Manato couldn't stop his whines, little noises spilling from his lips as his tail couldn't stay in place, your fingers petting and scratching his ears being the reason he's such an adorable mess on your lap as you both sit on his bed. He'd had a bad day, you wanted to cheer him up. He's sideways on your lap, arms around your neck as his head stays buried in your neck, ears twitching every time your nails scratch the base. His tail brushes up on your thigh with every wag, a surprised whine escapes him when your other hand slides down to the base of his tail from his ass.
You can't help but smile a little as he finally turns his head away from your neck, attention on the hand that's stayed put on the base of his tail.
"That- it's very...sensitive, so—ah!", you couldn't help but coo at his needy moan when you gripped the base of the tail, his body shuddering as your fingers started to stroke the sensitive fur. Since you were in bed, his body wasn't crushing your legs, but the way he's writhing on your lap as you tease him with your fingers on his tail, your mouth on the tip of his ears, like a little puppy, was so adorable you didn't have the heart to tell him to get off even though your thighs started to burn from the numbness.
Your hand supporting his back took your other hands place on the base of his tail, slode down to his crotch as you smiled at the very obvious boner showing through his pants. He gasps out your name when you cup it, a breathless moan when you squeeze it.
"Got hard just from being pet a little?", you blew air into one of his ears, watching it twitch and feeling his now warm body shake under you from the sensation.
Your hand made a quick work of his zipper, freeing the drooling monster he calls a cock. Honestly, it's so big you can never take all of it, takes a few rounds for him to bottom out, and that knot looks awfully aroused...
"What a bad boy, Manato." You chuckled at his whine, he always forgot how to speak when you tease him a little, it's honestly adorable. You hum and play with his tip a little, swiping the pad of your thumb over the slit and watching it spurt pre-cum already. You finally look at his face that he so graciously revealed, and oh. What a sight.
His face is entirely red, eyes half lidded, lips wet from your makeout session earlier, the tip of his tongue peekinv out just a little, his white tank-top rode up to his nipples—no doubt adding stimulation, his cock out—throbbing and leaking pre-cum.
You finally took his cock in your hand, well as much of it as you can, feeling smug as Manato's attention is zeroed in on your hand, placing a tender kiss on his sweaty forehead, tugging his tail just to watch him whine and writhe on your lap, you get your fingers to work—stroking him with such a punishing pace his cock's getting redder by the second.
The pain mixes with the pleasure as Manato's entire mind is enveloped by you, yet when you coo at him like that, he can't find it in himself to complain at all.
You'd giggle at the sight before you if it wasn't for the heat rushing through your whole body at his neediness, his right cheek pressed onto your inner thigh, Manato pawed at your pants with a whine; sending the vibrations deep into your skin as you shiver with anticipation and satisfaction at the sight before you.
"Please, please let me fuck you god, I need— need it so bad," he groaned, his fingers fiddling with your zipper as your hips twitched at the touch,
"I need you, so bad, please," he sounded so desperate, so needy as his big hands went along the curve of your ass and cupped a cheek, making you chuckle low as he looked at you with big eyes, adorable.
"Bark like you want it, then, puppy dog,"
His dick twitched in his pants and a moan spilled past his lips, a moan of your name in wanton heat as his ears twitched, his tail wagging wildly as your smell hit his nose all over again, the heat of your body through your clothes suddenly scalding against his skin and fuck—
He whined as his head slode down to your pelvis from your thigh, the friction left his cheek hot and red as he looked up at you, his pupils so dilated, his skin flushed, his lips puffy from how much he bit them, and barked. Again, and again, softly as his tongue licked through the fabric of your pants to your throbbing sex, getting the material so wet you could feel how heavy and hot his tongue was, whining and barking softly at the same time, your name slipping a few times as his tongue laps up on your sex through your pants like a desperate mutt in rut.
Your breathing's heavy now, your clothes feel so tight and annoyingly hot, hips grinding onto his face as he keeps licking, tongue never stopping, you can feel the heat coil in your stomach as you let out a soft breath of his name, your hips shaking subtly, his tongue stuttering, he whined with abandon as he let you hump his tongue, the fabric throughly wet now; obscene sounds of his tongue, his whines, and his soft woofs filled the room. His hips grinded down on the mattress, cock twitching, the head of it oozing pre-cum with raw desire as he watches you get yourself off.
in which: you hate okhema. it's too loud, too busy, too many bad memories associated with home. until phainon shows you otherwise.
or, in which you really were not expecting to fall in love with your friend, but fate has always been particularly funny, especially when you agree to be his fake partner for the upcoming kephale festival.
warnings: 20,000 words, slow burn, fake dating!au, modern!au, university!au, gn!reader, fluff with a good dash of angst, familial issues and toxic home environments, happy ending, two idiots in love, PINING, he falls first and harder, aglaea as a mother figure to both phainon and reader
a/n: more detailed notes here, this fic was a monster to write but is my new magnum opus. i hope you enjoy. if this flops, i'm cancelled both my mydei long fics that are in progress.
You don’t like it back home.
The city of Okhema is a metropolis haven with beautiful architecture and lush outdoor spaces, but, the streets are too busy, the people too obnoxious, and the memories you have there are dull and uninteresting. You don’t like it, you don’t like going home every summer, you don’t like leaving the Grove of Epiphany and returning to the lackluster life of your growing years, forced to spend another summer with your nose pressed in books.
People who aren’t from the Holy City like to proclaim it as a dream destination as it is beautiful, a lush paradise of bustling markets, expansive bathhouses, theatrical performances. It welcomes people from all corners of Amphoreus, and will be especially busy with the upcoming Kephale Festival.
While you’ve avoided going home for the past two years, you might be pushing your luck too far now for your parent’s pleasure.
“Y/n, are you alright?” Hyacine’s sweet voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you realise now that perhaps you’ve been staring down at the wooden table for a bit too long to be considered normal.
“I’m fine,” you wave your thoughts away, suddenly feeling very scrutinised under everyone’s gaze. “What was the question?”
“I just asked if you were going back to Okhema for break,” Castorice asked from across the table. “You don’t normally go back during the holidays, right?”
“I have to this time, it’s been a while since I’ve seen my family, they’re kind of… demanding I come back,” you rest your chin in your palms, trying to mask the displeasure that churns in your stomach. “Why’d you ask?”
“Oh, what a shame. I’ll be staying behind for once, I was hoping we could spend some time together, but I guess not.”
“Aw, that’s such rotten luck, I would have loved to spend the holidays with you, Cas!” You visibly deflate in your seat. Spending time here with a close friend would beat out anything Okhema has to offer, and suddenly it feels even harder to go home. You wonder if you could conjure any kind of excuse that would suffice for your absence. However, given long it has been since you last saw your family, they’d be severely displeased if you flake out this last minute.
The wrath of your parents is not one you’d want to induce.
“Hey, while you’re in Okhema, will you be at the Kephale Festival?” Phainon’s chipperness cuts the conversation like a warm knife through butter, his bright smile stealing your attention.
The Kephale Festival was an annual celebration and one of the more important dates in the Holy City’s calender. To celebrate, the entire city comes alive with games, banquets, and performances from human dancers to chimeras alike, turning into a spectacle to behold. So much so, that people from all corners of Amphoreus come just to witness it, wanting to partake in the celebrations themselves. After all, no other city knows how to celebrate like Okhema.
Despite being such a distinguished event, you’ve historically kept to yourself during it. Friends would invite you, but you’re not particularly enthused, maybe at most traversing through the streets a little to find some food to indulge in. The more vibrant celebrations, however, you’ve kept up a streak of avoiding them throughout the years.
Surprisingly enough, this isn’t even Phainon’s first time asking. This was your third year at the Grove of Epiphany, and for the last few times, you’ve said ‘no’ each time whenever he asked.
“I don’t have plans for it,” you admit.
“What? You’re in Okhema for once and you don’t attend the Kephale Festival? That’s unheard of.”
“Not everyone is a socialite like you, Deliverer,” Mydei chips and you laugh underneath your breath. Phainon pouts at you, as if pleading for you to come up his defence when you know very well there’s a myriad of smart retorts he could respond with.
“In all fairness, it is a huge yearly celebration, I even think my family has plans of going.” Hyacine intervenes. “Are you maybe too familiar with the festivities?”
You shrug. “Maybe, but if you’re in Okhema this year, then we should hang out!”
“That sounds great! Would you like to join us, Phainon?”
“Of course!” He nods enthusiastically, “We should show you around!”
The conversation flows onto something else, which you’re grateful for. Eventually, the group splits when Castorice and Hyacine head to a class together, and Mydei follows, leaving just you and Phainon.
You two move to a different section in the expansive gardens of the Grove, seeking shelter from the bright sun by sitting under a large magnolia tree. The dirt surrounding you is littered with droppings of the white petals, Phainon idly fidgeting with the blooms and grass, even making little knots and threads of them.
Sitting with your knees tucked and a book resting on your legs, you can’t help but get the feeling that the white-haired man wants something from you, his gaze flickering over to you and lingering for a few seconds before he turns his head away.
There’s a question he wants to ask but doesn't know how to approach it, like the words won’t roll off his tongue in the way he wants it. There’s also a furrow in his brows, and you know that determined look all too well. You saw it when he was failing Professor Anaxagoras’ classes during the first half of the semester and worked hard enough that he managed to scrape a distinction from the scholar. Whilst his efforts were fuelled by him desperately wanting to prove himself, you gave him the push to really go for it.
So, exactly like you did then, you nudge him in the right direction.
“Something on your mind, Phainon?”
His bright blue eyes widen, flickering back to you as he straightens his spine, clearly being caught off guard by your question. “How’d you know?”
“You’re fidgeting.”
He laughs in that boisterous way of his, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You speak as if you know me like the back of your hand.”
“Well, I wasn’t wrong, was I?” You turn your attention back to the pages. “Fine, don’t tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No, that’s not it, I do have a favour to ask of you, I’m just afraid it’s a bit embarrassing.” His hand goes to scratch the back of his neck and he refuses to meet your eyes.
It’s amusing to see Phainon, who’s exuberance is larger than life and unapologetic about it, suddenly become as shy as a small child asking for extra sweets from Okheman vendors. However, for how long you’ve known Phainon, you’ve learnt that whenever he displays this quieter side of his, he’s trying to express a concern that worries him, so you wait patiently for him to answer.
“You know how I asked if you were going to the Kephale Festival this year?” Asks Phainon. You nod. “Well, I… was hoping to also ask if you could be my date.”
“Date? People need dates for the festival? I thought it was just games and performances and food.”
“It is! However, my mother is invited to lots of galas in celebration, and she always drags me along, somehow landing me a date every time. She has done this since I was fifteen, and honestly, Y/n, I can’t take it anymore,” he grimaces. “I don’t want to have another awkward festival experience, so I was hoping you would be able to accompany me this year?”
It sounds easy enough, maybe a little awkward. What you know of Phainon’s home is that he was adopted by a lady in Okhema who, from the stories he’d tell you, seems like a lovely woman, so you’re not entirely opposed to the idea of attending a gala and potentially meeting her.
Besides, this is Phainon. You may prefer to stay away from galas when you can, but he always has a way of making things fun. Where’s the harm?
“Being your date sounds easy enough. All I have to do is attend, right?”
Phainon laughs awkwardly. “Yes, but that’s not all. My mother believes in chivalry above all else, she will do unspeakable things to me if I’m bringing just a friend. So… we have to pretend that we’re in a relationship.”
“What?”
Suddenly, he’s on his knees and his hands are pressed together. “Please, Y/n, I’m begging you to help me out here. I’ll treat you to a lifetime of meals, just don’t make me suffer through another festival with someone I hardly know!”
“I-It’s just a festival…”
“After years of suffering through awkward scenarios with people I hardly know, it feels like torture. I just want to bring someone who i will actually enjoy spending time with.” With the way he was pleading, you don’t think there is much room to intervene. It’s an odd request, you’re not even sure if you wholeheartedly believe his reasoning because of the many flaws in his logic.
Regardless, this issue seems serious to him, and it truly seemed as if he needed the help, and you’re willing to cast aside reason for someone reliable like him. If it were anyone else, you would have rejected, but Phainon? Who has always been there for you? You don’t have the heart to say ‘no’.
“O-Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Suddenly, he brings you into a hug so tight that it feels like your ribs are being pressed together. He’s basically proclaiming a series of ‘thank you’s right in your ear, leaving you with barely any oxygen or brainpower to wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake, or if this will just be another funny story to share with your friends.
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
Pie-non: I’ve arrived at Okhema!
Pie-non: Good to be back
Pie-non: How about you?
Y/n: i’m only heading back this afternoon
Y/n: good to know you made it home safely :)
Pie-non: Hehe
Pie-non: Safe travels :D
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
“Welcome home.”
Traditionally, it is a phrase meant to be said with warmth, a phrase of love and care that after being away from home so long, you can not help but feel like you’ve finally returned to where you belong, where you’re forever safe from the anguish and hardships of life. It is meant to be a warm greeting, but the words are so icy it creeps up your spine.
In a cruelly familiar way, you feel your muscles tense, concealing a shiver to let it simmer beneath your skin instead, lest you be scolded for improper behaviour.
“I am home,” you say.
“After all those years spent in the Grove of Epiphany, I had assumed you abandoned us.” There is no humour behind your mother’s words, no lightness underneath.
You thought you would have forgotten the cold edge of your mother’s voice.
You steel yourself. “I have been furthering my studies.”
“At an underwhelming pace, yes, that would be correct. You may go to your room first and put all your belongings away, however, return to the living room within half an hour, your father will have returned by then.”
“Of course.”
“Dismissed.”
Within these walls, everything is constructed perfectly. From the furniture, to where it’s placed, to the floor boards and its distance from the ceiling, everything was made to be precise and perfect, and not an inch out of place. Within these walls, there are clocks everywhere, and they are all set at the exact, same second, ticking at the exact same millisecond so you are reminded to not waste a single tick. Within these walls, goosebumps crawl stubbornly all over your skin, trailing along your forearm, back, and neck, making your hair stand up.
Within these walls, you always feel cold, despite the bright Okhema sunlight that shines through routinely-cleaned window panes.
Within these walls, is your least favourite place in all of Okhema.
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
Pie-non: Are you free today?
Pie-non: Let’s hangout :0
Y/n: sure!
Y/n: i have a few errands to run, but i’ll be done before 1pm
Y/n: is that okay?
Y/n: we can get lunch or something together
Pie-non: More than
Pie-non: Do you need an errand buddy? I’m great entertainment :p
Y/n: it’ll be quite boring though
Pie-non: It’s ok, I like spending time with you!
Y/n: alright
Y/n: meet me at marmoreal markets at 11am
The list of errands to complete your parents left you seemed longer today, and you scrutinise the additions that definitely were not there yesterday– just thinking about retrieving everything is making your head ache. Additionally, given how expansive Okhema is and how there are businesses all over the streets of the city, this errand trip is going to be exhausting.
You stand up straighter and exhale a deep breath. It’s nothing unmanageable, no need to feel so frustrated over something so minute.
If anything, you feel bad that Phainon has to endure it with you.
Your father had returned home yesterday exactly the same as you last saw him, perhaps with more wrinkles on his forehead and less hair on his head, but with the same distaste for the world he’s heralded for decades.
They dropped you a series of tasks to complete, and you immediately resigned to your fate of being an errand runner.
Couples, friends, and families pass by as you wait for Phainon. The markets are a notoriously busy and overstimulating space, leaving you to continuously glance left and right for any indication of his arrival.
Thankfully, he doesn’t keep you waiting for long, appearing with two cups of iced drinks in his hands and that usual, easygoing smile of his.
“Hey, Y/n!” He waves at you, his other hand occupied with a carton holding two drinks. “Sorry if you’ve been waiting long, I got us some drinks to keep us cool!” He hands you one of them.
“What’s this?” You ask, eyeing the drink and the way it was presented. There are plenty of famous cafes around the markets that go viral all the time on the web for their cute aesthetics and unique drink combos that oddly mesh very well together.
“I got you a pomegranate cream latte!” He stabs his straw into his drink, “you do like pomegranate, right?”
Incredible, it’s like Phainon knew you haven’t had your caffeine fix yet. “Yeah, I do. What did you get?”
“A fig iced tea, want to try some?” He tilts the cup’s straw to your mouth and you hum at the fruity flavour that explodes on your tongue, nodding in approval of his choice, saying something about how you’ll get that next time.
Then, you take a sip of your drink and hum in approval at his choice again. “This actually tastes pretty good, I would never have tried this if I saw it, thanks a bunch.”
He makes a sound of satisfaction, pleased with your judgment. “I’m glad, otherwise I would have had to drink it for you.”
“No thanks, we don’t need you to be caffeinated today.”
“Aw, why not? I did promise I’d be an exciting errand buddy today.”
“You don’t need caffeine to be exciting, Phainon.”
He laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment! So, partner, what kind of date do you have planned for us?”
You roll your eyes. “Unfortunately, this is going to be a date between me and this list of errands to get through, so let’s see how long you last before you regret tagging along.”
It’s like he takes that as a challenge, following along with every task you complete so obediently that you begin feeling bad for putting him through this, even if he’s not complaining or showing any physical weariness. Instead, he’s making small talk with the vendors you visit, asking about business, their days, what they’re selling. They’re far more receptive to him than you, but you’re certain that’s just part of Phainon’s charm and how effortlessly he can draw people in and keep them there.
Eventually, when you’ve finally completed the last task on the list, you and Phainon settle for a restaurant nearby.
“Thank you for accompanying me today,” you watch as he pours water into both your glasses.
“No problem! It was fun, we talked to so many cool people like that fabrics owner!” Phainon exclaims. “Who knew that deep colour of red could only be achieved with pomegranate wine?”
“Speaking of which, I didn’t realise you knew so much about tailoring and garments and all that, where’d you learn?”
He waves his hand dismissively, “my mother, actually! Of course, I am nowhere as skilled as her, but after watching her weave for so long, I’ve picked up a few things along the way. I could never actually make anything, though, I’d be stuck threading the string through the needle.”
“Wow, so your mother is a seamstress?”
“Yeah! She actually runs a business in it. I really should know more about it, but fashion has never been my strong suit. She’s always picked out my outfits for me and burned the things she didn’t like.” There’s a twinge on embarrassment on Phainon’s features as he recalls the story and you laugh.
“Did she dress you for today?”
He crosses his arms. “No! I’m not that aesthetically challenged anymore.”
“I’m kidding,” you take a sip of your water. “Either way, having you around made the day a little more bearable.”
“Just a little?”
“Just a little.”
“Are you sure it’s not a whooooole lot more than just a little?”
You roll your eyes. “Whatever.”
He grins. “By the way, lunch is on me. I do owe you a lifetime of meals.”
“What? No, it’s fine,” you insist, “I thought you were just kidding!”
“I wasn’t, you’re my saviour, really.”
“That’s an exaggeration, come on.”
“I’m paying. That’s final.”
Phainon beats you to the register later, successfully covering your portion of the meal before you can do anything about it, smiling smugly at you when he’s successful.
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
Pie-non: Do you want to come over to mine?
Pie-non: Mum wants to meet you c:
Y/n: omg actually
Y/n: i’d love to! what day were you thinking?
Pie-non: How about Saturday? I’ll come pick you up.
It dawns on you in Phainon’s car that you actually have to play the role of a loving partner. You knew what you were getting into, but it only hits now that the act has to come alive as you sit in his passenger seat, a box of fruits from Janusopolis in your lap.
When he pulls up at, what you assume has to be, his house, you have to stop and admire for a bit. It’s really nice, and you wonder how on Amphoreus you didn’t know that Phainon might have come from an affluent background. Maybe because the air of arrogance that rich Okheman kids carried around was not present in him- either way, you suddenly feel a lot more nervous for what his foster carer might be like.
You have had your fair share of unpleasant run-ins with rich people.
He unlocks the front door and calls out a loud “We’re home!”. His voice booms through the expanse of his home and in response, someone exclaims a ‘welcome home’, the voice hypnotising and mature as the sound of heels ricochet down the walls.
You had an image of what Phainon’s guardian might have been like, but you definitely were not expecting the face of your parents’ number one business rival to turn and greet you.
It’s like the universe is playing a grand prank because you’re certain half the colour has drained from your face, and you’re utterly speechless as Aglaea, the infamous ‘Goldweaver’, gives Phainon a small hug. You’re sure you look like a fool when she turns to greet you. Intimidatingly beautiful and beautifully intimidating, she is every part as terrifying as you were expecting her to be.
The first thing to note is that she is far more beautiful in person, carrying an air of dignity that will take your breath away. The second thing to note is she has an extremely kind smile, and you’re unable to see the villain that your parents have relentlessly painted her out to be.
They say that eyes are the window to the soul, but it seems that Aglaea has boarded hers shut with wooden planks, because you can not sense what she is thinking at all. She regards you incredibly neutral, like you are just another person in the threads of her life, and in a sense, you are. However, you were expecting more scrutiny, more hostility concealed by over-honeyed words, and a piercing gaze that would scan you up and down, considering Phainon just introduced you as his other half.
You expect her to be like your mother. Instead, she smiles like she has known you her whole life.
“It seems that my boy has met his match,” she approaches you with a dignified air to her, as if all the dust particles in the atmosphere part with each step she takes, never obstructing her perfect appearance. “Y/n, it is an honour to meet you.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Lady Aglaea.” You tense when you realise you’ve addressed her too properly, feeling a grim jab of embarrassment to your gut. Quickly, you recover. “I brought some gifts for your household to enjoy! These are fruits from Janusopolis.”
“That is very thoughtful of you, and please, drop the formalities, no need to be so polite.”
You relax your shoulders a little.
“Phainon has told me some stories about you, you’re from Okhema as well, correct? Will you be here for the Kephale Festival?”
“Yes, I will be.”
“Good.” She smiles at you, and the gesture alone feels like a pat on the back, despite the fact that you have done nothing but be present before her. “What is it that you study at the Grove?”
Some small talk is made, you answer each question she fires your way flawlessly, strategic with the tone and language you choose to respond to her with.
However, unlike most ‘interrogations’ from recognisable members of society, this one with Aglaea feels less daunting and more like she’s genuinely getting to know you, each question not meant to disarm or test you. Rather, her curiosity stemming from interest and careful consideration of all you say.
You were not expecting that from the most successful businesswoman in Okhema. Maybe even all of Amphoreus.
After a few minutes, the conversation flows to a close. “Regrettably, I cannot stay to chat- Phainon, do take good care of Y/n. Y/n, you may tell me if he misbehaves, I’ll spin him back into shape.”
You laugh. “I will. It was lovely meeting you!”
“Make yourself at home, Y/n.”
The door closes behind her with a resounding click, and you feel like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders. From all the anecdotes you receive in passing from your parents, Aglaea is hardly as devious as they make her out to be. Frightening? Perhaps, but she is not a spawn of malice and evil.
Still- a little warning would have been much appreciated.
“Why didn’t you tell me your caretaker was Aglaea?” You ask.
A few days ago, when Phainon said his mother owned a business in garment making and tailoring, you assumed it was on small scale, not an enterprise worthy of toppling over her competitors’. You’re pretty certain she runs a tailoring store for fun, external to the rest of her conglomerate.
He blinks at you. “Would you have known who she was beforehand?”
“Yes! Your mother is the most successful businesswoman in Okhema, some warning would have been nice!”
“Does it matter? Would that have changed how you perceived her?”
You shut your mouth.
“To me, she is the woman who I am eternally grateful for, without her, I do not know where I would be. That is the only version of her that matters to me.”
Shame crawls up your spine at the realisation you were accusing Phainon under his own roof.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I got ahead of myself, she seems like an incredible woman.”
“It’s okay,” he nods, an understanding look in his eyes, “would you like any food or water?”
“A glass of water is fine, thank you,” you say quietly and he leads you deeper into the pristine abode of his. You pass by pictures hung up on the wall that you merely glance at, not wanting to pry for too long. Despite how neat Phainon’s house is, it feels lived in. Like a space that is clean, yet welcoming, like the decorations and furniture were chosen for beauty and comfort, not just to show off endless vasts of wealth.
“You’re fine with pets, right?” Next thing you know, he whistles loudly and you hear several, little claws resounding through the halls, pattering against the marble floor. Eventually, a pack of five or so chimeras round the corner, clearly excited by the call of their owner, who bends down to their height so they can all jump onto his lap.
They’re all over him, rubbing against him excitedly and jumping around like the exuberant creatures they are. The sight is so cute, it almost makes you coo.
(You are, however, not above sneaking a photo that you will definitely send to Hyacine, Castorice, and Mydei later. The latter is going to laugh his ass off at the sight but you know incredibly well that he would love the pack and let them jump all over him too.)
“Hey guys! I missed you too, yeah, I know, I know, but we have a guest!” Almost as if they can understand him, they immediately stop their assault on Phainon to glance at you instead, five pairs of bright, beady eyes staring right at you. “Everyone, this is Y/n!”
It seems like that opens the floodgates, because they are suddenly jumping all over your legs, hoping to knock you down like they did with Phainon. They howl and whine, quietening down when you scratch their ears, keening at your touch.
“They really like you!”
“I think they like everyone.”
“Sure, but they like you the most, look! They’re so happy!” Then, you feel a smooth graze against your ankles, as if something was rubbing against it. When you look down, there’s a blue chimera already gazing up at you with sparkling eyes and it mewls when you make eye contact, tail wagging in excitement. “Especially Bubbles! He’s super fond of you.”
You bend down to pick it up and it sits comfortably in your arms, leaning against your shoulder as you cradle it. “He’s cute.”
“I’m glad you think so!”
“Where did you get all of them?” You ask, staring at the litter that was now playing amongst themselves, tackling, laying down, even stepping on each other.
“I found them abandoned in a cardboard box in a back alley. I was coming home from school one day when I was 16, then I saw baby Bubbles’ nearby, as if waiting for someone to come by. He led me to the rest of the pack and Aglaea allowed me to keep them, it would be cruel to split them up, they deserve to grow up together.”
“That’s really kind of you.” You suppose it makes sense for someone like Phainon to be so kindhearted that he couldn’t stand the idea of stranding defenseless animals, especially in a city as bustling and busy as Okhema. They would not have survived long without a home.
Fortunately, neither of you need to think about a scenario where that is reality.
“Bubbles is a smart cookie,” you murmur and the creature in your arms looks at you as if it knew it was being complimented.
You nuzzle your cheek against Bubbles’ head, and he reciprocates by rubbing his against your chin.
(If you squint, the likeness between Phainon and Bubbles is uncanny, the both of them even wearing the same innocent smile with gentle eyes; ones that make you feel like nothing is wrong with the world.)
When you return home, you call out ‘I’m home!’ and hear nothing but silence in response. Moments later, your mother pops through the hallways and informs you of an email your father has forwarded to you– internal documents that required calculations and he expected them finished within the coming days.
You’re in no position to decline, so you grit your teeth and get to work.
A few days pass since you last saw Phainon. He’s been texting you consistently about a variety of things, sending photos of his chimeras, the views he sees while on his runs, or other miscellaneous things like the dromas-shaped pancake he got from a food stand.
Meanwhile, you’ve been cooped up in your study, the hours passing by nonstop as you work through the pages of financial information forwarded through.
Pie-non: What are you up to today?
Y/n: nothing fun
Y/n: just finishing up some reports for my parents
Pie-non: Sounds super gross :(
Y/n: the good news is that i’m almost done and can treat myself soon!!!
Pie-non: Yay!!
Pie-non: We should hangout then :0
Y/n: hmm
Y/n: i have the day free on sunday! just need to return by curtain fall for a charity event
Pie-non: Lets meet then!
Pie-non: The weather forecast is looking nice, how about a picnic?
Pie-non: We should go near the lake!
Y/n: haha okayy sounds good
Y/n: talk more soon, gotta get back to work.
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
Your legs are shaking, and no matter how hard you try, they won’t stop.
The discomfort serves as a sufficient distraction to the disappointed look in your parents eyes as they sit across from you, the low lighting from the living room lamp only highlighting the creases in their forehead and the downturn of their eyebrows. They’re berating you. You have to maintain eye contact as they berate you, forced to watch all the changes in their expression as they vocalise just how disappointed you’ve made them.
From a young age, they have drilled this into you; that you need to look your failures in the eye, that you must maintain their gaze as they ‘tell you how to improve’, but it’s never grown easier over the years.
Everytime it feels like there is a small child inside the cavern of your chest shaking uncontrollably, its legs are curled to its chest, fighting to preserving what little warmth is left. You feel it trying its best, but you’ve learnt and accepted that one’s ‘best’ is sometimes just not enough, and failure is in the form of a pile of papers smacking the coffee table loudly.
“Not only that, but you have calculated all of the ratios wrong, our team can not start on the reports otherwise for the quarter,” your father repeatedly jabs the file, to a point where you think it might dent from his actions. He spits “such foolish mistakes.”
Your mother is no help. She never is against your father’s wrath, instead, she strokes the flames. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I have no excuse,” you murmur, “I’ll get it fixed.”
“By 9 am tomorrow. Do not dream of sleeping until it is done. Dismissed,” your father waves you off and that is your chance of escape.
With insurmountable amount willpower, you stand and try to conceal the wobble in your legs as you trudge out of the living room and up the stairs to your designated office.
Sitting down in front of your laptop fills you with dread, your vision is persistently blurry as you open all of the files, and doom is a wet droplet that flows down from your eye to your chin. It’s followed by another, and another, until there are puddles on the mahogany desk below you.
Crying is a burning feeling you have not felt in years, not since you’ve arrived at the Grove of Epiphany, but this is a dance you will never forget the steps to. Too accustomed to the way your retinas burn, how your nose stings, how it hurts even more to push down the evidence and forcefully collect yourself.
