exposing its weak spot, accepting it for every bruise and batter.. embracing it.. and then allowing the healing to begin

-I've also noticed transit Chiron conjunct natal moon brings forth very extreme wounds that have been deeply rooted in our subconscious body.

-Having natal Ceres in the 2nd house indicates gift-giving as a love language.

-Ive been noticing a trend of 6H transits for finding long-term partners.. esp Juno transit 6H.. not taking away from the 7H transit, but adding to the story, the 6H is where we find our routine.. which I think is kind of cute to make it official with someone during a 6H transit, like, "I want to spend every day with you" or "I want to make sure you're in my day to day routine"... cute 🫶

-Whichever sign your solar return ASC is in should be the area of the body you pay attention to the most that year, as there could be potential health problems. (Ex: cancer=chest/breast, capricorn= teeth/bones, pisces= feet)

-Moon aspecting mars typically makes one very protective of siblings, similar to an Aries moon but depending on the sign these planets fall in they could act on this differently (ex: capricorn= making sure their siblings don't go without anything, helping out when they can financially, and protecting their image)

-At the end of the day, some virgos really do have the messiest spaces. However, I would like to clarify that not all Virgos are like this... I've noticed it's mainly virgo suns/mars but not mercury/venus... I know more virgo placements than any other sign so I can attest that you either get an extremely clean, chore list completed Virgo... or a coupon loving, clothes stacked up on the chair virgo... no in-between (no hate they just have other priorities than the stereotypical virgo, these people are always driven to their priorities)

-I'm close friends with several Pisces Mercury's and they all have such a specific style of music they listen to. I noticed most of them listen to dream/pop sounding music, and that's not even a joke about Pisces and dreams.. the music sounds ethereal and if it's not pop, then there's lots happening in the music. Something like house music, I find that Pisces Mercury's are the most likely to listen to it. If you're a Pisces mercury, let me know what you listen to! (Personally I love their music taste, you can get lost in the songs) Pisces venus is also like this, listening to deep-sounding music, something like a beautiful melody, but personally I don't know many pieces venuses!

-My favorite part of Scorpio/8H placements is seeing how mad people can get at them or about them. It comes when they finally reach their glow-up at the end of a rebirth.. but, what most don't realize is this glow-up has been earned with blood, sweat, tears and who knows what else (old friends + connections can feel resentful if you outgrow them with your many changes, those that matter the most will adapt to such transformation)

-Having a natal NN in the 4H means you will most likely take on the traditions within your family. I've done readings for elderly clients that stated they were the ones to take over hosting, celebrations, family meals, family recipes and so on. Either they were the eldest, the one who stayed close to home, or the one who genuinely adapts to taking on such a role in the family (after their jobs kick them butt a few times that is)

-I've also seen elderly clients absolutely OWN their Saturn placement. The stories they have to go along with it are even crazier. It really gives us a perception of how accumulated time affects us, and after many tough battles what it leaves us standing with in victory. I had one client whose Saturn was in leo.. she had trouble entertaining the spotlight at first, someone who was extremely introverted, and felt shame around expressing herself, but over time she learned that life isn't all it's cracked up to be without a little fun sometimes. metaphorically speaking I feel that she had learned after many years of missing out that sitting in the corner made her stand out more than dancing in the middle of the floor

-Retrograde planets in our natal chart show us key information about past lives as these planetary energies carry over unfinished business and expression. (Ex: mercury rx in the natal chart can indicate having to solve the same problems from your past that you weren't able to skillfully solve... however, this is only one way that merc rx can manifest. Communication issues or past life karma with siblings can also be indicated) look to which plant is rx in your chart if any, and look at it's expression. Which sign it is in, which house and which planets aspect it, this can provide many clues on what needs to be repeated. Most often you will find this planet expresses itself internally. Those with prominent rx in their natal chart do a LOT of self-reflection.

-NN transit 1st house makes one look deeper into their roots. Finding out more details about who they are from those before them. I'm having this transit right now and can attest, at the beginning, I had a strange yet strong urge to scour the internet family trees for hours on end. Now I can date my family origins back to the 1600s! And I'm almost wrapping up the NN conjunct ASC!

-Transit Pluto conjunct natal mars can increase the risk of injury if not careful. Avoid things that put you at risk while this transit takes place

-Transit Pluto conjunct natal venus implies a transformative love, but it comes with a cost. $karma$. This is a transit few get to experience in their lifetime, so when it happens for an individual they will be magnetic, allowing relationships to come in with intensity and shape them. Imo they can attract many potential options of partners but will always end up choosing the most karmic or tougher relationship subconsciously while this transit is happening. Towards the end they will experience either a deep release or strong unbreakable bond with someone / a creative project.

#astrology #astrology observations #astro community #astro observations #moon signs #astrology community #astrology transits #solar return #zodiac #astro posts #asteroid #ceres asteroid #predictive astrology #astrology predictions

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art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament · 10 months

Text

SET NINE - ROUND ONE - MATCH THREE

"Seated Woman with Bent Knees" (1917 - Egon Schiele) / "De sterrennacht (The Starry Night)" (1889 - Vincent van Gogh)

SEATED WOMAN WITH BENT KNEES: this piece fucks me up because although this was painted in the 1910s it looks like she should be in 1980 (anonymous)

DER STERRENNACHT (THE STARRY NIGHT): It’s a cliche, but for good reason

The first day I saw this painting was in Kindergarten, when all three kindergarten classes had art together and the teacher tacked this painting onto the white board and said god knows what. I wasn’t listening. The moment this painting was in front of me it was all I could think about.

I feel alone, I feel connected, I feel that quiet hush that only comes from being awake and alone at 3 am staring at the stars. It feels like drifting through the cosmos and seeing your tiny town’s beauty from all new angles. Like tumbling through the ether into a world I’ll never belong to. It makes me want to break every rule my doctor ever gave me to drive down a dirt road by myself and stay up all night staring at the stars. It makes me want to take someone with me.

I feel lost. I feel found.

A Starry Night Sky fucks me up. (@andtherewillalwaysbethestars)

("Seated Woman with Bent Knees" is a gouache, watercolour, and black crayon piece on paper by German artist Egon Schiele. The portrait is of his wife, Edith. It is currently held by the National Gallery Prague.

"De sterrennacht (The Starry Night)" is a famous oil on canvas piece by Dutch artist Vincent van Gogh. The piece is 73.7 cm × 92.1 cm (29.01 in × 36.26 in), and is owned by the Museum of Modern Art, but is currently on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.)

#art that fucks you up tournament #polls #atfyu polls #id in alt text #cw eye contact

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sparklepocalypse · 1 month

Text

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks to @cha-melodius, @kiwiana-writes, @anincompletelist, @orchidscript, @myheartalivewrites,

… aaaaand @firenati0n for the tags! (This five tags per line thing really is for the fucking birds, y’all.)

How many works do you have on AO3?

106 works and counting.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

461,281 😱

What fandom(s) do you write for?

Currently? Red, White & Royal Blue, and RWRB RPF.

Historically? Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel the Series, Queer as Folk, Supernatural, That One Fandom With The Wizards and the Bigoted Creator, Smallville, Glee, and a handful of other RPF fandoms.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Even though, IMO, kudos are a poor metric of the quality of a fic…

What’s Symbiotic will Always Be | RWRB | Alex/Henry | E | 2.6k words — my Kinktober 2023 breeding kink fic.

Be Worthy Love, and Love Will Come | RWRB | Alex/Henry | E | 30.8k words — my epic childhood friends to lovers AU.

Wrap Me Up, Unfold Me | RWRB | Alex/Henry | E | 4.3k words — my mile high club smut inspired by one of Hann’s incredible art pieces.

Take it Down Low / Make Me Get High | RWRB | Alex/Henry | E | 2k words — my Kinktober 2023 rimming fic, which has been described as that rimming fic.

I’d Wanna Be Held By You, Felled By You | RWRB | Alex/Henry | E | 2.3k words — my lake house smut inspired by Henry sharing Alex’s clothes.

More under the jump to save you a scroll!

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I’m horrendously behind, but I promise I’ll catch up one of these days… I hope.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

We’re just gonna focus on my RWRB works here so I don’t have to dig too far. I don’t really do truly angsty endings in this fandom, but I did write one piece with an open-ended ending:

Back, Bring it Back | RWRB | Alex/Henry | T | 1.2k words

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It’s a toss-up between two of them, so have them both!

Single Sad-Sack Seeking Same | RWRB | Alex/Henry | E | 7.7k words, and

Count to Ten & Breathe Real Deep | RWRB | Alex/Henry | E | 8.1k words

Do you get hate on fics?

I have had an anon throw a tomato emoji at one of my fics, which still stuns me. I used to get significantly more hate when I was writing in more problematic fandoms… 😅 but if you want to read the fic where Alex bottoms for the first time, and I got this comment, where they not only flung produce but also… felt the need to censor the word “top” for… reasons:

… then you should read In the Low Lamp Light, I was Free | RWRB | Alex/Henry | E | 3.1k words, which is my take on what happened with that second condom wrapper in the Paris scene.

Do you write smut?

Oh, fic meme creator, this is the cutest, funniest question.

Do I write smut? Hilarious.

What’s your craziest crossover?

Speaking of smut — I don’t really write crossovers, but I’ve written a few monsterfucking or monsterfucking-adjacent fics:

If We’re Caught in a Wave, I Will Carry You Over | RWRB | Alex/Cecaelia!Henry | E | 5.9k words

Just Let the Night Go Down | RWRB | Alex/Henry/Oviposition Toy | E | 2.2k words, aaaaand

All the Ocean was Sleeping | RWRB | Alex/Siren!Henry | E | 6.4k words

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. Fic (and fandom) are pretty reductive though. For example, I know that there’s someone writing a King Henry AU for @aroyallybigbangrwrb, and I’ve been working on my own King Henry AU since last September. There will probably be some similarities; can’t be helped. I’m not worried about it though, unless there are wholesale chunks of paragraphs that are somehow magically identical.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t believe so, but I have a blanket permission statement on my AO3 account, so if someone wanted to translate my work I’d be down!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Eons ago, I used to co-write Kurtofsky fic in the Glee fandom. Pretty sure all of those works have been lost to the ether, as this was before AO3 was absorbing archives as they went kaput. I’m not completely heartbroken about it.

All time favorite ship?

Darcy/Elizabeth from Pride and Prejudice. No, I’m not kidding.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a couple really old WIPs from previous fandoms that I put a lot of work into, and then the ADHD took hold before I could complete them. It would be interesting, at the very least, to revisit these. Maybe retool them into something usable for this fandom, IDK.

What are your writing strengths?

Making people absolutely collapse in a heap of devastation with my angst, as @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @kiwiana-writes, and @ad-astra13 will attest; smut with “multiple different positions laid out in such detail you can almost see the gifs used as reference,” according to @bigassbowlingballhead. I also like to think that my spicy trauma makes me pretty funny.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Brevity — given the option, I’d rather write 5k words than a drabble every time. I also really struggle with saccharine sweetness and fluff for the sake of fluff, despite what y’all keep saying in my comments section; my sweetness is always bittersweet. And kidfic gives me the ick, as the youths would say, even if I’m the one writing it.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Yes! Just make it something that I can Google Translate and I’m good.

Which fandom was the first you wrote in?

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, way back in the 1990s. (Yeah. I’m that old.)

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

So, I have two. My favorite fic overall is my King Henry AU, Facing Tempests. I affectionately refer to this fic as KHIX (King Henry IX) and The Big Giant AU, and it’s my baby. I’ve commissioned some really incredible art from @seanchaidh7 for Facing Tempests that I can’t wait to share with y’all when the fic is ready to post.

My favorite published fic is If We’re Caught in a Wave, I Will Carry You Over, for which I commissioned some absolutely stunning art from @artofobsession which is now embedded in the story on AO3. There are several other fics that come close, but octoHenry is my beloved.

My tag is always open! Because this meme has been out for a couple days, I’m not gonna cold call anyone, but if you’re reading this, yes you with the clenched shoulders and the mild headache from staring at a screen, then consider yourself tagged!

#red white and royal blue #my fic #fic memes #tag games

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avatar-anna · 1 year

Note

ik this is super vague but could u write something w a black!reader? love ur writing ❣️❣️❣️

Good in Bed

kinda mean harry, but this was fun to write! hope you like it!

We don’t know how to talk, but damn we know how to fuck.

“God, one date! I just want one date!”

“Y/n, we hang out like every day,” Harry said.

“To hook up or watch you work on one of your stupid projects, or be in one of your stupid projects,” you said.

“I never promised dates when we started seeing each other. We agreed on just hooking up!”

“God, you’re infuriating!” you cried, doing your very best to not tug at your hair. You hated that he had this much of an effect on you. Harry was right, this started out as just hooking up, but it became more, and you knew he knew that.

“You’re exquisite,” he murmured, brushing his lips across your neck. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone so beautiful. I’m blown away every time I look at you.”

You gripped his hair and tilted your head to the side to give him better access. “You mean that?”

“With my whole being. Please let me paint you.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh. I promise it’ll be worth it,” he said.

Harry was close enough to kiss, close enough to push all the way in, but he didn’t. It made you squirm a little. “Harry, please—”

“Say yes. Say yes first.”

He was so close you could taste it. It made you almost desperate enough to agree. But, “That changes things. We—We would be more—”

“Whatever you want, petal. You can have me however you like.”

“You just said all that shit, didn’t you?” you said now, feeling like an idiot. How could you be so stupid? “Empty words all so you could paint me and stick it in while you're at it.”

“Why are you trying to ruin what we have going on here? I thought you liked our arrangement.”

You did, and perhaps it made you selfish, but now you wanted more. “I don’t know.”

Harry stepped towards you, and you let him, let him tip your chin up to meet his gaze. “We make each other feel good, yes?” You shrugged and mumbled some kind of assent. But that wasn’t good enough for him. He squeezed gently on your chin. “Do I not? You don’t sound sure.”

He was such a cocky asshole. He knew you liked him, liked what he did to you, and now he’d turned this argument into some kind of game. But no matter how good he made you feel, you were still mad, still wanted to argue. So you just shrugged.

“Do I need to remind you? Is that why you started this argument in the first place?” he asked.

Another shrug.

“I’m not going to take you on a date. If that’s what you want, I would seek elsewhere,” he said, lips grazing your cheekbone. “But perhaps I should show you just how crazy you drive me.”

He leaned in, and you kind of hated yourself for it, but you let him kiss you. You practically melted underneath him, sighing even as he only sucked on your bottom lip and left you craving more. Harry’s hands moved down past your waist, squeezing appreciatively until your legs were wrapped around his waist.

You hardly noticed as he moved through his apartment until he sat down, you with him, on a stool.

His studio, you realized. A room you were familiar with, having spent many a modeling session in here. You’d never seen any of Harry’s pieces, though. He was always so secretive about them. Until now.

Your breath hitched, and not just because Harry was nuzzling the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. The painting in front of you was beautiful. Harry caught your likeness perfectly, and yet you looked more ethereal, the white of the slip dress you’d worn looking iridescent.

“Is a boyfriend gonna honor your body this way, huh? Your beauty?”

Harry began unbuttoning your jeans as he muttered in your ear, taking the shell of it between his teeth. Your whole body felt electric with every touch Harry gave you, so much so you’d almost gotten lost in it. Almost.

“It’s not enough. I want to go out, not stay—stay cooped up in your studio all the time.” Getting the words out was hard as Harry kept touching, kept kissing, but you needed to say it. No matter how good he may have made you feel, you still wanted a relationship. And maybe that didn’t align with what he wanted, but that just meant you had to move on.

If only getting up was that easy.

“I see. You don’t want to go on dates,” he said, making you gasp as his fingers began to move. “You want to be shown off. You want everyone to know I’m yours.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you spat, even if they sparked something in your belly. He was twisting your words around, and yet you still wouldn’t stand up. It just felt too good.

“I told you. I’m not going to hold your hand across a dinner table or share popcorn with you at the movies. Go find some boring idiot if that’s what you want. If you want your face hung up in a gallery and have people know just how beautiful you are to me, then stay, but I’m not gonna beg.”

He was acting tough, but you could feel him straining against his trousers. This wasn’t one sided, you made his heart pound as much as he made yours, he was just too stubborn to admit it.

When you didn’t say anything, Harry began to remove his hand, but you quickly put your hand on his wrist, keeping him right where he was.

“No? Finally seeing sense?”

“You’re an ass,” you said, but slouched against him further.

His lips were on your jaw, but you could hardly feel them, could hardly feel anything but his hand moving beneath yours. “Heard that before.”

His free hand snuck under your shirt, tracing patterns in your skin as they moved up your stomach toward your chest. “I’m better—fuck—better off without you.”

Harry chuckled before nipping at your jaw and soothing the spot with his tongue. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m not playing these games with you anymore. I—I know what I want. This is the last time.”

“Heard that before too,” he said before ripping his hands away without any warning.

You let out a broken cry, but the tips of Harry’s fingers were on your mouth, dipping inside and shutting you up before you could speak. He raised a brow at you, that smug, condescending smirk on his face that drove you insane.

“Better make it count then, shouldn’t I? Gotta make you miss me.”

Whimpering around his fingers, you held on tight as he picked you up again, presumably to take you to bed. Harry set you down irreverently, his movements languid as he removed his clothes and joined you on top of his sheets.

A complete and utter tease, that’s what he was. Everything he did was to bring you to the brink, but never quite getting you there—touches that lacked the right amount of pressure, kisses and bites that just missed your most sensitive spots, hands that massaged around the places you needed him most.

Harry wanted you to be the one to pull him closer, to push him in the right direction, to finally give in. You were holding out, but you could only wait so long before you combusted.

In a fit of frustration, you swiveled until you were on top of him, legs on either side of his waist.

His grin was crooked as he took you in, from your head all the way to where your skin met his. “A shame this is the last time,” he said, resting his hands on either side of your hips. “I would’ve liked to paint you just like this. Guess I’ll just have to find someone el—”

In one fluid movement, you shut him up, rocking your hips back and forth in a way that had him closing his eyes. “Shut up. Don’t ruin this for me.”

Harry peeked an eye open, a grin that screamed pleasure on his face. He took a coil of your hair and twirled it around his finger and admired it. “Go on then.”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Yeah…that wasn’t going to be the last time.

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles x poc #harry styles x black!reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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dystopia-incognito · 1 month

Text

Vox x OC - Day 1 - First Meeting

Vox, on his way home after a long night of clubbing is inebriated and caught off guard when being attacked by an unknown demon.

I wrote this Vox x Lila Sinclair for the @hazbinocxcanon Event Week and it contains some mild violence and cursing but is otherwise SFW.

The hard impact to his face screen had left Vox's head crackle, voice buffering and electronically distorted as he bellowed, "What the ff-f-u-uck?" His screen flashed, froze and crashed, displaying the ominous blue screen of death, street lights were snuffed out as he slumped down to the ground in the now pitch-black alleyway. The big brute of a demon that had hit him over the head towered over him, laughing as he kicked Vox sharply in the ribs. "Not so tough off camera huh, you flat-faced fuck." His menacing yellow eyes glowed with glee as he continued kicking Vox's limp body.

Lila's eyes flashed, and the extra six appeared and flitted around her in the now-dark street of the city as she heard someone yell from the alleyway she had passed. Her heart jumped. Should she risk it and check? Maybe someone needed help. Against all reason, she jogged back and apprehensively followed the sound of dark laughter.

Struggling to regain composure, Vox's screen flickered back to life, displaying a mix of colours before settling on its usual deep blue tone. He grunted in pain as he tried to push himself up, only to be met with another kick from the thug. "Ah fuck- You piece of shit!" He spat out, his voice still slightly garbled from the initial blow. He tried to focus his gaze on the attacker, but his vision was still blurred.

Suddenly, a new presence entered their field of vision. The young woman was a strange sight to behold; A warbling blue-green of hair shining in the dim eerie light of many glowing red eyes. The thug turned towards her, smirking cruelly. "Well, well, what have we here? A little lost kitty come to play?" He sneered, taking a step towards her.

Despite his pain and confusion, Vox mustered what strength he could to finally sit up. "I think you're better off making a run for it, toots," He chuckled bitterly addressing the newcomer, his voice regaining its usual charisma.

Lila took in the situation, the TV-headed demon in the nice suit looked pretty beat up and now his attacker had it out for her; Large, hairy and not here to make friends. She squared her shoulders and made a quick decision; "You look well off." She told the TV-demon still sitting on the floor. "If I help you, you owe me a meal. Deal?" She took a step back as the hairy thug neared her. "Think quick."

Surprised by Lila's boldness, the thug paused momentarily, considering her. Meanwhile, Vox couldn't believe his luck - this scrawny-looking woman might just save his ass! With a wry grin spreading across his screen, he nodded in agreement. "Deal," he replied coolly, managing to stand upright despite the lingering dizziness. As if sensing an opportunity, the larger demon lunged forward, growling menacingly. But just then, something unexpected happened - Light shot from Lila's many eyes, illuminating the alleyway with an ethereal glow, all of them were now a hypnotic swirling pattern of the most blinding cyan and focused on the attacker. In response, the larger demon froze – clearly taken aback by this unexpected display of power - then stiffened and fell backwards with a dull thud as he hit the pavement, paralysed. Lila blinked, now slightly dizzy herself as her eyes returned to normal and darkness surrounded them once more.

Seizing the chance, Vox quickly transformed into a swarm of electricity, zipping past them and straight into a security camera above.

Lila let out a small gasp as she felt the surge of energy coursing past her as she watched him go. "Hey!" She protested. "You made a promise. Don't you dare fucking off without making good on it." She glared at the camera as it fizzled with the electricity of his presence inside of its casing.

The security camera fell silent for a moment that stretched on too long for Lila's liking before it locked onto her, she could hear the demon chuckle darkly. With a flash akin to a mini lightning strike, Vox reappeared in front of her, Pentagram's lights flickered back to life as his electrified form dissipated into his battered humanoid shape once again. He smirked, admiring her audacity. "My dear, you've got quite a mouth on you." He seemed to compliment, his reasoning to come back now neatly concealed behind the unreadable mask of a placating smile as he straightened his bowtie while walking past her towards the exit. He gestured with a flourish for her to follow him. As they emerged onto the busy street, demons stopped mid-step, staring wide-eyed at the unconscious thug lying motionless on the ground but no one dared to do anything about it. "Very well then," Vox began, turning to face her once more. "To repay my debt, how would you like dinner tonight? My treat, of course." He offered nonchalantly, already scanning the crowd for potential cameras or reporters.

It wasn't just the gnawing hunger, Lila found herself strangely drawn to his magnetic charm and accepted easily despite her reservations as he led the way amidst curious looks from passersby. "So," She began, as they passed a small group of demons that immediately parted like a school of fish to let them through. "Something tells me you're kind of a big deal. My name's Lila Sinclair, and I'm new to Hell. And I should know you, why..?"

Chuckling softly, Vox inclined his head in acknowledgement. "They call me Vox, the Voice of Hell itself. And you, my dear, seem to possess quite the knack for getting yourself in and out of troubled waters." He glanced at her. "Perhaps, with a bit of guidance from yours truly there'd be room for someone like you in my circle." He said smoothly, his words carrying an almost seductive undertone. They arrived at a tall tower with pink-tinted windows decorated with red glowing LED lights, atop it three V's shone proudly in bright neon lights. Vox led her into an elevator and after punching in a passcode it arrived at a sleek dark blue room with walls that doubled as a shark tank with cybernetic sharks which swam in it. There was a long table with several black office chairs on both sides and a bigger dark blue chair at the end for Vox to sit.

Lila recognized it as a conference room and marvelled at the demonic plants potted in the corners of the room before she spotted the surrounding shark tank, all three of her visible eyes widened in awe. "Gorgeous. I didn't know there were creatures like this in these parts of hell. Must've cost you a fortune."

"Indeed, they don't come cheap," Vox admitted with a hint of pride. "But isn't everything worth having its price? Besides, keeping your mind entertained is essential for productivity." He chuckled, walking towards the table and offering her a seat. "Kitty, a Whiskey Sour, and a.." He glanced at Lila as she sat. "Martini for the lady. And bring a plate of tonight's steak au poivre with brandy cream sauce while you're at it." A little modified Fizzarolli robot zipped in and acknowledged orders before zipping away for a moment to swiftly return with the drinks and then the food she placed in front of Lila before disappearing from sight.

Lila sat there slightly stunned, overwhelmed by the change of scenery after nights of fearing for her afterlife. Vox took a seat in his chair, facing her with an expectant look and she felt pressured into taking a small bite of the food. To her pleasant surprise, it was good. Really good. Better than she remembered having in quite a while. "Not bad." She told the TV demon, savouring another bite as she tried to suppress the flood of emotions which washed over her.

Smiling triumphantly, Vox leaned back in his chair, watching her closely. "Excellent," He purred, taking a sip of his whiskey sour. "Now tell me, my dear, why did you decide to venture into such dangerous territory earlier tonight?" His voice held a note of genuine curiosity mixed with subtle threat. Around them, the sharks circled slowly, their mechanical bodies gleaming under the artificial light. Despite the luxurious surroundings, there was an undeniable air of danger lurking within the confines of this opulent chamber.

Lila met his equally red and cyan gaze with a solemn expression, "I was lost, like I said, I recently died and ended up here. I frankly barely understand where 'here' is, although I've heard it being called Pentagram City and that no one can leave. All I tried to do was find a place to stay, maybe get a job. No dice." She shrugged and took a sip of the Martini, slightly relaxing just from the taste of the alcohol.

Listening attentively, Vox considered her words carefully. This brand-new sinner seemed honest enough, perhaps even naïve. Or perhaps she was simply playing him for her own gain. Either way, there was potential in her - this power she had seemed quite useful and would fit right into his vision. Leaning forward slightly, he fixed his gaze upon hers once more. "Ah yes, the trials and tribulations of a newly deceased soul in our fair city. Well, my dear, allow me to introduce myself properly." Reaching into his pocket, he produced a business card embossed with glowing cyan letters reading 'VOXTEK'. "This is my company," he explained, handing it over to her. "Together with my associates, fellow Overlords Valentino and Velvette, we - the Vees - pull the strings of Pentagram City. News, media, its tech scene? I control the information and entertainment sinners and hellborns get to enjoy and consume. And I happen to require talented individuals such as yourself. What say you join forces with me?"

Lila looked at the card, turning over to read the back of it before throwing it onto the table with a huff. "No offence, but what would I be able to offer you and what's in it for me?"

Unfazed by her brusqueness, Vox raised an eyebrow. Clearly, this young woman possessed more fire than he initially thought. Good. That would serve him well. "Oh, my dear Lila," he drawled, leaning back in his chair once more. "Let us start with what you can offer me. "Your abilities are quite unique, aren't they?" He observed thoughtfully. "What was that light projection, a certain type of hypnosis? …and those extra floating eyes of yours could prove very handy too." He continued, leaning back in his chair. "In exchange for your loyalty and services, I propose we enter into a Soul Contract together. You'll receive protection, shelter, food, clothing - whatever else you may require." He listed matter-of-factly. "In addition, you'll have access to state-of-the-art facilities and resources at VoxTek. Not to mention," He added with a devilish grin, "I'll pay you."

Lila couldn't suppress the little guffaw escaping her. "Sorry, a Soul Contract? Now that, Sir, sounds like something I should definitely avoid." To emphasize her words she pushed away the plate of food, her appetite clearly affected by his shady offer.

Raising an eyebrow, Vox studied her reaction closely. So, she was clever indeed. But so was he. "Ah, my dear Lila," he purred, holding her gaze. "Don't mistake me for a fool. Of course, you must always remain vigilant when dealing with demons such as ourselves. However, I assure you, my intentions are pure." His tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious. "Look around you. Do you really think you can survive alone in this pit of vipers? We both know the answer to that question." He paused for effect before continuing. "Besides, who better to protect your interests than someone who knows exactly what you're capable of?" His eyes glittered with sincerity - or was it merely calculation? - as he leaned over the table towards her once more. Let me put it this way then; imagine having complete control over any situation - influencing others effortlessly, ensuring favourable outcomes every time." His voice dropped low as his left eye swirled hypnotically. "Imagine never having to worry about safety or comfort ever again; knowing that you always hold the key to success." He paused, letting his words sink in. "That, my dear, in exchange for your name on a measly little Soul Contract. See it as a promise; You keep me safe while I- protect you." He flashed her the toothiest grin she'd seen of him yet.

Lila fell silent for a moment, considering her options. And then, with a sigh of defeat, she uttered one word that would seal her future in Hell; "Fine."

Grinning widely, Vox extended a clawed hand across the table towards her. "Welcome to VoxTek, my dear." His voice resonated with excitement as he watched her hesitate before finally reaching out to accept his offer. Their palms touched, sending a jolt of electricity through both of them. For a brief moment, their eyes locked in a silent understanding – two predators recognizing each other's strengths and weaknesses as electricity crackled around them, frizzing Lila's hair and casting eerie shadows over their features. Then, without warning, Lila pulled away sharply, breaking contact with him. Her cheeks flushed as if burned by his touch.

"Alright," she muttered gruffly, attempting to regain composure as she combed her fingers through her hair. "Just give me the damned contract.

Thank you for taking an interest! <3

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Vox/Lila Sinclair - Vox's Serendipitous Snare

& this work can also be found here:

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whitedarkmoonflower · 8 months

Note

I read your last fic and it’s so heartwarming

I don’t know if you take fix requests still but if you do, can i ask for husband! Sihtric comforting his wife!reader after losing her best friend. and she obviously suffers from grief. she just wants to be held and told it’s okay to grieve and there’s no shame in hiding it? if it’s okay can you make it sihtric’s pov too? the rest is up to you.

sorry i just have been missing my dead bestfriend a little more and i have no one to comforts me.

Thank you

Authors note: Dear Anon, I don't know how to express how deeply sorry I am for your loss. I lost my very good friend and colleague three years ago to cancer. It was Covid time and nobody was even allowed to her in the hospital. It still haunts me. I don't know whether what I have written resonates with you, as it probably draws a lot on my own feelings. I hope it offers you at least a small bit of solace. Today another very special person left this world and made me want to post this short drabble today. I have included a small quote from my beloved Dumbledore, that I thought very fitting. I have marked it in bold.