In Kephale’s name, all you want is to be back in your dorm at the Grove. You wonder what Castorice is doing right now. If things were different, you could be spending the holidays together, sharing drinks or snacks together, laughing. You think about what Hyacine is doing with her family, how they should be preparing for their trip to Okhema soon– you should really text her about it soon. Mydei’s probably back in Castrum Kremnos winning every wrestling competition there is, at least, that’s what he said he was doing when you last asked, showing off the many gold medals he’s won since he’s gone home.
You miss your friends. You hope they’re happy and well and not crying quietly by themselves late at night in front of a fluorescent screen, losing against a set of numbers.
Your phone buzzes.
Pie-non: [ image attached ]
Pie-non: Bubbles misses you!
It’s a photo of the chimera curled up on Phainon’s lap, and it looks like he’s in the middle of watching a series, having a far more comfortable and cozy night than you. Despite the tears in your eyes fogging up your vision, you laugh at the text, typing back a response in between sniffles and small hiccups.
Y/n: aww :( he’s so cute
Y/n: i really miss bubbles, too
Pie-non: You’re welcome to see him anytime
Pie-non: Sticker
Pie-non: [ image attached ]
Warmth blooms in your chest, a stark contrast to the decrepit sense of loneliness that was settling in your chest mere moments ago.
Wiping your nose with a tissue, you set your phone down, and turn back to the gruesome folder of spreadsheets your parents have ordered you to look through and fully correct before tomorrow.
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
The weather is nice today. Okheman summers tend to be incredibly dry and hot, with scorching rays that beat you down and dry out your skin if you stand under it for too long. Here, however, sitting under a tree whose foliage filters out most of the sun, leaving patches of light to decorate the ground and your skin, you think this is the peace summer is meant to bring. Especially whilst by the waterside, where the wind carries its coolness and kisses your face with it.
You’ve missed this part of home, and the natural beauty of the Holy City.
There’s a shriek behind you and you turn around to see where the source of the disruption is, but the sight is more wholesome than you anticipated. A little girl being chased by an older brother, both of them looking no older than seven. There’s dirt on their hands, knees and clothes, and their parents chase after them with noisy concern, pulling out handkerchiefs and water bottles like their lives depend on it.
Eventually, the two children stop and listen to the whims of their parents. The father dabs the streaks off his daughter’s face, saying something you can’t hear before pressing a kiss against her forehead. The mother stops and scolds her son for not drinking enough water on such a hot day, leaving him to go run after his sister again with a ruffle of his hair. Your eyes are glued on the couple, how they look proud and content with their children, the warm day like a blessing.
(In another life, you’ll receive the love you feel indebted to own, but in this one, you’ll get by chasing the approval of people who may never grant it to you, who may never love you like you deserve.)
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting!” A familiar white-haired companion sits down on the picnic mat beside you, an apologetic smile on his boyish features, paired with a bakery box in his hands.
“It’s alright, I haven’t been here long,” your gaze lingers curiously on what he’s holding. He opens the lid and inside sits a little, charming cake, seemingly the same size as your hand but with three layers of height. “How cute! What’s the occasion?”
“It wouldn't be right to turn up empty-handed, so I picked this up on my way here! Looks good, right?”
“How thoughtful of you, very picnic-esque. How should we eat it?”
“I just grabbed two forks and thought we could… just go at it.”
Phainon is kind enough to let you have the first bite, watching you struggle to find the right place to take the first stab with a small smile of amusement on his face. Cakes are delicate and the first ‘slice’ should always be handled with care, you reason, and he just chuckles when you successfully extract a piece.
“Cheers,” your forks tap against each other and watch each other’s expression when the dessert melts in your mouth.
A look of delight flashes in his eyes. “That’s really good!”
“Delicious,” you reach for another bite. “I don’t remember the last time I had a cake from Okhema. They really bake it differently at the Grove.”
“Must have been your birthday or something, right?”
“I haven’t been back here in years,” you murmur, “and I never really celebrated. I think the first time I got my own cake was when Castorice and Hyacine made one for me.”
You don’t know what compelled you to share that tidbit, or why you had to bring the atmosphere down on such a lovely and warm day, but now you’re stuck pretending like that bittersweet fact doesn’t haunt you as much as it does.
“If that’s the case, then let’s think of this one like a… welcome home cake,” he says. “It’s good to be back, right?”
“Sure.”
The rest of the afternoon is spent talking and slowly chipping away at the dessert. Summer has a particular ability to make life more magical with sunlight flickering through the dense leaves overhead. The two of you are content with watching the water, gazing out into the distance as you chat about a variety of things, the atmosphere comfortable and friendly like always.
“This time of day is perfect for an afternoon nap,” Phainon muses, “I’m feeling quite drowsy.”
“You can take one if you’d like,” you offer.
“It’s alright,” he laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, “I’ll manage, besides, I’m here to spend time with you!”
“You would take naps all the time back at the Grove. I brought a book with me, anyways, I can keep myself entertained.”
He presses his lips together. “A nap does sound really good right now… are you sure it’s fine?”
“Of course.”
After some small adjustments, you find the weight of his head resting on your thighs– something you’ve gotten used to with how fond of afternoon naps he was. He has accompanied you enough that a sacred routine between friends developed; you reading under the waning afternoon sun of the Grove, and him resting with you under the thick shade of the trees that grow there. You have dropped a book on his sleeping face a few too many times, and he has made it even by drooling on your clothes as he rests soundly against you.
“You were born in Aedes Elysiae, right?” You murmur, watching your fingers that thread through his snow-white hair, one that has gotten long enough for you to curl your fingers around at least three times. “When did you arrive in Okhema?”
He hums in contemplation, white eyelashes catching the gleam of the sun every time he blinks, fluttering gently. He is resting on his side, giving you a clear view of his side profile.
“I don’t think I was any older than fourteen, nearly fifteen,” he murmurs, “but my hometown was beautiful. The wheat that grew there was so long, I have fond memories of running through it with my friends, and the crops were the best. Something about them was different, fresher, maybe it’s the soil or the way the farmers planted it.”
He continues his spiel excitedly, hands moving animatedly, matching the enthusiasm in his words and tone.
“That sounds dreamy,” you muse.
“Right?” Then, there’s a melancholic shift in his futures; a droop of his eyelids, a small downturn of his lips. “I wish there was an Aedes Elysiae to return to, it’s been abandoned since the Black Tide took it all away. My parents, they- they managed to send me to Okhema in the nick of time.”
“Phainon-”
“-it’s okay,” his hands nervously fiddle with the hem of your clothes. “I’m grateful to be where I am now. If it weren’t for a magnificent stroke of luck and Aglaea finding me, I don’t know where I’d be today, she took me under her wing and loved me unconditionally. That’s why I’ll always do what I can to make her happy.”
Then, he turns his head and cranes his neck to look up at you.
“If it weren’t for everything that happened, I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, either.”
Sincerity shines in his eyes, and your breath gets caught in your throat. Not once in your life have you thought someone would be grateful to have known you.
“Somehow, you still manage to find a way to me, even though I’m the most irrelevant aspect of the story,” you chuckle whilst untangling your fingers from his hair to cradle his face instead, chill palms resting against warm skin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bitter memories.”
“It’s fine! Really, I’m fine. If anything, I’m happy you asked, I love my hometown and telling others about it, it means a lot that you were curious in the first place. Phew, all that talking’s got me even more tired now, I think I’m gonna take a nap now.”
You nod, reaching for the book you brought in your bag. “Alright, sleep well, Phainon.”
He shifts around a bit afterwards, finding a comfortable position to rest in, but after a few moments, his breathing evens and he falls still save for the rise and fall of his chest.
Still, you think about the uncharacteristic glumness in his eyes, how it looks like he was on the verge of tears despite the evenness in his voice. There’s a lot behind Phainon’s story that you’ll never know– after all, they say the kindest souls are the ones who have faced the greatest challenges, and you wonder if he’ll tell you about all of them someday.
For now, you play with his hair and read your book, waiting for him to wake up.
Later that night, you’re sat alone, dressed in an outfit picked by your mother that does not match your style, paired with beautiful gems that weigh down your chest and wrists.
There are people mingling away from where you are, and it is a crowd you must return to, but for now, you need a breather and a moment to recollect yourself.
You’ve talked to too many people tonight, smiled for too long that your cheeks ache now, and you’re still nursing the same drink you’ve had since the start of the night. There is no desire to drink it, the champagne merely for decoration so people do not ask you if you would like another and invite you to drink.
In your hand, your phone shakes with a notification.
Pie-non: How’s the charity event going?
Pie-non: I hope you’re not having too much fun without me ;0
Y/n: lol it would be so much better if you were here
Y/n: it’s going fine
Y/n: i can’t wait to go home
You open your camera and send him a photo of your barely-touched champagne glass, followed by a silly selfie. You wish he were here with you, the night would be infinitely more bearable.
Pie-non: You look great!!
Pie-non: I’ll be praying that the time goes by faster
Pie-non: Btw Aglaea gave me tickets to a play and suggested we go together
Pie-non: Would you like to go with me? :p
Y/n: sounds great, i’m keen
Y/n: tell your mother i say thank you!
Y/n: i need to go back now, ttyl
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
“At the charity ball last night, there were a few offers made by sons of reputable businessmen,” your mother mentions over breakfast the following morning, and you halt your chewing, looking up from the news tablet.
The idea of being negotiated is revolting, you have to force down the food that is in your mouth as you slowly lose your appetite.
“Don’t you think it is about time you find a partner? Many of your classmates from high school have, your class president was engaed recently.” Your mother continues, not even glancing up from over the rim of her glasses.
Your thoughts drift over to Phainon. He’s… he’s not exactly your committed partner, but you are playing the part of being one to him, and you’re merely doing him a favour because you’re friends.
Why does calling him that feel like you’re choking over your own words? Why is your heart beginning to rebel, when did it have autonomy to do whatever it wants? Why is it doing flips as you think about yesterday, how he laid on your lap, how he gently played with the hems of your clothes as his voice fondly recalled vulnerable moments of his youth?
“No, I- I’m seeing someone!” You blurt without thinking and she finally looks up at you, an eyebrow raised.
“Is that so? And you did not check to see if this… someone is suitable for your father or I’s standard?”
“He is! He comes from a wealthy background and studies veterinary science at the Grove. I… didn’t want to tell you about it yet because I wanted to make sure he is perfect, you’ve always taught me to bide my time.”
“Oh? Fine, but you need to bring him to us soon for our approval. We would hate for you to be with a hopeless suitor who will merely waste your time.”
“Absolutely. Yours and father’s approval are very meaningful to me.”
She sighs through her nose. “Very well. Don’t let us down.”
“I won’t, mother.”
The rest of breakfast is silent, leaving you room to dwell with your thoughts.
You don’t actually like Phainon, do you? Maybe the mirage of dating him has gotten to your head, convinced you to see him in a new light- but nothing has changed since you were just friends. He’s always been kind, made you laugh, invited you to events, bought you your favourite drinks, showed you unconditional support, he’s always been all of these things and more, so why does your heart beat erratically now thinking about it?
You fall back on your bed, the weight of these thoughts making you toss and turn against the comforter. You think about his kind smile and dig your head further into your sheets, you think about his gentle eyes and scream a little. It feels as if you’re living a scene straight from the romcoms you would watch when you were younger. Maybe… you’ve always liked him?
You’re going insane.
(Since when were you the type of person to overthink about how someone perceived you? You stand hopelessly in front of your wardrobe, scanning through the pieces, the growing pile of clothes you deem unsightly sat atop your comforter. Titans, all of a sudden, nothing looks good or sits right, one outfit was too revealing, another not revealing enough– you’re going to go crazy!)
Later that evening, you meet Phainon outside the theatre. He’s dressed in a button-up with black slacks, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his forearms (and the veins– stop looking so damn hard!).
He grins widely when he sees you, pushing off the wall to meet you halfway.
“Hey! I’m so glad you could make it!”
“I’m glad I could make it too, thanks so much for the invite, I’ve heard good things about the drama we’re watching tonight, all the tickets are sold out though, how did Aglaea manage to snag us some?”
“Oh, you know,” he waves his hands, “friend of a friend, either way, someone couldn’t make it so these tickets are ours. How was the charity event?”
You hug the spare jacket you brought closer to your chest, murmuring “it was fine, honestly, the most fun part of the night was when you texted me.”
“That boring, hm? Well, at least you’re here with me now!”
“That I am. We should probably go inside now and find our seats.”
“Good idea,” then, he jokingly bows and offers an arm to you, like they do in old movies. You giggle before threading your arm through his. “Shall we?”
“We shall.”
The play was great- magnificent even, enthralling during some scenes and humorous in others, the audience clearly reacted well to it when the actors received an outstanding ovation during the bows, but the greatest comedy was your internal conundrum.
For it was difficult to focus when all you could think about was how his hand was right next to yours, resting on the armrest of his chair. When he leaned in to say something funny or share commentary, your heart skipped a beat every time you caught his gaze, the stage lights reflecting in his aquamarine eyes. It overwhelmed you with an undeniable urge to break free and destroy all boundaries of friendship, a feeling you had to suppress before you did things ‘fake partners’ would regret.
When you finally left the theatre, he offered to get dessert together before heading home.
As you walked, you were discussing the play together (or what you could remember). However, you were keenly aware of how your hand kept grazing his, fingertips brushing against each other every so often.
To your surprise, he grabs your hand with his and interlaces your fingers.
“We are supposed to be dating, right?” Phainon scratches the back of his head sheepishly, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No… no it’s fine,” you murmur, shaking your head.
“Hey, actually, that reminds me; you know how to dance, right? It’s expected of the ball’s attendees.”
You blink at him. A ball that requires its attendees know how to dance? Just how formal is this event? “I know the basics. If anything, I’m more surprised that you know how to dance.”
“Hey! I’ll have you know I am quite excellent, I promise I won’t be stepping on your toes.”
“I was messing with you. With how many years you’ve been attending, I expect you to be the best dance partner I could ask for.”
He turns his face away, hand creeping up to scratch his neck. “Aww, now you’re just making me nervous.”
“I’m looking forward to the gala, it’ll be fun.”
“Me too! It’ll be so much better this year with you coming!”
“Tell me more about the gala.”
He begins what he’s best at: talking your ear off. While you’ve always loved hearing him tell stories, it’s even better now, listening to his anecdotes as he waves a dripping ice cream cone around, your hand still in his.
On Kephale’s light, this man is not good for your heart at all, matter of fact, he’s merciless without even realising it, but you’re uncertain if this will result in a happy ending.
When all is said and done and the gala is over, the two of you will return to your normal routine as friends and nothing more. You will continue reading under the shade in the Grove and Phainon will be nearby, either resting, studying, or fiddling with a stray basketball he picked up. You will continue going for snack runs together, picking up the requested items of your friends. You will fall back into normalcy with these feelings devouring your insides, heart forever attuned to a boy out of reach.
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
Pie-non: Sooooo Aglaea wants you to come over for lunch one day
Pie-non: Would you be able to?
Y/n: that sounds great, i’d love to
Y/n: when?
Pie-non: How about this Saturday?
Y/n: i’ll mark it down on my calender
Pie-non: Yay!
The second time meeting Aglaea feels less daunting. It’s Phainon who opens the door, grinning widely as he greets you with a hug. There’s specks of flour on his face, along with smears of other ingredients, and only then do you smell the aromatic smell of whatever he is cooking.
“Come on in! Make yourself at home,” he ushers you in, letting you set your things down before leading you to the dining area. Adjacent to it is an expansive kitchen with windows that welcome in generous amounts of Kephale’s light.
“Y/n, how lovely it is to see you again,” Aglaea’s melodic voice chimes and you stand up straighter, hugging the big bouquet of flowers close to your chest.
“Thank you so much for having me! I’ve been looking forward to today, so I brought some flowers to express my gratitude.”
“That’s very thoughtful, thank you. Just set them down on the kitchen counter.”
You do as your told, eyeing the plates of delicious-looking food. “Would you like my help with anything?”
“If you could set the table, that would be great.”
“Of course!” You take the plates and cutlery that Phainon hands you, setting them in the exact way you’ve been taught growing up, in the order that befit dining. Aglaea sees this and leaves a harmless remark that you’ve been taught well, and you graciously wave off her comment, saying there’s more for you to learn.
Phainon carries all the dishes, setting them down on the table. Then, he turns to you with that same excited smile, beaming.
“I’m so glad you could make it, Y/n!” Radiant. He’s so radiant you think his teeth could work as flashlights in the dark.
Still, your heart skips a beat. “I’m very happy to be here, thank you for inviting me. Also, Phainon, you have something on your face.”
“Oh, where?” He rubs his face but it only worsens it, smearing more flour on his face.
“It’s fine, I got it.” You grab a napkin from the table and wipe off the excess from his skin, trying your best to be gentle whilst he stands incredibly still, letting you do as you please. “There. All good.”
“Thanks!”
Neither of you are aware of the softness in Aglaea’s expression as she watches. It’s only with a clap of her hands do the two of you break out of the little world you were lost in and you jump away from Phainon like he’s burned you, embarrassed as Aglaea laughs.
“Come on kids, lets sit down now or the food will get cold.”
Lunch goes by easier than expected. You had been prepared for another feast where you would sit with your spine straight and shoulders tensed, echoing rehearsed laughs over dry jokes and unfunny remarks. Instead, your mirage has, once again, been completely disarmed by Aglaea’s questions; she seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, like your hobbies and passions, or the little anecdotes you’d share when talking about different topics.
Naturally, she shares stories as well. Phainon asks her if there’s been any interesting business deals, and she responds with a flippant sigh, vaguely detailing a client that’s been driving her up the wall, which both of you have animated reactions to.
Meanwhile, Phainon keeps coaxing you to try more dishes, especially the ones he made, watching your expression with keen intensity while his mother smiles fondly from across the table, retopping your glass of water whenever it emptied. By the end of lunch, your stomach is full and your heart even more so.
When Phainon goes to feed the family of chimeras, you’re left alone to talk with Aglaea while washing the dishes. However, the tranquility of the moment is ruined by a buzz of your phone, soured when you realise it’s your father who didn’t even write a message, just sent two files and a link, no doubt thrust upon you to complete.
“Who is it?”
You quickly shut off your phone, taming the agitation gnawing at your ribcage. “Excuse me, it was just my father.”
When Phainon returns to the room, Aglaea suggests something about taking you to the riverside. “You shouldn’t stay cooped up inside on such a lovely day,” she had reasoned and the next thing you know, he’s pulling you out the door like an overexcited chimera, eagerness dripping off him in waves.
You yell at him to slow down, heart hammering from physical exertion and the feeling of his hand tightly squeezing yours. He apologises with a sheepish smile but does not drop your wrist, guiding you to a carved path covered by thick foliage and the end of it was a clearing that gazed over a vast river.
It’s beautiful. Fluffy clouds drift by overhead, following the downstream current. Your feet take you along the direction of the current, the rock and sand crunching beneath your footsteps as the waves roll by.
“It’s so peaceful here.”
“I know right?” Phainon rolls his sleeves up and sorts through the pile of rocks underneath your feet, picking up each one and inspecting them carefully, discarding any he deems unsightly. You don’t quite understand what his criteria is, but when he has a handful of sizeable ones, he throws one out.
It skids along once, twice, many more times before finally dropping into the water.
He looks at you like he’s expecting a congratulations, so you give it to him and he beams. Next thing you know, he’s instructing you on how he did it.
“You want to angle your body and hit the surface at a lower level, make sure you’re using the flatter side of the rock, then, with a flick of your wrist…” he throws the rock and it skids across the surface level seven- eight- nine times before silently dropping into the water, and you stare blankly at the dissipating ripples.
He made it look so easy.
“Here, try skip a few stones!”
You try your best to abide to his instructions. Angle the body, get lower with the water level, and flick of the wrist and it… plonks into the water without so much a hop.
“Aw,” you murmur, but instead of berating or ridiculing, Phainon hands you another rock, similar to the one you just threw.
“That’s okay! It’s pretty hard to get on the first try, have another go.”
Maybe it was the sun, but the stone in your hand felt nicely warm, and you let your gaze linger on him for a moment, waiting for the disappointment to appear in his eyes. Yet, it never comes. All he does is beam at you with a thumbs up for encouragement.
This time, when you flick your wrist, it skips across the water surface one, two, three, four, five times before halting, and the only evidence that you’ve succeeded are the ripples fading away. The only witness claps, softly cheering.
He’s applauding because you skipped a stone on the surface of a river.
It’s so silly and simple it makes your heart skip a beat.
You manage to hit a high score of seven, while Phainon manages to go into the double digits, and you find yourself clapping for him too, occasionally high fiving in celebration.
(This is the sense of belonging you’ve been chasing after your whole life. The love you’ve craved for so long but always thought would be out of reach, yet, these two have somehow proven that caring for someone is not a Herculean task.)
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
If there’s one thing Okhema has taught you, it’s that happiness is fleeting and there will always be those who want to stomp out your light.
“We didn’t even know you had friends in Okhema. You left all the people you knew behind the second you went to the Grove, disappeared from the face of Amphoreus like some runaway child,” your mother quips, metallic spoon clinking the tea cup she was stirring.
You stiffen. “I thought a change of environment was what I needed.”
She taps the edge of her cup twice, the sound resonating through the room. “If you were more capable, you would have been able to balance both. Unfortunately, not all of us are, you should have been grateful your friends from high school gave you the time of day. They were all such valuable connections to have.”
You want to defend yourself, tell her about how horrid and small they made you feel, but you suppose she would never understand, not when she treats you the same. Unfortunately, one group is far easier to run away from than the other.
“Do you even have friends at the Grove?”
“Of course,” you insist, trying to keep your tone levelled. After years of living here, you’ve grown to understand that any display of emotion would be weaponised against you, but it never gets any easier trying to suppress them. Not when the snarky words of your mother are said with the intention of wearing you down.
She raises her teacup to her lips. “Are you sure they even like you?”
Does she drink poison to stay hydrated? Her toxicity truly knows no bounds.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Your tea finally finishes steeping, and before you can raise it to your lips, your father, who finally decides the conversation is worth entering, chimes up. “I’ve heard some of the people in your grade have started finding success in life, one’s even managed to get a booming startup off the ground.”
“Off the back of his father’s money,” you retaliate.
“So what? Does that change the fact that he’s operating a successful business and a respectable entrepreneur?”
Rich, you think. Where’s your support, then? They can’t even give you the time of day.
“You finally have a rare break back home, and instead of working, you spend everyday out and about and falling behind. Time is the most valuable resource one can have and you insist on wasting it by going out everyday.”
He smacks his lips together and shakes his head.
“Ridiculous.”
You try to stand up for yourself. “I’m on summer break, I’ve been working hard the last three years to maintain honours with top grades-”
“-We expect you to do better.”
Frustration boils in your chest and clogs up your throat. Defending yourself is never productive in this household, and trying to have the last say only leads to a thundering chest that feels like you’re one breath away from caving in.
As soon as dinner was over and you could leave, you’re out the front door before you can think twice, putting on the most comfortable pair of shoes you can find before darting out.
You couldn’t stay in that house a minute longer, otherwise your agitation would have boiled over and stained the pristine floors.
The sky overhead bleeds a multitude of warm hues with orange clouds drifting by. The beautiful sight cheers you up minimally, but it’s not effective against the swirling cauldron of emotions sitting in your stomach and the fumes that stick to your throat. You’re so frustrated, you don’t know if you want to scream and kick something or cry.
When will this game end? When will this dance cease? When will this symphony of turmoil finally diminish?
Pleasing them doesn’t change them, rebelling against them just makes things worse, and running away and avoiding them for two years did nothing.
What did you do to deserve this?
Deep breaths. Inhale… exhale… the breeze of summer infiltrates your senses, and you realise that your feet have taken you to a familiar park. One that, whenever explosive arguments occurred, you would come here to calm your racing mind and turbulent emotions. It has been your routine since young, and after two years of not seeing this natural scape, a bittersweet ache of nostalgia returns. Time may pass but old habits die hard.
“Y/n?”
You freeze.
Your stinking luck. Why now?
“Phainon!” You choke out, along with an awkward laugh that comes out as a pathetic garble instead. Oh Titans, you’re crying. You didn’t even realise you were crying, the dried-up tear streaks staining your skin an incriminating sign that you immediately hurry to wipe away.
He can’t see you like this.
Scrambling to stand up, you steady yourself with the trunk of the birch tree you were previously sitting under. You frantically wipe at your cheeks with your shirt, the cotton like steel wool against your skin as you scrub and scrub and scrub, ridding the evidence of your emotional display.
You can’t even look at him, too ashamed.
There’s a warm pair of hands wrapped around your wrists, and you flinch at his touch, “Y/n… what’s wrong?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all,” the words are a jumbled mess of syllables that get jammed in your throat as you pull yourself away from him, stumbling backwards. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t think you are.”
“I swear I am.”
“You can tell me if something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine!”
“It’s clearly not-”
“-It clearly is.”
“Y/n, it’s pretty obvious something’s wrong.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stop pretending-”
“-Phainon, please.”
He’s silent for a few beats before conceding pensively. This time, his tone is softer. “Okay, but you know I’d never judge you, right? So if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
Unconcealing your face, you still refuse to meet his eyes, gaze glued to his shirt instead. The first thing you notice is that he’s wearing merchandise with the Grove’s logo printed in the centre, along with the words ‘sport and athletics’ underneath.
“Thank you.”
“I’m serious. You don’t have to be alone, you believe me right?”
You’re silent for a few beats. “Yes,” you lie.
“Then say it.”
“I…” your swollen eyes flit up to meet his. There’s a steady intensity in his expression that almost makes you cower, so you glance away and find the trees behind him far more bearable. “I believe you.”
It’s awkwardly silent for a few beats afterwards, neither of you knowing what to say to lighten the mood, but it was him who was dragged into your unfortunate mess, so you squeak a very meek “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”
Phainon blinks. “Why are you apologising? If anything, I should be apologising to you for almost scaring you off.”
“It’s only because you snuck up on me!”
“My bad, my bad,” he scratches the back of his neck.
It falls painfully awkward again, a gust of wind brushing against the back of your legs. You shiver.
“Are you cold?”
“No- I’m fine, it was just a chill. What brings you here?”
“I was out on a run, this park is on my normal route.”
“It’s so far from your house!”
He tilts his head, ivory locks swaying with the action. “Is it?”
“Well, I guess this wouldn’t be too hard for you, Mr. Top Athlete.”
“Oh, stop it,” he waves off your compliment. “Would you like to get a bite now that we've bumped into each other? My treat.”
The scalding words of your father echo in your head. “I would but I think my family’s expecting me, I shouldn’t keep them waiting too long, sorry.”
He frowns, dejection glossing over his features. “I understand. When can I see you next?”
“To be honest, my parents were scolding me earlier for going out so much so I might need to stay home for a bit. I’ll text you when I think it’s better.”
“Alright.”
“Well. Guess I’ll see you later, Phai-”
Without warning, you’re engulfed in a warm embrace, Phainon’s fleece shirt pressed against your chin as you crane your neck to meet his towering height. His arms are wrapped tight around your torso, one wrapped around your shoulder, the other around the back of your lower ribs, pressing you securely against him. His cologne smells like cedarwood and bergamot.
(The setting Okheman sun casts golden rays that illuminate his sky blue eyes gorgeously, but you will never forget the unfamiliarity of how he looked at you, and how even the light did nothing to hide it. He regarded you like something that needed fixing, like you were an antique vase that lay shattered on the floor, like you were his favourite mug, like you were something that took love and intention to create.
Instead of sweeping you aside, he held you close to his chest and cradled you there, determined to piece you back together.
You return his embrace.)
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
The coming days are mundane. As always, your parents excel at sweeping tension under the rug. Breakfasts are silent, and you’re trying to appease them so you can make it to Phainon’s gala, careful not to stroke their (delicate) tempers.
You’ve successfully managed to let them know of your plans with Hyacine. Given that she was in Okhema, you didn’t want this chance to slip out of your grasp, so you’re relieved you’ll get to hangout with her for a day or so.
Other than that, you don’t have much to occupy your time outside of reading, taking occasional walks, and texting your friends, so your mind drifts back to the white-haired man more often than not.
You’ve been in constant contact, active on both the groupchat with your friends and private chats, but you think back to what he said to you days ago. By the power of unfortunate timing and coincidence, he had caught you at an incredibly sensitive moment– you’re not embarrassed about that anymore, but you can vividly recall the fire in his eyes. How he seemed… angry at your sorrow, like it was unfair that you were feeling upset, like it was his responsibility to fix it.
‘If you need someone to talk to, I’m here’.
Would he even want to hear what you have to say? There’s no worth bothering him with problems as mundane as yours… but you can’t say you haven’t been tempted to tell him.
During hours late in the night, when your psyche was tired and rationality worn down after a long day, you were one word away from spilling it all on a late night video call, but the sentence never came out. Instead, they’d crawl right back in your throat and settle uncomfortably in your heart, deciding that someone like him should not need to worry about you.
What if he is curious, though? He wanted answers, he wanted to console you, wanted you to talk to him, but all you did was jump away when his hands touched yours and refused to speak like some sensitive child.
If you try hard enough, you can feel how hard he squeezed you in that hug, the ghost of his embrace pulling you tight against him. You can remember how he felt in your arms, how the fabric of his shirt felt bunched up in your fists, how grounding it was.
To you, Phainon will always be untouchable, on par with Kephale’s light that beams its warmth on everyone and will always be loved by all. Meanwhile, you’re a puppet tugged along by frayed strings, still trying to discover what it means to be loved and cared for. You are the dust that sits gathered on the windowsill, staring up at the sky outside, yearning for a way out.