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Warnings: mention of death of a close friend, grief

Word Count: 3,1 K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

The moonlight streamed through the gap in the thick curtains, casting an ethereal glow upon the bed. The sheets rustled as Sihtric shifted, feeling the cold spot where you should be. This was not the first time he'd awakened to find the bed beside him empty.

Sitting up, he ran a hand through his unkempt hair. The faint, familiar scent of you still lingered in the air — a mixture of lavender and the distinct scent that was uniquely yours.

The air was cool, and the silence of the night seemed almost oppressive. Sihtric knew very well what was gnawing at you. He had pieced everything together already days ago, even if you hadn’t told him a single word about it. The messenger last week had brought bad news to several houses of the village. The sickness was spreading and the roads were supposed to remain closed at the order of the King to prevent it from taking over the whole realm. For some it had already been too late. Your best friend, a beacon of joy and laughter in your life, had been taken by the sickness; Sihtric had found out by talking to the other villagers.

Sihtric understood your sorrow. What he didn’t understand was, why you hadn’t told him anything. You kept going as if nothing had happened. No, not really. It was as if you had turned into a whirling tempest, always moving, always busy. He hadn’t seen you sitting down or taking a moment for yourself the last few days. You had transformed into a whirlwind of activity, offering help to neighbors, taking on tasks and duties, and barely allowing yourself a moment of rest.

Sihtric had observed the change with growing concern, but what truly worried him were the nights. The countless times he'd awaken in the dark, the bed beside him cold, only to find you downstairs, occupied with some chore. The dark circles under your eyes were becoming more pronounced and your face paler with each passing day.

The last few nights had been restless also for Sihtric, the worry for you gnawing at him. Tonight was no different. The bed felt too vast, too empty, without your warmth beside him. He could hear you downstairs and the quiet sounds of you hurrying around only amplified his concern.

Making up his mind, he was about to swing his legs over the bed to search for you when a sharp, echoing crash cut through the silence. He froze for a split second, the sound immediately putting him on high alert.

Pushing off the blankets, he moved swiftly yet silently, following the direction of the noise - downstairs to the main room, where he found you. The shattered remnants of an ale mug lay around your feet. Amidst the shards, you knelt, looking both surprised and sheepish, your fingers gingerly picking up the larger fragments.

Sihtric rushed to your side, his hand gently touching your arm, as he knelt to help you. "Are you alright?" Sihtric's voice was full of concern.

You blinked, slowly lifting your gaze to meet his. The lost, pained expression in your eyes tore at his heart. "I didn't... I didn't see it," you murmured, your voice barely audible and in the next moment you nudged him away, lowering your gaze.

"Just go back to sleep. Let me do this," you whispered, continuing to collect the shards.

Sihtric took a moment, watching you, taken aback by your sudden reaction. "It's just a mug. It can be replaced," he said gently, trying to offer reassurance, knowing so well that this surely was not about the broken mug.

But you didn’t respond, focusing intently on the shards as if they held answers to unspoken questions.

Sihtric's gaze landed on your hand, and his heart skipped a beat. Blood oozed from a jagged gash, staining your fingers and dripping onto the shards you were holding. The cut on your hand bled profusely, but you seemed not to notice it as if detached from the pain and the world around you, concentrating solely on the shards on the floor.

Sihtric swiftly placed his hands on yours to stop you from picking up more pieces. "Your hand..."

You glanced down. "I didn't even notice," you murmured, wincing as the sting of the wound. “It’s nothing serious. Don’t worry. I can handle that,” you withdrew your hands from his gentle grip.

With a sigh, Sihtric sat back, giving you the space you seemed to need. "Please, let me at least help with your hand. It's bleeding quite a bit."

You glanced at the gash, the reality of the injury sinking in, but still, you remained adamant. "I can manage," you replied, voice quivering slightly.

You continued your frantic gathering, and Sihtric watched you, his heart aching. Each movement you made seemed fueled by a rising panic, your breathing becoming more erratic, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Before another moment passed, Sihtric grasped your hands again, halting your motions. The shards dropped from your grasp.

You tried to pull away, but Sihtric's grip remained steady as he pulled you up to your feet, trying to lead you away from the broken pieces. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the floor. "It's nothing, Sihtric," you mumbled, your voice shaky, "Just clumsy, that's all. I'll clean it up."

"Y/N," he whispered, voice thick with concern. His mismatched eyes, intense and searching, locked onto yours. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

You swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay at bay. "Everything’s fine," you insisted, trying to put a convincing smile onto your face. But it didn't reach your eyes, and your lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

Sihtric's brow furrowed as he watched you carefully. "Y/N," he began, his tone gentle yet persistent, "you're cleaning mugs in the dead of night. Mugs that were already clean. How can you say everything's fine?"

The tension in the room grew palpable. Sihtric sought to draw you closer, but you pushed back with equal force, a flare of anger igniting in your eyes.

"Sihtric, you don't get it!" you exclaimed, wrenching your hands again from his grasp. "I don’t want you to see me like this – broken, lost. I don't need your pity!"

He looked taken aback, his usual composed demeanor faltering for a moment. "Y/N, it's not a pity. It's a concern. It's love. I love you and I just want to be there for you."

"There's nothing you can help with," you replied tersely, taking a step back. "I need to handle this on my own."

Sihtric reached out, trying to bridge the gap, but you evaded him, the pain evident in your eyes. "Why can't you understand? Just let me be."

Ignoring your words, Sihtric slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back. In one swift motion, he gently lifted you off the ground, carrying you over to the sturdy wooden table.

"Sihtric! Put me down!" you protested, your voice a mix of exasperation and surprise. You squirmed, trying to break free from his grasp, but he continued, undeterred by your struggles, his strength undeniable and the warmth of his body against yours unexpectedly comforting.

As he set you down, you shot him a look of surprise and indignation, but he met your gaze with unwavering determination.

"Hold still," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sight of your bloodied hand brought the reality of the situation crashing back. The adrenaline and the rush of emotions had made you momentarily oblivious to the pain and the seriousness of the cut.

Sihtric moved quickly, rummaging through the nearby cupboards to find a clean cloth. Fetching a bowl of water, he returned to your side, carefully soaking the rag. His touch was gentle as he dabbed at the wound, cleaning away the blood and inspecting the depth of the cut.

"Y/N," he began, his voice soft yet firm, "whether you like it or not, I'm not going to stand by and watch you get hurt, inside or out."

You looked up at him, your anger slowly melting away in the face of his resolute care. "Sihtric..."

He shook his head, cutting you off. "Later. We'll talk later. Right now, let me take care of this."

The two of you fell into a heavy silence, the only sound being the gentle lapping of water as Sihtric tenderly cleaned your cut, his hands firm yet gentle. Every now and then, his fingers brushed against your skin, sending a fleeting warmth through the chilled silence.

You could feel his gaze on you, not judging or pressing, but patiently waiting, giving you the space to process your emotions, a silent invitation to share.

The moments stretched on, and the weight of the silence became heavier. Sihtric finished bandaging your hand, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary and then he suddenly turned your hand over, pressing a kiss to your palm, a silent plea for understanding. The warmth of his lips contrasted sharply with the coolness of your skin.

With a final, gentle squeeze, he pulled away, still saying nothing.

—----------------------------------------------------

As Sihtric wrapped the clean bandage around your hand, his movements were methodical and gentle, but his mind was a storm. He had always been your rock, your steady anchor amidst life's tempests, and now he felt lost, unable to grasp the reason for the distance between you.

With each moment his thoughts grew more intense, spiraling with doubt and insecurity. Why won't she tell me? Have I done something? Failed her in some way?

He took a moment, glancing up at your face, searching for some sign, some clue that might help him understand the walls you'd built, either to protect yourself or him. Why doesn't she trust me anymore?

His heart ached with the weight of unspoken words. He'd always believed that your bond was unbreakable, founded on trust and mutual respect. This silence, this growing gap between you, drew him mad.

He was angry at himself for failing you, angry at you for shutting him out, but above all, there was a profound sense of helplessness. Does she still love me?

Sihtric knew he had to speak, to voice his concerns, but he couldn’t find the right words, leaving the two of you captured in a web of silence and unspoken emotions.

Every instinct in him screamed to pull you close, to envelop you in an embrace, to shield you from whatever demons were haunting you, but he also couldn't ignore your demand for distance. He was willing to give it to you, if that was what would help, even if it pained him.

Torn between wanting to be your protector and respecting the boundaries you'd set, he found himself thinking he would prefer hundred battles to this torment of not knowing how to help you.

His gaze settled on you once more, taking in the subtle signs of your pain — the faint tremor of your hands, the distant look in your eyes, the way you drew in on yourself. It was clear to him that your pain ran deep, and he simply yearned to soothe it.

Why won't you let me in? he almost voiced the question that was burning him from inside, feeling sadness and anger flaring within him.

Taking a deep breath, he made a choice. Slowly, with utmost care, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The touch was feather-light, a silent question seeking permission.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, almost a whisper, "I'm here for you, always. Whether you need space or a shoulder, just say the word. I'll always choose what's best for you."

—----------------------------------------------------

It was so simple. In his quiet strength and unwavering love, Sihtric had offered you a choice. There was nothing else as understanding and love in his gaze as his eyes met yours.

The ball was in your court. The question hung in the air, whether you would let him in or push him further away and continue to suffer in silence.

You could feel a lump forming in your throat, a weight pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe. Words danced on the tip of your tongue, desperate to be released, but every time you tried, they got caught in the whirlwind of emotion threatening to consume you.

"I can’t sleep. I just... I need to keep my hands busy," you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It helps... distract me, from the thoughts. It’s easier during the day, when I have a lot to do, but at night… There is no escape from them and from the dreams…. It feels like I'm drowning. Keeping busy, even with pointless tasks, keeps them at bay... if only for a little while.""

A tear slipped from your eye, rolling down your cheek, betraying the emotions you struggled to keep at bay. Without a word, Sihtric reached out, brushing it away with his thumb.

Taking a deep breath, he began, his voice soft and measured. "I heard about your friend," he began, choosing his words carefully.

Your eyes widened in surprise, not expecting him to know. Before you could react, he continued, "I know I can’t fully understand the depth of your pain, the bond you shared, the memories. But that doesn't mean I can't stand by your side in your grief."

You blinked back tears, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Sihtric sighed, and cupped your face. "You don't have to pretend with me," he whispered, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. "You don't have to go through it alone. I'm here. Always. Let me in. Let me help."

You could hear the raw emotion in his voice and it made your heart ache even more, adding another layer of complexity to the storm of feelings inside.

But the wall you'd built around yourself was sturdy, a defense mechanism to protect not just yourself, but him as well. You believed that by bearing your pain alone, you were sparing him. But in reality, it was causing him just as much anguish, watching you suffer.

"I can't bear to see you like this,” Sihtric whispered. “Please, let me share your burden. Let me help carry the weight."

You blinked back tears, the truth of his words hitting hard. The pain of losing your friend, combined with the frustration and helplessness of not being able to be there at the sick bed, was a weight too heavy to bear alone.

"I wanted to be there, Sihtric. I wanted to say goodbye. I didn’t tell you, not because I didn’t trust you to understand what I’m going through. It was just too hard to admit that this had really happened, that there will be no shared laughs anymore, that I will never hear the familiar voice, that the last letters I wrote will never be read and there will be no answer to them. I thought…, I thought that as long as I don’t admit it, it can’t be real. It was so foolish of me," and as you spoke, you felt the world slowly crushing around you as tears welled up in your eyes and started to flow down your cheeks, your shoulders shuddering in unstoppable sobs.

“Why?” you cried. “We dreamed of so many things, and now it will never come true. It’s so unfair.”

Sihtric pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms strong and comforting around you. "I know it’s hard to accept," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "Do not pity the dead, my love, pity the living, and above all those who live without love. Your friend knew how much love there was in your heart, I’m certain of it by the way you speak. It's okay to be sad and to grieve," he said softly, his voice carrying a gentle strength. "You don't have to hide it from me or from anyone, even from yourself not. Everyone has moments of darkness, of pain, and it's okay to feel them, to let them wash over you."

"You don’t have to speak about it if you're not ready,” Sihtric continued. “ But please, don't push me away. Let me be with you, to hold you, to just keep silent with you."

His fingers slightly touched your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his and you felt the walls you'd constructed starting to crumble. Sihtric's sincerity, his unwavering love, made it hard to keep him at arm's length and you melted into his embrace, letting him hold you as you cried out your pain and despair.

"You need to rest," he said softly after a while, when you had finally calmed down a bit.

Without another word, he moved towards the fireplace and settled himself on the furs laid out before the comforting warm flames, pulling you with him. He extended his hand towards you and waited.

Swallowing hard, you finally nodded. You took his hand and nestled between his strong thighs, your back resting against his broad chest. You could hear his steady heartbeat beneath the fabric of his tunic, a stark contrast to your own erratic one.

His arms encircled you, drawing you closer until nothing could pass between you. The world outside, with its pain, faded away, leaving just the two of you. Sihtric's fingers found their way to your hair, softly threading through the strands, his touch gentle and soothing. The rhythmic strokes, paired with the warmth of the fire and his embrace, slowly began to unravel your tension.

As the minutes turned into hours, you felt your eyelids grow heavy, sleep slowly overwhelming you.

Sihtric felt the change in you, the way your body relaxed as you succumbed to the fatigue. He pressed a gentle kiss to your head, a silent promise that he would stand guard, ensuring your sleep will remain undisturbed.

And as the night deepened, with you safely curled up in his embrace, Sihtric remained, keeping you close to his chest and watching over you. The gentle rise and fall of your breathing was the only sound he needed, to know that all his doubts had been in vain, that you trusted him and that he had finally managed to break through the wall you had built around yourself. And as dawn began to break, painting the room in hues of gold and pink, he still held you close, afraid to move and break the fragile peace that had settled between you two.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #tlk #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric drabble #sihtric fanfic

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imagines-babes · 10 months

Text

Bewitched (Wilbur)

Helloo, everyone new and old. I hope everyone had a okay week. Sorry for the late story, Ive been watching one piece, catching up with Qsmp lore and reading. Today song is ‘Bewitched’, by Laufey. That’s all for today I hope to see you next week.

Wilbur Soot Masterlist

**************

One rule. DO NOT FALL IN LOVE. A simply rule. But the heart wants what it wants. If the heart wants the two to fall in love maybe it had a resin to help them fall in love.

The two, y/n and wilbur , never meant to grow feelings. From all those late night calls, the messages the two sent, the look they would give each other, and they smile when they talk to each other.