Sighing, you savour the sun for a few moments longer. When you cast your gaze downward and see the specks of grey decorating the window frame, you frown, descending to get something to wipe it away with.
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
Pie-non: The gala is in 13 days from now :0
Pie-non: Aglaea said that she can help you get ready if you’d like!
Y/n: really?? it won’t bother her?
Pie-non: Nope!
Pie-non: Believe or not, she likes this kind of stuff
Y/n: well, if she’s okay with it, then yes please!
Aglaea gently runs her fingers through your undone hair, classical Amphorean music softly humming in the background from an old record player. The open window welcomes in a warm draft, one that hits the bottom of your neck.
You love the outfit she has picked for you. It’s lightweight and hugs your figure at all the right places but isn’t too tight that moving is a struggle. Most importantly, you still feel like yourself and comfortable in your own skin.
She truly is a tailoring expert.
“I take it that you like the clothes I picked for you?” Aglaea asks, and you glance up at the mirror, unaware of how wide you are smiling.
“I love them,” you announce unabashedly, cheeks beginning to hurt. “They’re gorgeous.”
She laughs, the sound gentle and honeyed as she begins brushing through your hair. “So is the wearer.”
Your gaze flickers back to your reflection. “Thank you.”
It’s silent save for accessories jingling as Aglaea decides which ones best suit you, testing a variety of necklaces, bracelets, arm bands, and more hair pieces. The quiet is comfortable, as if you are more than the (fake) partner Phainon has brought home for the holidays, like you are someone worth a reserved seat at her dinner table.
However, when you leave Okhema at the end of summer, you’ll have to shatter your plate and end this make believe. In the midst of all your new-found feelings, when you and Phainon return to the Grove, he will have to find an excuse as to why you may never return to visit her again. You already feel guilty for wasting her time and energy like this, you can’t fathom how disappointed she will be when it’s time to throw it away.
“Phainon has been looking forward to today for a long time,” she tells you, a warm look in her eyes when your gazes meet. “Before, he’d be grumpy and petulant whenever I had to get him ready, complaining about all the dates I arranged him, but recently he’s been bouncing off the walls with excitement.”
You giggle. It’s easy to picture a younger Phainon pouting and huffing, sat in the exact chair you’re in now, throwing a tantrum before Aglaea would straighten him into shape, but you can also imagine current-Phainon eagerly counting down the days to an event he used to dread. Maybe you really did him a favour by agreeing to accompany him. After all, going to big galas with a friend was far more enjoyable than going with someone you did not know.
“Of course, he was never ill-mannered to those I chose, he is far too kind for that, but every year I wondered when he’d finally bring someone of his own choosing.”
“Really? But he’s so popular and well-liked.”
“Phainon is very particular about the people he surrounds himself with. When he first told me that he had a date for this year’s Kephale Festival, I was curious who it was that finally caught his eye. Then, I met you and understood why he liked you so much.”
Your heart skips a beat. “Really?”
She nods. “Admittedly, he has told me about you before and shared pictures you took together from the Grove, along with the group of friends you share. So I have heard about you from all the stories he’d share with me.”
“It’s a really incredible group, we’re all great friends.”
“I’m grateful he has you all.”
Aglaea smiles fondly. “I’m grateful to have him, too.”
A few beats of silence pass. This time, you’re compelled to speak up. You say “my parents are business owners too. They specialise in a similar industry to you.”
“Yes, I am vaguely familiar with them. To be successful, you have to know your competitors, but I get the sense they’re not very fond of me.”
“They regard everyone who is not in their circle as rivals and therefore, don’t care about maintaining politeness. I apologise if their aloofness has offended you.”
“Nonsense, I am not holding you accountable for the actions of two different people, not when they should be far more mature. It is baffling that the child they have raised has far more decorum than the supposed role models.”
A feeling of satisfaction settles in your stomach when you hear Aglaea’s remarks, and you don’t even want to defend them, giggling behind your hand. “Did you know of my status before you met me?”
“I know everything in Okhema, so naturally, I recognised you the moment Phainon sent me a group photo.”
You glance up at her, her golden eyes focused on your hair. “I assumed you would herald the same distaste for them and by extension me.”
“Darling, there are a few things we should clear up,” she reaches for a bobby pin, body hovering close to your head for a second. “Apathy is a better suited word than distaste. Business has progressed far beyond a game for me, I do what I do to keep my work afloat, not interact in elaborate mind games with my competitors. Has it turned out that way? Perhaps, but unintentionally. I do not harbour ill intention toward people I have never met, not even when I recognised you for the first time.” Finally, she meets your eyes. “All I discerned about you was that you were a treasured companion to Phainon, and for as long as you make him happy, you will always have a place here in my home.”
Kephale’s light cast her in an angelic light, illuminating Aglaea’s silhouette as she pats your shoulder reassuringly. Your stomach churns at her honesty, the adoring way she speaks about Phainon– would your parents speak of you like this? Have they ever regarded you with this much love and light in their eyes?
Gaze flickering away, there is dust gathering on the edges of the windows.
“Besides, when I see you, I see a powerful individual who has yet to step into who you really are, and that is above the fact that you are also the love of Phainon’s life.”
Her honesty, the kind way she’s smiling at you– you feel horrible for deceiving her.
“Phainon and I aren’t really together,” you blurt out without thinking, and you’re immediately covering your mouth with your hands, eyes blown wide as you gauge her reaction in the mirror.
However, she doesn’t seem the least bit surprised. Instead, she laughs, so animatedly that her shoulders shake, her eyes shut as elegant smile lines crease her skin.
She inhales deeply with a hand on her chest. “As I said earlier, I know everything in Okhema, and I know that you and my boy aren’t actually together.”
“What? Did Phainon tell you?”
“No, but my intuition is imperceptible, darling. Nothing escapes my eyes. While I could tell you two were upholding a fake relationship, I can also tell that you genuinely like him, don’t you?”
“I do,” you admit softly. “I really do.” You declare it louder the second time. “Is it stupid of me to?”
She shakes her head. “While my guess is that he used me as an excuse to ensnare you, I trust that there is a genuine reason behind his actions, but that is a conversation reserved between you and him. It is not my place to comment on it. However, I can offer you this: when the time comes, know that I am in full support of the both of you.”
“Thank you, that- that means a lot.”
“All you do is thank, thank, and thank people when all they do is show you the basic care you deserve,” she says as she clasps a necklace together.
You fall unnaturally still, eyes stinging as tears begin welling up in your eyes. If Aglaea picks up on your change in behaviour, she is kind enough to not comment, instead, she keeps working on your appearance, pinning and brushing and curling.
After a few minutes, she pats your shoulder and tells you she has finished. So you stand and admire the masterpiece she has styled you into, your hair falling down beautifully, accessories clinging together each time you so moved; you feel ethereal.
“He’ll be speechless when he sees you,” Aglaea smiles at you approvingly.
“Thank you,” you whisper. You hope she knows that you’re grateful for more than just the styling.
“You’re quite welcome, dear. You shouldn’t keep him waiting, Phainon may be patient, but something tells me he’s downstairs, eager to see you.”
True to her prediction, Phainon is already waiting for you by the bottom of the staircase, fixing his traditional Okheman outfit. When he hears the sound of your footsteps, he looks up but his wide smile falters, shrinking into something more shy and bashful. You carefully descend the steps, holding onto the railing with a gentle grip as fabrics sashay and gold bangles sound against each other, indicating your arrival.
Your date is uncharacteristically quiet, eyes wide and unblinking as they follow your every movement, unable to glance away, even when you come to a stop before him. You anxiously wait for a reaction from the usually-expressive man.
“What do you think?”
He snaps out of his reverie. “I– uh, you- you look incredible.”
“Thank you. It’s all thanks to Aglaea.”
“Not all, I’d argue,” he wipes his hands on his pants before extending one. “Let me help you down.”
It felt nice to have his warm palm in yours; how he barely put any pressure on your fingers as his gaze was stuck to the stairs, ensuring you wouldn’t misstep.
When you reach the bottom, you give him a once-over, keeping your admiration lowkey and refraining from ogling at his biceps. “You look good, Phainon.”
“I’m glad you think so, I have something to prove tonight.”
“What are you proving?”
“That I’m worth standing by your side.”
Your heart, it’s doing that uncomfortable thing again. You have no idea what to say in response as your face heats up uncontrollably, heat creeping up your neck.
Thankfully, Aglaea saves the day, her heels clacking as she descends the stairs. “Let’s head out now, we’re already running a little behind.”
“Yes, Aglaea.”
A small tug on your hand reminds you that Phainon has yet to let go, and he beams with satisfaction when your attention returns to him. Aglaea comes to a stop beside you and you feel heat creep up your neck at the knowing look she gives you.
“Was he speechless?” She asks.
“He couldn’t speak for a minute,” you shyly confess and Phainon splutters in protest, causing his mother to laugh, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips when she looks at her son.
Her hands reach over to fix a small part of his outfit. “We were simply teasing. Let’s leave now, the car should be waiting outside.”
The ride to the gala is longer than usual due to closed off roads, but sometimes, you could catch a glimpse of people celebrating. Phainon would point out scenes he found funny or entertaining, delighted by all of the stands with dromas merch, vaguely mentioning how ‘Prof Nax would really like them’. He points to the families who have dressed up, circles of people dancing, and the food stands that he’d like to try sometime soon.
Eventually, the detour ends and you arrive at the steps of the gala. After driving in through the gates, you admire the architecture and construction of the venue. It’s exterior and interior were all thoroughly decorated, and someone guides you through the hallways to arrive at the correct room.
Before Aglaea can be whisked away by a crowd, she mouths ‘go have fun’ to the both of you.
“You seem excited, Phainon,” you face him.
“It’s cause I get to spend time with you!”
“Why? We spend a lot of time together regardless.”
He tilts his head. “I always enjoy spending time with you, do I need another reason to be excited about it? Do you want to get food first?”
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
“Maybe, so please?” he pleads with his eyes.
“Fine.”
You’re glued to Phainon’s side for the rest of the night. Occasionally people come up to talk to him, greeting him with a big hug and asking how life has been. Then, their curious gaze would drift over to you, wondering who the ‘lucky’ date is.
He’d introduce you enthusiastically, telling you names of people you don’t remember as soon as they turn around and leave.
Uncharacteristically, it seems like Phainon does not have a lot to say for once as you’re the one to do most of the small talk, asking the partygoers about themselves and showing interest in everything they say. He, on the other hand, is practically too eager to see everyone leave before turning to you with a big, innocent smile, his arm tugging you even closer to his side.
Then, when it’s the two of you again, he’ll talk your ear off once more.
“Are you enjoying yourself so far?” Phainon asks.
“Of course, this has probably been the most fun I’ve had at an event,” you tell him. “Everyone we’ve met seems pretty nice so far, and the food’s good! Are you having a good time?”
He nods enthusiastically, taking a big mouthful of a fig cake dessert. You use your napkin to wipe the crumbs away from the corners of his lips.
“I’m incredibly grateful for you and Aglaea. This is my first Kephale Festival in a while, and it’s been really enjoyable.”
“You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that, and it makes me infinitely more happy seeing you get along with my mum. You’re my two favourite people, it means a lot to me.”
When the night is halfway through, there’s a sudden announcement through the loudspeakers, calling for the crowd to prepare the floor for the partner dances. You raise your eyebrow, it really was true, what kind of events still have formal dances these days?
“You weren’t lying,” you murmur to him.
“Can’t say I didn’t try to prepare you.”
“As long as you don’t step on my toes.”
“Oh come on, I’m trustworthy enough, aren’t I? I promised you I wouldn’t.”
You find a space adequate enough, coming to a stop as Phainon grabs your hand, raising it to shoulder level to prepare. Then, the music kicks in, a lively three-four piece being played by the live entertainment.
Shaking the nervousness out of your system, he sets the rhythm and you easily follow along. Historically, special dances with their own significance were made in Kephale’s honour, and almost every Okheman learns it either in school or by watching people on the street given how important it is to the Holy City.
It is said that partner dances are important because Kephale is capable of holding the world on his shoulders alone, so one should rejoice in his benevolent sacrifice and celebrate the gift he gave with another. Furthermore, the steps of the dance follow a circle, as if replicating the world on his shoulders and honouring him.
Mentally, you thank Kephale for his sacrifice, because you get to see Phainon’s joyfully handsome expression as you dance around, following each other’s steps perfectly. He even twirls you around while you move, causing you to throw your head back and laugh, the fabrics you wear twisting and dancing with you.
You want this moment to last forever. You want to engrain the excited thrum of your heart and the bliss that travels through every vein in your body into memory. You want to be in this moment, under the lights of the dance floor, with him, forever.
He looks at you like you’re something marvellous, turquoise eyes never straying from your face, hand holding yours tightly so you don’t hop too far away from him.
Then, the band builds up to a crescendo, and the dance ends with a final pose. Your chests heave and stray strands of hair stick to sweaty skin, but neither you nor Phainon can think about the fatigue in your muscles.
People scurry off the floor as new couples take their places. So, you curtsy with a dip of your head, and he bows in return.
“I have somewhere to show you.” He whispers.
“Let’s go.”
You find yourself in this familiar situation once again: your hand encased by Phainon’s as he leads you along, this contact an unspoken safety net as you walk through hallways, up staircases, until eventually, you reach a door.
The isolation of this area is not lost on you, there is not another soul in the nearby vicinity as all of them should be downstairs, dancing. You can faintly hear the live band from where you stand. “Are we allowed to be here?”
He shrugs, “we’ll find out if we get caught.”
“Phainon!”
“I’ve been here every year so far and no one’s caught me. Just trust me, okay? I’ll cover for you if anything bad happens.”
You look into his eyes that swim with sincerity and brace for the dive. “Fine.”
He pushes open the door and you gasp, hand covering your mouth. This balcony overlooks the horizon of the Holy City, providing a perfect view of all the festivities occurring beneath. The light of carnival games, the illumination of flower garlands, a ferris wheel that sits in the distance, it looks so alive and vibrant; a warm reminder of all the life and happiness and commemorations that occur in Okhema, something you have taken for granted over the years.
You step out first, stopping just before the tall, stone railings and gazing out at every speck of light you can see, as the wind gently weaves through your hair. It’s so pretty, you can’t tear your eyes away.
A heavy weight drapes on your back and arms wrap around your waist, bringing you into a warm embrace that you recognise to be Phainon’s. You lean back against him, holding his hands with yours as he rests his chin on the juncture of your shoulder.
You pray he can’t feel the way your heart hammers in your chest, so you fake nonchalance as you gaze out at the horizon instead, content to simply stand and admire… until you feel a pair of eyes staring at the side of your face.
So, you turn to look at him and almost flinch at how your noses brush. He doesn’t move away.
“Hey, you,” you whisper.
He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Hi.”
“It’s so… breathtaking,” you look back at the view and ignore the way his grasp tightens around you. “This is a new perspective I’ve never seen of the Kephale Festival.”
“Then, I’m honoured to be the one to show it to you.”
You feel his chin retract from your shoulder, but his hand then snakes up, obstructing your view of the city as you feel cool fingers on your cheek, gently guiding your face to look at him. “Phainon, what-”
“-You’re beautiful,” he interrupts, breath fanning against your lips. “I… I don’t think I’ve told you enough.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“It’s not, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all damn night” his fingers lightly tremble against your face, but his gaze is resolute and firm, never straying from yours. The intensity alone compels you to maintain it, to see where this moment will lead, and if the buildup of anticipation in your gut is correct.
His gaze flickers to your lips and your chest crumbles. What you want is so close, literally breathing down your face, yet he is still so unreachable because you ache to close the gap but fear the unknown of the other side.
“You’re unreal,” he whispers as his face slowly inches towards yours. Your hammering heart impatiently beats against your ribcage, aching to feel the–
Boom!
You jump away from Phainon in surprise, shocked by interruption, only for you to sigh in relief when you realise it was a firework that is now fizzling out. Then, because you can never just set one off, a barrage of them follow, lighting up the night sky with a series of colours and patterns. One explodes in the shape of Kephale bearing the world, another in the shape of a chimera head– and oh, a purple dromas firework!
Throughout the display, your partner is uncharacteristically silent, his commentary minimal as you point out fun ones.
After a few minutes, it was finally over, and silence settles over you like a heavy blanket. You’re still held tightly in Phainon’s arms, but his lacking eagerness does not sit right, a sense of anxiety creeping in as you think of something to snap him out of this displeased gaze.
“Is something wrong, Phainon?”
He blinks to look back at you, subtle frustration softening into a gentler expression. “Everything’s fine!”
“Really?”
“Really.”
You scramble through your brain in search of something appropriate to say. What would he even want to hear?
Kephale, You can’t even think straight, not with the way he’s holding you so… possessively, so close to him that it makes your stomach flip helplessly. This, paired with the gentle way he held your cheek, and the sweet words he said to you- you need ten business days to process it all.
But tonight seems to be the day of badly timed interruptions, because there’s a small ding notification from your phone. Fishing it out, the reminder ‘be home before parents get mad!’ is written very clearly on your screen.
Sighing, you turn it off.
“Do you have a curfew?” Phainon asks, resting the side of his head against yours.
“It’s not necessarily a curfew. It’s just the latest I can get home without triggering my parents. My dad’s a gentle sleeper so he wakes up at any kind of sound I make, especially on nights where he has work the following day.”
He frowns, then his hands grip you even harder, fingers digging into your flesh. Not enough to make you uncomfortable, but enough to dent your skin.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, and I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable but… do you… have a good relationship with your parents?” You freeze in his arms, visibly tense. He’s looking at you- no, analysing you for any kind of changes in your expression that will say what words can’t.
But silence is already a powerful answer and suddenly, your vision of the nightline grows blurry, the lights stretching out into indiscernible lines. Your breathing grows more laboured and the pain that’s accumulated from the last few days come crashing down on you.
The disappointed look in your father’s eyes, the complacency of your mother who really could not care twice about you, the love you’ve been begging for, the acceptance you may never receive-
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry!” He frantically dabs at the tears gathering at the corner of your left eye, trying to catch them with his fingers. Then, he begins fanning your face. “Happy thoughts, happy thoughts! I wouldn’t have asked if I knew it’d make you this upset!”
You erupt into a fit of giggles and he halts, gauging your reaction once again.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes. “I… I think I’m okay to answer your question, as long as you genuinely want to know.”
“Of course, but I’m not forcing an answer out of you.”
You inhale deeply. “My relationship with my parents aren’t the best, it hasn’t been since I was young. They’ve always wanted me to be the best version possible, but it feels as if they don’t… view me as their own child. If anything, our relationship is more transactional; someone they can use to further their position in society,” you tighten your grip on Phainon’s wrist. “If I make any mistakes, they’ll eat my head off because everything that goes wrong is my fault even though they never listen to me. If I don’t fit their own personal image of perfection, then I’m a disappointment and a charity case, they hate that I’m at the Grove, they hate that I haven’t graduated early and started a business, gotten married– they hate that my classmates from high school are… better. They hate raising me without benefits.”
The words are tumbling out freely now and Phainon doesn’t interrupt, giving you the space to be completely honest about these feelings that have been bottled for too long.
“You must wonder why this is my first year returning to Okhema ever since the Grove, right? I don’t want to be here because this city is just a reminder that I will never have a proper home. That I won’t be loved like I am by our friends, or the people I’ve met outside the Holy City. This place brings painful memories of youth, of never being good enough, of keeping my mouth shut and going along with everything my parents wanted because I could handle any challenge as long as it made them happy. I still can- I still just want them to be proud of me.” Your chest shudders with the weight of your confession. “Yes, they’ve given me so many opportunities I am grateful for, and I’m… I wouldn’t be as accomplished as I am without them.”
You crane your neck to look back at him. He’s beautiful, even when your eyesight is all blurry.
“I want to be loved unconditionally.”
It’s quiet for a few moments, your words marinating as silence settles like the fizzle after a sparkler diminishes, after a fire has crackled its last ember, like the last trails of smoke disappearing from a freshly snuffed candle.
Unexpectedly, Phainon turns you around in his arms and pulls you into a hug, one strong arm wrapping around your shoulder, the other around your waist.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, this is enough. You return the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist, finally exhaling all of the frustrations you’ve been holding to yourself for years.
“Thank you for listening,” you huff, taking a step out of his embrace.
His expression is achingly soft. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”
You leave the balcony after a while, deciding it was for the better before security discovered and escorted you out. Going back inside wasn’t appealing enough, so you both take a quick detour to check out one of the markets you passed by on the drive, perhaps get some food after a long night.
Eventually, when the moon is high in the sky and the number of attendees at the festival is finally dwindling, Phainon calls for a driver to send you home together. When you arrive at the gates to your home, he helps you out of the car.
“Wait–” Phainon looks at you as if he has something to say, but you see in real time the way he shuts down his thoughts and closes his mouth. Instead, he reaches for your hand and holds it gently, like a delicate flower he plucked from a garden bed.
He leans down to press his lips against your knuckles.
“Thank you for accompanying me tonight,” when he looks up at you, there is nothing short of earnest candidness gleaming in his eyes as his thumb rubs the back of your hand. The faint glow from the full moon illuminates his features, makes him look younger despite his already-lively appearance, and you take a good look at the man who has shaken your world. It’s unfair that he is breathtaking in the moonlight, too.
“Thank you for the night,” you whisper back.
“Sleep well, Y/n.”
“You too, Phainon.”
His hand lingers on yours a little longer before finally dropping it. You wave his car off before retiring for the night, fatigue clinging to your bones like honey, eager to pull you under.
As you undress and peel back all the accessories on your body, you think about the day, about the tenderness Phainon showed you all night, how his hand felt on the side of your face, how he twirled you around, the conversation you had with Aglaea how she said you were the love of Phainon’s life–
Your hands pause.
What?
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
The mystique of the night is over as soon as morning arrives, because your parents are already waiting for you. This time, however, the atmosphere feels thick and heavy with tension and you eye them cautiously before sitting down on the couch opposite them, trying to prepare for what they might weaponise against you.
There’s a tablet in your mother’s thin hands and she drops it in front of you as soon as you’re seated.
It’s a photo taken of you and Phainon from last night, dancing, obviously meant to be taken from an angle where neither of you would notice. Both of you look terribly happy, your hands interconnected as he spun you around. Interesting, you don’t remembering seeing anyone from your parent’s circle of friends last night, but news and gossip travel fast, there is no point wondering who the culprit is.
“When you said you were attending a gala with someone, did you hide it purposefully from us that it would be with the Goldweaver’s adopted son?” Your mother begins, her sharp eyes boring into you as she spits Aglaea’s business name like it was poison.
You glance up at her, tucking the tablet under your arms, already preempting where this conversation will go. Except, unlike other times, there’s a fiery determination to fight back, to not let their words break and infiltrate your walls and destroy you from the inside out. This time, there’s something to prove, people to defend.
“No. I didn’t think it was important to mention.”
“Did you know that he was her child?”
“Yes. Not at first, but I learnt over time.”
“And you met her?”
“I’ve ate with her, she has welcomed me at her table, she is the one who dressed me for the gala.”
Your mum brings a hand over her chest. “No wonder why you looked so horrid.”
You narrow your eyes. “And yet, it received more compliments than any of the pieces you have dressed me in.”
Your father points an accusatory finger in your face. “Watch your tongue.”
“Watch yours.”
“What is wrong with you? That wretched woman is our rival, the one who has sabotaged our business for multiple quarters, have you no shame?”
“Yes, I’m sure she did it purposefully when in actuality, she simply played her cards better.”
There is steam coming out of your father’s ears. “You insolent, ungrateful brat! After everything we have built for you, you whore around behind our backs.”
“Not just with any vermin, but the Goldweaver’s son, have you no shame?” Your mother’s unempathetic voice grows pitchy; her characteristic nonchalant tone displaying a sound of disbelief that you’ve never heard before.
“His name is Phainon, and you will address him correctly.”
Your mother’s eyebrows raise slightly whilst your father’s head seems seconds away from popping off his shoulders. “Pardon?”
“He is not a vermin, nor undeserving of your respect, call him by his name.”
He laughs, and it sounds more like a guffaw, or maybe that’s how he laughs because you have never heard it before. It’s foreign, and atrocious, and like nails on chalkboard and you wish for your ears to bleed before you have to listen to it again.
“The boy has taught you how to talk back to us! You’re losing it! Our child is losing it! After all of these years of raising you, giving you the best opportunities we could, our child is losing it! Dear Kephale, let this be a mere prank!”
You sigh at the tantrum your father is throwing, pushing yourself up to your feet as you begin to walk out of the room.
The voice of your mother stops you in your tracks. “Y/n, was Phainon the boy you were telling me about? The one you were waiting before your father and I could approve?”
“...Yes,” you lie.
“You had said our approval is important to you, what changed?”
You frown. “I realised I don’t deserve to be chasing your validation for the rest of my life.”
“If you walk out of that door, say goodbye to us forever, don’t even think about turning around,” your father spits, and you ignore the way your mother slaps his shoulder, as if reprimanding him; a sight you have never witnessed in your life.
“All the times you didn’t show up, all my achievements that gather dust in a forgotten box below the stairs, I can not lose people who were never there in the first place.”
You leave after that, closing the door to end the only conversation where you had the last word.
Phone, phone, where’s your phone? Titans- your hands are shaking, they’re shaking so much, calm yourself, breathe, stop the jitters, you can’t find Phainon’s contact like this, this is unbearable, no, please, stop shaking, pull yourself together.
By some miracle your finger presses the ‘call’ button successfully. It only rings two times, but it feels unimaginably long before you hear Phainon’s voice on the other side.
“Hello?”
You exhale a breath of relief. “Phainon, are you free?”
“Of course, are you okay?”
“Please, just meet me at Marmoreal Park.”
“Y/n,” he demands, and you press your phone closer to your ear. “Breathe, you’re safe, okay?”
His voice gently talks you through your panic, six, five, four, three, two, one. Your vision stops creeping in on the edges, you can feel the shake in your hands cease, rationality slowly seeps back in. You just need to get to Marmoreal Park. Phainon’s insistent on staying on the line until you arrive, even if it’s spent in silence as you sit powerless at the back of a taxi, trying to avoid thinking about what just happened like your life depended on it.
You… you just defied your parents for the first time in your life. Finally severed the reliance you had on appeasing them, all because they slandered Phainon, the friend you’ve relied on like a rock since you arrived at the Grove. The person who always makes you feel wanted in every scenario, who will always save you a seat at every table, who is willing to stay on the line just because you called him in a frenzy, and won’t put it down until he knows you’re safe.
The person you love, and will inevitably lose because he doesn’t feel the same.
Was it worth the hellfire you ignited?
It’s all a mess, your head hurts, and worst of all, you’ve arrived at Marmoreal Park. You pay your driver the fee and leave, nerves running rampant as you hear Phainon’s voice come through your phone.
He’s here and waiting for you, but you see him and start running without thinking.
“Phainon!” You yell and he turns around, eyes widening when he sees you but he opens his arms. You barrel straight into them, needing nothing more than to ground yourself against something physical, to feel the presence of another because you think you just lost everything.
“Y/n…” his hand rubs circles on your lower back. “What happened?”
After a deep inhale, you take a step away and glance away to admire the blooms in the park. There were Crape Myrtles all around the perimeter, the tree’s special pink blossoms beautifully decorating the space, even littered all over the grass.
“I… I had an argument with my parents.”
His gaze darkens, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”
“This might be my last one, though,” you murmur. “I… I think that was the last straw. It’s fine. I’ll survive.”
“What happened?”
“I-It started because of you,” you notice him tense in the corner of your eye. “Someone saw us last night and took a photo for my parents. They didn’t like that I was with you because Aglaea, they despise her, refuse to be associated with her in any way, and that includes having their child be friends with her son.”
“Y/n…”
“They were slandering you, Phai, saying some incredibly disrespectful stuff and I couldn’t stand it.” You sigh.
“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs, “it’s fine if they hate me, I’m not worth this fight.”
“I would have done the same for any of my friends. Castorice, Mydei, Hyacine, wouldn’t you do the same for me?”
“I would.” There’s no hesitation in his voice.
Suddenly, you feel a droplet land. Is the weather was against you today as well? Really? When the weather’s been exceptionally clear for the last three weeks? What is this soap-opera level of pathetic fallacy? There’s another drop, and another, until they come bucketing down, beginning to soak through your shirt.
Using a hand to shield your eyes, Phainon grabs your other one and leads you to a nearby gazebo. Thankfully, the park was reasonably vacant for a weekday morning, so you two were the only one taking shelter. Maybe everyone else but you knew about the incoming summer downpour.
It all feels so ironic. A chill passes up your spine as you listen to the percussion of raindrops hitting the brick roof of the pavilion, watch the torrential downpour grow with no end in sight.
“So… what now?” He asks. “Where do you have to go now?”
You shrug. “I’ll figure that out after this shower passes. Realistically, they can’t be mad at me forever, but now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t say I regret it. It felt good to stand up for myself at least once, and even better to have the last word.” You laugh quietly, shoulders shaking as a decrepit sense of satisfaction creeps up on you. “If anything, I think it’s taught me that I should speak my mind more often.”
“Does that mean you have more left to say?”
You huff. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No. Not at all. In fact, I think you should get it all out.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“Even if it may be for the worse?”
“The worst’s already happened, what else could go wrong?”
“Fine.” You turn to face him square-on, steading yourself. “Phainon, of Aedes Elysiae, I like you. There, now I’ve really fucked everything up- mmhg!”
The words are stolen from your mouth by a pair of lips sealing against yours. Your squeal of surprise is muffled, devoured by him as big hands cradle your cheeks, tangling in the tresses of your hair.