It simply how they started. A simple mix up of letter from the apartment they lived in. He got a letter from a friend address to

y/n with the number right next to his mail box. So he decided to give it to them. He didn't know what they looked like so it was meeting a new neighbor or a new person. Knocking on the door. He waited to for someone to answer. Nothing happened but did hear something inside move. Once more he knock to hear someone talking behind the door. 'I'm coming give me a second please.' The voice spoke as he look down the stairs for no reason specifically till he heard the door open. To see someone standing there with their face a mess he guess they were ether cooking or painting something. Wilbur walked up to the door with a smile. The person in front of them gave a soft smile, 'oh hi was there something you needed?' Their face was something he never heard before. Their voice is calm and soft. Wilbur held the note to his side as he he stares at y/n. For y/n, there is a strange man in front of their door. He's a handsome man at that. He didn't speak just stare at them. Maybe there was something of y/n face. They started to doubt how they look. 'Hello,' he snapped back to reality as he spoke. 'Oh I'm sorry but their was this letter that was sent to my box saying y/n with your number and I guess they placed it in mine by accident.' He voice was smooth as he held out the letter to them. Y/n smiled. 'Oh thank you. You are very kind...' they waited for him to give a name. Wilbur notice the stop as he laugh, 'Wilbur. My name is Wilbur,' the name gave y/n a smile. 'Thank you Wilbur for giving me this letter.' A laugh appeared between them both. The silence filled the air for a second as the two stared at each other breaking a smile. It was like a staring contest for the two. That he had lost to breaking into a smile. 'I should be going,' slowly he walked to his room as y/n nods. 'I hope to see you around wilbur.' He gives a nod starting to walk down the stairs. 'I hope to see you around as-well y/n.' Slowly y/n went inside their house feeing like a kid at a candy shop. Feeling all emotion. For Wilbur it's the same feeling. He walk into his room and thought about y/n.

Slowly they both became friends. After their first encounter. Y/n hoped to see him in the halls or if the mail men given them a letter to Wilbur by accident. Y/n wasn't lucky enough for that to happen. Slowly y/n started to lose faith walking up those stair to notice him by his door. Y/n heart smiled soon as he turn to them as his heart smiled as well. 'Hello y/n how are you?' The two talked for what felt like 5 minutes actually was 30 minutes. His phone started to ring as he answer. After a couple of seconds, he hang up the phone. 'I'm sorry but I must be going. My friends are waiting for me to rehearse with them.' Y/n felt bad 'my bad Wilbur I wouldn't have stop you or anything if you hand an rehearsal. Tell your friends that I am asking sorry for holding you up.' Y/n gave a soft smile. 'Don't worry about it y/n I would stop anything just to talk to you more. How about I come over to yours and we can continue to talk.' His mind hopes they would say yes. Or maybe it was too straight forward for him to ask that. The two just meet a couple of weeks ago. His thought stop till y/n gives a smile, 'of course i will be waiting for you. Bye have fun at your rehearsal wilbur,' y/n walked to their floor. Wilbur just stared at them walking away as he smile.once he enter that rehearsal, he tried to think straight but all he thought about was after the rehearsal he would get to see them. The other will try to get his attention as he daydream till he actually notice them and listen. It's quite funny. For y/n, they waited for the knock on the door for them to talk all night. Or just a little while longer. The hours passed and y/n was loosing hope till a knock appeared on the door. Rushing to the door, their heart speed up til a breathe let out. Opening the door, to see him with a smile. He started to talk but y/n didn't listen all they did was nod. It was quite funny. Y/n welcome him in. They talked and had a dinner. Just two friends having dinner.

The months passes, as the two gotten closer with each other. Almost every night he would stay at y/n apartment. The two would go on dates. Go on late night walks. Once in the rain they had a moment till it was ruined. They both wanted a kiss each other. But it didn't end that way. His tour was approaching quickly. He hadn't told them about it. He never brought up his job or his band. Tonight, he had to stop dragging them on for awhile. He didn't want his fans to find y/n. Didn't want then to get toxic or anything. He didn't want them to be scared or get messages being harassed. So he stay outside y/n door waiting to knock. Waiting on the courage to tell them he will be going awhile and have to stop talking to them. But y/n, open the door before he got to knock. They were both close to each other y/n cheeks went red. 'Oh Wilbur what are you doing here? Did you need something?' Their voice was clear and smooth as a breeze in the wind. He gives a nod. 'I'm leaving soon and I can't continue this relationship with you. Not now.' He stated to the floor not wanting to look at their face. Y/n was too stunned to talk. Just stared at the man in front of them. 'Well I can wait for y-' he stop my words with a no. He heard their voice. How it was shaken and cracked. 'I don't want you to stay and wait for me. I will be gone for months and I can't lead you on.' He didn't say a goodbye just went to the stairs to walk to his room. He wanted the conversation to end there. Sadly it didn't. Before Wilbur enter the room, he heard y/n. ' you are asking me to leave you alone, Wilbur. If that's what you want I need you to stare into my eyes and tell me.' He heard the snuffle from y/n. Staying in front of the door. That was the one thing he couldn't do. He couldn't tell y/n to leave him. Hearing the step approach him. 'You expect me to let you go. You expect me to let go the person I love.' Y/n said to his back. He never heard those words from someone and meant it. 'You bewitched me Wilbur. I would wait for you to come back even if it takes months or a year. I just can't let you le-' Once again he cut y/n off. But not with words just a kiss. He kissed y/n softly, innocently, almost like he was afraid they would pull away if he kissed any different. This kiss made the world froze around them. This was the kiss they have been waiting for since the day in the rain. Y/n hands slide behind his neck bringing each other closer. Hearing a door open, the two move away not wanting to get caught as if two kids in school not wanting to get in trouble with a teacher. The lady gives us both a nod walking down the stairs. Y/n gave a small wave as the lady returned the same. Wilbur just stared at y/n with a smile. Y/n looked over to him notice his stare. The two gave a small smile. 'I will wait for you after your tour I will be here.' Y/n gave a small kiss on his cheek. They start to walk up to their apartment. The kiss meant something for both of them. Y/n meant their words. Wilbur knew it. Now it's just waiting game

#x y/n #twitchstreamer #fanfic #mcyt x y/n #mcyt fanfiction #wilbur fanfiction #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x y/n #wilbur mcyt #wilbur x reader #wilburfromlvjy #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur x you #wilbur soot #qsmp wilbur #wilbur dream smp

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mononijikayu · 5 months

Text

don't.

The tears, akin to the weeping clouds above, continued to fall – an undeniable reality. He had everything, yet he would willingly relinquish it all before parting with the music. That was the ultimate denouement. In those fifteen years, my solace in navigating this labyrinth called life rested solely on leaning heavily upon Nanami Kento.

GENRE: tragic lovers, classical musicians au;

WARNING/s: tragic romance, friends to lovers, exes to lovers, hurt, no comfort, mentions of alcohol, mentions of cigarette use, toxic relationship;

masterlist

don't by eaeon ft rm

I CAME BACK INTO HIS ARMS AGAIN. Somehow, it was easier than anything else. The moment I saw Nanami Kento standing on that stage, playing a piece by Tchaikovsky. He was looking at me. He knew I was there. And he knew I would come back to him. Almost as though he is my own pied piper. I was going to gracefully follow the sound of the tunes he plays.

When I moved to Vienna that summer, I thought I would decide to love it again. People convinced me that I would be alright, that what I had lost will be filled with the music that comes through to me. They talked me out of leaving music behind. And somehow it was easy.

Because knowing how empty my bed has become without the warmth of the man I loved, music was all I had that kept me from being so alone. I tried, I tried to let the music become the center of my life again. I practice as though I had been an obedient dog, doing what I had been told over and over until my body merely remembered how to do it on command. My dream was here and yet, there should have been even a hint of happiness.

I memorized each note over and over and picked myself up from the heaviness of a drowning sea called bed to play each note as though I had been a mad man—I drowned in a capsizing ship, unable to let go or leave it behind.

There was no bliss from me as I received my new position at the Vienna Orchestra, nor did I jump in jubilant joy when I won the Brahms Award. It was a moment of surviving with what I knew, living with what was just there. I thought I had been sick, sickened with an incurable disease. No one would have been like this, they would have been so delighted in my place.

All it took was one look.

All it took was one call of my name.

And one kiss from him to me.

I felt at that moment, almost, alive.

The course of my life underwent a profound transformation from the very moment I fell headlong into love with Kento. An understanding that resonated between us, he comprehended it as keenly as I did. Yet, the disparity lay in the fact that he clung more fervently to music than the remnants of his past. Kento, a mere passenger in the ebb and flow of fate, asserted that it was an inevitability. As much as music was fated to me, so was he.

Adoringly, I received the same treatment from him. It was an irresistible allure that had me ensnared throughout these many years. Yet, paradoxically, I found myself inexorably drawn to Kento’s warmth. In every fleeting moment I spent before the cello during the multitude of concerts, I couldn't help but conjure images of his smile at each pluck of the string, his gentle words resonating louder than any ethereal melody within the cavernous echoes.

With each composition's climax, my heart quickened, the remnants of his touch lingering within me, moment after precious moment.

These harmonies, an ethereal creation akin to an angel sighing through me with pure, untainted love, were an unexpected revelation. The prospect of falling in love was as exhilarating as it was terrifying – a rollercoaster ride devoid of safety belts. Yet, I willingly embarked on this exhilarating journey, clutching onto him with the same tenacity with which he clung to me, a fierce grip refusing to let go. Fifteen years have passed since that fateful inception, and now, this rollercoaster stands as the nucleus of my entire existence.

Observing him from the counter, I saw his back turned, exuding determination as he readied himself to infuse vitality into the violin strings. His passion summoned Tchaikovsky to life with an exuberance and vibrant spice capable of turning even the heartiest meals into a joy to savor. However, the once beautiful melody had metamorphosed into an unbearable silence.

The very sound he conjured, which had once been so enchanting it could evoke tears, now served as the agonizing silence that permeated the space between us. Throughout these shared years, I've come to a realization—a realization rooted in the appreciation of a life filled with love for him. Everything had been idyllic, a semblance of peace that most can only dream of attaining.

My routine commenced with early wake-ups, a bag in hand, and a journey to the market to procure the finest produce. Returning home, I swiftly busied myself with the preparation of breakfast—today's fare consisting of buttered scones, eggs, and sausage.

Upon my return, there he sat, draped in a silk robe that clung to his figure, leaning against the doorframe. His disheveled hair mirrored a sense of urgency, while a pencil poised to meet a blank sheet indicated his readiness to transcribe the melodies in his mind. An unspoken understanding passed between us—we were physically present but emotionally distant.

Leaning against the open balcony, I allowed the freshly baked scones to cool, all the while gazing at the magnificent cityscape. The biting cold assaulted me, and I sought solace in the comforting embrace of a roll of cigars retrieved from my pocket, along with a trusty lighter. I sighed audibly as the familiar strains of the violin resurfaced. The essence of nicotine enveloped me as each movement of the violin strings birthed the silence I had come to detest.

These months have transcended mere silence between us, especially since I made a conscious decision to prioritize rest over my musical pursuits. I couldn't do it anymore. Fifteen years of repetition had no longer resonated with me the way it used to. Despite still being engaged in competitions for the current season, with concertos and solos lined up for the upcoming year and beyond, I found myself unable to endure it any longer—the same way I used to. Kento had not been able to take it well, but he was good at hiding it. He was after all someone that lived and breathed for his work.

And now, the person that he felt, could keep up with him, started to hate it. Resent it even. There was no longer someone walking the path parallel to Nanami Kento, the genius, the legend, the man who held the world's heart in the palm of his hand. There was no one beside him in the same pace. And I knew that he hated it. That he hated me for it. Nanami Kento had been taking more deliberate strides than usual to deepen his connection with music, a transformation becoming increasingly evident. And he hated that the person he loved would not even dare want to listen to it.

As I confronted the mounting pile of music sheets, each harboring crossed lines and marks of dissatisfaction, I sensed a festering nightmare in the form of experimental blends, extracting no sound from his lips. Amidst this dissonance, his laughter resonated during a phone conversation with a fellow violinist we both knew, discussing with fervor the descending notes he planned to incorporate. Seeking opinions and advice seemed to be a newfound reliance for him, a role once occupied by me.

Observing his radiant smile and the ease with which he conversed with her, sharing the same passion they had when they first started, I couldn't claim the same connection. The realization hit me hard as I concluded my cigar, the weight of reality settling on my shoulders. Discarding the extinguished cigar into the ashtray by the balcony door, I found myself the sole mover in the room, arranging two porcelain plates across from each other on the table.

Gazing at him momentarily, I beckoned him to the table. He turned toward me, offering a fleeting smile, whispering an excuse before redirecting his attention to the violin. The resumption of that sound, which I had distanced myself from, filled the room with an unsettling silence. For too long, I had set it aside to live this life, this facade—merely seeking safety and protection from hurt.

The irony of my attempt struck me, and I couldn't help but laugh at the pathetically desperate nature of it all. Even within that fractured laughter, her voice echoed with resilience. As the knife sliced through the eggs, the vibrant yellow mingling with the white, the taste of nicotine tainted the salty glaze.

"Ah, this is what it is."

Later that day, as he left for a traveling show, I bid him farewell with a kiss, his hand offering a reassuring squeeze. It dawned on me that everything had come full circle. We had halted our growth. No, he recognized it sooner than I did. The accessibility of music was slipping away, teetering on the edge of a cliff, seemingly beyond recovery.

I could have embraced music alongside him, yet it had become too agonizing. These were my choices—decisions that had driven me to madness. Nevertheless, they were my own. Despite the recurring pain, I yearned for it, desperately. Leaning against the wall, it felt as if each tear was akin to a shot glass, falling through the cracks.

My knees gave way, and I found myself crouched on the ground, head buried in my hands. I despised Kento. I detested that haunting silence. As I sobbed until no more tears would fall, the harsh truth unraveled—I had nothing left. All that remained was him. Yet, even he was beyond my reach. The star cannot be possessed; it can only be admired from a distance.

"What have I done to myself?" I whispered into the suffocating air. "Why can't I break free?"

Throughout the day, the numbing reality revealed itself, urging me to contemplate leaving. Enough was enough. Yet, where could I go? This was my entire world, the only reality I had ever known. I had dedicated almost my entire life to him.

And I threw it all away. I couldn't bring myself to do it. During the entire week Kento was away, I repeated the same cycle—the same decisions over and over. I was living my own lie. Self-loathing consumed me to the point where I wished I no longer existed. Did I still want this? Did I want to continue pretending to be a fool forever? It didn't matter.

I lifted my head, releasing the silver lighter, the evidence of my vice neatly tucked away in the ashtray. Kento had grown to despise my beloved habit, but he never voiced it. Neither did I. It struck me then that it was better for him if I remained, rather than me abandoning him to be free of this gilded cage. Left alone on the lonesome coffee table, I stood up to welcome him warmly with my jubilant smile. All it took was one look, one beautiful look where Kento's love dwelled, transfixed on me.

I gazed into his eyes the moment he came home. They shone as brightly as Sirius in the vast expanse of the sky, eclipsing others with that smile capable of sparking a thousand wars. His gentle arms, shielding me from the world and from myself, enveloped me as if there were no tomorrow. I pursed my lips into a flat line, uncertain of what to do.

We remained like that for a long time, letting the world fade away. In that moment, we willingly became prisoners of the beautiful chaos we had crafted for ourselves—a dreadful seesaw game. No one wanted to step down. We clung together, replaying a lie over and over. With doting eyes, his smile beamed at me like the beautiful jade of the morning, and I reciprocated the sentiment.

"I'm home," he whispered to me, kissing my temple softly.

I laughed at him. "Welcome home, Kento, my love."

I SIGHED AS SHOKO’S EYES BLINKED AT ME. I had never witnessed Shoko so taken aback. Her eyes widened like a hooting owl in the dark of night as I inhaled the addictive nicotine from the last cigarette in the pack she had brought out. Though I yearned for more, to continue sharing stories, fatigue weighed heavily on me. One narrative had already proven too much for me to endure tonight.