Warm. So warm, despite how drenched he is, Phainon feels so warm. His hands are warm, his body pressing up against yours is warm, his lips that are moulding with yours are so warm. Adoration spreads in your body, as if he’s injecting it like the oxygen you need to breathe, letting it trickle like warm, sticky honey that will refuse to leave as it coats your bones.
He’s pulling away and taking the warmth with him too soon. You miss it. You miss it more than you thought you could, which is ironic, because Phainon is right in front of you.
“I’ve waited too long to hear you say that,” he whispers, stealing shorter kisses from your lips by squeezing your cheeks together. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive,” kiss, “I’ll be the best boyfriend ever,” kiss, “I am so happy right now, I could take down an army of Titankin.”
“Wait- wait, let’s talk about this!” You intercept his lips before he could get anymore carried away. “You like me?”
“Holy Kephale, I’ve loved you since I first laid my eyes on you, let me have this moment,” he pulls you in again, bending his neck to meet you halfway. This time, you melt into his touch, letting him lead as he moves his lips against yours.
Faintly, Aglaea’s words ring in your mind: ‘The love of Phainon’s life’... ‘genuine intentions’. You unwillingly smile against his lips, and he takes that as a sign to part but not without a lick against your nose.
“What… what was that?” You stammer.
“Nose kiss.”
“That wasn’t a kiss, weirdo,” you wipe the wetness off as he smiles affectionately at you, not at all apologetic or regretful. It makes your heart flip.
“Your weirdo.”
“It’s too early to pull out that corny line. Plus, we have a lot to talk about: what do you mean you’ve liked me since you first saw me? I… I thought you didn’t like me.”
If it were possible, question marks would have materialised on top of Phainon’s white hair. “I don’t think I could have made it any more obvious. I tried kissing you last night and you thought I didn’t like you?”
“It- it could have been friendly?”
“If you kiss all of your friends then I’m gonna go wrestle Mydei and tear his face off.”
“Phainon!”
“Just kidding!”
You narrow your eyes at him before sighing, leaning against his shoulder. You stay like this for a while, neither of you speaking as the downpour continues, encasing you in your own little bubble.
“And I thought this trip home would be the same as always, a torturous three months that I’d have to endure by a hanging thread,” you muse, scoffing at the unexpected turn this holiday has taken. “This city is the furthest thing from beautiful, or eternal, or holy, but you have shown me that maybe… there are many things to love about it,” you glance up at him, and he’s already looking at you. “Maybe, it was all worth it in the end, the grass is warmer on your side.”
The weather clears not too long afterwards.
· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·
“This photo of us is so cute!” Hyacine exclaims, scrolling through her photo album as you and Castorice peer over her shoulder. “I think I want to post this one, thoughts?”
“I like this one a lot, you look so pretty,” Castorice comments. “I’m jealous, I wish I had gone to Okhema as well now, it would have been so incredible exploring the city with you.”
“Hyacine and I had a blast, but at least your sister came to visit, that must have been good,” you try your best to console her.
Your pink-haired friend pipes up with an idea: “we should definitely plan out a trip sometime soon, that would be so fun!”
They both look to you. “Well, I probably will be going home now more often,” you admit sheepishly, and await their reactions.
Before Phainon, Castorice and Hyacine were the only ones with a general understanding of your home life as you would vaguely talk about it with them during late nights spent in each other’s dorms. They knew surface-level information; that you hated going home because of strict parents, so their shock was reasonable.
“What!” Hyacine’s eyes widen and Castorice’s hand comes to her mouth.
“You told me you had to be on your best behaviour for a week so your mum could agree to hang out with me, what changed?”
You barely get a word out before the reason himself comes behind you and unceremoniously drapes himself over your shoulders. The two girls gasp loudly, the second shock of the day arriving in the form of a clingy boyfriend who is loudly proclaiming that he ‘missed youuu’ while wrapping you in a hug so tight, you think he’s squeezing the air out of you.
“I mean, we both had a hunch based on the pictures you’d send in the groupchat, but… Y/n!” Exclaims Hyacine as Phainon presses two very loud and dramatised kisses against your hairline.
“Phai, please,” you feel heat creeping up your neck at his bold displays of affection. While you don’t necessarily hate it and actually quite like his attention, all of your friends were staring, and they didn’t need to watch you receiving it.
He gently tilts your chin so you look up at him, white hair falling down and tickling your forehead. “Hi angel,” he greets like nothing is wrong before rounding the bench to sit down on the opposite side, beside Mydei, who is very unbothered, expression as neutral as ever as he eats a protein bar.
Castorice speaks up. “Y/n, why didn’t you tell us earlier?”
“There wasn’t a good enough time…”
“Anytime is a good time!” Hyacine squeals, pigtails bouncing. “You can tell us anything, especially something as important as this!”
“I know, I know, I promise I was going to, but there-” you try to explain before your boyfriend interrupts you.
“-tell you what?” He asks innocently. “What’s up?”
“That you and Y/n were dating,” the purple-haired explains calmly.
“What!” Phainon’s gasp is probably louder than both Castorice and Hyacine’s combined as a look of pure shock and betrayal sets on his expression, “why didn’t you tell them?”
You wave your hands defensively, trying to fight a losing battle. “I was going to, I swear, but there was just never a good time, and I’m shy and hate talking about myself for too long and-”
“-I’ve told Mydei three times by now!”
The man in question agrees. “He has. In excruciating detail.”
“Guys!” You whine, “I’m sorry!”
“Wait,” Phainon visibly perks up, like a dog who was just thrown his favorite treat. “If you haven’t told them, then can I tell them?”
“I don’t trust your commentary!”
“What? My commentary is a flawless retelling, you don’t trust your own boyfriend?”
“Let me tell them first, okay?”
He deflates. “Okay.”
After a nice lunch with your friends, all of you catching up and chatting about what you did in the holidays, you and Phainon find yourselves alone once again, sat under the shade of a magnolia tree. He is, as always, laying on your lap, trying to find a comfortable spot for his ‘optimal time of the day’ nap, happily wrapping his arms around your legs and manhandling them as he pleases, while you’re subject to his whims.
“Happy?” You ask when he finally finds a favourable position, which happens to be his head on your thighs while his arms are wrapped around your stomach.
With the way he hums, you’re certain he’s quite content. So, you thread your fingers through his hair and begin playing with the strands; a habit you have after he told you that it helped him fall asleep faster.
As he dozes off, you take the time to think about everything that transpired over summer.
As soon as your feelings for each other were confirmed, Phainon practically dragged you home to tell Aglaea, who was certainly delighted with the new status of your relationship. She was hardly surprised, though, giving you an ‘I told you so’ look before welcoming you as a new member of the family. The hug felt so nice and warm, it was your second best memory from that day.
It is still complicated back home. Your mother has grown more amicable with the idea over time, so much so that she has suggested the idea of bringing Phainon over, but your father is stubborn and refusing to relent. He has always been too preoccupied with work for you to care, though. As long as you did what he was told, he never got in your way.
As a magnolia blossom falls from the tree and lands perfectly in his snow-white hair, you giggle at the placement, threading it to sit behind his ear as he sleeps peacefully.
Lycaon confessing his love for you in a (for him) less than ideal situation.
Tag: Nsfw! (Minors Dni)
Warning: Rut, biting, slight mentions of blood, breeding kink, Lycaon being a nervous wreck, small fluff at the end ♡
Not proofread.
Small mistakes are bound to happen. No matter how meticulously you plan ahead for whatever could happen. In one second, fate could throw a curved ball at you, and derail everything you worked so hard for.
Such was the reality of Lycaon's job. It was expected of him to prepare for every possibility. To act accordingly and perform with precision and perfection even in the face of the unexpected; no matter if it was a wine stain that needed to be scrubbed out immediately, or having to go against an entire pack of Hati inside a hollow.
One small mistake, one small slip up could mean death inside a hollow. And even though he currently didn't find himself inside a hollow, the mistake he had allowed to happen felt just as severe.
-__--__--__--__--__--__--__-
You could call it a series of unfortunate Events. Starting with him forgetting to fill out the perscription for his suppressants, simply because he had once again dove head first into his work. Something that you had warned him over and over again not to do.
Ah and then there was you. Sweet, caring, wonderfull y/n. Always a smile on your face that never failed to lighten up his day no matter what had happened. And even though your relationship with him had started as nothing more than simple acquaintance, it quickly became a strong friendship.
The more you two talked, and spend time with eachother. Learning and understanding eachother, the more he found himself thinking about you.
It was small moments like seeing an item he was certain you'd like when he was running errands, already picturing your expression if he'd gift it to you. Or the simple subtle wag of his tail anytime he recieved a text message from you.
Everything seemed so much brighter with you around, and it was in moments where he caught himself staring at you for longer than he should, or the rapid beating of his heart anytime you met his gaze that he realized he was utterly, and hopelessly in love with you.
He greatly appreciated his friendship with you, but as this feeling in his chest continued to bloom he found himself yearning for more with you.
Not just a good friend, but a potential lover.
But regretably for him; sweet, caring, wonderfull y/n had unknowingly become a part in this dilemma. You weren't at fault in the slightest, all you wanted to do was check up on him because you though he was sick. He remembers the Muffins you had backed for him, and how they were now left completely abandoned in the kitchen of his apartment.
He should have send you away, but he didn't. He simply couldn't. Your words were too sweet, your actions too kind, and your touch too caring like they had always been. And before he realized that his composure was slipping through his fingers like fine Sand, his lips had already found yours.
Everything had happened so suddenly. He would have expected you to push him off of you, to shout at him and slap him like he deserved it. But instead you had deepened the kiss, and one thing led to another.
Now he found himself in said dilemma: above you, and his entire length burried balls deep in you as he came down from another high. He breathes heavily, another wave of post-nut-clarity washing over him, and he wondered how many times he had already came inside you. 2 maybe 3 times? He lost track, or rather he had stopped counting all together.
He looked down at your form. Sweating, slightly shacking from your own orgasm and he swallowed thickly as the realization once again hit him.
One slip up, and he had completely ruined his friendship with you, and there was no way you two could ever go back to whatever you had before. But the lust bubbling in his guts overpowered his guilt, his hands perched on your hips as he once again started thrusting into you.
This is not how he would have wanted you to know about his infatuation towards you. He would have prefered to take you out on a nice dinner, maybe a small stroll through the city afterwards and then sitting down to stargaze somewhere. His clawed hands gently carressed your back, and a frown formed on his face.
But not this. This seemed too shallow and out of place for his taste.
You deserved better.
His hands left your back and moved to hold the back of the sofa before he picked up his pace. But oh how he loved the sounds you were making, it almost drove him insane. The way how you whined and moaned his name, as if it was the only word you were still capable of forming.
He leaned down, letting his canines ghost over your shoulder. Seemingly testing the boundaries that, surprisingly didn't seem to exist for you as you moved your head to the side to give him better access.
He contemplates for a second, wondering if he should really go through with this. It was so incredibly tempting, especially because you gave him permission to indulge this side of him. So dispite his doubts he slowly let his fangs sink into your shoulder, immediately feeling immense satisfaction wash over him at the faint taste of iron on his tongue. You yelped a bit at the slight sting of pain, instinctively reaching for his hand and squeezing it as you came once again.
He halted his pace as you came down from your high, his tongue running over the bitemark on your shoulder before placing a kiss on it as a silent apology. He once again carressed your back, noting the rise and fall of your shoulders with every heavy breath you took. Slowly he unsheathed himself, and at first you wanted to object. But your words got stuck in your throat as he turned you over, effortlessly picked you up and once again impaled you on his length. "Hold on, I'm almost there" he whispers in your ear before he once again begins his onslaught.
Lycaon could feel your nails digging into his shoulderblades as you clung to him. It stung slightly, but right now he didn't mind it too much. Dispite the overwhelming pleasure he felt, his mind continued to spiral.
He wondered if you'd see him in a different light now. Would you think of him as a player? Who only befriended you to get his dick wet. He was mortified at the thought.
He could feel himself once again getting close to the edge, and in an attempt to mend what he thought was already beyond repair, he told you now fully honest "I love you y/n" before completely toppeling over it. Stars danced across his vision as he continued to pulse and throb inside you, and it was as if you had read his mind when you turned your head and kissed him again. It caught him by surprise at first, but he quickly reciprocated the gesture. This kiss was different. It was sweet, loving and caring not just purely driven by lust. He found it easing his nerves who were still ablaze from his worry and his orgasm. He let's himself fall down on the sofa, you still in his arms as you both tried to catch a breather.
For some time both of you sit in silence. Lycaon wanted to say something, he more than owed you an explination after all "I am truly sorry y/n" he manages to say, his eyes meeting your confused ones "for what?" You asked breathlessly. He exhales, breaking eyecontact with you "I hope you don't think less of me now." He says, the guilt in his voice accentuating his worry "why would I think less of you?" you asked him "that was amazing" Lycaon can feel his cheeks warm up a bit, and he mentally pokes fun at himself for growing embarassed now even though he just had sex with you. "I just want to reassure that... I actually ment what I said earlier" he then meets you eyes again "I do love you. Very much." A warm smile finds you features, and it eases his nerves like it always does "I love you too" you tell him, his ears perking up at your confession, and his tail rhythmically thumped against the sofa cussion.
Another sigh escaped him. This time one of happiness and relief as he wrapped his arms around you to pull you closer. "Regardless, I would have prefered to properly go out with you" a small sigh escaped him "it's not too late for that" you boop his nose, slightly bewildering him "we can still go out with eachother" you tell him, yawning as your exhaustion finally catches up with you. He smiles down at your tired form, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead as you slowly drifted to sleep
"It's a date then"
-__--__--__--__--__--__--__-
Thank you for reading, I hope it was to your liking.
So glad I was finally able to post something because the stress is currently fucking me in a way I'd love Lycaon to fuck me (brainrot still going strong as you can see)
My final exams on may 5th are drawing closer and closer, and I've been drowning in my work and studying as of late.
I still have so many ideas I wanna write about. For example some oneshots with Lighter because I love him.
But all of that in due time.
in which your daily routine consists of waking up, setting up your stall to sell fruit, conversing with the locals, packing up the stall, and heading back home. oh. and entertaining that incorrigible grand master.
CONTAINS : gn!reader, 1.6k wc, fluff, yearning, reader runs a fruit stall and tries to not let Feelings™ show (and fails horribly), varka is kinda reminiscent to a puppy, written PRE release but based off of scattered lore we have on him so let's see how off the mark this characterisation is later ;w;
A/N : AFTER 5 LONG YEARS HE IS FINALLY REAL AND OFC HE MAKES ME WRITE MY FIRST GENSHIN FIC IN YEARS WOWEE
Being the owner of a fruit stall in Mondstadt City, selling your fresh produce every day from morning to evening, isn’t as lacklustre as one might think. It's a stable business, something which stems from just how close-knit the community is (how small it is compared to other cities, rather). And you like it that way; the familiarity of it all.
You see the same shop owners who greet you with a chipper “Good morning!” and its counterpart when it's time to pack up and head home.
You see the same old regulars who greet you with familiar warmth, perusing your newly stocked goods to take back for breakfast or midday snacking.
You see the same knights who go on their usual patrols, oftentimes striking up conversation and selling your goods to satiate their hunger.
You see the same children running around with their carefree laughter and twinkling eyes, which somehow shine even brighter when they spot newly imported fruits from other regions amongst your lineup.
And, of course, you see him. The bane of your existence. The reason you wake up grimacing at the prospect of getting out of bed and starting your day. The reason you can never start nor end the day in a moment of peace.
Well, you hear him first before you see him.
“Good morning, my ever so diligent fruit seller!” His voice is something far too spirited in the quiet, early morning. You already know then and there peace is no longer an option. So you close your eyes, take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the whirlwind about to make a stop at your stall, and exhale.
A shadow hovers over you, the subtle warmth of the early sun dissipating along with it. Flitting your eyes open, you're met with eyes which encompass the blues of a clear sky and the man who is the sun incarnate.
“Good morning to you as well.”
Varka beams — in that ridiculously bright curl of his lips which has you squinting — as though you haven't responded in the same monotone manner each and every time. But he acts as happy as he did the first time you so much as acknowledged his greeting all those years ago.
(Before he was the Grand Master. Before he became something akin to a legend. Before he carried the hopes and wishes of the people into every battle, every act he took to protect his home. Back when he was a bright-eyed knight ready to take on the world while you listened to his rambles, wondering how someone could be so bright.)
A nagging feeling tells you that won't be changing any time soon, and you curse your traitorous heart yearning for it not to.
A crisp crunch! dissolves your thoughts. Blinking, you're unsurprised to see a bright red apple — one of your bright red apples, you note with narrowed eyes — in his mouth. Eyes closed, he contentedly chews the bitten off piece of fruit.
“Ooh, the apples are particularly sweet today,” Varka hums, savouring the taste lingering in his taste buds. It isn't long before his attention swivels back to you, eyes crinkling in mirth. “Not as sweet as you, of course! Haha!”
His mouth really never does stop flapping.
“Flattery won't make me forget about you paying, Grand Master,” comes your deadpan response, demeanour far too used to his sweeping presence. Unfortunately.
With a melodramatic flair only he can pull off, Varka gasps, half-eaten apple in one hand while the other lies solemn atop his heart. “Grand Master? Oh, you wound me! I thought we were at least on first name basis.”
He still hands you the 200 mora amidst his theatrics, fingers brushing gently against your open palm. They linger for a brief moment, that ever familiar warmth curling into your now clenched hand, before it slips back to his side.
You roll your eyes, huffing yet not entirely surprised. “Whatever. Anyway, don't you have duties you should be attending to? You know, as the Grand Master?”
“I'll have you know I am carrying out my duties.” A cheeky grin appears on his visage upon seeing your dubious expression, and you mentally brace yourself for whatever is bound to spill from that insufferable mouth of his. He takes another bite of the apple, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “Checking in on the beloved citizens of Mondstadt is a part of my duties, actually. So naturally I'll be checking up on you every chance I get.”
“Uh-huh. And that entails any time ranging from setting up my stall first thing in the morning, like now, to when I'm about to head home?”
“Of course!” He beams, chipper as ever. “What kind of Grand Master would I be to leave my most beloved citizen bored and lonely without my presence?”
“A better, more competent one,” you drawl, arms crossed and expression undoubtedly unimpressed. “Speaking of, I hope you aren't leaving poor Jean to pick up your slack.”
Another crunch! fills the space. He's polished off the apple, leaving nothing but the pips and the stem. Your nose scrunches; he gives another lopsided grin.
“Jean has it covered. It’s essentially a part of her job description, anyhow. Besides, I’m almost positive that little workaholic enjoys taking on my work and keeping herself busy.”
You sigh, entirely unimpressed yet not surprised in the slightest. Again. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Yet you still entertain me,” he says, grin dwindling into something softer, eyes glittering a little brighter. Within a blink, his relaxed posture straightens. “Oh! Right, this is for you.”
Swept up in his presence, you didn’t realise the cecilia so obviously tucked protectively in his pocket up until now. You shouldn’t be so surprised. More often than not, he will bring you a little trinket — sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evenings. Yet seeing him carefully holding the stem, calloused fingers cautious so as to avoid crumpling the leaves or petals, has your skin warming more than the rising sun above you should.
(And so what if Flora gives you that all-knowing grin from within her own stall? So what if you're already mentally preparing for her to idle her way across to your stall during that quiet hour when the streets are less busy to tease you, again, about the Grand Master's blatant favouritism?)
“You sure seem to have a lot of spare time,” you mutter, gently taking the flower from his outstretched hand. It remains in your own for a brief moment, slowly twirling between your pinched fingers before setting it down on the wooden counter.
“Only for you,” he responds just as softly, as though speaking any louder would disrupt the peace settling over you. It’s almost embarrassing how easily the words spill from his lips, how readily he is able to drown you in this saccharine side of him none would expect from a man who birthed legends with his own name and skills.
And so you just grumble, pointedly doing your best to block out the thunderous beats of your wretched heart. “Shouldn’t you get going? Something about the thrill of adventure and action calling your name?”
“So you do remember what I say!”
“Only because you never stop talking. Even forcefully blocking you out doesn’t work.”
Still, he laughs, like you just landed the funniest joke known to man. His hulking frame of muscle and battle-worn scars shake at the boisterous action. That ever so familiar boyish sound which makes you feel both at ease but also forget just how strong he can be when necessary.
Eventually he composes himself, leaning back with his hands perched on his hips. “Save me some fruit for my return!” are his last words to you as he takes a slow step away from your stall; reluctant, almost. His waving is obnoxious, large, swooping movements which could probably render a mitachurl out of commission from the sheer velocity, his cheery grin akin to that of the shining sun.
You merely roll your eyes and give him a half-hearted wave of your own.
It's only when he disappears beyond the towering cobble walls do you allow yourself to turn away. Shining with gentle radiance in the early morning glow sits the cecilia he left for you, its pristine visage a grating contrast to the worn wood of the stall. The petals are soft to the touch, the pads of your thumb and forefinger gently running along its smooth texture.
Chatter slowly floods the city as life blooms amongst the populace, and you swiftly tuck its stem securely in your apron's breast pocket. The regulars come out for their daily peruse and purchase. The guards greet you and stop for idle chats. The children amble towards you eager to hear what new fruits you have in stock this time.
Even as the day goes on and your stock dwindles, you make sure to set aside the freshest fruit you have for when a certain man returns late into the day.
(And when he appears, roughed up from spending the day out in the wilderness yet shining as bright as ever, you act as though the ripe apple and berries were just mere leftovers — produce which never sold. If he notices the still pristine cecilia tucked into your pocket, he doesn't comment on it. He never does. Varka only beams in that manner which always gets your hands clammy, happily holding your empty crates while chattering about today's wilderness expedition, waiting as you finish packing up so he can walk you back home.)
(Like routine; like always.)
if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33
Thank you for taking one for the team! Since you are taking requests can you do a Se-mi x reader where reader is a part of Gi-hun's group and tries to get her to join the team?
A/N: (￣^￣ )ゞ Ofc ofc, more Se-Mi for the soul! I noticed you all really like her haha
Please, Come With Me—Player Se-Mi x GN! Player Reader
Se-Mi was an interesting girl.
You had seen her occasionally, but never really paid much attention to her. Sure, she was certainly attractive—you would be lying if you said that her short hair and many piercings hadn’t left you flustered the first time you laid eyes on her—but the girl quickly flew from your mind when you realized your life was at stake.
You couldn’t afford to die now, not when you had a loved one waiting for you on the other side.
But, during the Six-Legged Race, something happened that shifted your perception on Se-Mi.
As you stood there with Gi-Hun, waiting for the final people in your group to get into their respective teams, you noticed three men approaching Se-Mi.
The purple haired guy—who made it clear that his name was Thanos—smirked, looking up and down at Se-Mi before asking her to join his team. Nam-su or Nam-gyu—you couldn’t remember which—tried to get him to stop, but Thanos merely brushed him aside.
Of course, the way the men acted hadn’t thrown the thought of Se-Mi back into your orbit—it was what happened next.
Se-Mi seemed reluctant, tilting her head to the side as the beginnings of a grin formed on her lips. She didn’t seem at all impressed or intimidated by the fact that Thanos was a famous rapper. Rather, she looked amused.
“Ah, Thanos,” She started, her face growing wry, “Do you have all of the infinity stones?”
When you heard that, you couldn’t stop the giggle that burst from your lips.
Okay, Se-Mi has humor. You liked that.
After that exchange, you were more observant to the woman. You noticed how she had a type of fire inside her, one that couldn’t be put out easily by men like Nam-Gyu (or Nam-Su). And, you saw how used that very same fire to nurture the more vulnerable, like the boy who had refused to leave her side during the entire match.
She’s a good person. And she’s so pretty too.
Something peculiar bloomed inside you. It began from your chest, then spread to your collarbone, your neck, and then finally, your face.
You crossed your arms together, cheeks growing hot.
It would certainly be a shame of Se-Mi died. You wouldn’t mind helping her out a little if she needed it. In fact—
“Hey, are you listening to me?”
Gi-Hun’s gruff voice startled you from your thoughts, and you all but jumped back.
“W…what?”
He sighed and shook his head. You looked down, feeling like a kid about to hand their father their less than savory test score.
“I said, it is important that we closely observe the games so that we can note any strategies the other players use. It will be good for us.”
He turned his gaze to your direction, scooting his body closer to you.
“You shouldn’t be distracted by other things, not when you could die if you don’t do your part on time,” Gi-Hun said, before squinting his eyes. “What were you even looking at, anyways?”
You looked into your lap, feeling embarrassed.
“It was nothing!” You squeak, though it doesn’t sound convincing even to your ears.
Gi-Hun ignored you, craning his neck so that he could get a better view.
Your stomach sank as he started to grin.
“Ah, kid, were you staring at that cute girl with the piercings?”
The tips of your ears grew hot.
You debated on denying it, but knew that it would be of no use. You weren’t an idiot, you knew your body language gave it away eons ago.
Instead, you simply cleared your throat, turning your eyes back to the current race.
“Hey, what was that about observing the contestants of the race?”
Gi-Hun simply laughed, slapping your back hard enough to make your eyes water.
“Oh, don’t be shy, kid. Why, I remember how I felt the first time I met my ex-wife! I don’t know how I thought wooing her with a monkey would work…”
Letting out a groan, you covered your face with your hands.
Not this story again!
—
You decided you absolutely didn’t like Nam-Gyu.
He seemed to have it out for Se-Mi, choosing to constantly make snide comments about her to her face. Now, it wasn’t as if Se-Mi was utterly defenseless, as she would always stand her ground whenever she or Min-Su was insulted, but you still didn’t like seeing her have to be on edge so often.
You looked back to your crew, watching as Dae-ho told a joke you couldn’t quite hear. Jun-hee had doubled over laughing, spilling a bit of her milk onto the floor.
Se-Mi should be able to joke around and not have to constantly defend herself.
The boy she was protecting isn’t even trying to help her back.
You scowled, opening your milk carton with more force than necessary.
“Hey, you okay, kid?”
You didn’t even have to look back to know who it was. Instead, you frown, taking a swig at your milk carton before you said, “Hey, how would you feel if we had another member in this team?”
Gi-Hun blinked.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind.”
He turned back to the others.
“Hey, would you guys be okay if someone else joined us?”
“Heck yeah!” Dae-Ho screamed. “The more the merrier.”
As soon as those words left his lips, the another people whooped and cheered.
Gi-Hun nudged your shoulder, a smile on his face.
“I don’t think the others would mind, either. Think you can convince that girl with piercings to join us, though?”
Fuck.
At your startled expression, he let out a full belly laugh.
“Ah, I pieced a few things together. You don’t exactly have a great poker face, kid.”
You let out a small grumble, but felt relieved all the same.
At least you didn’t have two people to convince. Something told you that Se-Mi wasn’t going to be easily swayed.
Suddenly, a piece of bread was shoved in front of your face.
“Eat up, kid. I believe in you.”
—
You had to convince her. Now.
Your mouth fell open when you saw Se-Mi choose X. Now that she did that, it was more than likely that Thanos and his lackeys would be after her.
The only ally she had left was a boy who wouldn’t stand up for himself.
You tightened your fists. It would be dangerous for her to be alone tonight.
—
As the countdown for bedtime commenced, you quickly walked over to her, pretending to ignore the little thumbs-up Gi-Hun sent your way.
You couldn’t be distracted.
Se-Mi stood in the far right corner, the only indicator that it even was her being her lip piercing as it glimmered under the artificial light.
When you got closer, you put a hand in the air.
“Hey!”
She looked up from her conversation with Min-Su, startled. Her eyes seemed to narrow as you walked closer.
When the boy noticed you, he froze and quietly slunk behind her.
“Hey?”
Your heart thundered in your chest, and already you could feel doubt festering in your gut.
You pushed it to aside.
Clearing your throat, you put on your best smile and waved at her.
“Uhm, I was wondering if you would like to join my group. We’re—“
“Yeah, I know what time you’re in,” Se-Mi interrupted, eyed gliding to Gi-Hun. “I’m not interested. Min-Su and I are fine on our own.”
As she began to walk away, you could feel your chance to convince her dwindling. Hastily, you followed after.
“Wait, please!” You yell a little too loud, causing some of the players around you to give confused looks.
Se-Mi walked faster.
Cursing, you picked up your pace and tried to grab her arm.
She pushed you away.
“Is this why you were staring at me so often?” Se-Mi demanded, roughly pulling her arm away from you. She straightened up, crossing her arms together as she took a step towards you. “I don’t need your pity. I know what I signed up for when I voted X, and I’m wholly prepared to deal with the consequences.”
Despite the circumstances, you blushed.
“You noticed?”
She smiled, though it was more out of malice than humor.
“It was a bit hard not to when your eyes were glued to me, sweetheart.”
You knew the pet name was soaked in derision, but that didn’t stop your damned stomach from doing summersaults.
Determinedly, you ignored her words.
“I just want to help you, Se-Mi. You know how those guys treated you.”
She scowled.
“As I said before, I don’t need your charity. I am doing just fine with—“
“Please!”
The word burst out of your lips before you could stop it.
Se-Mi looked taken back. Behind her, you heard a soft gasp.
Fighting through your embarrassment, you continue onward.
“I stared at you for so long because I felt that you’re really pretty and I sorta-liked-how-you-stood-up-for-yourself.” The last half of the sentence was spoken in a rush.
“But when I offered you help, it’s not because I pity you, Se-Mi, it’s because I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Se-Mi raised an eyebrow. Her stance was more relaxed now, though her eyebrows were still furrowed.
“Why? We’re practically strangers.”
“Well…” You bit your lip. “I know that you probably have people who care for you outside the games, Se-Mi.”
You pointed a finger at yourself.
“Hell, I do too. I’m only in this damned hellhole because I need to pay for my relative’s medical bills. They’re going to die if they don’t get it.”
You felt your eyes water.
“They’re…all I have left on this damned rock.”
Se-Mi exhaled softly. Her eyes were gentler now, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Hesitantly, she reached out to hold your hand.
You allowed it, curling your fingers around her hand.
“Se-Mi, there is no doubt that you are very strong. But, despite that, I don’t think you should get needlessly injured if you have a way out.”
You placed your other hand on the back of your neck.
“It’s not pity. Think of it more as…an alliance.”
As Se-Mi chewed her lip, your eyes traveled down to your joined hands. You focused on the warmth that radiated from her, and pressed against the callouses on her knuckles.
You knew she had been through a lot, even before she had stepped foot into death game.
Finally, she blew out a breath.
“Oh all right, I’ll join your little team,” She said at last, pulling her hand back so she could nudge you with her elbow. “I know you won’t stop badgering me about it if I refuse.”
She glanced at the boy behind her. “Min-Su, what do you think?”
He only gave a shy nod as his response.
You grinned.
You did it!
Before you could drop yourself, you practically tackled her, enveloping the woman into your embrace.
She froze for a moment, then returned your hug, chuckling.
“Thank you!”
Amusedly, Se-Mi shook her head. “Whose life are we saving again?”
Too elated to be embarrassed by her comment, you simply let go and reached out your hand.
“Come on!” You chirped.
Se-Mi took your hand.
“Lead the way, sweetheart. Oh, and by the way,” She said, drawing out the last syllable in a way that only foretold mischief.
You motioned for her to continue, trying to steel yourself.
Endearingly, Se-Mi pinched your cheek.
“What was that earlier about you finding me pretty?”
in which: you help sunday through a predicament. a part 2 nsfw to this sunday fic.
warnings: 3k wc,MDNI or u fail ur next test, afab!reader but no pronouns, sex pollen trope, oral (m receiving), fingering, idk how in character sunday is but i blame it on sex pollen, sunday busts like multiple nuts, wall sex that then becomes bed sex, riding, creampie, unrealistic sex, unprotected p in v, emotionally charged sex towards the end, multiple rounds.
a/n: there are so many warnings i'm kinda ashamed. anyways, i hope u enjoy! i'm never gonna look at this again lol
A feverish heat clings to Sunday, racking shivers up his spine. Warmth suffocates him, expanding to all edges of his body- legs, chest, head, there’s a particular stubborn sensation that clings to his core. And his pants.
It must have been because of that mysterious substance that befell him during the mission. At first, it was a stinging in his nose and eyes that eventually faded, but after a while the real side effects kicked in, and he concluded that it was some sort of material that enhanced… sexual needs, if the growing stiffness in his pants was any indication. He excused himself from the group, and darted back to the hotel at record pace.
Curled up on his made bed, the linen sheets are a mild balm against his hot skin, coat and shirt discarded the second the hotel room locked behind him. Hours have passed since he separated from the group but the symptoms still stubbornly fester in his gut, falling and rising but never fading, sticking to his being like glue.
It’s already painful enough on its own, but you just have to be on the other side of the hotel door, knocking and knocking, asking if he was alright in that sweet, concerned voice of yours.
Things have been… awkward since that incident with you in his room. He hasn’t been able to look you in the eye since, and Sunday’s positive the entire Express can tell that something happened between you, just not entirely sure what.
Having a good memory can be a curse sometimes, and because of it, he hasn’t been able to forget the feel of your warmth atop him, and the paralysing fear when he realised just how strong his desire was. Sunday won’t deny it, even back in Penacony when he was the strict and rigid Head of the Oak Family, there were undertones of attraction that stirred in his heart when he first got to talk to you, but they were quickly buried, just as he was taught to do years ago.
Now, in closer proximity and freed from shackles of duty, he can’t help but let the desire roam wild, peaking at the incident that occurred not too long ago.
A siren’s song. He’s going to give in to your call.
He opens the door no more than a crack, letting your voice come through loud and clear.
“Sunday?” Your tone is gentle, kind, treating him like a wounded stray that would run if you got too close. In some sense, he is, except he thinks if you got too close, he’d pounce on you and do what he’s been thinking of doing for days- weeks, even.
Except in his barely-lucid state, he thinks it might be worse.
“Can I come in? Mr Welt told me you were unwell and separated from the group when March and I went away.”
“I’m fine,” he murmurs, strained.
You raise a brow. “You’re clearly not. No offense but… you sound a bit worse for wear.”
“It’s alright, I can manage alone.”
“Yes but you don’t have to, I’m happy to help.”
“I don’t think this is something you might want to stick around for.”
With each passing moment that you turnaround his rejection, Sunday feels his sanity slipping and pants growing tighter. And when you raise your eyebrows again in defilement, he just wants to pull you in and sink you both to the floor, reduced to a puddle of limbs where neither of you can tell where he ends and you begin.
“How bad can it be?” You whisper and all fighting spirit leaves him. He lets you inside.
As soon as the door clicks shut, you’re putting a hand up to his forehead, testing his temperature as if his entire face wasn’t flushed, pale skin heating up to an uncharacteristic pink. You seem to be avoiding the obvious issue that’s happening in his lower body.
“What happened?”
“I- uh, was hit with something,” he groans when you steps away.
“Like hay fever?” You ask, still somehow innocent and unaware.
He never thought he’d need to spell this out to someone. “Like extreme arousal.”
Your eyes widen and your mouth forms a small ‘o’ in realisation, eyes trailing down to his bare torso for a mere second before meeting his gaze again, as if deciding how to word the next sentence you want to say.
“Would you like some help with that?”
In any right state of mind, Sunday would be double checking that what you said was right. That he wasn’t hearing things. However, in a lust-ridden state where he can’t even tell north or south without thinking of the incredible stiffness in his pants, he says what he thinks is most logical.
“Please.” It’s no more of a whimper, but you hear him loud and clear because next thing he knows, you’re cupping his face with bringing it to yours, tongue parting the seam of his lips.
Sunday backs you up against the hotel door. You seem eager, that delights him.
With the invitation pressed into his mouth, he uses it to lick into your mouth, exploring and reaching wherever he can, tilting his head slightly for better access, overpowering whatever control you had previously exerted over him, just has he’s dreamed of. Biting on your bottom lip, he feels saliva dribble down his chin, wetting his skin. He separates from you to catch the trail, kissing down your chin and going even further, lips meeting the dips and curves of your neck as you gulp, overwhelmed by the onslaught of affection.
It’s your hands that remove your shirt, pulling it over your head as he continues his flurry of kisses, eventually stopping near your sternum. It’s your hands that exposes you- all of you, to him, letting him near his mouth and hands to your breasts. He squishes and pinches your left mound as the right one is enveloped by his lips where he spits and suckles, the sound so unabashedly wet that it shoots straight down to your core- where you need him the most. So you roll your hips against his and enjoy the vibrations of his moan, mouth still connected around you. You do it again and this time, his grip tightens, parting from your breast with a satisfying pop.
Crazed hunger gleams in his eyes and you sink to your knees before him.
“Let me take care of you,” you mutter breathlessly, now eye level with his member. His very obviously, very painfully hard member. Your hands make quick work of his pants, unbuttoning them as Sunday does the work of discarding both his boxers and the pants, leaving him naked before you, cock hitting the base of his abdominals.
It’s an odd sensation to present yourself so wholly to someone for the first time, especially when your most private parts are in the other person’s face, but Sunday’s mind is too far away to feel ashamed. Not when your hands crawl up and play with the angry, swollen tip of his dick.
“This looks so painful,” you mutter. “How long did you suffer for?”
“A couple hours,” he confesses through stifled teeth, feeling your hands move up and down along his shaft. You’re toying with him, seeming so sympathetic to his current condition when the only thing you’re doing is making it worse, the heat flaring hotter and hotter than he thought humanly possible in his abdomen.
It’s like torture, but he never wants you to stop. Never wants you to leave.
“Poor thing,” you coo. When you kiss his leaking tip, he collapses against the hotel door, bent arm catching him against the hard material. From this perspective, Sunday gets to watch you take him whole, his cock disappearing into your mouth inch by agonising inch until you stop just short of the base. It is so filthily wet and warm, and his skin glistens from your saliva when you move back, only to take him again, tongue sliding over the veins of his incredibly sensitive member.
The pleasure is overwhelming. It feels like everything and not enough, all at the same time. He wants your mouth to be hugging him like this forever, but he wants more, wants you to sink into his ligaments and press this feeling of pleasure into him permanently. Wants his muscles to remember the sensation of your tongue and lips, and how your spit mixes with his precum as small whimpers and moans leave him.
A hand comes to the back of your head, and Sunday begins to move his hips in tandem with your actions, and a surprised sound rings from the back of your throat when he forces himself deeper into your mouth. He does it again and again, wings fluttering as a coil begins to tighten in his lower half.
“I’m- I’m close,” Sunday whimpers. “Don’t stop, please, I want to- I want-”
The pleasure climaxes and hot ropes of cum shoot into your used mouth, dribbles out when it’s too stuffed to stay in, falling down the curve of your lips, down your chin, and landing on the floor or your body. He feels like ascending. This has been the high he’s been craving, the solution to the mania Sunday has been subjected to.
It is still not enough. He watches you swallow his cum, using your finger to clean around your mouth, and gulps when his dick springs to life again, aroused by the sight alone.
Only a fraction of his issue has been solved it seems, because neediness still burns hot in his veins, and he needs you so pathetically bad. Needs to press you against the nearest surface just to take you again and again.
Your eyes widen at his hard cock again.
“Still not enough?” You ask, voice slightly hoarse from being used.
“More,” he groans, and presses his mouth against yours when you rise from your knees, pressing a flurry of kisses against your lips, mixed with moans as words are spoken against your mouth. “Want more of you, let me inside.”
You nod against him, hands coming up to hold onto his shoulders, desperate for the anchor. “Please.”
A hand traces over your hip and moves down to your core. Two fingers part your folds, letting two digits sink into your wet entrance, collecting your slick as he glides in and out, feeling the constriction of your walls around his hand.
You cling to him tighter, resting your forehead against his shoulder as you deal with the onslaught of blinding pleasure, heightening when his thumb plays with your clit, rubbing circles and moving the nub up, down, left, and right. It’s mind-numbing, you don’t know what else to think of except the pleasure he’s bringing you.
It’s torn away when he retracts his hands, heated golden gaze staying locked with yours as he licks himself clean. An act so obscene that it leaves you speechless, all coherent sentences slipping from your brain as Sunday holds your leg up to his hip, allowing him more access.
He grinds his hard length against you, sliding it along your wet slit, sometimes catching your clit, causing you to jolt in his hold. Your breath is heavy with anticipation as you claw at his back, unable to take anymore of this gentle torment, walls clenching around nothing when his tip rests against your entrance. Sunday’s testing you, teasing as his perceptive, golden gaze never strays away from your expression, analysing every micro change as he slowly, slowly, slowly eases in, feeling every movement of your walls parting to make space for him.
You’re constricting him, pulsing around him so tightly that it’s getting harder to breathe, harder to think straight without fucking into you so recklessly that you leave an imprint on the door. His lust-filled brain wants to, but the composed part of his mind knows to give you time to adjust first, even if you’re wet enough for him to move freely.
However, it seems that he’s too impatient himself.
A sudden warmth floods your walls, gushing hot white as Sunday rests his forehead against you, shuddering, laboured breaths heaving out his chest.
“Did you just… cum?”
“Yes,” he pants, wings fluttering lightly as he recovers from busting his load without warning.
Your hands move to play with the hair at the base of his neck, twirling the strands as you wait for him to come down. It’s alarming that you can already feel him getting hard again. Just how strong was this pollen?
“Sorry, it’s just… I haven’t felt anything this powerful this before.”
“It’s okay,” you murmur, holding his cheek. “Sunday, use me. Don’t hold back.”
With your blessing, he regains his footing and slowly retracts his hips, almost sliding out of you before thrusting back. You moan right by his ear, nails clawing his skin. The pace of his movements stay slow, methodical as he splits you open, but with a last few rolls of his hips, Sunday begins to pick up the pace, listening to his frayed mind as the wet sound of skin slapping skin fills the hotel room.
Your whimpers of his name are soft as he keeps moving, holding your leg higher to his hip for more access as he relentlessly bullies himself into you, reaching even deeper parts of you. Mixed essences coat your skin, the last load he spilled into you falling out and dribbling from your entrance, and down to the apex of your thighs. It sounds obscene every time he thrusts into you, and the pleasure makes you bite into the junction of his neck- a coping mechanism against the searing build up in your abdomen.
He’s thrusting into you so deep, hitting a sensitive spot over and over again, causing you to see stars on the edge of your vision.
“I’m almost there, please, don’t stop,” you’re puffing against him now, gasping for air when his hand suddenly crawls between your bodies, rubbing your clit in the exact way he did before, intensifying the pleasure as it shoots through your nerves.
Without warning, you gush all over him, walls spasming around his cock as he continues chasing his own high, hands squeezing you harder as he grows sloppier. Then, with a muffled moan, he lets go and spills hot semen into you, his hips stuttering flush against your pelvis as he presses himself as close as possible.
Both of you pant erratically, still coming down from the high as you cling to each other with vice grips. He nuzzles into your shoulder, wings and silver hair tickling your skin. His is still feverish, burning and hot against your body. You can’t even remember if he grew hotter since you first began, but it’s hard to think about it when Sunday’s still nestled inside with no intention of leaving any time soon.
“Are you okay?” You ask softly, careful not to break the delicate atmosphere.
“Yes,” he murmurs. “I’m feeling… a little more clear-headed now.”
“That’s good. Should we move away from the door and sit on the bed?”
He slips out of you and you wince at the feel of thick fluids dripping out of you and down your inner thigh. Sunday is at least conscious enough to sit you down and go grab a towel, gently grabbing your ankle to stretch your leg, patting your skin gently to rid the traces. Despite how methodical and tender he is, he can’t hide his growing erection, even if he’s diligently avoiding looking at your spent cunt.
“This… predicament of yours must be stubborn,” you joke when he takes a seat next to you, unable to meet your eyes.
“I think this one might be mostly my doing.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really.”
Without hesitation, you swing a leg around and straddle him, sitting daringly close to his cock. “Need a little more help?”
He groans through gritted teeth when you roll your hips, teasing him with a half-lidded look, lips turning into a smirk. You will be the reason for his demise, an obsession growing in the depths of his mind.
“If you are fit enough, don’t exert yourself for me.”
“But I want to help,” you pout at him.
Yes. Something like obsession.
Sunday’s hands are vice grips on your hips as you lower yourself down on his dick, the familiar stretch causing you to wince, but his touch is grounding as he places a flutter of kisses on your face when you’ve lowered yourself completely, the back of your thighs meeting his. You watch as his face contorts with pleasure, gaze focused on where you’re joined.
“You feel so perfect,” he murmurs. “I’ve been dreaming of this, I can’t believe it’s real.”
“Dreaming? How so?”
“Ever since that… day, where you visited me in my room,” he grunts, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, to stop desiring you, I felt it was better for the both of us if I just kept my distance since then.”
You cup his cheeks, placing a kiss on his nose before you move, rising before slamming down, causing the both of you to moan in sync, his being more of a whine. Repeating the movement a few times, you feel wet droplets landing on your hands, and you stop moving out of surprise, the ichor falling from his eyes catching you by surprise.
“Sunday, are you-”
Catching the liquid gold with your thumbs, you are so devastatingly careful handling him that he might just cum again, decorating your insides with white for the fourth time that night. He barely just holds on, though, for the sake of his own sanity.
Although he almost snaps when he feels you catch a tear with your lips, and then you clench around him- oh, this is the recipe for his downfall.
“You will drive me crazy.” He whispers as he holds onto your wrists. “T-This… this is incomparable. I-I want you like a man starved.”
Then, without warning, he rolls you around so that your back is on the bed and he’s the one on top. Climbing between your parted legs, he carves a space for himself in your arms, infatuation glazing over his expression.
in which: you bring a little faith in promises back to itoshi rin.
warnings: 600+ wc, fluff, talks of moving in together, gn!reader who is in uni, rin is a pro (?) soccer player.
a/n: PHEWWW when was my last itoshi rin fic? been a while :> i have another rin (but it might turn into a reo fic tbh) fic and a sae fic in the works <3 this is my new year gift to you all. returning to our blue lock era for 2025!
Itoshi Rin doesn’t believe in shared goals, shared ambitions, shared dreams.
He did, at some point, and it came crashing down on him like a snowstorm. He still remembers the snow, the frost permeating his bones as his older brother left him behind in a cold field, a once-treasured dream now in pieces.
Since then, he hasn’t really wanted to accomplish anything with anyone else.
“It’s snowing.”
Your voice brings him out of his thoughts. Rin looks up from the cup of coffee he was stirring, thoroughly dissolving the spoon of sugar he just added. His teal eyes find you sitting at his kitchen bench, laptop and papers forgotten so you can admire the tiny snowflakes beginning to fall with a fascinated gleam in your eyes.
It warms him. You ignite a part of him he thought was snuffed out years ago.
“It is,” he says, rounding around the kitchen counter to give you your mug of coffee, made exactly to your tastes.
“Thank you,” you smile up at him. He leans down to kiss your temple, pressing his lips firmly against your skin so you can’t forget the depths of his adoration.
The professional soccer player only then notices what you were looking at on your laptop.
“Two bedroom apartments in Tokyo?” Rin reads out loud, even squinting at your screen to make sure that his eyes weren’t deceiving him. “Are you moving out?”
You’re not meeting his eyes, shrinking into the comfortable fabric of Rin’s hoodie and he suddenly gets the impression that he saw something he wasn’t supposed to. “Something like that,” you murmur into the mug.
“Two bedrooms? Are you going to move in with someone?”
There’s a tight knot in Rin’s chest. Why couldn’t you just move in with him?
“I, uh, was supposed to ask you this later but… would you like to move in with me?”
His eyes widen, mouth falling slightly agape as he stares down at you, and now you get the feeling that you’ve asked something you weren’t supposed to. Maybe almost two years of dating wasn’t enough time for the question to be asked, and now you just feel like an idiot-
Rin shakes his head, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. “Dumbass, you basically live here.”
You straighten your spine, a telltale sign that you’re about to rebut whatever he’s just said.
“Whatever! You were talking about finding a new apartment closer to central Tokyo, I thought this was the perfect opportunity for us,” you defend. “It is a bit expensive, though.”
“I earn enough. We can find a place close to the train station, you can get to work and university easier,” he suggests, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you against his torso. “Why are you looking at two bedrooms?”
“We can have a dedicated study. I can’t sleep sometimes when you’re watching your recorded matches in bed, y’know.”
Rin snorts. “Right. Can’t sleep so you drool on me.”
You punch his shoulder, and he doesn’t even react, eyes trained on your laptop screen as he scrolls through potential housing options. From where your face is pressed against his sternum, you murmur, “I like your current apartment, though, I like the wide windows, I can see the snow.”
“You can enjoy it until my lease is done. We can hunt for an apartment with wide windows until then so you don’t miss the snowfall.”
“‘Kay,” you murmur contentedly. “This can be our shared dream, then.”
And it’s funny, because Rin hasn’t heard that term in a long time. Every dream of his, he’s done alone. He hasn’t ‘shared’ a dream with anyone since Sae, and that came crumbling down in the blink of an eye. If he can’t trust his older brother to keep his word, then who can he trust?
However, you’re snug in his arms, in his hoodie, in his apartment, and a silent promise hangs in the air, and he realises now that with every dream of his, he has always imagined you to be a part of it.
Summary: Every Wednesday your schedule consisted of attending classes during the day, and satisfying the needs of a sadist through the night.
Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Violence, Kidnapping, Isolation, SociallyAnxious!Reader, Blindfolds, Stalking, Knives, Blood, Gore, Stockholm Syndrome, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Insertion, Fingering, Rough Sex, Erotophonophilia, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Dacryphillia, Sadomasochism, Gunplay, Deepthroating, Breeding Kink, Unprotected sex
A/N: Hell is empty
4k Words
You're strapped in a chair, like always, and you are blindfolded because he doesn't trust easily.
It's terribly annoying.
At any point of during and after your little 'arrangement' you could have called the cops. Doesn't he understand that?
Every Wednesday, you're taken from the warmth of your apartment, and you're delivered right back at 00:00 on the dot, every Thursday with barely an inch of life left in your bones. You'd either always come back wet, with semen sliding between your thighs, or with mysterious marks- old and new- crawling underneath your sweater. Whatever mood he was in, he'd always leave you feeling sore.
It should have bothered you.
The thought of seeing this large, domineering shadow-in-a-suit every Wednesday should not overwhelm you with all these feelings of excitement. Instead, you should do like all the mentally ill girls do and just get some fucking help.
But you want him to trust you, for some reason.
Which was utterly ridiculous considering the fact that to him, you were something akin to a porcelain wind up toy for his amusement. You had no business requesting he remove the blindfold aspect but still, you asked anyway. Toy's couldn't be trusted, could they?
"I'd really appreciate it if I didn't have to wear one of these everytime I visit your place." He removes the blindfold, and in a second, your vision is filled with nothing but him. One moment you were in the cozy warmth of your dorm room. Curled up on the couch while your roommate spends her youth effectively- out with boyfriends and friends and everything you didn't have. You answered the front door when you heard his special knock, like you always do. You walked with him to the cab. You let him put on the blindfold. You said 'I'm fine’ when the taxi driver got a little too nosy and you let him lead you away from your boring life.
If only for a few hours.
You'd let him do whatever he wanted for those few hours because such surrender was almost sacred. You forfeited your safety in his hands, to do with it whatever he pleased and in that, you found rest. Whatever happens, happens.
Forget this room- what was essentially his personal dungeon, windowless, red and boasting various torture objects- your eyes are only on him.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to kidnap me anymore? We do this every Wednesday," You become more childish around him and he lets you. Like you forgot you are a fully autonomous university student. There was power in that too. "Surely we've established some sort of trust?” He doesn't respond to you immediately. You crane your head up at him, hungry to lock eyes with his cold, empty slits that enchanted you body and soul.
You are in love with him, perhaps.
That's a logical response isn't it?
You laugh almost.
Listening to yourself try to rationalize your fondness for such a horrible man.
Said horrible man is silent. All you hear is the clicking of his dress shoes as he moves to the leather seat directly across from yours. Your eyes scan over all his movements.
The right corner of his lip quirks up. A small coffee table creates the only distance between you and he bends over to pour you both a generous glass of Brandy on the rocks. You don't drink it. Ever since he's been bringing you here, you never do. He knows this, yet still he pours.
"This relationship isn't about trust." He says finally. Something inside you, that is perhaps a little broken, actually purrs at the sound of his voice. You're hyperaware of your thighs squeezing together on the leather seat. They're spilling out of the sundress you purposely wore today.
Lots of your clothes were for the function of comfort. Your body was full and curvy and not always something to be advertised, unless you wished it to. Tonight, you wanted to show off as much as possible.
A thick leather band is keeping both your wrists locked to the armrests, while he sits back, free and so irrevocably in charge it should scare you. It should. But the sick and incredibly deranged thing is that it doesn't.
Outside, the rain is beating down on whatever building you're in, casting a thick veneer of grey all across the city.
But inside this velvet room... your heart is hammering inside its cage as you watch him undo the buttons of his crisp suit. A black one today. Jet black like his hair.
Although-
"You've got more grey in your hair than last week." You can't help but say.
He tilts his head in inquisition. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"
"I'll leave that up to you to decide," you shrug your shoulders as much as you can under these limited restraints. At least he hasn't restrained your ankles this time. Progress. "In here, you're the boss. Right?"
He takes a sip of his drink until finally, you've finally locked eyes. Your bare toes curl and your back arches slightly as you sit a bit straighter in your seat. Like you're in a lecture hall, although he is far more interesting than any of your professors.
"I'm not as young as I used to be," he finally says as he takes one more sip of his drink before bringing his briefcase onto the coffee table. Its presence is ominous and so horribly loud for an inanimate object. It kickstarts all your dormant nerves, revving up all the rest of your senses that have yet to catch up to the fact that you were facing the man of both your desires and nightmares once again.
"Who have you told about our arrangement?" The question causes you to roll your eyes. He watches the petulant movement with that same, silent smile and blank eyes. He unclicks the briefcase. Your stomach lurches and your thighs squeeze together. Pavlov's dog.
"Every time you ask me-" an object clinks onto the table. A butcher knife.
You try to pull your eyes away from the objects he's placing on the table, one by one. "Everytime you ask me if I've told anyone about our arrangement-" another object. A wooden spoon beside the knife. "Everytime I tell you the same thing."
Your throat closes when he uncovers a dildo. Bright pink and fucking menacing. "Carry on talking." He says, snapping your gaze away from the objects lining the table.
"I don't have any friends." Your voice is wobblier. You try to deny the sight of the rabbit vibrator, "It's the reason you picked me." You clear your throat as you hoped to clear all the nerves beginning to fog your mind. "Someone could've followed me here. B-But I don't really know anyone enough to care." The final object that clunks onto the glass coffee table and this time, you're unable to look away.
"Are we ready to begin?"
The metal revolver laying quiet and undisturbed beside the rabbit vibrator makes everything else on the table look like children's toys. Even the butcher knife.
You pull at the restraints, your legs quivering slightly as you shift and writhe in the seat. He studies you as closely as you were once studying him. You can see the excitement begin to flood his eyes at the physical manifestation of your discomfort.
"Now you're getting it." He nods sardonically, taking another sip from his glass before placing the briefcase on the floor beside him. "You were a little too happy to see me," he joked, letting out an airy exhale of laughter.
"You wanna hazard a guess as to what we'll be playing today?" He's smiling, genuinely. With that look in his eyes you can tell he's hovering in the clouds. Meanwhile you've begun to feel real fear. No matter how regular these visits might become you'd never get used to him. It's impossible. Not when he found new and daring ways to torture and pleasure you every single week. You couldn't get used to something as brash and unconventional as him. Like the conditions of a child in a broken home, he kept his tactics inconsistent so that every week is a new hell or perhaps- depending on his mood- heaven.
"If I guess wrong?" You swallow thickly and something dark in him settles. He spreads his legs more, there's a twitch inside his lips before he smiles again.
"Well, guessing isn't the game, so you'll be fine."
You nod your head... assessing the objects. There's menacing objects and household objects. Even just looking at them you can tell what they all have in common.
"Am I going to have to insert-"
"You're not guessing." His voice booms. He rests his elbow on the armrests, his hands corded with veins seem itching to do something, you're not sure what. "I said guess." He commands.
"Hide and seek?"
He snickers, "A favourite-"
"More like your favourite." You snip back, "I couldn't sit down the whole week." You frown at the memory. That week he'd brought you to an abandoned warehouse, letting you run the entire perimeter full.
"It's in your best interest to keep coming to our sessions-" he reminds you, snapping you back into the present.
"You're paying my university fees, I'm not complaining." You nod, before plastering a thin smile on your face, "All I have to do every week is prostitute myself to a literal sadist-"
"Have you given up on guessing today's game?" He didn't like you making him hyper aware of the fact that this dynamic, whatever it is, is considered objectively bad. And so you're not surprised when he swiftly moves past the topic.
He leans forward. His large hand disappears under his chair before uncovering a small whiteboard. Four lines- 2 horizontals are running across 2 verticals, creating 9 blocks. He stands up, while your eye is still focusing on the board. From your point of view it sits underneath the row of objects on the table. You don't even realize your right wrist strap is being untied.
"Colour?" He asks, pushing a crate of whiteboard markers towards you. With your now free hand you pick the pink one.
He snickers. "Predictable." He whispers before placing a large, domineering hand on your head. He presses down your braids, patting you like a stray he's rescued from the cold. You stare aimlessly ahead, fearing you won't be able to contain everything you've begun to feel for him if you lock eyes now.
"We're playing tic-tac-toe," he relents. His hand lingers on your head a bit longer before he's stepping away.
"With a twist, I presume?"
"Clever girl," he nods, walking back to his seat. "So you're aware of the objects."
"Place a gun in front of a girl and she's going to notice."
"Paranoid girl." He tsks before leaning forward.
"You want to start or should I?"
"Wait-" you swallow, "What happens if I win?"
He smiles that dazzling, debonair smile.
"You pick which one goes inside you."
Lightning cracks across the sky. A chorus of thunder roars all at once like some kind of phenomenon and your lips stutter open.
"Th-That's insane I-"
"I shouldn't have to remind you that you came here out of your own volition. "
"What happens if you win?"
"Then I choose." He says.
Your eyes skate over the object. It doesn't take an ivy league graduate to hazard a guess as to which of the objects he's itching to stick inside you.
"There's a fucking knife here-" You're trembling. Tears are pooling in your eyes. It doesn't even matter that you're a somewhat decent tic tac toe player. It doesn't matter that you're confident in this game. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
"And there's also a spoon," he nods, neutrally, "And a vibrator, and a dildo. Etcetera. Etcetera." He leans forward, unclicking his whiteboard pen, "your words are just words, Darling. You're just listing things. Start," he says, with a deadly lilt in his voice. "Or I will."
You scramble to uncap your marker with one hand, all while he watches with dead and black eyes. You knew that whoever starts the game was placed at a big advantage and so you're nearly scrambling to place that dignified X in the center block.
"Clever girl." He says once again, drawing his blue 'O' directly beside your pink 'X'. You aim for the block above him. He blocks it. You aim for the block beside the center. He blocks that too.