Releasing the final puff of smoke, I tapped the edge against the porcelain ashtray. Leaning towards the untouched drink, I downed it swiftly. A sigh escaped my lips involuntarily, and I placed the glass back on the counter. In doing so, I noticed Shoko standing in frozen silence. My concerned expression deepened as I waved my hand in front of her face.

"Oy, Shoko. Are you alright?" I asked loudly. “Shoko!”

Suddenly, Shoko's brows creased with sorrowful distance, and soon enough, her face contorted in genuine pain. It didn't take long for the tears to follow, a manifestation of the overwhelming truth she had just heard from me. I sighed, taking her hand into mine. Shoko had always embodied strength, so it was rare to see her cry. Yet, as I recounted my story, she felt it all—my emotions. Her free hand frantically wiped away the overflowing tears, but she couldn't help but cry more, her chest heaving in panic. There was no knowing what to say. After hearing something like that, words seemed inadequate. I squeezed her hand and offered words of comfort.

"Shoko, it’s okay."

"What do you mean it's okay?" She cried out, wiping her tears. "Why would you put yourself through this pain? You don’t have to, and yet..."

I tried to smile at her, but it kept slipping off my face as tears welled in my eyes.

"Oh, Shoko. It is not as easy as you would want it to be. To leave..."

"After both of you get hurt by each other… you still wouldn't want to leave?"

"It’s complicated."

"This is not a happy relationship; it's not."

"I know it was never fair." I agreed with her, shaking my head softly. I let out a heavy sigh. "But... I need him. I chose this seesaw game, Shoko. One day, maybe we’ll learn to step off. But right now, I need Kento.”

My lips finally yearned for a genuine smile. Shoko softly regained her composure. After removing the cigarette butts from the ashtray, I returned to my bag and slipped the silver lighter back inside. I looked at it for a moment, wondering when it would end. But catching myself, I blinked the thoughts away. Looking at Shoko, I smiled genuinely. The money from my wallet folded itself across the counter to wave at the bartender.

Descending from the stool, I was cautious as the alcohol had made me a bit tipsy. Adjusting my clothes, I couldn't help but giggle. I was too drunk. Glancing at the recovered Shoko, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I had burdened her with my pain too. Ah, what kind of friend am I?

"I’ll be leaving now, Shoko." I waved to her one last time. "I’ll come back after I fly in from New York!”

I didn’t let her say goodbye anymore; I didn’t want her to see any more of my compromised self, stripped bare by all these truths that had been locked away inside. It was safe. Now it is not. Grabbing my head numerous times, I couldn’t help but be furious with myself. I should never drink like this again. It’s not going to be good for my health. I can’t keep doing this. I was never a victim.

Gripping my chest tightly, angrily, I felt myself going mad. I screamed suddenly as I collapsed into a crouch, and tears streamed down my cheeks as if guilt and relief had merged viciously in me. A sinner like this, the perpetrator, cried as though she was the victim. This isn’t right. It was never right.

‘It was your pain to bear. You chose this... You had no right...’ I thought quietly.

Recovering myself moments later, I removed my heels, feeling the world spin around me. I felt sick to my core. My stomach aching, I was sure that soon enough, I would hurl everything out like chemicals onto the earth. Sighing, I forced myself to walk on. It could wait till I get home. It could wait until I could enter my bathroom. To be in the familiar space that only I know. I pursed my lips into a flat line, halting as I got to the apartment building.

In a fleeting moment, the weariness that had been induced by the intoxicating embrace of alcohol and nicotine dissipated, akin to a gust of wind that swept away the heaviness clinging to my body. Shoko's honest wisdom of those around me had rung true, echoing the undeniable reality that had been shielded by my own obstinate denial.

Despite the resounding truth, I found myself recoiling from the veracity of their observations. The weight of their words, like an unwelcome revelation, sought to penetrate the fortress of my self-imposed ignorance. It was a clash between the desire for blissful ignorance and the unsettling truth that lurked beneath the surface. In that moment, I resorted to pushing it all away—suppressing the echoes of reason and silencing the voices of reason that threatened to dismantle the illusions I had woven around my tumultuous reality. I became the architect of my own selective deafness, shutting out the unwelcome insights that sought to challenge the fragile equilibrium I had crafted.

In the paradoxical realm where love intertwines with agony, and music resonates as both solace and torment, I find myself ensnared in the complexities of emotions. Despite the overwhelming sense of misery that accompanies this love, a poignant truth remains—I am captivated by the man I love, a soul whose every breath seems to be an ode to the realm of melodies. The dichotomy between the pain and the irresistible pull of his musical dreams weighs heavily on my heart.

As the day unfolds and the echoes of his presence fill my space, a sudden eruption of laughter escapes my lips. It is a laughter that transcends the melancholy, a release of emotions that, in its paradoxical nature, reflects the intricate dance of joy and sorrow.

In this poignant moment, I come face to face with the undeniable truth that, despite the suffering, relinquishing this love is an impossibility. It is a realization that resonates within me, echoing the silent commitment to endure the agony for the sake of a love that has become an intrinsic part of my existence.

"Ah, I’ve gone mad," I said into the wind, to myself. "Beyond saving."

Seeing Kento from the window, looking back at me.

A tender smile. A small wave. A look of love.

My disgruntled features brightened up. I waved back.

And so, the seesaw game repeats.

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brb-on-a-quest · 2 months

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So the other day I made a post about writing fanfiction about Dante's Inferno, and I've come to you all with about 3 weeks left in the deadline to ask whether it's good enough plot-wise to submit (because I'm a coward and I don't trust my own judgment and to share my writing with people who know me IRL is kind of a nightmare). So I ask, if people have time, for gentle critiques or whether I should toss it into the eternal fire (I'll save the jokes). One massive thing about it is that it's 800 words over length, so I may have to double-submit it (because that's an option for us, it just counts as double the points and I don't trust my writing that much), or talk to my professor and see if he can help me decide what to cut.

It's about 2.2k in length, and trigger warnings that it takes place in hell, so there are mentions of violence and abuse, but it is very light.

A Modern Pilgrim’s Guide to Hell

By brb-on-a-quest

He had found me while I was walking in the woods; I had strayed far from the safe arms of campus and ran into sight of three mafiosi: one who barked like a wolf and told me to “go to hell,” one who barked like a leopard, and the final one shook his lion-like mane as he told me to “turn around and don’t come back here for the sake of your soul.”

I, not wishing to be murdered on a fine day, turned around and walked in the other direction. The woods grew more vast and dark. My shoes crunched on twigs and leaves and I realized I, somehow, had turned off very far from the way I had come, and I was unsure how to get home.

All too conveniently, he had appeared. “You look lost; can I help?” Before me stood a man in a gray suit, the hair all but gone from the top of his glossy head. The moon illuminated his presence, making him seem somewhat transparent and ethereal. He was smiling at me in a sort of familiar, grandfatherly way that made me want to trust him, despite alarm bells ringing.

“No.” I was not going to walk with a strange man, even if I was lost. I wasn’t about to get murdered-

My stomach grumbled, I realized I hadn’t eaten that day and must have been near dinner now. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was hungry. “If you could point me back in the direction of campus, that would be great.”

“Alright, prepare for a journey through hell.” He laughed. “I’ll get you home eventually.”

I blinked, chuckling awkwardly. Please let that be an exaggeration.

“I’m sorry, I believe I didn’t get your name.” The woods were getting darker as we moved away from the mafiosi. There was a building, several yards ahead, that the stranger seemed to veer towards. Raindrops came through the thick canopy and hit my face, shoulders, and hair, at first intermittently before progressing all at once.

“Ah, yes, pardon, where are my manners? It’s Clive. C.S. Lewis.” He turned around. “I was sent here by a friend of yours. John Tolkien?” “John Tolkien?” I blinked. “As in J.R.R. Tolkien?” “Well, he goes by Jolkein Rolkien Rolkien Tolkien nowadays after seeing that go ‘round the Internet, but yes, the very one.”

“He considers us friends?”

“You visited his grave once when you traveled to our homeland last year and prayed for his soul; one doesn’t forget that kindness; therefore, he’s decided to help you with that writing inspiration you were asking about the other day. Regrettably, he can’t meet you until much later, but he does send his regards.”

“And you’re C.S.-right? Oh my god.” My jaw dropped as I finally put the two pieces together. “You’re the Clive Staples Lewis. You wrote my entire childhood. I loved the Chronicles of Narnia-” The words tumbled out of my face rapidly, like a cascade of water over rocks. “My Dad would read your stories to me every night. And now you’re here. This is a dream. I must be dreaming.”

C.S. gave a little bow, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Oh, I know. Happy to be of service. Please call me C.S.-- it sounds a bit nicer than Clive Staples, don’t you think?”

I nodded, my body felt too airy to fully speak all of the words I was thinking. After a moment’s pause, C.S. gestured to the building ahead of us, “Now, shall we continue? I’d rather get out of this rain before going forward.”

I heard the screams first before we had toed the lines over the threshold. Loud, guttural screams rang in my? ears and made my heart stop beating for a moment. “What is that?” My voice was warbling. I hadn’t heard that much raw emotion in a single cry for months.

“The damned, the poor devils.” C.S. shook his head.

It was then I took notice of the building in front of us. It could barely be qualified as a shed. There were profanities graffitied all over the side of the building, looking as if it was dripping and blurring in the rain that beat against it. Shingle pieces fell off the roof, rust corroded away most of the metal pipes. We approached the door that looked slightly off-center in the proportions of the building and had words etched into its wooden panels. Or it did at one point, they had been clawed through multiple times so that it took more effort to try and follow what it had once read:

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.

“This looks like a haunted house. Or a mob front.” I chuckled awkwardly, partially to my guide and partially to myself, as a way to cope with the awkward feelings in my throat. The wet grass did not mix well with the strong odors of paint that always gave me a migraine. Perhaps I have been duped. And I let myself be duped. But then how would he know about the Tolkien Trip-? My thoughts were cut off by the doorknob shrieking, the noise grating against my poor ears.

He entered, and my feet followed, though my spirit was unwilling. The shed was surprisingly spartan on the inside. Chairs lined the wall and went down the middle. Heat blasted against my face, burned my skin, and my clothes instantly felt dry.

My guide went up to speak with the front desk, and bade me to follow him. “Stay close, no good getting separated here.”

I scowled, my rage rising to the roof of my mouth with its iron taste. I just wanted to write my paper and maybe scroll through social media for a while; I didn’t want to go on an entire spiritual journey. I don’t have time to go on a spiritual journey. I have to write my final paper and check my messages.

I didn’t hear what C.S. told the front desk, where a half-bull, half-man creature sat flicking a whip at one of the souls in front of him, marking him with a certain number of lashes. One. Two. Three. My skin jumped with every crack. I turned my face to bury it in my guide’s shoulder. C.S. grabbed my hand and squeezed as Minos grumbled something about ‘upper management interference’ and flicked his whip in the direction of the wall. It opened to reveal another room. “That would be the second circle of hell. Come with me, please.” C.S. started pulling me closer to the door.

The heat grew more intense, and I squinted to avoid it blowing into my eyes too much. The smell of smoke and burning brown muck overpowered my nostrils. Something squished audibly underneath my shoes, and I recoiled at the sound. Ahead of me, I saw many creatures furiously smashing away on keyboards attached to these boxy computer monitors from the 90s. Most of them were round and bulbous. Their chins bled into their necks, and the fat dangled from their arm-like appendages and stomachs. Horns emerged from the top of their head and curled around to pierce them at the temple.

“What are they?” I shuddered, all the input overloading my senses until I wanted to scream.

“It would be better to ask what they once were,” C.S. said as he took my hand and patted it comfortingly.

Instinctively I knew that they, like me, had been human once. “This isn’t what I thought hell would be like.” I mean, it was and it wasn’t. Sure, it was uncomfortable, but when I read Dante’s version, I had imagined much worse.

“Times change. God’s divine justice doesn’t change, but sinners do; the way they need to be punished will vary differently.” C.S. said very matter-of-factly.

Suddenly, a ding rang throughout the room and the goblin-esque figures began to cry out with one voice, a shriek of eternal wrath and pain cuts appeared across their skin. I jumped and hid behind my guide. “What’s going on?”

“Ah, a new message.” C.S. patted my head thoughtfully. “Don’t worry, they’re too absorbed in their own worlds to hurt you.”

“What’s going on?” I repeated.

“These souls have committed sins using technology for evil intentions. Cyberbullying, harassing, wrath, lust, and envy.”

“And their punishment is to continue what they did in life?” I edged out from behind C.S.’, taking another hard look.

“They prioritized screen time over God, so God allowed them to reap the consequences of that choice. Come, I promise, they’re too caught up in their screens to notice anyone around them, and we have more things to see before we’re done.” C.S. grabbed my hand, and I followed him, cringing at the squishing noises underneath my feet made by this ooze. Looking over their shoulders, I saw sausage-like fingers furiously typing at janky keyboards, long paragraphs filled with profanities, uncharitable arguments, and negative emojis. Whoever they were messaging seemed only to goad them on further into their hell, as none of the souls even turned to give me a momentary glance.

“There’s no rest for the internet troll, thus they do not deserve any in the afterlife.”

At least I’m not like them. I felt a mix of pity mixed with disgust at the damned souls that were grumbling and typing away at either side of me. There was one up ahead who had a very coppery orange tan that made his hair look even more bleached. Is that… Donald Trump? I didn’t know he had died. I had the temptation to poke him on the shoulder, to grab his attention, to ask their name, and to strike up a conversation. The oozing pus dripping down their back and their broken, hunched posture made my mouth feel dry. I started reaching out anyway before C.S. Lewis smacked my hand. “It’s not recommended. There will be others who will be more gracious in terms of talking to you.”

I followed him, feeling meek as a rebuked child. We entered a new room that was completely barren, minus the souls existing there. Some of them were tearing at their hair and shrieking like banshees. Others were lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, half immersed in this squished mixture.

“What is happening here?”

“Those who were addicted to their phone and neglected their growth as a person now have to live without it.” I took in a deep breath and exhaled, thinking of how my screen time on my phone had steadily increased over the past decade. A deep sense of guilt and shame struck into my very core, my former prideful thoughts coming to mock me. I am exactly like them.

“What are you doing here?” A voice came from below me. “You’re not like them.”

“I’m-” It seemed imprudent to give my actual name as I looked down at a damned soul lying face upward in the gloppy muck. “-a pilgrim.” I finished. “This is my guide.”

The soul scowled. “They’re just letting anyone in here now, aren’t they, walk around as if they own the place. This is not very swag of them.”

“I have my orders from heaven, if that does not satisfy you, take it up with management, not with us,” C.S. ordered in a very firm tone. “What’s your name?”

“I am James Charles. I am here because I spent every moment of my conscious life behind a screen, whether it was a TV, a smartphone, or a computer. I was a content creator for YouTube and TikTok.”

“It seems absurd.” I cried out. “To punish someone for being dependent on technology as we are. Our work uses screens, our recreational time uses screens, it doesn’t make sense to punish people for using tools.”

“Not their usage, but their abuse.” C.S. corrected me. “Charles, how much screen time did you get again.”

“My screen time was over 22 hours a day. I took little sleep or food except what was needed to keep me going back”

“That doesn’t sound like a sin-” I cut in, still stubborn, my personal shame rising ever higher while feeling my gut sink lower.