Your victory comes too quickly. You barely feel it as you strike a line vertically through the blocks. 3 X's.
Relief washes over you but it's overcast with doubt. Like you're celebrating in trepidation as you watch him stand up.
"Congratulations! Which do you choose?"
"I can pick anything?" You ask, staring up at him, bright eyes wild with the adrenaline that comes with wanting to preserve your organs.
"Anything you want, my little winner."
You begin to lean over. His eyebrows quirk up when you wrap a small hand around his wrist.
"I pick that." You say breathlessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his hands at his side. And you watch as he walks towards you, as if compelled by an unforeseen force. His palms are calloused underneath yours and you blow out several unstable breaths as he stands above you. So imposing it's breathtaking.
"You sure?" It's the way he asks it that has you second guessing. And perhaps he sees the caution seeping into your eyes because there's excitement lurking in his. Before you're even able to formulate a response, his hand is locked tightly around your esophagus, vacuuming all pathways shut until you're writhing for air.
"A fine, fine choice," He's becoming more and more riled up the more you writhe in your seat, trying to scrounge for a single breath of air. He doesn't let you. Instead he moves behind you, before leaning down.
If you could breathe, you would shiver at the feeling of his lips behind your ear. "Here we go-" he whispers, before reaching around your torso with his free hand before forcing your legs open. The second he lets his three digits stab into your cunt, he uncurls the grip on your throat as you make a horrid sound somewhere between a moan, a scream, and a haggard gasp. "FUCK- Sl-Slowdown-" you knew better than to request something like that. All you hear is a snicker from behind you as pain blossoms all across your nether regions. He's not gentle. He's not kind. He doesn't allow you to adjust to his fingers before he's scissoring them inside you, causing a blood-curdling scream to rip itself out of your throat. Your back is arched and you're trying to get away from him but the fucking persists.
"You've been wet like this for me the entire time?" He sounds absolutely demented, behind you, "You wanted this didn't you?" He bites at your ear as the first tears begin to pool at your eyes, "My little winner."
"P-Please stop-" His fingers are restless inside you. Curling and uncurling. Scissoring and stabbing as if wanting to open you up and split you all the way in half.
"What a pretty little pussy, huh? Look at what a mess you're making."
"When-" you can't form words. "When- Stop?" It's all you're able to say as your nails dig into the material of his suit.
"The sooner you cum the sooner it stops."
You doubted your ability to cum under these circumstances. He's setting an ungodly pace and it's all so hurried and in a frenzy, it's like your brain does not have time to understand if you even like what's currently being done to you.
"What- Do you want you want my help?" you begin to shake your head. "I'll help you, baby-"
His other hand reaches over and pinches your clit.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm is quite literally forced out of you. Your hips writhe and your ass tries to leave the seat as the first feelings of pleasure rip through you by force. "That's it, Clever girl," he coos, still curling his fingers inside you, "That's my Clever girl." He says once more before stilling his movements. For a second you just sit there, trying to collect your breath while he's still inside you. All at once, his hands are removed from your body.
He grabs a handkerchief from his breast pocket and you watch him clinically wipe his hands before erasing the marks on the board with the same cloth. A very clear boner pushes against his black slacks yet still his face is calm.
"Alright, My turn to start-"
"WHAT!? B-But I won." You scream, absolutely seething with desperation.
"You know everyone who plays 'X' has a significantly higher chance at winning-" You say with your eyes narrowed. He nods.
"And you know that too, which means we each should be granted alternating times to play ‘X’. Regardless if you won or not." You slump in your seat, suddenly far too aware that your bare cunt is exposed.
"Don't mope." He says, "It's not cute." Before drawing his 'X' in the center.
You close your legs, sitting upright with a new zeal of self preservation as you grab ahold of your marker.
You draw your pink 'O' underneath his.
You both play many more rounds. All ending in ties. This is how you play- with a frazzled grip and closed legs. A shiver every now and then overcomes you with the gravity of your aftershocks. His snickers bring your eyes up to his. He speaks as he makes his move.
"You're so focused on blocking," he sighs, "You're not even trying to win anymore-"
"I'm not letting you stick a knife in my cunt." You nod in finality before blocking another move.
"Not even if I say please?" He asks, making a faux pout.
"Fuck off."
"In that case, I have to win."
Your heart kickstarts as he pushes his pen to the board. Images flash across your mind. Blood splattered across his gorgeous face. Your blood as he fucks the sharp end of a knife inside you. You nearly vomit while he speaks. “Easy as-" you block him.
"Tic-" you block him again.
"Tac-" you block him some more
"Toe- I Win."
A victory that somehow escaped your vision. He strikes a line diagonally through the squares and your stomach sinks. He stares at you from across the room. His eyes so deeply satisfied you can feel it radiating off of him in waves.
You lower your teeth to the other restraint, violently trying to free your left wrist from its oppressive hold. And you watch as the devil slowly rises.
Your heart aches. Your brain is sent into complete alarm as your flight or fight kicks in and your sympathetic nervous system fires.
"Now, which one would look pretty inside you?" He drags his fingers along the objects, undoubtedly an act of taunting. You stomp your feet on the ground. You try to push the chair underneath you but it's plastered to the floor.
"Please!" Tears are running thickly. They cloud your vision. You don't even see the way his smile falls enough for him to rub over the bulge in his slacks.
"Fuck," he says gravelly as he relents and picks up the gun. "You're so fucking pretty when you're scared out of your fucking mind. You know that?"
You shake your head as he nears, wondering if this might really be the end. Has your body become too worn out by his games? Has the time for him to discard his toy finally dawned on you both? Is he all grown up with no need for such things as toys?
"PLEASE-NO-"
"Open your mouth." He's standing in front of you, your head directly in front of his raging bulge.
You shake your head, trying to move away but he rips your face towards him. "Listening to me is the only choice you have to make it out alive, Baby. You wanna live, don't you?" He's nothing but a tall figure, with the overhead lights shining around his head like a halo. Your face right by his bulge.
"Little girl needs to go to school." He nods, eyes fluttering shut, "She needs to complete her studies and get a good job so she wouldn't have to meet with scary men like me- Fuck-" it riled him up to no end to have you scared of him. You suppose it triggered a part of him that craved attention. He needed to feel like he existed and if that was reeped from fear then so be it.
"Stick the barrel in your mouth," the bottom of his hand coaxed open your jaw, and, as if on autopilot, you listen. Perhaps there is a way out of this. Perhaps you should just listen.
"That's it... Fuck," he brings your free hand up to rub his erection "That's it, Baby, stick it inside your mouth." Cold metal hits your lower teeth, "Stick it in like you would a cock." He says, looking down at you intently as your tongue unfurls and you suck the barrel in. "Shit-" he places his other hand on the back of your head before forcing you to take the gun deeper down your throat. He's trembling. Far too badly. And so is his finger on the trigger.
"Fuck, you're such a fucking whore, you know that?"
You're gagging and flailing around the barrel, saliva slides down.
So desperate to please him.
In your hast you don't even realize your left hand that had been restrained is now free. Your eyes are closed.
Please him.
Just please him and you'll live.
"That's my brainless girl..." he praises and that rouses something in you. It has your hips bucking against nothing.
"Such a stupid girl..." he continues, "You're gonna ride me, aren't you? You're gonna fuck me so good-" You're not about to tell him that sex wasn't supposed to be apart of this game. You're not stupid.
You faintly hear the sound of a belt unlooping. A zipper siding down. "You're making me so happy, baby." He admits before effortlessly lifting you from the chair until you're straddling him.
You're free.
When did that happen?
"F-Fuck, I need you to ride me." His head is leaning back against the chair. His tie hangs messily from his shirt that has two buttons undone.
You're free.
"Don't try anything," he warns, as he lifts you enough to pull his cock out of his pants. "Matter of fact. Keep it in your mouth while you ride me-" He slams you down onto his cock the very second those words leave his mouth. He's fucking into you with recklessness and fury and violence. His hair falls in his face but the gun is too heavy, without a hand there, it nearly slips from your mouth.
He's careful to catch it, forcing the barrel back in your mouth as he places a hand on your ass, controlling how your ass bounces on his lap. The gun offers motivation like no other. It has you arching your back and swirling your hips as you tighten your cunt around him.
He sticks the gun down too far and you gag. "You trying to get me to cum, huh? You little slut-" you nod, the tears still spilling as pleasure begins to stream through your brain. It has you excited by the prospect of being held at gunpoint. You realize with grave certainty that you've arrived at the point of no return.
"What a good girl- fuck-" he's ramming up into you, his hand on the gun twitching like his cock does. "I'm gonna fucking cum- FUCK-" he does and your orgasm immediately barrels into you at the exact same time. You try to ride him, to milk it as much as you can, to continue to make him happy.
"Such a stupid fucking slut-" he whispers, eyes hooded as his hips still spurt cum into you.
Your ears perk. You see his finger on the trigger move. You squeeze your eyes shut as you hear a click.
"Such a silly girl." You hear him say. "Don't worry, Baby, it isn't loaded." You're still in your body. You're still alive, on his lap, your sundress unfurling around you both.
Non Squid Game AU
smut: bratty!reader, fingering, slight degradation
As someone said on tiktok, player 380 is a scissor sister 🤞
Lying on your bed, surrounded by the warmth and comfort of your home, you felt a surge of excitement as you heard the door open. All day you've been feeling needy, texting your girlfriend nonstop and maybe sending a suggestive pic or two to her phone while she was out. Se-mi enters the room, an unamused expression on her face as she locks the door behind her. The sly look in her eyes gives her away though.
Without a word, she crawls onto the bed beside you, her fingers tracing the curves of your body as she settled in. Her touch sent shivers down your spine, the intimacy of the moment leaving you breathless.
She scoffs. "This is all it takes to shut you up? Shit, you're desperate."
You just whine softly, making her smirk.
"What do you want me to do to you?~" Se-mi whispers, her voice husky with desire.
You couldn't find the words, your voice caught in your throat as she reached down to run her fingers through the folds of your cunt. Her fingers found their way inside, probing and teasing as she explored every inch of your vagina. "So fucking wet already, you slut."
You arch your back, moaning softly as she begins to fingerfuck you, her rhythm growing faster and more insistent. Your mind lost all thought as your body responded to the stimulation, waves of pleasure building with each passing second.
"More," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper.
Se-mi nods, her fingers dipping deeper into your cunt. You cry out as she hits your G-spot, the intensity of the sensations overwhelming you. Your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you shaking and helpless beneath her expert touch.
Your girlfriend's ministrations slowly come to an end and with a wet squelching noise, she pulls her fingers out of your cunt. She brings her hand up to your mouth and you obediently suck your own fluids off. Once you've cleaned her off, she slips her fingers out and connects her lips to yours.
𖤓 tags ; afab + gn!reader, established relationship, established d/s dynamic (implied to be 24/7), extremely submissive!reader, soft dom!sunday, mindfucking in a sense, extremely horny telepathic communication, sensation play (pain + pleasure), intesne, overstimulation, oral (f!recieving), penetration, misuse of aeonly abilities, very lovey-dovey in an insane way, lowk mutually codependent lol, 18+
𖤓 wc ; 4k. (this is.. wow)
𖤓 a/n ; this was not written with canon in mind. this was written with heart-eyes and wet pussy. if it does not make sense with his canon abilities, it is not my business !
everything in this dynamic is very consensual but sunday pushes reader a lot so it gets intense for them. they have aftercare !! but they are both insane so please be cautious!! i dont think it warrants dark content but it is . wild.
He won't put on airs in front of you.
Maybe it's because your lovers, as he describes it. Not partners because that implies equal control, not something so juvenile as your boyfriend. Lovers. Sunday refers to you unilaterally as his lover. As his.
As his lover, he remains ruthless. He doesn't lie though. He's frank with you to the point you wonder how he lies so easily with everyone else. He shows you the vulnerability of his grip strength, the intensity of his feelings for you. Sunday loves you. He won't put on airs about this.
Sunday loves you, so there's no need to worry about anything. Don't worry about the bed you sleep in, the clothes you wear, the things you eat. Sunday won't put on airs about wanting to let you have freedom. He doesn't even pretend like he'd be happy if something caused you to leave. He wouldn't tell you to find someone else should you grow sick of him.
Be with him. Let him love you. He'll carve something out of his heart and keep you there - conform to his ribs and listen to the sound of its beat. You're his lover. All his. Bone, blood, faith, religions - all his, always.
When Sunday is in a bad mood, you can always tell. Though his face remains indifferent - he's harder on you than he is usually. He's not often in a bad mood and the difference might look minor to anyone else. And identifying the source of his mood is arduous, because often it's him thinking himself into a corner. The worst of it comes when he convinces himself you want to leave him, even when you assure you have no such intentions.
Sunday is twisted. You know that. But you willingly handed him the chain to your leash. It's no doubt you're just as rotten.
His mood, though usually magnanimous - can become cold and ruthless and brutal on days like that.
There are three things that tell you that Sunday is in a bad mood when he visits your room today.
First, that he's meeting you in the real world and not in the dreamscape. Sunday doesn't like reality. If he's meeting you there - it means that he is wanting affirmation you are real despite everything, which is not a sign of him being very level-headed.
The second is that he's being affectionate. He comes to your door and kisses you on the lips before making you greet him. A deep kind of kiss, shared between average people. Lacking control and precision - all want.
The third is that he takes off his clothes when he closes the door behind. He makes you sit on the bed like always, but doesn't join you in his full attire. He doesn't make you get naked and come sit in his lap while he still has his suit on.
You have a routine about this after all. Sunday comes, makes you sit at his feet until he's pleased with your begging - makes you cum to the point of delirium than murmurs softly until you've sobered again. He'll talk to you afterwards. Lays in bed next to you and strokes your hair with absent fondness only after affording you pleasure. Only after paying him your worship.
But he skips the step entirely today and undresses. He's never undressed without you asking him. Always a reward.
You want to ask what exactly has him this desperate, but you're almost afraid to know. It's so unusual it jars you.
He has his back turned away from you on the bed where you sit. You're naked with the exception of a choker. Sunday is undressing in front of you, all without you asking. It feels like something you shouldn't look at, though he hasn't forbidden you from it explicitly.
You peek anyway, pushing away the guilt.
He undresses himself neatly. Slides the silk of his gloves off and lays them flat on the armchair nearby. He shrugs his white coat off, follows it. His fingers are beautiful and soft outside of their confines, and they unbutton his shirt dexterously. Off with his vest and his other attire - once his top half is bare he turns to you.
Despite yourself, you try to level your enthusiasm. You look down at the bed underneath you, only listening for his footsteps. Instead you find the hardness of your heartbeat, rising into your throat.
Your skin feels hot. He hasn't even touched you but you're wet, albeit afraid of what any of it means.
You feel your pulse quicken impossible when his hand brushes along your cheek. His fingers are long and slender, his nails as pristine as the rest of him.
"Look at me."
And so you do, picking your head up to gaze at him. His expression is unreadable, but different. "Is everything okay?"
That seems to shock him. He smiles that time, comfortably. "Everything is fine. Something came up. I thought I'd come see you."
"Oh well, I'm glad you came to see me," You say quickly and he smiles again even softer. "But, well. It's different."
"It is. Is that a problem?"
"No, no - I just. Are you upset?"
"Not with you," He's quick to assure. You love him, you think. It's things like that that make you love him. "Something annoyed me."
"Is that right," You look up at him and look closer. "Can I help you?"
You feel it then. There's a shift in his demeanor. He's pleased with the question, with your attitude. You feel his hand nearly tremble as he strokes you fondly. "You want to make me feel better?"
You feel strange. Skittish. "Y-yes. If that's alright."
"Aren't you very generous?" He replies. It sounds like praise, makes your stomach turn. "There's something I'd like to do with you. Will you allow me?"
You're not sure why he's asking. "You don't need to ask my permission for anything."
He shivers at that. You think he does. It's brief enough that you miss it. His eyes lid, thumb smoothing across your lower lip. "That's right. You're all mine, aren't you?"
You nod. "Uh-huh."
He smiles at you. Laughs, pleasant and warm and rich. It's an unfamiliar sound - almost carefree. It makes you happy to hear but you try not to let it show so he doesn't get conscious of it. Still, you smile. Stare down at the space underneath and glance at his naked torso and flush all over again.
"Then, allow me," He sits next to you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He grabs your hand tender and guides you into his lap. The amount of contact is so much unprepared, your knees feel weak. He allows you to straddle him, guides your arms around his neck. You can feel his gaze on you and you squirm but don't move.
"You're very nervous." He points out.
"You're," You feel like the Penacony will fall from underneath your feet "...touching me."
"You're so ruined already, over that?"
You nod. Of course you are. It's Sunday's body you're touching. He never allows you this much unless you've done something to please him greatly. Unless his mood is good. You're used to the silky cloth of his gloves even when he fucks you on his fingers, your cunt dripping onto his nice suit even when he's pleasuring you for hours. He reminds you of the miles between you doing that. A show of power.
So of course the sudden change in that distancing is alarming. Arousal keeps spiking every time you remember. It makes you feel stupid. You're touching his warm skin, seeing the sinew of his shoulders and the way he's built. His core soft and stable, everything dusted with rosy hues. He's slender and beautiful and elegant all over so of course you're wet between your legs, achy and unnerved by just how much your pussy seems to pine after his touch.
Your brain feels like it'll pour out of your ears, the words barely forming to speak.
"It's too much."
He doesn't say anything in reply. His fingers snake between your legs where you're stood on your knees - sliding down slick folds, tentative and amused. "You're so much wetter than usual," Then, with a breathlessness to his voice "Is it really making you feel this way to see me half naked?"
You lock eyes with him. You can't make yourself out in the reflection of his eyes but his face changes. It doesn't matter what you can see, because you know you look desperate. You can never hide how you feel from Sunday, but especially not like this. Vulnerable, you nod curtly - mouth fallen open.
"It's okay," He coos, which are not the words he normally chooses. He normally says that you'll be alright - which is different from this. Restlessness makes your skin prick. "Do you want to know why I'm in a bad mood?"
You nod.
"I thought of you running away," He says, which is typical. But it's too much for it to be just that so you wait. "Going back to your home planet to never return. It wasn't pleasant but I couldn't stop imagining it."
"...Was that really all?"
"Really all? Do you think there's something that would displease me more than that?"
"You really want me to stay with you." You say, less than ask.
"I treasure you," He murmurs, his voice is low. Cold, even - underneath layers of possession. "You are mine to treasure."
"Of course but," You want to look away from his eyes but you find that you cannot. "So much? Do you really?"
He smiles again. It doesn't reach his eyes. "More than you'll ever know." He reaches for your hand and holds them, smiles as you gasp. His lips brush along your knuckles. "So you'll trust me, won't you?"
"Yes. Whatever you want."
"Such dangerous words."
You don't ask he means by that. It wouldn't matter. Wouldn't make it any less true. The tight space that Sunday has carved for you is yours no matter how suffocating. It's yours and you would do so much to please him.
Sunday lets his fingers walk up the curve of your spine. You shiver, watching him. He's pleased somehow, and that's good you think. It's better than him being angry. His hand stops at the nape of your neck, cupping it and rubbing his thumb along your pulse.
"Let me in,"
You don't know what that means until you feel it. Two sensations press against you at the same time. Sunday's abilities - halovian and not. Your eyes close tight at the pressure in your skull, but Sunday's hand in the physical world soothes you. He's reaching you in two ways - two different ways. You know them now.
His powers feel different from his halovian abilities. His powers (or THEIR powers, you suppose) are piercing and needlepoint - never completely pleasant or intended to relieve. He uses them only occasion, and never for too long. The invocation is usually a test of some kind. Even as he mutters the words against your neck now, they illicit that kind of response. It makes your body pulsate. It's pain that only he can deliver and heal - pain that he gives to you, that is yours. It's not harsh enough to incapacitate.
But it's strong enough that the back of your teeth chatter. Your muscles pull, lurching forward to collapse in his arms. Like a hot iron searing your tongue - like a needle going through the softest part of it. Your first are closed into tightly as you allow him inside of your very being. Penetration that outweigh physical, violates you to the core and carves you out tenderly. You're awake and alive and ruined beyond whats mortal. It's not so intense usually. Allowing him to sink in the hollow blankness of your mind and dig his sharp claws into the soft matter. Jolts of electricity spatter along your insides - your mouth open with drool sliding down both end. HE is inside of you. HE intends to control you until he decides to stop.
You open your mouth to speak but the pressure is too strong. Another sensation follows you, then - just after you get used to the first. It's different. It's the gift he was born with, the pleasant throb of halovian telepathy.
You feel your jaw go slack at the overwhelming difference between pain. Complete, unyielding euphoria.
You moan. Your physical body reacts - your clit throbbing so hard it stings, making your entire lower body like it will melt off of you. With a shaky inhale, you feel the full breadth of Sunday's internal emotions. Possession and adoration knit themselves together and move like a caress over every inch of your body. Lightheaded from the pressure, your breathing strains.
There's not a single part of you Sunday is not touching intimately - fingers and palms and tongues. His physical hands, soft and placating rub your pussy and drive you to hysteria. His voice is whispering you words of comfort - to trust and hold on. His emotions twist and dominate yours and everything in you sings back in obedience. You want to cry. And you think you will after your adjusted enough to remember where you end and Sunday begins. If that ever happens. If it's possible experiencing the weight of this.
You're boneless underneath his touch. Your physical body and sensations reach heights far beyond and in true, utter desperation you call his name. You're not usually so spoiled but it's too much and you need him. "Sunday. Kiss me."
You can see yourself almost in third person. His laugh is smooth but breathy, as he lays you down on the mattress and leans over you. He kisses you as you've asked, long and deep - and doesn't pull away even as you lick desperately at his lips. Your nails are clenched into your hand, making them bleed.
He speaks to you clearly.
"You love me don't you?"
The words barely make it out of your mouth. Your heart is pounding. It's not like you can lie like this anyway, but you never would. "Yes. Yes, I love you."
He must feel it. Feels you as much as you feel him because he laughs near jovial and kisses you again. His soft lips slide against your shoulder, your collarbones. "Yes. I love you too. But you know that."
Yes. You do know. There's no way you couldn't.
Your entire body feels weak as Sunday lowers himself further and further. His mouth, warm and inviting - leaves open mouth kisses across the entire expanse of your body. Your nerves feel fried, like they're getting pulled like weeds and laid out.
You know what Sunday's mouth feels like well, but like this is too much. Too much to fast, your spine arches off the back of your bed as his breath ghosts over bare cunt. Gasping, you reach for the sheets behind you. No awareness of your surroundings can save you from it.
Ruthless as always, you feel his tongue slip against your folds and lose sight of the remaining threads of your consciousness. Sunday uses his abilities to stabilize you, says something about how you can't pass out yet. You whine at the back of throat but don't tell him to stop. He praises you for that with another long stripe against your clit.
Sunday is good at knowing your body. Pristine and precise to the point of being scary. He lays his tongue flat and latches himself on you, angular in leading you to your orgasm. Your body is so impossibly sensitive that he barely goes for a minute before you feel yourself shuddering in that familiar desperate way. His feelings come in a wave after that, a pink hue in your eyelids as he expresses his unending praise even after your incredibly premature orgasm.
"Sorry," You mutter, barely breathing as everything swirls inside of you. Your stomach flips. He puts his hand up to hold yours. "Didn't ask for permission."
He laughs at that, bright and pretty. He's pleased with you. You're practically vibrating from need. It's alright. You don't have to ask today."
"Are you...aah...sure?"
"Yes. It was polite of you to ask." He praises, and kisses the inside of your thigh. He licks your pussy again this time with deliberate slowness and you cry out his name. "You're so wet for me. So sweet. Should I use my hands at all or do you think you can take me as is, hm, my love?"
"Give it to me," You slur, unsure if you can hold out on it much longer. "Please, please, please."
"No need to beg. I do like to hear it though." He says, mostly to himself. He kisses you as another wave of sensation enraptures you and leave you limp. You feel it all again, strong to the point of feeling numb. Piercing pain followed by overwhelming, lovesick euphoria. Your body goes limp against the bed, fingers curling into the sheets.
Sunday coos at you. He guides your arms around his neck and guides your hands to his shoulders. "You can hurt me a little."
"Don't want to hurt you."
"I want you too," He says, and you think if you were sober enough it'd feel like a confession. "It's alright. You'll never be sharper than I can handle."
You whimper but concede, letting your nails dig into his flesh hard to keep yourself together. Sunday whispers praise against your neck as you go through the impossible motions of it. It's so much longer than he'd normally put you through his and your body is pushed to it's limits. You know that but he seems pleased with you. You want to please him.
"You're doing well." He praises, softer than ever. "A little more. Just a bit."
The world could be ending outside around you, but you would be completely clueless to it. The only thing, the only thought, the only consideration you can make towards Sunday. His adoration does not feel like the flicker of a candle, but like ball of light curling around itself. It is tight, and hot, and always at risk of exploding itself into something cosmic and unreachable. You wonder if it is possible to love too much, but tell yourself that isn't true.
Even as love makes a mess of you in the physical and metaphysical and all else. Even as it flays you open and guts you and licks you until you are all but hollow yearning, you don't think he loves you too much. You just think that he loves you. If Sunday is all the concentrated light in the universe, you are the eternal darkness meant to make him whole. Your love for him just as deep, like a void that never ends - certain, inevitable darkness.
Your tongue feels heave in your mouth as you kiss Sunday again. A lonesomeness comes every minute you spend apart, even brief. Sunday does not leave you alone for long.
Even as he prepares himself to feel you deeper, he whispers and talks to you. Placating praise leaves tears welling at the corners of your eyes but you nod and listen anyway. You wait for him.
"Take a deep breath." He tells you. He positions himself over you again - though you can barely see or understand as you open your eyes. You blink rapidly, trying to get a sense of his expression even as your mind is gripped at the corners and pulled taut at every edge. Color clouds your vision - hazy making your eyes glass over as you attempt to pry them open. Sunday appears before you like an Aeon in all their glory, beautiful and divine. You sniffle at the sight of him, whimpering at the sensation of his hands on your thighs.
"I love you," You whimper at the touch of his cool hands on your hot skin. "Love you,"
"I know," He says, sliding his cock along your folds with such unwavering affection it makes you gasp. The tip throbs along your clit, sticky with need and you whine. "Shh. I'm here."
You allow him whatever he wants. Your head feels full. Nodding, drunk and floating - you squeeze your eyes close as you feel the tip of Sunday's cock push through you. You wish you could see it better, though you've seen it before. Long and pretty, red tip and neat hair at the base. The sensation makes your tummy flutter, your hands up to his shoulders.
Your pussy weeps at the feeling of him finally entering you, something deep in your body begging for him. Your throat closes, eyes watering at the sensation of being so full as he starts to move. Slow but sure, not intended to pain you - restrained. Everything is full. Heart, body, mind - every inch of you harbors Sunday like he's made you in his image. Your lower half throbs and thrums, a euphoric outpour making your legs wrap around his waist. You don't want him to move. You want him to carve himself in you and stay forever.
Tears fall helplessly as he bottoms out. His waist is pretty, you think - as you see where his meets yours. You see his cock sheathed inside and your mouth drops open. Sunday grinds against you, hot as it touches your sweet spot. Never-ending in his chase to please you.
"Sunday," Your voice is hoarse as he moves his hands to rest between your bodies, thumb brushing along your clit. "I'll cum."
It's more than that. You think if you start, there's no way you're going to be able to stop. The thought frightens you almost. Sunday is quick to assure you.
"It's okay," He tells you, and keeps moving and touching to bring you to the very precipice without any mercy at all. "I know. Your body is mine and it's what I wanted. So," He glances up at you with as mile. "Give me what I ask of you."
Your lips form into a pout because you know you can't say no to that. You wonder why this is what he wants from you, but your brain is too scrambled to even try to deduce it.
Feeling an orgasm this way isn't something you've ever experienced in your life. You can't imagine you ever will again. That much pleasure and sensation, life-ruining - feels like falling through space with no assurance of when you'll crash. Just knowing it will come eventually. Your entire body lurches forward at the full sensation, bursting at the seams. Everything around you melts until you're left with nothing but hot white pleasure racketing along each of your exposed, frayed nerves. You fall away and into nothing. It feels so good you can't speak, can't think, can't do anything but let that nasty sob leave your lips in complete and utter ruin. You cry for Sunday - teary, snotty, pathetic, and you want to beg him for something though you aren't sure it's mercy.
He fucks you through it. The repetitive sensation of your body being fucked while you're lifeless makes your ears ring but Sunday fucks you anyway. Fucks you meaner than you though he was capable of, fucks you precise. Lets his cock fuck into you with such force your cunt is forced to remember him until death do you part. You can only feel Sunday. Every atom of you his, his his.
You spend so much time in that high, you barely know when it stops. Sunday fucks you to his own orgasm and you feel that inside of you too, which only makes you cry longer.
You know it's over when Sunday starts to pull away and you feel unimaginably hollow. Even though it was so hard on your body for the entire duration, you find yourself exhausted when you start to sober up and open your eyes. You see Sunday before closing them again. He is as beautiful as always.
__
You think you must pass out for a bit, because a breach of time comes where you see nothing but darkness. When you're awake - you're in a bath in the hotel bathroom.
Sunday has not left your side when you're awake again. He looks worried as he sits on the edge of the tub and waits for you.
The water is warm and comfortable. You are tired and very, very hungry. Sunday looks at you but doesn't realize you're awake even as you gaze at him. He seems sad and that saddens you.
"Sunday? Everything okay?"
His eyes open wide when he hears you speak. Your voice is barely there. He's still naked. You blink. "You're not wearing clothes."