“I used the internet to get to other people.” James continued. “I manipulated others into believing that I was correct and a god while behind the camera while using the internet to… hurt others. Particularly the children.” His face beamed with unrepentance. “They were so deliciously young-” Disgust choked me and I turned back to hide and swallow the rising bile in my throat. I had seen the news articles, about how the internet had turned on this man when the scandals had erupted. His consequential suicide had been in the news for about a week, with more and more details of victims' stories emerging to only add to the horror.

I’m not like him. I’m better than- I stopped myself in my tracks. No. He’s a human who made bad choices with technology. I am also making bad choices with tech-

I clutched C.S.’s arm. “Please. I’ve learned my lesson - take me home, I’ll do better, I swear.”

“You have not seen all that is to come,” was the not-comforting reply. “But come with me, and we shall embark on this journey together. And have hope, there are still good things left to see.”

The end. For now. (Maybe might update with further circles cuz I have other ideas but that's all I "need" for the assignment.

#Dante's Inferno #writeblr #Fanfiction #The Divine Comedy #tw: mentions of abuse and some violence in the background #writers on tumblr #this is my first time writing Not Fluff really in a hot minute #Also important context: my school hypothetically has a mafia nearby #hence the mentions of campus and mafia. It's a rumor among residents.#The Inferno #dante alighieri #brb-writes #brb-life #these tags are very unorganized my apologise

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downbad4yoongi · 4 months

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Fall from Grace

🤍Pairing: Demon!Jin x Angel!Jimin 🤍WC: 5,058 🤍Genre/warnings: angel and demons au, betrayal, smut, fluff

🤍Rating: R

🤍Summary: The rules for angels and demons are simple and straightforward, and can be summed up as: don’t interact.

A/N: This story is part of BTS Fests' Angels & Demons Fest!

Thank you to my betas: @colormepurplex2 and @moonleeai. Many hugs to @colormepurplex2 for my banner.

A Flicker in the Twilight

The twilight hums with the city’s heartbeat. Neon gods of advertisement pulse against the fading sky, casting a garish glamor on the throngs below. Lost in the kaleidoscope of chrome and flesh, Jin savors the symphony of human anxieties. They pulse through him, a delectable chaos dancing on his tongue. It is like the finest wine, this mortal cocktail – intoxicating, unpredictable, infinitely more thrilling than the bland ambrosia of his celestial past.

Leaning against the side of a building, Jin, once a grotesque tapestry of shadow and bone, now shimmers with angelic grace, courtesy of a botched mission and a particularly potent curse. He revels in the dissonance, the whispers of his true nature tickling the edges of his angelic façade. Humans, constantly oblivious to the storm brewing inside him, mistake his charm for benevolence, his mischievous grin for a divine smile. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a predator in a sanctuary of light.

He twirls a strand of hair as he watches the countless hordes of faceless humans stride past him. Humans, like fireflies, flit across the avenues, their souls like flickering flames. Most hold no interest, their predictability a dull ache in his immortal boredom. But then, a glint of pure, celestial light catches his eye. An angel, disguised in the borrowed flesh of a human youth, stands on the corner adjacent to him, radiating an aura as vibrant as a sunrise. He watches on as the angel, resplendent even in the mortal flesh, navigates the human tide with an awkward grace.

Jimin's name echoes in Jin’s mind, a whisper plucked from the supernatural airwaves. Jin cocks his head, watching the celestial, discerning that he is a novice. Jimin is inexperienced, a wide-eyed fawn in a wolf’s den.

Jimin’s innocence is like virgin snow, pure and untainted, waiting to be imprinted with the dark designs of Jin’s twisted amusement.

The perfect game piece.

A thrill dances through Jin like a lightning bolt, not the usual hum of predatorial amusement, but something altogether sharper, more intoxicating. A mischievous curl creeps onto Jin’s lips. With a practiced grace, that has been honed from centuries of deception, he weaves through the throng, the city lights glinting off his unseen wings.

“Lost, little lamb?” Jin’s voice, honeyed and smooth, cuts through the city’s cacophony.

Jimin turns, his cognac eyes widening in surprise. The golden rays emanating from his disguised form cast an ethereal glow across the chaotic street. But it is the darkness, a whisper hidden in the depths of his gaze, that draws Jin in. A flicker of rebellion, a crack in the otherworldly armor.

Jimin, drawn by a force he can’t comprehend, steps closer. The aura around Jin, a faint hum of darkness, should send him fleeing. Yet, he finds himself drawn deeper, a curiosity eclipsing his fear, curiosity over encountering another being like himself.

“N-no,” Jimin stammers, adjusting his borrowed human form with self-conscious fiddling. “Just…observing.”

Jin chuckles. “Observing the fascinating creatures of this earth, are we?” Jin offers a hand. “Well, allow me to offer some guidance. I know these streets better than any moonbeam.” This isn’t just amusement anymore. This is a challenge, a dance on the precipice of forbidden desire.

Jimin hesitates, the wings under his human guise rustle like whispered prayers. Then, with a sigh that ruffles the city air, he takes the offered hand, his fingers brushing against Jin’s with a spark that sends shivers down the demon’s spine.

“Thank you,” Jimin breathes, his gaze lingers on Jin for a beat too long, a whisper of starlight battling the celestial fire in his eyes.

The walk through the bustling city offers a motley of sights and smells for Jimin. Jin, his guide and tormentor in equal measure, navigates the throngs with practiced ease, a picture of casual charm. Jimin, on the other hand, is a clumsy swan in a human pond, his borrowed skin prickling with unease.

“So, earth delights you?” Jin asks, his voice a silken thread woven through the city’s hum.

Jimin blushes, his celestial aura flickering like an overeager candle. “It’s…overwhelming,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “So much chaos, so much life.”

Jin chuckles a rich, dark sound that resonates in Jimin’s chest. “A chaos that dances to its own rhythm, wouldn’t you say?” He stops abruptly, his eyes glinting with an amusement that sends a tingle down Jimin’s spine. “Does it resonate with you, little angel?”

Jimin’s wings twitch under his borrowed skin. He knows he shouldn’t linger, and he can sense that there is more to Jin than he sees. Yet, Jin’s presence is a maelstrom he can’t seem to resist.

“There’s something…” Jimin begins, his voice barely a sigh. “A spark in this chaos, a warmth that draws me in.” He meets Jin’s gaze, the astral fire in his eyes battling the forbidden embers that flicker there.

Jin’s smile deepens, a knowing curve that sends a shiver down Jimin’s spine. “Ah, the forbidden fruit, angel. Sweetest when plucked from the branches of danger.” He leans in, his breath a whisper of brimstone against Jimin’s ear. “But remember, little one, even the most tempting fruit can leave a bitter taste.”

Jimin’s heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a gilded cage. The spark in Jin’s eyes, the warmth of his touch, draws him in like a moth to a flame.

“I…I don’t care about the consequences,” Jimin whispers, his voice barely a tremor. “I only know that this moment, this feeling, it’s worth the risk.”

Jin’s smile widens, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Foolish angel,” he murmurs, his voice a caress. “Then let us dance, shall we? Let us taste the forbidden fruit and see if its sweetness outweighs the sting.”

He slips his hand around Jimin’s, his touch sending a jolt of forbidden electricity through the angel’s borrowed form. And with that, they step deeper into the city’s twilight.

Eventually, their journey finds them using a fire escape to settle on a rooftop. The city sprawls out beneath them like a glittering tapestry. The wind whispers secrets through the night, carrying the scent of jasmine and asphalt. Jin feels a flicker of something unexpected. Not the sharp thrill of anticipation, but a pang of something akin to regret.

Was it the way Jimin’s youthful face pales in the moonlight or the earnest tremor in his voice as he whispers, “This place is beautiful,” that touches a dormant chord within Jin?

For a fleeting moment, Jin sees himself reflected in Jimin's starlit eyes. Not the monstrous entity of shadow and bone, but the young, ethereal creator he once was before the curse, before the fall. An echo of the celestial light he had long extinguished in himself.

Jin feels a strange vulnerability bloom within himself, a yearning for something he can’t name. Standing back, observing Jimin’s awe, he shakes himself. This is just a game, a predator’s pursuit—no room for hesitation, no space for compassion.

Yet, as Jimin turns to him, his face alight with wonder, Jin finds himself hesitating. For the first time in centuries, the predator holds back, the wolf unsure of its prey.

The game had just begun, and the rules, it seemed, were about to change.

Jin’s façade trembles under Jimin’s gaze, the carefully crafted mask of charm threatening to crack under the weight of an unwelcome emotion. The devil within him snarls, urging him to pounce, to exploit the celestial’s trust. Yet, the merest whisper against the infernal damnation of his being echoes louder, a flicker of empathy he can’t quite extinguish.

Jin swallows the tightness in his throat, forcing his lips into a familiar, playful smirk. “Beautiful indeed, little lamb. This is just the beginning. There are secrets woven into this city’s very fabric, waiting to be unraveled.”

Jimin tilts his head, the naive curiosity in his eyes still undimmed. “Will you help me find them?”

The question hangs in the air, a challenge and an invitation. Jin stares into the depths of those starlit eyes, searching for a hint of suspicion, a flicker of fear. But there is only trust, a pure and unadulterated yearning for knowledge and adventure.

In that moment, the predator falters. The game, he realizes, isn’t just about to change. It is about to shatter. He could still twist the knife, manipulate Jimin’s trust for his own amusement, but the thrill feels hollow, poisoned by the unexpected pang of something akin to…responsibility.

He takes a deep breath, the scent of night air filling his lungs. “Yes,” he says, the word heavy on his tongue. “I’ll help you.”

The decision tastes like ashes in his mouth, a bitter compromise between his monstrous nature and the ghost of his celestial past. He watches the smile blossom on Jimin’s face, a light that could rival the moon. Jin knows this isn’t just a game anymore. It is a dance on the precipice, a perilous tango between darkness and light, with the fate of two celestial souls hanging in the balance.

His gaze lingers on Jimin, the forbidden yearning gnawing at this resolve. This isn’t part of the plan, this impossible, intoxicating pull. But as Jimin’s eyes meet his, a larger spark of uncertainty ignites within the demon, and the fragile dam around Jin’s desires crumbles. Jin’s breath hitches. He knows the danger, the impossibility of their connection. But in the face of Jimin’s vulnerability, his own desire pulses with a forbidden fire.

Their lips meet in a kiss, a clash of celestial fire and demonic embers. It is a taste of forbidden fruit, sweet and intoxicating. As their lips part, a gasp escapes Jimin's mouth, a flicker of fear battling with the dawning realization of what they were doing. Jin sees it, the internal war raging within the angel. And in that moment, he knows the game has definitely changed. This isn’t just a dance with fate; it is a tightrope walk over the abyss, a gamble with their very souls.

But as the city lights shimmer around them, casting their forbidden tryst in a seductive glow, Jin can’t help but smile. He is a demon in angel's clothing, and he has just found his most tempting sin.

The night stretches before them, a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the colors of their forbidden desire. And as they stand there, bathed in the twilight, the city holds its breath, waiting to see what masterpiece would be born from the ashes of their celestial clash.

Whispers in the Moonlight

The city, a pulsing tapestry of sin and salvation, thrums with the electric tension of their forbidden entanglement. As dawn bleeds into dusk, Jin and Jimin meet in the shadowed corner of a long abandoned courtyard, hearts echoing a forbidden rhythm. Jin, cloaked in starlight, leads Jimin on a waltz through the neon wilderness, every whisper a searing brand against the angel’s soul.

Jimin, wings folded beneath a borrowed human skin, wrestles with the celestial fire simmering within. Duty whispers harsh reprimands, yet defiance roars like a caged beast. Jin, the devil on his shoulder, grins with eyes like bottomless pools, each touch a whispered promise of rebellion.

The city lights shimmer on Jimin’s skin, turning his eyes into molten gold. He trembles, not from fear, but from the intoxicating mix of temptation and longing that Jin ignites inside him.

Jin leans in close enough for Jimin to feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek. “Do you hear it, angel?” he utters, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down Jimin’s spine. “The city’s heartbeat, pulsing with the rhythm of our forbidden song?”

His words are steeped in temptation. Jimin feels the celestial fire flicker, threatened by the seductive darkness Jin offers. He yearns to know the taste of rebellion, to shed the shackles of angelic rigidity and fly on the wings of his own desires.

Jimin, his heart a frantic drum against ribs, swallows hard. He can hear it, echoing in the symphony of car horns and distant laughter, a primal pulse that mirrors the yearning of his soul.

“It’s… maddening,” he whispers, his voice barely audible above the city’s din.

Jin chuckles, a sound like tinkling ice against velvet. “Maddeningly beautiful, isn’t it?”

His thumb brushes the crest of Jimin’s cheek, the touch sending a jolt of forbidden electricity through him. Jimin’s eyes melt even further under the neon sky and meet Jin’s, the heat of their gaze a silent conversation—unspoken questions dance in the air between them.

“Jin,” Jimin breathes, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. “I… I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a discordant note introduced to their orchestra. Jin’s smile falters for a moment but is quickly masked by his impassive façade. “And what, angel,” he drawls, his voice laced with a dangerous edge, “is it that you can’t do?”

Jimin flinches at the challenge in Jin’s eyes. He knows he is playing with fire. While romantic dalliances with other angels aren’t forbidden, they aren’t looked on kindly, which is enough to deter most.

But something, some spark of rebellion, ignites deep within him, refusing to be silenced.

“I can’t deny this,” he says, his voice gaining strength with every word. “This…this fire that burns between us. We may be angels, Jin, but we are also men. And this city, this dark and beautiful chaos…it sings a song that my soul yearns to hear.”

The silence that follows Jimin’s confession is thick with unspoken tension. Jin’s eyes, usually warm and playful, flicker with a hidden storm. He takes a step toward Jimin, his gaze raking over him with an intensity that sends a shiver down the younger angel’s spine.

The city lights, once a backdrop to their clandestine meetings, now throb with a new meaning. The neon signs bleed into their vision, painting the shadows on their faces with a kaleidoscope of emotions. The symphony of car horns and distant laughter becomes a seductive song, urging them closer to the edge of what is and what isn’t permissible.

Jimin, emboldened by the defiance in Jin’s eyes, reaches out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of Jin’s jaw. The touch is a spark, igniting a wildfire that threatens to consume them both. Jin’s breath hitches, and for a fleeting moment, his celestial façade flickers, revealing the hungry demon beneath.

Jin, feigning reluctance, breathes, “We can’t. The consequences…”

But Jimin, his heart pounding a forbidden drumbeat, cuts him off. “Consequences be damned,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Jin’s ear.

With that, he pulls Jin into a kiss, a desperate, hungry press of lips that speaks volumes of unspoken yearnings. The kiss is a rebellion, a declaration of defiance against the sterile order of their celestial existence. It is a taste of the forbidden fruit, a glimpse of a world where love, not duty, dictates their actions.

As they break apart, breathless and reeling, the city lights seem to dance in celebration. The air crackles with an electric tension, the very fabric of their world shimmering with the weight of their choice. One of them knows the path they are embarking on is fraught with danger, while the other leads them down this defiant path. In that moment, surrounded by the cacophony of the city, they only see each other, a beacon of light in the darkness.

The moon, a pearl amidst the velvet tapestry of night, bathes the hidden courtyard in an ethereal glow. Jasmine tendrils, heavy with moonlit secrets, cling to the crumbling brick walls, weaving a fragrant canopy above Jimin and Jin. Here, within the shadows, the celestial rules morph and blur, their breaths forming wispy constellations against the obsidian sky.

Jin, his dark hair a curtain against the lunar silver, cradles Jimin’s face in his hands. “There’s more to existence than humans and harp strings, angel,” he murmurs, his voice a caress against Jimin’s trembling lips. “The world whispers forgotten stories.”

Jimin, his resolve a fluttering moth against Jin’s intoxicating whispers, surrenders. He longs for the taboo secrets Jin offers, each a forbidden fruit bursting with a thousand forbidden flavors. Jin speaks of earthly music that makes the soul quake, of laughter that echoes through cobbled streets, of the bittersweet tang of tears shed for love and loss. He paints the world with his words, worlds where angels dance with mortals, where moonlight sculpts shadows into lovers’ embraces.

“And you,” Jin murmurs, his lips trailing along Jimin’s jaw, “you, my angel, hold within you the music of a thousand unplayed instruments. Let me hear your orchestra,” he pleads, his voice raw with the hunger for what they both know is improper.

Jimin, his hidden wings trembling like fervent prayers, traces the forbidden map of Jin’s lips. “I… I fear the melody might be discordant,” he breathes, his voice a thread lost in the music of the night.

Jin chuckles, a sound like wind chimes kissed by the starlight. “Then let me be your maestro, angel,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Jimin’s ear. “Together, we’ll orchestrate a symphony that will defy the heavens themselves.”

And so, under the moon’s silent gaze, they meld into one as their clothes litter the cobblestone around them. Jin’s hands overflow with the ample bounty of Jimin’s ass as he eliminates any molecule of space between them. The air around them resonates with the vibrations of their moans as their thickened shafts slide against each other.

As their bodies move in harmony, a symphony of passion and desire, the boundaries between heaven and earth blur. Jimin clings to Jin, his nails digging into the smooth expanse of Jin’s back, each thrust of their hips driving them closer to the precipice of ecstasy. The courtyard, once a sheltered sanctuary, now bears witness to their entwined forms, the moonlight casting ethereal shadows upon their skin.

Their rhythm quickens, urgency fueled by the forbidden nature of their love. Jimin’s breath hitches as pleasure courses through him like an electric current. He presses his forehead against Jin’s, their eyes locked in a fierce gaze that speaks of devotion and rebellion. At this moment, they are no longer angels bound by celestial laws; they are simply two souls set on fire, seeking solace in each other’s embrace.

The symphony of car horns and distant laughter fades into the background as their moans fill the air, mingling with the rustle of the jasmine tendrils above. The earthy scent of the cobblestones mixes with the musk of their desire, the ground trembling beneath the force of their passion.

Jin leans in, his lips brushing against Jimin’s neck, his voice a whisper against his skin. “Fear not, my love,” he says. “Our music is perfect, even in its forbidden form.”

Jimin gasps as Jin thrusts harder against him, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through him. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in Jin’s hair, his nails biting into his scalp. “Yes, Jin,” he moans, “make me your muse.”

The two continue their dance of passion, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. The jasmine tendrils above, heavy with blooms, seem to sway in time with their movements, adding a sweet fragrance to the air. Their moans echo through the courtyard, the sound of two souls joining together in a forbidden ensemble. The moon watches over them, its light casting silvery beams upon their entwined forms. As they reach the crescendo, their bodies colliding and surrendering to the forbidden music, the world around them seems to pause in reverence.

Finally, the moment arrives. The tension between them is palpable as they stand on the brink of the abyss. Jin's eyes lock onto Jimin's, his gaze intense and full of desire. In that moment, their connection is tangible. Jimin's fingers tug at Jin's hair, pulling him closer. Jin's lips devour Jimin's in an all-consuming kiss, the taste of forbidden fruit on their tongues. The air around them crackles with electricity, singeing the air surrounding them.

Jin's hips thrust harder against Jimin, their movements syncopated and raw. The heat from their bodies radiates outward, leaving the rest of the world behind. Their existence is limited to this moment, this place, this kiss.

As the last shuddering breath leaves their lips, they collapse against each other, their bodies spent. The moon's gaze fades, and the courtyard returns to its quiet solitude.

In the aftermath, Jin and Jimin lay entangled in each other's arms, their breaths slowing and their hearts beating as one. Jin knew this moment would come, but he had not anticipated the depths of emotions that would ensue. He feels a mix of euphoria and trepidation, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jimin, on the other hand, struggles with the implications of their actions. He had thought to quash his longings, keeping them hidden beneath layers of celestial duty. Now, he finds those same longings have become impossible to ignore.

The consequences of their tryst linger on the horizon, a faint dissonance in the night’s melody. But for now, they bask in the lingering traces of their forbidden love. Jimin's fingers trace delicate patterns on Jin's bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He looks up into Jin's eyes, the weight of their actions and the uncertainty of the future settling upon him like a heavy cloak.

"What have we done?" Jimin whispers, his voice laced with both regret and longing. "Is this worth defying everything we know?"

Jin's gaze meets Jin's, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions that Jimin can't fully read. "Perhaps," he replies softly, "love is not meant to be bound by rules and expectations. Maybe it is meant to be wild, untamed, and willing to risk everything."

Jimin's heart swells at Jin's words, his fingers tightening their grip on Jin's body. He knows that the path they have chosen is treacherous and that they will face obstacles unlike any they have encountered before.

Celestial Fear

Dawn creeps through the cityscape, painting the courtyard in a blush of pink. Jimin stirs, his eyelids fluttering open to the sight of Jin’s sleeping face, the warmth of his breath tickling Jimin’s cheek. The forbidden intimacy of their entwined bodies sends a shiver through him, a delicious echo of their celestial rebellion.

But as Jimin traces the line of Jin’s jaw with his fingers, a shadow flickers across Jin’s eyes, a darkness deeper than the city’s nocturnal embrace. It was fleeting, gone as soon as it appeared, yet it left a tremor in Jimin’s heart.

“Jin,” he whispers, his voice hesitant, “what was that?”

Jin’s eyes flutter open, the celestial depths replaced by a flicker of embers, a glimpse of something wild and untamed. He sits up, pulling away from Jimin, and for a moment, Jimin feels a chill crawl down his spine.

“Nothing,” Jin says, his voice strained, “just a memory, a whisper from before.”

But Jimin isn’t convinced. The darkness that tinges Jin’s eyes, it isn’t mere nostalgia, it is something colder, something sharper. A doubt, a seed of suspicion, begins to sprout in Jimin’s mind.

“Before?” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “Before…what?”

Jin hesitates, his gaze flickering away. Then, with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of centuries, he turns back to Jimin, his eyes lock on his his with an intensity that makes Jimin’s heart pound.

“Angel,” he says, his voice husky, “before I met you, before all this… I was… different.”

A cold dread washes over Jimin. He knows, instinctively, that the answer he is about to hear will shatter the fragile world they have built in these stolen moments.

“Different how?” Jimin whispers, his voice trembling.

Jin reaches out, his fingers brushing against Jimin’s cheek, a fleeting touch that sends shivers down his spine. “I’m not an angel, Jimin,” he says, his voice barely audible. “I am…” he pauses, his eyes searching Jimin’s face for any sign of rejection, “I am fallen.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the revealed truth shattering the foundation of their forbidden love. Jimin stares at Jin, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. Fallen. The word conjures images of rebellion, of darkness, of everything his angelic existence is supposed to reject.

But then, another truth dawns on him. The way Jin’s eyes had softened when he spoke of forbidden knowledge, the way his lips had burned against Jimin’s, the way he had whispered promises of defiant symphonies… could it be…?

“Jin,” Jimin breathes, his voice thick with emotion, “does that mean… you…”

Jin cuts him off, his lips crashing against Jimin’s in a kiss that is both desperate and tender. “You became the sun I couldn’t turn away from.”

The world spins around them. The city lights blur into a smear of monochrome. In that kiss, Jimin tastes not defiance but vulnerability, a demon confessing his love for an angel of light. And in that moment, Jimin knows, with a terrifying, exhilarating certainty, that he is falling too.

The consequences of their love looms larger than ever, a storm brewing on the horizon. But for now, under the fading blush of dawn, two souls, one fallen, one faltering, hold each other close, their defiance a whispered promise in the face of the impossible.

As the days pass, they steal fleeting moments together, each touch and stolen glance an act of rebellion against the heavens. In these stolen moments, they discover truths about themselves and each other that make their love burn even brighter. They learn that love can be both soft and fierce, a gentle caress one moment, an inferno of passion the next. And as their love grows deeper, so does the danger that lurks around them.

Whispers begin to spread through the divine airways like a dark fog descending upon their fragile haven. News of their trysts reaches the ears of the celestial council, a gathering of angelic beings who uphold the laws of the heavens. Their verdict is swift and unforgiving: Jimin and Jin's love is an abomination, a stain on the purity of their existence.

Perched on the brink of rebellion, the city quakes beneath a moonlit sky. Whispers of divine punishment swirl in the air, a constant reminder of the consequences for defying heaven's orders. Jimin feels his heart tremble as he gazes at his celestial flames, their once radiant white glow now tinged red with fear and doubts. He wants to retreat to the safe, sterile world of angels but cannot suppress the fiery longing that burns within him.

"Turn back, angel," booms a thunderous voice, sending a chill down Jimin's spine. "This path leads only to darkness."

At his side stands Jin, the fallen star, his obsidian eyes ablaze with defiance. His words are a whispered song of chaos tempting Jimin towards rebellion. "Choose, angel," he purrs, his seductive tone pulling him closer to danger. "Embrace the fire within or extinguish it under the rain of heaven."

Caught between duty and desire, Jimin stands at a crossroads with a heavy heart. Will he continue to follow his angelic purpose or surrender to the all-consuming love that threatens to devour him, wings and all? It feels like the city is holding its breath, an audience for the final act of this unlikely love story. Jimin must choose: remain shackled to heaven or fly free in Jin's embrace.

As the weight of his decision hangs in the air, Jimin feels the world around him blur into a hazy backdrop. His thoughts swirl in a tempest of conflicting desires, tearing his celestial essence apart. To choose Jin is to abandon everything he has ever known, forsaking his place among the heavens and casting aside his angelic duties. But to deny himself this love would be to wither away, a flame extinguished before it had a chance to dance and illuminate the darkness.

Jimin turns and gazes into Jin's eyes, and he sees a different kind of light - untamed and exhilarating. It beckons to him, calling him away from the predictable world of angels and towards a life filled with passion and uncertainty.

At that moment, Jimin knows what he must do. With trembling hands, he reaches out to Jin, feeling the electric current that courses between them. The celestial flames flicker their once vibrant glow, reigniting with newfound determination.

"I choose love," Jimin whispers with conviction, his voice carrying through the night sky. The heavens quake in response, thunder rolling across the city as if signifying a shifting balance of power.

As Jimin’s words echo, the air crackles with anticipation. The celestial council, shrouded in a halo of divine light, seems to hesitate, their judgment hanging heavy in the air. Jin, his face alight with a mixture of relief and defiance, grasps Jimin’s hand. Their fingers intertwine, a testament to the love that challenges the very fabric of the heavens.

The lead celestial, his voice laced with disappointment, speaks, “Your decision defies the sacred laws, angel. Are you truly prepared to face the consequences?”

Jimin, his voice unwavering, meets the celestial’s gaze. “I am,” he declares, his stance resolute. “For love, I am willing to forsake the heavens, to dance with the shadows, to face whatever judgment may come.”

A wave of murmurs sweeps through the council, some laced with disapproval, others with a glimmer of understanding. The lead celestial, his expression unreadable, ponders their response.

Suddenly, a blinding light erupts from the heavens, engulfing Jimin and Jin. It is a baptism of sorts, a celestial test of their resolve. As the light subsides, they stand there, transformed. Jimin’s angelic wings, once pristine white, now bear streaks of obsidian black.

“You have chosen,” the lead celestial booms, his voice echoing. “You have defied the heavens, and now, you shall bear the mark of your rebellion.”

Despite the mark, Jimin doesn’t feel shame but a surge of empowerment. They have chosen each other, defying the celestial order and embracing the unknown. Their path won’t be easy as the council’s judgment isn’t the end. They are now outcasts and will be hunted by celestial forces who see their love as a threat to the established order.

While their journey will be fraught with danger, heartbreak, and moments of doubt, their love will be their anchor.

#bangtanwhq #kim seokjin #park jimin #jin x jimin #bts fanfic #bts #bts ff #bts smut #bts fanfiction #demon jin #angel jimin #deception #celestials #fallen angels

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jaehunnyy · 2 years

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A/N: missing Jeno hours and my love for gaming brought out the best in me soo, another Jeno floof for me and you all 😈

Once again, it's my precious @sungbeam who supported me and helped me turn this into a better work, so thank you again, Duckie! ❤️ You're sponsoring me at this point haha ^3^

Me or the PS5?

Genre: fluffy fluff, maybe a bit of angst if you really squint?

Word count: 1.1k

Pairing: gamer boyfie!jeno x reader

__________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The shiny, little dots brought by the night were slowly settling on the beautiful sky, glowing in the peaceful darkness. You loved watching the beautiful scenery, the big, clear windows giving you this privilege; though something, rather someone, was missing. You brought your mug close to your lips again, getting drunk in the bittersweet taste of the jasmine tea you were consuming, your taste buds screaming in joy. And the floral smell of your tea somehow reminded you of the missing puzzle piece, which was your boyfriend, Jeno. Since he was mostly spending his time streaming or gaming with his friends, sharing the same apartment seemed like an illusion, because you were always missing him. Nonetheless, he always tried his best in making you feel loved, it wasn't that you felt ignored or anything, you just missed cuddling with him, simply feeling him next to you.

Deciding on making him a cup of tea as well, you made your way to the kitchen, preparing Jeno's favorite mug, a controller shaped one you had gifted him on your third anniversary. While waiting for the water to boil, your gaze unconsciously headed to the little frame placed on the kitchen counter, the little silvery object holding one of your favorite memories: a selca of you and your boyfriend, taken on your second date, your hair adorned with pretty, little snowflakes. You loved winter, and since you had started going out together somewhere in December, the snow was covering the city in its cold breeze. You chuckled softly at the memory of the two of you throwing snowballs at each other, a delightful, chaotic mess being created. But you wouldn't change anything.

Pouring the hot tea into his cup, you moved to his room and were welcomed by your boyfriend's back as he sat on the gaming chair, his fingers smashing the keyboard like it was nothing. His freshly dyed, pink hair seemed to glow in the dim lights of the room, making him look ethereal. His beauty still amazed you and made you feel so glad that he was actually yours.

A conversation between him and his friends caught your attention, settling yourself on the doorstep.

"Hyuck, c'mon, we'd almost lost this round and it's all because of you!" Your boyfriend whined softly, his usual raspy voice being well hidden now.

You smiled at his antics. Haechan's answer could be heard through Jeno's big headphones and you giggled.

"At least be thankful that we won anyway. Should I remind you of all the times you were thinking about Y/N, and you spaced out and forgot how to play?"

You didn't have to see his face to know he was pouting, as silent laughter escaped your lips.

"This… this is different, Hyuck. You can't just blame me like that! I'm just—in love!"