He stares at you for a long, long time. And then, afterwards, his bare hand comes up to your cheek and cups your neck. He kisses you deeply, tenderly and it makes you sigh a little to feel. It's unusual. He laughs against your lips.
"I wanted to bathe with you," He says after a long while. You widen your eyes. "Is that okay?"
"Oh, uhm," You nod feeling self conscious. "That's fine."
"And," he holds your hand in the soapy water and lets his thumb smooth against your finger. "Let's eat together. After. Okay?"
You smile to yourself. "Uh-huh. Okay."
You love him you think. There's no such thing as too much. No matter how it would look to anyone else. You think Sunday loves you too. Enough to ruin you completely and put you back together again.
Sunday pining angstily over you because you're not a halovian...
It hurts him. The more time he spends looking at you, his eyes trailing behind you as you walk the other way, the faint bubbling of your laughter on the other side of the bar in the main hotel lobby – he's so close, always. He knows its better to let go sooner than later.
But he makes a mistake. He indulges himself.
It starts slowly, gently,
He tries to talk to you. He knows you won't hear him. His golden halo vibrates at a gentle frequency. "How was your day?" He asks, and your soft laughter echoes in the distance. "You seem happy" he says, and your thumb taps the small screen of your phone.
His pent up feelings swell and threaten to breach the soft, weak ridges of his heart.
He makes sure no one notices. When his colleagues scatter away after discussing a report while he is on surveillance, his eyes glance around. He can almost make out your figure in the distance – where he usually sees you. And when he does, he feels his heart jump a bit higher than it usually does.
And the one sided conversation continues. "Have you eaten?", "you seem tired", "you must be running late"; a fond smile ghosts his face, as he watches you rush past the crowd into the distance.
He wonders; can you truly not hear him? What would it take for you to?
Robin's smile seems to falter slightly as he asks; "is it possible to craft a halo?"; it seems his dear sister warns him in silence of this fate.
He wonders anyway. It's not the first time he's pushed these thoughts, knowing their futility, knowing the extreme nature of it. His halo glows dimly under the bright view of the Grand Theater as it gently vibrates; he asks you, "what color would you prefer?", "perhaps a certain style would suit you more".
But all of these questions come to a halt. They are as useless as his small talk.
You laugh beside your lover, and perhaps he indulges himself a bit too much. His halo stills, the light evades the sharp edges, leaving it to dimly hang over his head.
It seems the ridges of his heart are breached again – like an overripe fruit left to rot.
note﹒hai hai ! ! decided to write for sunday . . . ooh he’s so dreamie . . . he’s such a red flag but i luv him . . . x.x hehe here’s a special taggie for a special someone ! @cubffections | reblogs are highly appreciated. if you would like to talk to me, send in rqs or thirsts, feel free to send me an ask ! — rubi ♡
this party was going to drive him to the edge. sunday can't contain his excitement as he examined his surroundings . . . the anticipation of seeing his beloved made his heart race. he knows you’re waiting for him, dressed in something that's bound to drive him wild. It's maddening, the way you tease him, playing with his emotions. he steps forward, closing the huge door softly behind him. the scent of you permeates the air, and he can't help but inhale deeply, relishing the familiar comfort it brings. sunday knew you were off talking to a few ipc members here and there, so he took his sweet time trying to find you, savouring every step.
rounding the corner, he spots you in profile, your body bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light. the sight of you in that red lace nightgown, the way your breasts sway with each step, is enough to make his cock ache. it’s an irresistible sight, and sunday moves toward you with predatory intent. but wait . . . why were you speaking with someone else? sunday’s smile faded . . . lost in the immediate shuffle of emotions as he examined the man that was way too close to you for comfort, that dopey smile on that man’s face wasn’t fooling anyone . . and he was aware of that. his vibrant gaze slowly faded away, clouding the atmosphere with nothing but tension. he clenched his fists as hard as he could, enough for his nails to draw blood to his delicate skin.
sunday really couldn’t stand it.
he couldn’t stand seeing you with someone else. even so, he knew very well you were doing this on purpose just to tease him . . . seeing you having such a great time with someone else triggered a primal protective instinct within him. the way you touched that man’s shoulder . . . those pretty doe eyes of yours staring into someone else’s eyes other than his . . . the way your breasts squeezed together when you crossed your arms, fuck. he couldn't ignore the need to discipline you when you behaved like this, and he knew he had to put you in your place.
with a smooth, fluid motion, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you away from the party, away from your new little friend you made and any distractions. “huh . . . ? sunday?—“
“not another word from you, my love.” sunday tried to act firm . . yet he couldn’t stop his heart from skipping more beats than one at the sight of your cleavage in that god-forbidden revealing dress, the memory of how they felt in his hands coming back to him in a rush. sunday swallows thickly, his gaze locked on your exposed cleavage. he can almost smell your arousal now, faint but undeniable. "what were you thinking? were you trying to seduce that fool?“ he was moving closer. He can't resist the temptation, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek . . . his thumb pressing against your lower lip.
"you know I can't resist you, and you know i can’t stand it when you’re all dolled up talking to someone else but me. have you learnt nothing from the punishments i’ve given you? is that it?” a devilish glint sparkles in his eyes, promising an evening full of sin and pleasure. who knew such an angel like him would have eyes this dangerous. sunday leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "you belong to me . . ." he whispers, taking in the scent of your fragrance, “. . . or have you forgotten that?”
you couldn’t help but shiver against his body, you wanted this as much as he did and he could tell, he knew very well you did. “baby . . . i just wanted to play a little prank on you, ‘s nothing serious . . . promise!” sunday kept his mouth shut as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, tugging you flush against his body. his lips find the nape of your neck, where he plants a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. "it is serious when there’s another man involved," he growls, his voice deep and rough with need. “ . . . and you know i don’t share, darling.”
with a hand, he reaches down and eases your pretty lil’ dress up, exposing your ass. his gloved fingers dig into the soft flesh, tracing the curve before giving it a firm, possessive squeeze. "bad, bad girl.” he murmurs, already envisioning the way you’ll shred under his touch. “what am i gonna do with a bad girl like you . .” sunday examines your facial expression, giving your cheek a gentle slap, inserting his thumb inside your mouth. “should i tie your arms around your back? shove my cock inside this slutty mouth of yours . . . or fill you up with my cum? or maybe . . . i should fuck you in-front of everyone else, let them know that you’re mine and mine alone . . do you want that, my love?”
sunday’s lips curve into a wicked smile, and he nods, his hand still firmly gripping your ass. "i wish i can hide you away from the world, angel-face . . . you need to be taught some more.” he warns, his voice thick with lust. “guess those punishments didn’t work on you . . . how pitiful.”
sunday kept your body pinned against the wall, the grip on your ass never wavering, the feel of his beloved pressed against him driving him wild. he knew you both had to be careful . . his little wings would flutter at the loud sound of music from below, there were still people around . . and getting caught was not something he would want. once you both were in the clear, he doesn't waste any time. with one swift movement, he lifts you even further up against the wall, your legs parting to reveal the wetness between them. sunday’s sinful eyes devour the sight, and he can't help the predatory smile that spreads across his face. "such a naughty girl, wet for me already,"
"now, what do you say we do something about that wetness of yours?" he asks, his voice low and suggestive, the air thick with the promise of pleasure and sinfulness. “ . . ‘s not fair i’m gettin’ punished for a prank . .” you murmured, legs trembling under his hold. sunday chuckles darkly, giving your ass a hard slap, the sound vibrating against your skin.
“now, now, baby . . no need to act all innocent," he teases, his hand never leaving your hip . . gently pinning you with his body even more. “i like how feisty you can get, angel face . . . but there's a time and a place for everything, right?" he purrs, his eyes dark with lust. “you won’t be acting all innocent once i fuck you dumb on my cock.” your husband traces his fingers down your chest, pausing to tease your nipples through the lace of the dress. his mouth finds yours, his lips soft as he explores your mouth with his tongue, taking his time to savor the taste of your lips he yearned for all day. when he pulls away, he's breathing heavily. the young male tsked, shaking his head as he reached your chin again, “you know how i feel about disobedience, correct?”
"tonight i’m going to show you who you belong to," he murmurs, reaching for the hem of the dress. with a swift yank, he pulls it over your head, revealing your body in all its glory. “the man you will belong to until the end of time.” sunday’s eyes drink in the sight of your black stockings, licking his lips. "you’re not getting away from me anytime soon, my love, i hope you and your pretty little head realize that.” he asks, his voice thick with desire as he starts to tug the stockings down.
“you’re not escaping me, angel-face.” he growls, his hand gripping the delicate fabric of the pair stockings you wore . . . with a swift and violent motion, he tears them down your legs, the sound of the material tearing filling the empty hall. he relents, pulling back just enough to grip your inner thigh, his grip firm but not oppressive. . . admiring the rip he caused with your stockings, giving him easier access to those pretty panties you wore.
sunday’s eyes gleam with a deranged excitement, gripping your hips, positioning himself at the entrance of your pussy . . giving it one painful slap. "you’ll thank me for this someday," he growls before gently sliding himself inside your wet heat, the friction sending shivers down his spine. “you’ll thank me for claiming you, my dove. you will.”
“a-ah . . sunday . . !” the young halovian’s lips curve into a wicked grin as you gasp, the surprise at the sudden invasion of his cock into your pussy more than apparent. he’s not gentle, not this time. sunday needs to claim you, to make sure you knew who owns you in this moment and forever. his thrusts were harsher than usual, tongue lolling out as you were slowly losing your mind already when his cock filled you completely. “you’re mine, angel. you’ll always be mine," he growls, the possessiveness in his tone thick. he pounds into you with desperation to get his message across your head, the rhythm erratic, as if he's trying to claw his way into your soul . . fingers nearly turning white as they dug into the flesh of your hips, pulling them back to meet each thrust of his cock.
his own heat was rising, the scent of sweat snd sex filling the air around you. with how loud you were moaning, he was almost certain someone would catch you both. “let the heat pass through you, and i’ll mark you. i’ll claim you, my love.” he was going to breed you, to leave no doubt that you were his. his thrusts became more erratic, more urgent, as he fights to push aside the thoughts that threaten to consume him. the single thought of his seed filling you only intensifies his need to dominate, to control . . to keep you all to himself.
"nobody will take you away from me. nobody.” sunday grinds his hips against you, his cock sliding against your tight entrance. sunday already came inside you multiple times the previous times you both had intercourse, but it's not enough. he wants your body to be filled with his seed. his fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he thrusts forward, filling your cunny with his throbbing dick. sunday’s eyes roll back as he relishes in the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around him once more . . only raising his urge fill you up even more. “s—so tight, so perfect. i wish i could fill you up every day . . let everyone know you’re mine.” sweat drips down his forehead as he drives into you with a newfound fervor. each thrust is a powerful assertion, “easy now . . you don’t want us to get caught now, do you?" his voice is a low, gravelly growl, laced with desperation.
“sunday . . f-feels weird . . feels like i’m goin’ stupid . .” drool slipped away from your lips, a chuckle left sunday’s lips as he slowed down his thrusts . . giving you a moment to adjust to his size again, taking that moment to kiss and mark your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin. “you were sent to me by the angels of this world,” he whispers, the possessiveness in his tone unmistakable. “you look so pretty pressed up against the wall like this . . . are you enjoying yourself?”
“fuck . . yes, yes!” sunday’s eyes flare with delight at your whine, your need for him clear, and it makes him even more aggressive in his thrusts. sunday was close, so close. he leaned over your shoulder, his teeth finding their mark on the juncture between their delicate skin of neck and shoulders, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. “mine, mine, mine . . ." he whispered against your ear, burying himself deeper and deeper, caging your hands above your head, holding them there as he filled you completely, ensuring that when you cum, you cum for him and only him. he’s not going to let you go.
with one final, brutal push of his cock, the halovian came inside your aching cunny, flooding your walls with his seed. he held you tightly against his body, shifting gently further into the wall. his release was intense, seed spurting deep inside as some dripped down on the floor. he nestled close against your neck, breathing heavily, refusing to let go of you even after he emptied himself inside. “ . . . so tell me, angel face, did you learn your lesson?”
A Halovian's halo is made up of energy, causing it to be incorporeal and intangible in the real world. However, in the dream world of Penacony, the energy forms into a physical object.
If there was one universal taboo, it would be touching a Halovian's halo. Yet...
Your fingers caress the lower sides of his halo. Running your fingers up and down, it's smooth and a bit too soft to be metal. It's edges are rounded but there's little ridges that dip in between.
You can't help but admire the craft. Halovian halos form based on personal experience. What type of life allows it to become so intricate, you wonder.
When your fingers glide up the points of his halo, it flickers in and out.
"S-sorry," Sunday speaks from below you, he decided to sit to allow you to touch freely, however, "I've never had my halo touched before..."
Pausing your touching, you look down at him. His face is a vibrant shade of red. His wings cover his face in a poor attempt to hide his blush.
"Are you okay? Want me to keep going?"
"Yes, to both of those questions. It's just an intimate gesture among Halovians," he mumbles into his glove.
The points among his halo stand sharp like thorns. Any touch would prick your finger. It suits him, you think. Sunday's status is a thorn that keeps people from approaching him. It serves as his protection.
But he's also soft around the edges, your lips curl up in a grin as you trace the circular arch to the next point. You fondle the halo's eye between two of your fingers.
"Just how intimate?"
Sunday gives you a glare. As best he can anyway. It's not very intimidating with cheeks all red and his wings pressed up against his face.
"Wouldn't you like to know," he shifts his face closer to yours in a challenge.
You would.
a/n: I read the "halovian special issue" for the info btw. probably not reliable but I'm desperate for Sunday and this is all I got, okay 😔
Ft. Sunday ノ Blade ノ Aventurine ノ Dr Ratio ノ Jing Yuan ノ Argenti
sum: unintended one night stands with hsr men wc: 15.7k (roughly 2k - 3k per part)
contains: fempovノpnv (unprotected), creampie, (protected in argenti's), oral (receiving and giving), fingering, handjob, college au in argenti's, royal au in sunday's, both had been drinking in ratio's, legal age gap in jing yuan's, loss of virginity (reader's in sunday's part & argenti's in his part)
a/n: argenti's just so sweet <333
༉ - 2k
The safe house was cramped and freezing, with bare walls that felt as though they'd been forgotten by time. The mission was far from over, and so was the night. Blade had insisted on sharing the only bed, his reasoning being that it made more sense for both of you to rest.
You didn’t argue, at least not openly—but as the minutes dragged on, frustration slowly began to creep in.
But beneath it all, there was an undercurrent, a taut thread of tension that whispered of something unspoken—a frustration you weren’t ready to confront.
The bed was far too small for two people. You could feel his presence constantly, his shoulder brushing against yours with every move you made. It was impossible to ignore the heat radiating from his body, or the quiet tension hanging in the air. The silence between you felt suffocating, far too thick.
You shifted again, desperate to find a comfortable spot, but it was futile. His warmth pressed into your side, too close for comfort. No matter which way you turned, there was only more of him—his body right there, almost too much. You tried to pull away, but the space was so tight you were only met with the sharp edges of the bed, forcing you back into him.
“Stop moving,” Blade muttered, his voice low and laced with irritation. But there was something else, a tension that hinted at a deeper frustration.
“This bed barely fits one person, let alone two,” you shot back, your tone tighter than you intended.
He didn’t miss a beat, “You’re welcome to take the floor.”
It wasn’t a real suggestion, the teasing smirk in his voice was undeniable. You huffed, exasperated, letting out a frustrated sigh as the bed creaked under the smallest of movements. It was maddening—this small space, the constant proximity, his body so close that your nerves hummed with awareness. It wasn’t just frustration anymore. Your heart was racing, and not for reasons you wanted to admit.
Neither of you spoke for what felt like an eternity. The only sounds were your breathing and the ruffling of the duvet. Then Blade's voice sliced through that quiet like a knife. "You're too tense," he said, softer than before but with an edge. "Relax.”
You nearly laughed. Relax? In a bed this small, pressed up against him, with everything swirling between you? It was impossible. Instead, you shifted again, purposefully leaning just a little more into him, testing his patience.
He stiffened, just slightly. "Stop."
It wasn't an order, per se- more of a warning beneath the restraint of desire. The space between you was alive, humming with an unspoken something. Perhaps it was that frustrated buzz of being too close, or perhaps it was simply fatigue from the mission.
"I don't think either of us is getting any sleep tonight," you murmured.
Blade's response was a low grumble, his voice rougher than before. "You're right." Then, ever so slightly, he moved closer, closing the gap until you could feel the heat of his body right against yours again. That subtle shift was enough for your breath to catch in your throat, and the space between you began pulsating with something far more dangerous than mere proximity.
He shifted; his eyes razor-sharp as he spoke, his voice low, almost too calm. "If you're going to keep fidgeting, just say what it is you want.”
You shifted again, your body moving against his in a slow, deliberate motion. The air between you wasn’t just charged—it was thick with unspoken desires and the undeniable pull of him. His heat radiated against your back, his presence a magnetic force that sent a shiver cascading down your spine.
"I don’t know what I want," you murmured, your voice a betrayal. The words faltered under the weight of their lie, and you knew he heard it too. You did know and so did he.
Blade's eyes narrowed, his gaze nearly predatory. "Don't play games," he warned, his voice low.
You could feel the hardness of his erection pressing against your ass, insistent and unmistakable. It sent an electric jolt right to your core, making your breath hitch. Knowing you did that to him-that you could make this cold, calculating man lose control-sent an electric thrill through you.
You bit your lip, fighting a moan as Blade's erection pressed even harder against your ass. The intense heat coming off his body seeped into your skin. You knew you should pull away, maintain the professional distance between, but temptation just proved too strong.
You arched your back, pushing against him. A low groan rumbled from his lips and you could feel his control slipping, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his need.
"Don't tease," he growled, low and rough with desire. His fingers gripped your skin, firm and possessive, leaving faint crescents in their wake. A warning, a promise. You should stop this—walk away before the fire consumes you both. But you didn’t. Instead, your body moved of its own accord, your back arching again, pressing your ass against him with deliberate insistence.
The low, guttural sound that escaped his lips was almost feral, reverberating through you and igniting something wild. Blade’s hand slid up your thigh, his fingertips grazing the edge of your shorts. You knew you should probably stop this but as his fingers hovered, promising more, the pull of temptation was too strong and you couldn’t push him away. You didn’t want to.
"Blade." you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.
His fingers curled around your thigh, jerking you closer. "Don't say my name like that," he growled, his voice low and rough with wanting. "Not unless you mean it."
You reached back deliberately, slowly, your hand finding his wrist. But instead of pushing him away, you pulled his hand higher, guiding his fingers to the damp heat between your legs. A low groan escaped his lips as he felt how wet you were, how much you wanted this.
Blade's fingers circled your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body. You bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan. His touch was electric, making your body shake with need.
His fingers slid lower, teasing your entrance, and making you ache for more. You arched your back, pressing your ass harder against his bulge. The friction was maddening; the heat between your bodies was almost unbearable.
"Please," you whispered. The word slipped out before you could catch it. "Blade, please."
The low growl was his immediate response, and his fingers slipped inside you. "Fuck," he growled, sounding rough with desire. "You're so wet."
You gasped as Blade's fingers plunged deep inside you, your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more. His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he thrust his fingers in and out, setting a brutal pace that had you seeing stars.
"That’s it-" he purred, his voice low and rough, sending shivers skittering down your spine. His lips brushed your ear as he spoke, the words a seductive growl. "Take what you need."
The thought of his cock filling you, made your head spin. Your hand moved instinctively, fingers fumbling in a desperate attempt to free his cock. Blade's breath caught as your fingers reached around to his cock, stroking him through the fabric of his pants. You turned in his arms, facing him now, his eyes were dark with lust as you straddled him. "I want you," you breathed.
His hands gripped your hips, "Are you sure?" he growled, his voice rough with restraint.
You nodded, your lips skimming his.
His resolve shattered. You reached between your bodies, your hand slipping inside his pants to free him. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy in your hand, the tip slick with precum. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slowly, teasing him, delighting in the low, guttural sound that rumbled through his chest. Blade’s control cracked further as his hips jerked into your hand.
"I'm sure," you breathed, positioning yourself above him. "I want you to fuck me, Blade. I need it."
With that, you sank down onto him, taking his cock deep inside you in one smooth motion. A low moan tore from your throat at the sensation of being stretched and filled so completely. Blade's hands tightened on your hips, his fingers leaving bruises in their wake.
"Fuck," he growled, his head falling back against the pillow. "You feel so good."
You started to move, rising up and sinking back down, finding a rhythm that had sparks of pleasure shooting through your body with each thrust. Blade matched your movements, his hips snapping up to meet yours, driving himself deeper inside you.
The room was filled with the sounds of your moans and the slap of skin on skin, the bed creaking beneath you while you rode him.
"Harder," you demanded, your nails raking down his chest. "Fuck me harder."
Blade's response was to flip you onto your back, never once slipping out of you. He loomed over you, his eyes wild and hungry, his hips pistoning into you with a force that had the headboard slamming against the wall.
Your legs coiled around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, urging him to claim you fully. A moan tore from your lips, unbridled and desperate. "Yes," you gasped, your fingers clutching the sheets as his cock stretched and filled you, the sensation both overwhelming and addicting. "Don’t stop—just like that."
He silenced you with a bruising kiss, his mouth crashing against yours with a fervour that bordered on feral. His tongue danced against yours, matching the rhythm of his hips, exploring and claiming. You met him with equal hunger, your teeth grazing his bottom lip, the taste of copper blooming as you bit down. The sharp pain only seemed to drive him wilder.
Blade’s rhythm faltered for a moment, becoming chaotic, each thrust harder, deeper, as if he was losing control. His breath was ragged against your mouth, his groan reverberating low in his chest. "Fuck," he growled, the word guttural, strained, trembling with need. "I’m so close."
Your nails raked down his sweat-slicked back, leaving fiery trails along his skin. "Me too," you managed between breathless gasps, your body arching into him, seeking the climax coiling tight within you. "Don’t stop. Please don’t stop."
His movements turned punishing, each drive a collision of raw power and desperation, his body demanding your surrender. The pressure inside you built to a fever pitch, a tether about to snap. Blade’s voice cut through the haze, low and commanding, "Come for me, pretty girl."
Those words, spoken with such command, were enough to send you over the edge. Your body convulsed, your inner walls clamping down around Blade's cock as your orgasm crashed over you in waves of intense, overwhelming pleasure.
"Yes -God yes!" you cried out, your head thrown back.
Blade followed, his hips slamming into you one final time as his release overtook him. His guttural groan was almost primal, his cock throbbing inside you as he poured himself into you, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm as some of his cum dripped out, running down your thighs.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was of your mingled breaths. Your bodies shone with sweat, were entwined. His weight pressed you into the mattress, exhaustion in his muscles.
Blade’s lips brushed against your temple, softer now, a contrast to the raw passion that had consumed you both moments before. And as your heartbeats slowed, his presence became the only thing you knew—a warmth, a gravity, pulling you under.
Blade rolled onto his back beside you, his arm pulling you close. You snuggled into his side, your head resting on his chest.
"That was..." you started, but words failed you.
Blade chuckled softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "It was."
༉ - 2.8k
The corridors are quieter than usual tonight, save for the faint echo of your footsteps and the sound of Sir Sunday’s armour as he walks beside you. You have done this many times before: this midnight escort from the ballroom to your chambers, accompanied by your knight. But there was something about tonight that felt different and maybe that’s because the event was hosted to find you a suitor.
The silence stretches, broken only by the soft rustle of your gown against the polished floor. His presence always feels heavier, and there's an edge to the air between you, something unsaid pressing against the confines of propriety.
"They were all good choices," Sunday says at last, in a low and even tone.
Your brow furrows. "Were they?"
He doesn't look at you as he replies. "I'd expect so. The court wouldn't invite anyone unworthy.".
You look over at him, catching the faint tension in his jaw. There's something restrained in the way he speaks tonight, something tightly wound beneath the surface. "And yet, I didn't choose any of them.".
He exhales sharply, the sound barely audible over his steps. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”
You slow your pace just enough that he has to adjust his stride to match. “Would you like to know them?”
His gaze flickers toward you briefly, a flash of gold under the dim light. “I doubt they’re for me to know, Your Highness.”
You stop to face him. The soft light casts shadows across his features, sharp and unreadable as always, but there’s something in his stance—a slight hesitation, the way his hand hovers just above the hilt of his sword—that betrays him.
"Maybe they are," you say, softer now, your voice barely enough to draw his attention fully.
For a moment, the distance between you feels insurmountable, though it's only a step or two. He doesn't speak, doesn't move, but his eyes search yours, as if trying to piece together what you're not saying aloud.
"I dismissed them all because none of them felt…" You pause, to think over the words. "....Right."
Sunday's grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. "You'll have to choose eventually," he says, deliberately keeping his voice neutral. "The court won't let you wait forever.".
"And what if I don't want to?"
The question hangs in the air, daring him to respond. You watch the flicker of something in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or maybe something deeper, something he’s worked too hard to keep buried.
“You’re the princess,” he says, but the words are softer this time, almost hesitant.
"And you're my knight," you reply, closing the distance.
He doesn't back up, but you notice the way his shoulders tense. "Exactly. And that is all I can be.".
Your breath catches at how his voice drops on the last word. There's no anger in it, no bitterness—only a quiet resignation.
"You think so, huh?" you whisper, not much louder than a whisper.
He turns away, tongue against his cheek. "I do."
You lift a hand before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing against the cold steel of his chest plate. The contrast between the armour and the warmth of the man beneath it sends a shiver through you. He freezes at the contact, his gaze snapping back to yours.
"Sunday…". His name is too familiar on your lips, but you can't stop.
"Don't." His voice is rough, but his hand rises, fingers curling loosely around your wrist. He doesn't pull you away, though; he doesn't move at all. "If you say anything else, I won't be able to forget it."
"Maybe I don't want you to."
The words have barely left your lips when he takes a step closer, erasing the distance between you. His eyes still remain so intense that they're pinning you in place, but there's a flicker of uncertainty there, too.
"This isn't a decision you can take lightly," he says in a low, hoarse voice.
"I already have."
He watches you, a silence building between you, gaining more and more weight with each passing second. Then, as if something inside him finally snaps, he lets go of your wrist only to frame your face with both hands.
"Tell me to stop," he whispers, his forehead against yours.
You don't.
His breath catches as you lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When you open them again, "I won't ask again," he whispers, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.
You swallow hard, your heart pounding so loudly that you are sure he can hear it. But you don't step back. You don't tell him to stop. You simply tilt your chin up, just a fraction, an invitation he doesn't need twice.
His lips brush against yours, tender at first, then pressing. It's the sort of kiss that seems like one great confession, revelation, and promise all at once. His hands move to the small of your back, drawing you closer, and you can't help but melt into him, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his tunic.
When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathing hard. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and there’s a hunger in his gaze that makes your stomach flip.
"We can't…" he begins, but the words are half-hearted, not very convincing.
"We can," you correct, your voice steadier than you feel.
He looks at you for a long moment, something fierce and tender warring in his expression. Then, with a low groan, he surges forward again, capturing your lips with his own. This kiss is harder, more urgent, and you can feel the way his body trembles against yours.
“Your chambers” he mumbles against your mouth. “Now.”
Without any warning, he sweeps you into his arms, cuddling you against his chest as he heads down the hall. Your heart races with the sudden motion, but you do nothing to protest it-merely wrapping your arms around his neck for balance.
The castle is quiet at this time of night, most people having gone to bed. You feel as though you have the whole world to yourselves as Sunday carries you swiftly through the halls, his footsteps echoing in the stillness.
He doesn’t wait around when you reach your chambers: he kicks the door shut behind you and pins you against it with his body, hands roaming over your curves, mapping out your form through the layers of your gown.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he growls, his lips trailing hot kisses along your jawline. “Wanted you.”
You arch into him, your head falling back as you let him in closer. "Then take me," you whisper, fingers curling in his hair.
He makes a low sound in his throat, something between a groan and a growl. His fingers find the fastenings of your dress and begin to undo them one by one, till the fabric pools at your feet. You stand before him clad in nothing other than your chemise, the thin material doing little to mask the signs of your body's reaction to his touch.
His gaze rakes over you, hungry and appreciative. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist.
He lifts you easily and sets you down on the bed. The sheets are cold against your bare skin as he lays you down, his body following yours, looking down at you with an intensity that takes the breath from your lungs.
"You sure about this?" he asks low, his voice rough with emotion.
You nod, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life," you whisper.
That seems to be the only confirmation he needs. He bends down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that sends a tide of heat through your body, his tongue plunging into your mouth to taste you thoroughly. You moan against his lips, your hands roving over his hard back.
His lips trail down your neck, tracing a path of fire in their wake. He pauses to suckle at your pulse point, and you can feel the way your heart races beneath his tongue. His hands slip under your chemise, and his calloused fingers skim the sensitive skin of your stomach.
"Sunday-" you gasp, arching into his touch.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “Just relax.”
You do your best to listen, focusing on the feel of his hands on your skin. He explores you at leisure, learning every dip and curve, every spot that makes you sigh or whimper. By the time he carefully removes your panties, you're trembling with need.
He looks up at you, his eyes dark with wanting. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he says, his fingers teasing at your entrance.
"Don't-please-."
He pauses, his fingers stilling above your pussy. His eyes meet yours, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. "Are you-" he starts, his voice soft.
You nod, knowing exactly what he’s going to ask, "I've never…”
His expression softens further, if that’s even possible. He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises. “We’ll take this slow.”
As you nod, he drops between your legs and his breath ghosts over your folds. He starts off slow, his tongue tracing delicate patterns and teasing you with light touches until, gradually, the pressure builds up, licking and sucking on your clit until you're gasping and writhing beneath him.