"That isn't an excuse, Lee!" Chenle intervened in the conversation, his dolphin laugh resonating in the big headphones.

Jeno was shy, cheeks powdered with a pink blush, matching his hair. He didn't know if it was the embarrassment—his friends always teasing him about the person he'd become after confessing to you—or just the pure bliss he felt when you traversed his mind. He took off his headphones and put them away somewhere on the table. Turning in the direction of the door, he froze when his dark orbs met your smiley figure waving at him. But seeing you there made him happy.

"Sweetie? How long have you been standing there?" His warm voice echoed through his little gaming space, making you squirm in happiness. You missed him; you lived in the same apartment, yet you still missed his voice like you haven't been in contact with it for ages.

"I've been here since you complained about almost losing the game. Do you ever get tired of your computer? I miss you, baby…" You moved closer to him, handing him his mug. "Here you go, I've made some tea for you. You should rest your eyes for a bit… relax a little."

Hearing your slightly worried voice and glancing at your beautiful face in search of a smile, he couldn't help but feel guilty when he found nothing but sadness. He never meant to make you feel this way; damn, his friends were oftenly grumbling over how distracted he was whenever he thought of you. He absolutely loved you. And he wanted, and needed, to show this to you just as you did to him. Setting his mouse aside, he pulled you into a cozy, warm hug, snuggling his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your vanilla shampoo. You couldn't help but let a smile take over your now lit up face, his lips curling in joy, followed by his crescent shaped eyes. Your hands circled his neck, legs finding their place around his waist, like a little koala who craved attention at its fullest. You weren't planning to let him go again, not today.

"Please stay with me for the rest of the day. I love you so much, Jen." You sniffled, engulfed in his comforting body heat.

"I love you too, angel. Let's cuddle somewhere more comfortable."

He got up from his seat, without disturbing your comfortable position. He carried you to your bedroom, amused by your clingy state. After placing you carefully on the bed, he found his own comfort in the fluffy sheets, as well as in your welcoming arms.

"You're my little koala. I will always protect you," he whispered, his hands finding their way in your hair, playing with the strands.

You sighed in contentment, your arms wrapped around his waist while your head rested on his chest, his fastened heartbeat relaxing you.

"Promise?" You looked at him, his soft gaze almost melting you. How could you get enough of his stare, when his pretty eyes held the whole universe in them? How could you not feel blessed, when the reason behind his joy was no one else than you?

"I promise. We're made for each other, angel. Fate has proven this to us for so long."

Satisfied with his answer, you pressed a sweet, feather-like kiss on his pink lips, euphoria and shivers taking over your bodies.

Legs tangled together, your cuddling session continued until you started to feel sleepy. He kissed your hair and temples softly, then pressed a final kiss to your forehead, mouthing "Have a great sleep, baby." In the end, you realized that he would never choose a game night over you, because he always put the love of his life first.

#jeno fluff #gamer boyfriend jeno #jeno x reader #nct dream x reader #jeno nct dream #jeno soft hours #comfort #jeno x y/n

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littlemessyjessi · 1 year

Text

"I Need A Favor": Naga Boyfriend Sef: Part Three

"I Need A Favor": Naga Sef: Part Three

Warnings: Some mature content. Monster boyfriend… if that can be a warning. Maybe language. Also, my unedited, un'beta'd work. Maybe my grammar because I'm a troll. Idk?

Monster Boyfriend x Plus Size Reader

Commissioned by the lovely @thickemadame

Thank you so much, darling! And I apologize that this took so long. I was devastated when I lost everything on my old computer and I am permanently scatter brained but still… I am appalled that it took my so long. I love you, darling!

Never in my life had I been so nervous for someone to be in my garden.

All this despite the fact that I had strangers in it all the time for photoshoots … and also the fact that Sef was my neighbor and literally saw it every day.

Though somehow this felt different.

While my nerves were turning my stomach into the equivalent of a washing machine with a brick inside… I was still quite proud of my the oasis that I had created in my time here.

The lush foliage and blooming flowers.

I'd put a lot of work into making sure that it was a garden that was beautiful year round and taking care to plant so meticulously so that when one thing was done another was coming to life.

Strategically placed stone pieces reminiscent of a garden some ancient greek goddess might've had.

Twinkling lights and no short amount of gorgeous focal points.

It was my pride and joy.

Despite the fact that I allowed strangers here for my side hustle all the time… it still seemed intimate to have a date here.

I'd never done that before.

I'd chose a simple outfit for the evening.

Something comfortable and flowy to accent my figure in an ethereal way but also cozy enough as to not add discomfort to my growing anxiety.

The scent of something cooking away caught my attention and l looked over the fence to see a trail of smoke spiraling into the air.

I stood on my tiptoes and peeped over the fence to see Sef standing at the grill.

I admired him for a moment before he began to chuckle.

"You know, I've heard of Peeping Toms before but perhaps I should call you a Peeping Tammy." he said before those vivid eyes of his flicked up to meet mine.

I was suddenly very grateful for the fence between us as I could feel the heat rise in my skin… and more importantly the weird face I pulled when I realized I'd been caught.

"Sorry, I smelled the food." I said.

"I'm glad to know you're hungry." he said. "I may have overcooked a bit but it's alright. Atleast, I know you'll be well fed with the leftovers this week."

"If it's as good as it smells there may not be any left." I said. "Would you like me to open the gate?"

"That would be great." he said, turning the vegetables on the grill. "I'll meet you in the middle."

I fiddled with the latch on my side and swung the gate door open at the same time he did his.

At the risk of sounding terribly cliche, it was like a moment in the moment where the two romantic leads finally see each other in a certain light.

And in a way… it was.

Despite the rather comical last twenty four hours or so… I had never really taken notice of Sef in this way.

Handsome?

Definitely.

Talented?

Without a doubt.

But I had never really, really looked at him as a pontential partner.

And I had to say… he was looking very good.

A slow smile spread across his lips, "You look absolutely breathtaking."

"Thank you." I said softly. "You look very handsome, yourself."

And he most certainly did.

He'd opted for a green button down that made his skin tone positively glow against it as well as matching his eyes incredibly well.

I was also very pleased to see that he hadn't completely changed back into his human form.

He was caught somewhere in between.

The legs were gone, replaced by his long tail and little scales dotted his skin here and there.

His eyes were the same beautiful color but if you looked closely you could see that the pupil of the eye was enlongated a bit.

Apparently, I had been quite too long and mistook my admiration for gawking.

"I, uh, I hope this is alright." he said gesturing towards his tail.

"Oh!" I started, shocked and perhaps a little embarassed that I'd made him uncomfortable. "Of- of course! Whatever you are most comfortable with. I, um, well I was just admiring you was all. I didn't mean to stare. You just… you look very handsome tonight and I was a little taken."

He smiled softly but only broke out into a laugh as I bumbled through my words again.

"Not to say that you're aren't always handsome! You are! You always have been! I mean, you know that. You see yourself in the mirror every day. Oh god, someone please shoot me to put me out of my misery. Excuse me while I go crawl under a rock and die now."

He erupted into further laughter before he gently took my by the arms, "Relax, sweetheart. It's quite the confidence boost to know that you're so taken."

"Oh, great. As if your ego needed anymore inflating." I said before I could stop myself.

The smile turned into a fond little smirk, "Ah, there's that sassy mouth I love so much."

"Excuse me? You enjoy ridicule?" I asked.

He laughed, "It's not ridicule. It's your duality. I love that you are both sweet and salty. It's my favorite kind of snack actually."

In favor of my thundering heart, that I have no doubt he could hear judging by the deepening smirk on his face… I chose to ignore to the double meaning to those words.

Instead, I chose to prissily turn my nose up, "It's very rude to call your date salty, you know."

"Oh, would you prefer sweet and sour? That's another flavor combination I'm partial to. I just love devouring things that dance on my tongue."

My heart felt as if it were going to burst from my chest and I narrowed my eyes into slits when he actually doubled over in laughter.

"I am so not your friend anymore." I said, huffing and turning away from him.

It was all playful, of course.

He was riling me up and despite the fact that my body was betraying me, I couldn't deny that I loved his attention.

"Oh, come now." he whispered into my ear and I almost choked. "Don't be cross with me. I was only teasing. It's just my nature."

In his nature, indeed.

His arms wrapped around me as well as his tail, "But you are correct about one thing."

Curiosity having gotten the better of me, I turned in his embrace to lock eyes with him, "What's that?"

"I don't want to be your friend." he said.

My brows furrowed in indignation.

"I want to be much, much more than that." he said, a twinkle in his eye again.

I slipped out of his embrace after deciding that I needed to give my nervous system a break from his infuriatingly intoxicating presence.

"Go finish the food." I said sternly.

"Yes, ma'am." he said, bowing dramatically and slithering back to the grill.

I huffed again and I could hear him snort in the background….but I would sooner fling myself off a cliff than give him the satisfaction.

I soon lost myself in fussing over the area I had prepared for us.

Earlier I'd made quite the little paradise in the best spot in the garden.

I'd set up the projector and brought every pillow I owned outside under what I called the fairy grove.

Twisting vines and twinkling lights.

It was magical.

"Where should I put these?"

I turned to see him standing there with trays of food in his arms and a small bar cart trailing behind him being pulled by his tail.

It would seem that it was quite dextrous.

Interesting.

I shook the thought from my head before I could start drooling.

"Just there." I said pointing to an open spot while I fretted over the set up.

"Just relax." he whispered in my ear. "There's no need to be so tense. If you're trying to impress me, just know that I've been impressed since the moment I saw you. I just want to spend time with you."

And for some reason, my stress just slid off my shoulders.

We ate- his skills as a chef were truly unmatched.

We drank- he hadn't been lying about being a bartender.

We laughed- he was incredibly funny with a sharp wit.

Before I knew it, we were laid out, stomachs full and smiles on our faces as we watched the movie.

We'd long since turned the volume down and decided to provide our own dialogue.

He'd just finished making it seem as if the lead role was headed in for his routine colonoscopy causing me to fling myself backwards across the pillows in a fit of laughter.

He laughed before laying back and joining me.

We stared up at the night sky through the canopy of leaves and soft twinkling fairy lights.

"You know, I've always thought this was the best spot in your garden." he said.

"Thank you." I said before blinking, "Hold on. You've never been in this spot of my garden. You've never even been in my garden before."

He gave a long that I could only describe as a child having been found out when they were being naughty.

"Well, that's not exactly true…" he said.

"Oh?" I asked. "Been trespassing have you?"

I wasn't necessarily accusing him… though I was curious as to what might've provoked him to scale not only his gate but mine as well.

"Kind of." he said. "But you've actually seen me many, many times. You've even given me snacks and placed me in sunny places on particularly chilly days."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

He sighed and before my eyes he transformed yet again into a tiny green garden snake.

I gasped, "My little friend…"

He slithered towards me and gently nudged my hand with his head until I ran my fingers over his scales.

He changed back and looked at me sheepishly, "Honestly, I never meant to invade your privacy. I've just always thought you had such a beautiful garden and, of course, you are possibly the most lovely creation in here. I just… wanted to get closer to you. I didn't exactly have the confidence."

I was shocked.

"I've told you many, many secrets like that." I whispered.

"And they're still just as safe with me as they were when you thought I was just a little snake." he pressed.

"But why?" I asked. "If you were so taken then why not just talk to me?"

He chuckled, "Love, for all my pompous ego of mine… I am really no different than any man. I see a beautiful person and I am just as scattered and flustered as the rest of them."

"What's changed then?" I asked out of curiosity. "Forty eight hours ago, we weren't exactly chummy."

"I've known for a long time that I wanted you, darling." he said. "But in my time of need, when you didn't particularly like me… you helped and it was that that told me everything that I ever needed to know about you. I wasn't afraid of asking anymore. I was more afraid of not asking… and letting the opportunity slip away."

I was quite then.

Pondering all he'd told me.

Here I'd thought it was simply a neighbor version of 'and they were roommates' but it was so much more.

"There is this thing with creatures of my breed, the Scalenes, The Cobraeans." he said. "Our animal counterparts don't always hold true to it but those of us who live between the two worlds of human and animal. We're born with two eyes, two ears, many things in twos. But we're only born with one heart… because we're supposed to find the other. I… I think I've found that with you."

I simply stared at him for a moment.

Perhaps a moment too long because he seemed to be panicking a little.

"Uh… could you say something?" he said before looking down at his lap, eyes widening. "I don't think you're freaked out. You're hearts not racing but your eyes are dilated. Oh my goddess, I've gone and thrown you into shock! By Medusa's gaze! Nice going, Sef! You've gone and-"

His sudden monologue was cut short by my laughter and he whirled around to look at me.

"Sorry, sorry." I said. "I just - you're quite funny when it's you having the come apart."

He narrowed his eyes at me slightly.

"I reveal my feelings to you and you laugh at me." he chuckled. "Wow."

"Oh, come now." I said with a mischeivious smirk of my own.

He gave me a deadpan look, "It's not nice to toy with a man's libido after scaring the life out of him."

I smirked, "And I thought you liked my duality."

"Well the sour I get but I've yet to see the sweetness." he pouted.

"Aw, I'm sorry." I said, playfully rolling my eyes. "Whatever, can I do to make it better? Would you like a hug? Perhaps, a cuddle?"

"Not enough." he pouted childishly, already long over it but definitely gonna milk it for what it was worth.

That much I could tell already.

"You made my blood run cold I was so scared." he accused.

"You're Scalene. Your blood is always cold." I teased.

He huffed but I could tell he wasn't finished, "The only way this absolute injustice could possibly be righted is by a kiss."

I pretended to ponder it just for the sake of toying with him.

"I could…"I trailed off, bringing my lips dangerously close to his, ghosting them against each other.

He chased after me as I pulled away.

"Tease." he hissed at me.

I giggled ridiculously, "Perhaps, I have Scalene in my bloodline somewhere. Teasing seems to be in my nature as well."

He narrowed his eyes but the smile playing about his lips gave him away.

I dramatically clasped my hands together in consideration, "I could give you a kiss to mend this obvious discontent I've bestowed upon you. But perhaps, I've been too cruel. Perhaps, it's not enough."

He softened thinking I was serious, "Darling, you don't have to. I was only playing."

I winked at him, "Oh but I do. I have giving you saltiness and sourness. So now I shall give you something very sweet."

I pulled him into a kiss that seemed to suck the very life from him.

He was easy to roll over as I straddled him.

"And now perhaps, I'll let you have that snack after all." I said flicking the bottom of my dress at his face.

The man looked like it was Christmas Day and Santa Clause himself had arrived to give him his presents.

And that is how two quarreling neighbors ended up finding the other heart they'd always been searching for.

Fifteen years later and we're still together.

We tore down our fence and built out two homes together into one just as we did with our own lives.

Tore down the walls we'd both had around our hearts and built a new one together.

Entwined together forever.

And it all started with a favor.

—---

For my darling @thickemadame : I do hope I've done this justice and that you forgive me for taking so long. I know it's not very smutty but I got caught up in the fluff of it all and I hope there was enough saucy bits to keep you happy. All my love, darling.

—-

Hey, loves! I hope you liked it! I'm trying out new content styles! If you liked, it please let me know!

Love, K

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#monster boyfriend #monster boyfriend x plus size reader #plus size reader #part three I need a favor #naga sef #naga boyfriend

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