His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as he works you with his mouth. He is patient, very attentive, judging by your reactions and modulating his technique accordingly. When you're trembling near the edge, he slips a finger inside you, then two, stretching you slowly.
"That's it," he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin.
He groans against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers through you. "You taste so fucking good," he mumbles, his words just a little slurred. "Can't get enough."
As he continues to lap at your clit, his free hand slides down his own body, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. You can hear the slick sound of skin on skin as he begins to stroke himself.
"Fuck," he gasps, his hips bucking into his hand. "Want to be inside you so badly."
He redoubles his efforts, his tongue delving deep, his fingers pumping faster. The dual sensations are almost too much to bear, and you can feel your orgasm building, your inner walls starting to flutter around his fingers.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained. "Come for me, baby. I want to taste you."
With a few more well-placed licks, you're there, crying out as pleasure crashes over you in waves. He laps at your release, his own hand moving frantically over his cock, his groans muffled from where he’s buried himself against your folds.
He easily settles himself between your thighs, his cock at your entrance. His eyes were filled with a mixture of lust and tenderness as he looked down at you.
"You ready?" he asks, his voice low and rough.
You nod, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "Yes," you whisper. "I'm ready."
With a low groan, he starts to push inside, slow and careful with his movements. There's only a slight sting as he pushes in deeper, his eyes widening in concern.
"Does it hurt?" he asks, his brow furrowed.
You shake your head, reaching up to cup his face. "No, I'm okay. Please, don't stop."
He searches your eyes for a moment, then nods, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss.
You can feel every inch of him as he stretches you, filling you in a way you never have been filled before; it's agonisingly slow, but he refuses to be selfish and make this about his own pleasure.
"Fuck," he gasps, his forehead resting against yours. "You feel incredible."
He gives you a moment to adjust, his hips pressed flush against yours. He starts to move, his thrusts slow and shallow at first. Each drag of his cock against your sensitive walls sends sparks of pleasure through you, and you can't help but moan.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained. "Let me hear you."
He increases his pace gradually, his hands gripping your hips for leverage. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your gasps and cries.
He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans. His tongue delves into your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his hips.
"You're taking me so well," he praises, his breath hot against your ear. "Such a good girl."
His hips roll in a steady rhythm, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through you. One hand slides up your side, cupping your breast and thumbing your nipple. The dual sensations make you gasp into his mouth.
"You're so beautiful," he breathes, his eyes locked on yours. "So perfect."
He shifts slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts. You cry out as he hits a particularly sensitive spot deep inside you.
"There," he groans, doing it again. "Is that good?"
You can only nod, your nails digging into his back as he drives you higher and higher. The pleasure builds with each stroke, coiling tighter and tighter in your core.
He groans, his hips snapping forward as he buries himself deep inside you. "Fuck, angel," he pants, his voice strained with pleasure. "I love you. I've loved you for so long."
The confession bursts from his lips in something like prayer, and his eyes shine with its vehemence. It is as though a dam has burst inside him and all his pent-up feelings are pouring out in this moment.
"I know you're s'posed to pick one from the court," he goes on, his pistoning never flagging. "But don't. Please. Don't give yourself to anybody else."
His hands clamp down on your hips, fingers digging in soft. "Choose me," he begs, his voice cracking. "Be mine. Only mine."
You can almost feel the desperation in his words, the raw need. It's readily apparent how the thought of you with another man is tearing him apart.
"I'll do anything," he whispers, his forehead against yours. "Anything to keep you. Just say you'll be mine."
His words are like a warm bath washing over you, filling your heart full of something that has nothing to do with physical pleasure. In this moment, you know without a single doubt that you want to be his and his alone.
"I'm yours," you breathe, legs wrapping around his waist. "Now and always." He surges forward, capturing your lips in a reverent, passionate kiss. He picks up speed, his hips moving faster, harder, as though he's trying to pour every ounce of love he has into you.
"I love you," he gasps against your mouth. "I love you so much."
His thrusts grow more erratic, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Fuck," he groans. "I'm close. So close."
You could feel him throbbing inside of you, his cock pulsing with each stroke. Your pleasure was mounting to a crescendo as well, your inner walls fluttering around him.
"Come with me," he pleads, voice ragged. "I want to feel you come undone." His hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit. He rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub, and that's all it takes. You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, your body shaking with the force of it.
He follows a moment later, his hips stuttering as he spills himself deep inside you. He falls on top of you, his weight pinning you to the mattress. His cock still is buried deep inside, pulsating with aftershocks of his orgasm.
He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "That was... incredible," he murmurs, his voice muffled.
His arms wrap around you, holding you close. It's a protective gesture, as if he's afraid you might slip away if he lets go.
"Stay with me," he whispers, his lips brushing your pulse point. "Don't leave me."
You curl into him, relishing the feeling of his body against yours. "I'm not going anywhere," you promise. "I'm right here."
He sighs contentedly, his grip on you loosening slightly. "Good," he murmurs. "Because I don't think I could bear it if you married any of them."
You smile, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his back. In this moment, everything feels right. The world outside might be chaos, but here, in his arms, you're safe. You're home.
༉ - 3.1k
Argenti sat on the floor of your dorm room, trying his best not to feel completely out of place. He’d been here a few times already—enough to recognise the familiar scent of citrus from the candles you always kept burning. But even so, it still felt a little surreal. You, the girl everyone at the university seemed to know and admire, had somehow invited him into your space.
He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened. One night, a random chat at a party turned into shared laughs, then another conversation, until the two of you were talking long after your friends had left. Since then, you’d found reasons to hang out, even though it seemed to baffle everyone around you. You, the social butterfly, and him, the reserved guy who somehow ended up regularly meeting up with you outside of classes.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” you suddenly said, breaking the comfortable silence as you lounged on your bed.
“What’s weird?” Argenti asked, glancing up from the guitar pick he’d been absentmindedly fiddling with.
“Us.” You made a vague gesture between the two of you, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “I mean, we’re just very different”
Argenti blinked, unsure of what you meant. Was it a good different? Or a bad one? “I—I guess,” he stammered, his voice unsure. “But it works, doesn’t it?”
You tilted your head, studying him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “Yeah, it does,” you finally said, your smile softening. “You’re sweet, Argenti.”
“Thanks?” he mumbled, his face warming up. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but the compliment made him feel a little lighter.
You laughed at his blush suddenly wondering if there was a reason he became so flustered over small things. Sitting up, you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
Argenti froze, his face going red in an instant. “Uh… why?”
You shrugged, clearly amused by his reaction. “Because you’ve got that look. You know, like you’ve thought about it a lot but never actually done it.”
“I don’t… have a look,” he muttered, but even his awkward attempt to brush it off didn’t work. “But no. I haven’t.”
Your eyes widened, and then you laughed—a genuine, playful laugh that felt more teasing than mean. “Wait, seriously? Not even like a dare or something?”
He shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at you. “No,” he mumbled, feeling heat crawl up his neck. “I just… never really had the chance.”
You didn’t let up. “You’re telling me you’ve gone your whole life without even one kiss?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” he blurted out, immediately regretting it. He winced, wishing he could take the words back.
“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, the teasing gleam in your eyes shifting into something more playful. “Are you saying you want to change that?”
“I—I didn’t mean—” Argenti stammered, his face burning. But then your hand brushed lightly against his arm, and he looked up to find you studying him, a mysterious glint in your eyes.
“You want me to teach you?” you asked, your voice quiet now, though still carrying that playful edge.
His heart skipped a beat. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to—”
“Relax, Argenti,” you said, leaning in just a little closer. “I’m not doing this out of pity. Trust me, you’re a good looking guy, pretty face.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or combust, but before he could say anything, you were already moving in, your gaze locked on his as you tilted your head. “Okay,” you murmured, voice soft. “Here’s how this works. Don’t overthink it. Just… follow my lead, alright?”
He nodded, his thoughts jumbled as he fought to find his bearings. Then your lips brushed against his—gentle, almost tentative, testing the waters. It was quick, almost too quick, and when you pulled away, you studied him with an amused expression, clearly pleased by the way he’d reacted.
Argenti’s mind spun for a moment, still reeling from the sudden soft pressure of your lips. But as your eyes met his again, something inside him clicked. The hesitation, the awkwardness—it all seemed so distant now. This was real, and there was no way he was going to let it slip away.
Without thinking, his hand rose to cup your cheek, gently pulling you toward him. His heart raced as the space between you vanished, and in a smooth motion, he leaned in again, this time with a newfound confidence.
The kiss came quickly, without hesitation, and it was unrestrained, still soft, but with a sense of urgency he hadn’t expected. He kissed you with intention now, the sweetness and eagerness spilling out in the way his lips moved against yours. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you just a little closer as if he wanted to lose himself in the moment. He’d never felt anything like this before.
The kiss wasn’t perfect. He stumbled a little, his lips not quite finding the rhythm, a few moments of clumsy movement as he tried to keep up. But in that imperfection, there was something pure. There was something real about it. Each time his lips brushed against yours, a little out of sync, you were patient, guiding him back.
It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a seasoned kisser. He made up for it with sweetness—lingering just a little longer than necessary, his hand never leaving your cheek, as if it was the only thing that mattered in the world. Each time he leaned back in, he was driven by a need to prove that he could do this, that he wanted to be here with you.
When he finally pulled back, his breath coming in shallow gasps, he couldn’t help but glance up at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as if he’d just run a marathon. His lips were swollen, and a nervous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “I probably messed that up.”
But when your gaze met his, there was no judgement, only amusement—and something softer, something deeper in your eyes.
“No,” you said gently, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You didn’t mess it up. It was… sweet. Really sweet.”
Argenti’s heart did a flip at the praise, and the knot in his stomach began to loosen. “I just—wanted to do it right,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t want to mess it up with you.”
You smiled, that familiar teasing gleam still in your eyes, but now with something warmer behind it. “Well, you didn’t. And if it helps, I think you’ve got a lot of potential. It’s just… practice.” You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling mischievously. “And maybe a little bit of confidence. But don’t worry, I’m happy to teach you.”
The words sent a thrill through him. “I think I could learn from you,” he said, his voice a little breathless, his smile genuine. He was starting to feel more at ease, less unsure of himself. “I don’t mind practising.”
You laughed softly, your fingers brushing across his cheek, sending another wave of warmth through him. “Good,” you said, your voice light but sincere. “Because I’m not letting you off that easily.”
He leaned in, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one deeper, more urgent. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, eliminating any distance between your bodies.
He could feel the warmth of your skin through your clothes, could smell the faint scent of your perfume. It was dizzying, overwhelming in the best way. He lost himself in the sensation, in the taste of your lips, the softness of your mouth.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard. Argenti's eyes were dark, pupils dilated with desire. "I want..." he started, then faltered, unsure how to put the ache inside him into words.
"What do you want, Argenti?" you asked, your voice a husky whisper. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt.
"I want to touch you," he breathed, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. "I want to see you" He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. "I want you."
He watched as your eyes searched his face, saw the moment understanding dawned. A slow, seductive smile spread across your lips, and your fingers tightened on his shirt. "Then show me what you want." you whispered, your voice low and sultry.
Argenti's breath caught, his body responding instantly to your words. Emboldened, he reached for you, his hands finding the hem of your shirt. Slowly, he lifted it, revealing inch after inch of smooth, warm skin. He drank in the sight of you, committing every curve and dip to memory.
When the shirt fell away, he leaned in, pressing his lips to the hollow of your throat. You tilted your head back, a soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth moved lower, trailing kisses along your collarbone. His hands roamed your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra.
He could feel your heart racing beneath his touch, could hear the hitch in your breath as his fingers found the clasp of your bra. With a deft movement, he unhooked it, letting the garment fall away. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, naked from the waist up, your breasts full and perfect.
Unable to resist, he cupped one in his palm, marvelling at the feel of it, the softness. He thumbed your nipple, watching it pebble under his touch. Your breath hitched, and you arched into him, wordlessly encouraging him.
He took the hardened nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as he lavished attention on your breasts, alternating between gentle sucking and teasing nips.
Your skin was hot beneath his hands, your body pliant and responsive. He could feel the heat building between your legs, could sense your arousal growing with each passing moment. It spurred him on, fuelled his own desire.
“Let me-” you whispered, wanting to help him out, noticing his obvious bulge.
Argenti's breath hitched as your hands moved to his belt, your fingers deftly working to undo the buckle. He watched, transfixed, as you slowly unzipped his jeans, your knuckles brushing against his straining erection.
He swallowed hard, his hips twitching involuntarily at the contact. "I want to make you feel good too," he managed to say, his voice rough with need.
You smiled, a wicked gleam in your eyes. "Patience," you purred, pushing his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.
You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip. Argenti groaned, his head falling back as pleasure coursed through him. "Fuck," he gasped, his hips bucking into your touch.
You increased your pace, your grip firm but gentle. Your other hand cupped his balls, rolling them in your palm. "It’s pretty" you murmured, your breath hot against his ear.
Argenti's heart raced as your hand worked him over, pleasure sparking through his veins with each stroke. His cock throbbed in your grip, the sensation almost too intense to bear.
"Your hand—it feels incredible," he panted, his voice strained with need.
You smiled, clearly enjoying the effect you were having on him. Your thumb swiped over the sensitive head, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had gathered there. You lowered your head, your tongue darting out to lick a long stripe up his shaft. Argenti's breath caught, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
You took him into your mouth, your lips stretching around his girth. Your tongue swirled around him as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each descent. The wet heat of your mouth was exquisite, driving Argenti wild with pleasure. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping tightly as he fought the urge to thrust into you.
You hummed around him, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.
Argenti's grip on your hair tightened as you took him deeper, your throat constricting around his throbbing cock. The sensation was indescribable, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Pleasure built at the base of his spine, coiling tighter and tighter with each pass of your tongue.
He could feel his orgasm approaching, the tightening of his muscles. But he didn't want this to end, not yet. He wanted to savour every moment, every sensation.
He quickly pulled you off him, his cock slipping from your lips with a wet pop. You looked up at him, your lips swollen, your eyes heavy-lidded with desire.
"I need to be inside you," he rasped, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you around me when I come."
You chuckle at his neediness as you lean across your bed, grabbing a condom from your drawer.
Argenti's eyes widened as you retrieved a condom from your drawer, a mix of anticipation and nerves fluttering in his stomach. He watched as you tore open the packet and then rolled the condom onto his cock, your fingers brushing against his sensitive skin, making him shudder.
Once the condom was in place, you turned around, giving Argenti a tantalising view of your ass as you bent over slightly. You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down your legs, revealing your pussy to him.
Argenti's mouth went dry at the sight, his cock twitching with renewed interest. He stepped forward, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he pressed himself against you. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin.
Argenti's hands trembled slightly as he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his condom-sheathed cock nudging against your slick folds. He could feel the heat emanating from your core, beckoning him to plunge inside.
"I've never done this before," he admitted softly, his voice tinged with a mix of nervousness and excitement. "I want to do it right. I want to make you feel good."
You glanced back at him over your shoulder, a reassuring smile on your lips. "Just go slow," you murmured, reaching back to guide him forward. "And don't worry about doing it perfectly. Just focus on how it feels."
Argenti nodded, taking a deep breath as he began to push forward. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced - the tight heat of your pussy enveloping him, drawing him deeper. He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he savoured the feeling. Inch by inch, he sank into you, until he was buried to the hilt.
Argenti bit down on his lip, fighting the urge to come right then and there. The sensation of being inside you was overwhelming, your tight heat gripping him like a vice. He could feel every flutter of your walls around his cock, every pulse of your arousal.
"Shit-” he gasped, his hips twitching involuntarily.
He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. He wanted this to last, wanted to make it good for you.
Slowly, carefully, he began to move, pulling out until just the tip remained inside before sliding back in. He set a steady rhythm, rocking into you with deep, measured strokes. Your moans filled the room, spurring him on. He could feel your body responding to his, your hips pushing back to meet his thrusts.
"Is this good?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.
Your reassuring moans and the way your body moved against his told Argenti all he needed to know. He continued to thrust, gradually increasing his pace as he grew more confident.
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your breathy gasps and his low groans. Sweat beaded on his brow as he lost himself in the sensation, in the feel of your body beneath his. He could feel his orgasm building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in his core. But he held back, determined to make sure you reached your peak first.
His hand slid around your hip, finding your clit. He rubbed in slow circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Argenti's fingers worked your clit in time with his thrusts, the dual stimulation driving you closer to the edge. He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around him as your pleasure mounted.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice low and rough. "Come for me. Let me feel you."
Your moans grew louder, more urgent, and Argenti knew you were close. He redoubled his efforts, thrusting harder, faster, his fingers circling your clit with increasing pressure.
Suddenly, your back arched, your head thrown back in ecstasy as your orgasm crashed over you. Your pussy clenched around him, rippling along his cock, and Argenti groaned, the sensation pushing him over the brink.
With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he came hard. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him, his vision whiting out as he rode out the intensity of his release.
For a long moment, neither of you moved, both lost in the aftermath of your shared climax. Finally, Argenti slipped out of you, disposing of the condom before collapsing beside you on the bed. He turned his head to look at you, a lazy smile on his lips.
Argenti's heart swelled at the gentle press of your lips against his forehead. The simple, tender gesture spoke volumes, conveying a depth of care and affection that he'd never experienced before.
He reached up, his hand cupping your cheek as he pulled you down for a soft, lingering kiss. It was different from the heated passion of before, this kiss. It was sweet, almost chaste, a physical manifestation of the connection growing between you.
When you pulled away, he gazed into your eyes, his own shining with a mix of contentment and wonder.
“You’re a natural.” you joke with a soft laugh as you wrap your arms around him.
Argenti chuckled, the sound deep and rich as he rested his head against your chest. "I think I'm a quick learner."
༉ - 2.5k
The casino floor was alive with energy, especially at your table. You and Aventurine had been on a streak for so long it was starting to turn heads. Chips piled up in neat stacks in front of you both, the gleam of gold and the scent of success making the night feel almost unreal.
“Another win,” Aventurine announced casually as the dealer slid another stack his way. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, the picture of effortless cool. “But let’s be real here. This run? It’s all because of me. Clearly, I’m your lucky charm.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms as you gave him an incredulous look. “You’re my lucky charm? I think you’ve got that backwards. If anything, you should be thanking me.”
He chuckled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Oh, is that how it is? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like I’ve been carrying this team all night.”
You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Carrying? Please. I’m pretty sure the only thing you’ve carried is that overinflated ego of yours.”
Aventurine laughed, a low, warm sound that sent a pleasant thrill up your spine. He tilted his head, his gaze locking with yours in a way that made your pulse quicken. “You talk a big game for someone who wouldn’t be winning without me. Admit it—you’re having fun because I’m here.”
You leaned in closer, matching his energy. “Oh, absolutely,” you said, voice dripping with mock sincerity. “It’s so much fun watching you pretend you’re the reason we’re winning when we both know who’s really the lucky one here.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, the playful challenge in them unmistakable. “Careful, or I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”
You grinned, tapping a finger on the table. “What can I say? You’re entertaining, like a fancy slot machine with nice hair.”
Aventurine barked a laugh, his shoulders shaking. “A slot machine? That’s the best you’ve got?” He leaned even closer, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got some nerve.”
“And you love it,” you said with a wink, surprising even yourself with the boldness of your words.
Aventurine’s grin widened, his eyes glinting as he tilted his head slightly. “You know what? You might be right. Guess I’ve got a weakness for confident types.”
The air between you shifted, the playful banter taking on a sharper edge. You refused to back down, instead, you leaned in, your faces just inches apart now.
“Careful, Aventurine,” you said, your voice soft but laced with teasing. “If you keep flirting like that, I might start thinking you’re not just here for the gambling.”
His gaze flicked to your lips for just a fraction of a second before returning to your eyes, his smirk now decidedly more dangerous. “Maybe I’m not.”
The tension between you and Aventurine was electric, the noise of the casino fading into a distant hum. His smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with mischief and something more daring. Slowly, deliberately, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, metallic keycard.
He twirled it between his fingers like it was a chip, the move impossibly smooth. “You’re good at reading between the lines,” he said, his voice low and inviting. “Think you can figure out what this means?”
Your gaze flicked to the keycard, then back to his face, your heart pounding as your brain scrambled for a witty retort. “Oh, I don’t know,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like you’re trying to skip ahead in the game. Aren’t you supposed to take me out to dinner first?”
Aventurine chuckled, the sound rumbling and warm. He slid the card across the table, stopping it just in front of your hand.
You picked up the card slowly, holding it between your fingers as if weighing your options. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” he said smoothly, leaning back with a confidence that was infuriatingly attractive. “Unless you count spending more time with me. But if that’s too much of a gamble, I’d understand.”
He collected his chips as he stood up, leaving the table, “Don’t keep me waiting too long. Wouldn’t want that luck to run out, now would we?”
You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you stood, slipping the card into your pocket. “Not a chance.”
—
You locate the room number on the keycard and slide it into the lock. The door swings open to reveal a spacious suite, all sleek lines and modern decor, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city lights below.
Aventurine is leaning against the wall by the window, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He turns as you enter, his eyes glinting in the dim light.
"I wasn't sure if you'd actually show," he says, his voice a low purr. "But I'm glad you did."
You close the door behind you, turning to face him fully. "And miss an opportunity like this? Not a chance."
He pushes off the wall, closing the distance between you with a few easy strides. "Opportunity for what, exactly?" he asks, his gaze roaming over your features with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.
You meet his eyes boldly, refusing to be intimidated. "For whatever you have planned," you say, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart.
Aventurine's lips curve into a smirk, his hand reaching out to trace the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch. "Careful what you wish for," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your skin. "You might just get it."
Your pulse races at his touch, desire and anticipation coiling tightly in your belly. "Promises, promises," you breathe, tilting your head into his palm.
His answering chuckle is dark and full of promise. "Oh, I always keep my promises," he says, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.
And then his lips are on yours, hot and demanding, and you're lost in the taste and feel of him, the world falling away until there's nothing but the two of you, caught up in a dance.
You melt into the kiss, your hands coming up to tangle in Aventurine's hair, pulling him closer as you press your body against his. He responds eagerly, his arms wrapping around your waist as he deepens the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours.
He tastes of whiskey and sin, and you can't get enough. Your fingers slip under the hem of his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest beneath your palms. He groans into your mouth, his hips pressing forward to grind against you, letting you feel the evidence of his arousal.
"Bedroom," he rasps against your lips, his voice rough with desire.
You nod, breathless and wanting, allowing him to lead you towards the bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind you, then spins you around, pinning you against it with his body. His hands are everywhere, slipping under your clothes to stroke heated skin, his mouth trailing fire along your neck.
"You're so fucking sexy," he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "I've wanted this since the moment I saw you."
Your breath hitches as Aventurine's hands roam your body, his touch setting your skin ablaze with desire. You arch into him, craving more, needing to feel every inch of him against you.
He groans, low and primal, his hips grinding harder against yours. His hands slip under your shirt, pushing it up and off, leaving you bare from the waist up. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes dark with lust.
"Fuck, you're perfect," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curves of your breasts. He leans down, his mouth hot against your skin as he kisses a trail down your sternum, his tongue flicking out to tease your nipple.
You gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. "Please," you whimper, not even sure what you're begging for, only knowing that you need more, need him.
He chuckles, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through you. "Patience, love," he purrs, his hands sliding down to pop the button of your jeans. "We've got all night."
And then he's on his knees in front of you. He looks up at you through his lashes, his eyes hooded and full of promise.
"Let me taste you," he murmurs, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your jeans.
You nod mutely, your heart pounding in your chest as Aventurine slowly slides your jeans down your legs, his hands caressing your skin as he goes. He tosses them aside carelessly, leaving you in nothing but your panties, which are already damp with arousal.
He leans forward, his breath hot against your panties. "You're so wet for me already," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the damp spot. "I've barely touched you, and you're dripping."
You squirm under his touch, desperate for more. "Please," you whimper, your hands fisting in his hair. "I need..."
"Shh," he soothes, placing a kiss over your clothed pussy, licking a stripe along your covered slit. "I know what you need. Just relax and let me take care of you."
And then he's pulling your panties aside, his fingers stroking through your slick folds. You gasp, your hips bucking into his touch. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin.
"So responsive," he praises, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. "I can't wait to taste you."
And then his mouth is on you, his tongue delving between your folds, lapping at your essence. You cry out, your head falling back against the door as waves of pleasure crash over you.
He works you skilfully, his tongue alternating between broad strokes and targeted flicks against your clit. His fingers join in, pumping in and out of you, curling to hit that spot inside that makes you see stars.
Your legs tremble as Aventurine's skilled mouth works you over, his tongue delving deep, lapping at your essence. The pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to snap at any moment.
"Aventurine," you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair, pressing his face harder against your aching pussy. "I'm... I'm going to-"
He moans in response, the vibrations sending you hurtling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you, your vision whiting out as ecstasy consumes you. You grind against his face, riding out the waves of pleasure, his name a broken cry on your lips.
He doesn't stop, prolonging your climax, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to wring every last drop of pleasure from your body. Finally, you collapse back against the door, boneless and sated, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.
Aventurine rises, his face glistening with your arousal. He licks his lips, his eyes dark with hunger. "So sweet," he purrs, his voice rough. "I could do that forever.”
You can only moan in response, your body still thrumming with aftershocks. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
He takes your hand, leading you to the bed, pushing you down onto the plush mattress. He crawls over you, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the sheets.
"I need to be inside you," he growls, his hips grinding against yours, letting you feel the hard length of him through his pants. "I need to feel you wrapped around me, squeezing me.”
You reach down, fumbling with the button of his pants, desperate to free his cock. He helps you, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to spring free, his erection bobbing against your stomach.
"Please," you whimper, wrapping your hand around him, stroking the velvety soft skin. "I need you, too. I need to feel you stretch me, fill me."
He groans, his hips thrusting into your hand. "Fuck, you're killing me," he pants, reaching down to position himself at your entrance.
With a single, powerful thrust, Aventurine pushes his cock all the way inside you, filling you completely. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as your body struggles to adjust to his size. He stills, giving you a moment to acclimate, his forehead resting against yours.
"Breathe," he murmurs, his hips flexing slightly, sending sparks of pleasure through you. "Just breathe, love. I've got you."
You take a shuddering breath, your inner walls fluttering around him. Slowly, you begin to move, rocking your hips against his, urging him deeper. He groans, his hands gripping your hips as he starts to thrust, setting a slow, deep rhythm.
"You feel incredible," he pants, his lips brushing against your ear. "I could stay buried inside you forever and die happy."
You clench around him, relishing the feel of him stretching you, filling you. "More," you demand, your nails digging into his back.
He laughs breathlessly, complying with your request, his hips snapping against yours with increased force. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust.
Aventurine's thrusts grow more erratic, his breath coming in short, sharp pants as he nears his peak. His hands grip your hips bruisingly, holding you in place as he pounds into you, the force of his thrusts pushing you up the bed.
"Come with me," he demands, his voice a guttural growl. "I want to feel you come undone around my cock."
Your body tenses, your inner walls fluttering around him as your orgasm approaches. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he finds his release.
The feel of him coming inside you is enough to push you over the edge. You cry out, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He follows you, his hips jerking as he spills his cum deep within you.
You collapse back against the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Aventurine follows suit, laying down beside you. He leans over peppering your face with soft kisses, his hands stroking your hair, your back, your sides. "You’re beautiful" he murmurs, his voice soft with satisfaction.
You smile, turning your head to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "You're not so bad yourself," you tease, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his sweat-slicked skin.
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and into yours. "I aim to please," he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "And I'm not done with you yet, love. Not by a long shot."
You shiver at the promise in his words, your body already stirring with renewed desire. "Is that so?" you ask, arching an eyebrow. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"
His grin is wicked, his eyes gleaming in the low light. "Oh, I think you'll find out soon enough.”
༉ - 2.8k
Topaz’s flat was warm and inviting, the perfect spot to unwind for a casual evening. Soft amber light spilled across the room, casting a cosy glow that made the space feel like home. Somewhere in the background, faint music played that blended perfectly with the gentle clinking of glasses and low chatter.
“We’ll be right back,” Aventurine called out, with Topaz trailing close behind as they disappeared toward the kitchen.
You had settled comfortably into the corner of the sofa, a glass of wine in hand and Veritas lounging beside you. Tonight, he seemed different—relaxed in a way you rarely saw. His shirt was unbuttoned, his tie discarded, and his usually immaculate hair slightly mussed, as though he’d finally let the weight of the day slip away.
The air between you buzzed with the kind of easy familiarity that only came with years of friendship, though tonight there was something else–.
“Another top-up?” Veritas asked, his voice smoother and slower than usual as he reached for the wine bottle on the low table. Without waiting for an answer, he topped off your glass and then poured more into his own.
“You’re a terrible influence,” you teased, though you made no move to stop him. “If I wake up with a headache tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”
He smirked, swirling his wine with an air of mock innocence. “I’d argue it’s your fault for being such agreeable company.”
The words lingered, their meaning sharper than his usual dry humour. You glanced down at your glass, suddenly unsure what to say. Was it the wine, or was there something more in his tone tonight?
“Quiet now, are we?” he teased, leaning in just slightly. “You’re usually quicker with a retort.”
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “Just giving you a moment to bask in your supposed wit.”
His chuckle was low and warm, the kind of sound that settled somewhere deep in your chest. His knee grazed yours, a light touch that didn’t feel accidental. When you shifted slightly, his arm brushed against yours and lingered, just enough to make you wonder if he’d noticed it too.
“I’ve always admired that about you,” he said, his voice quieter now.
“Admired what?” you asked, your pulse quickening.
“You have this way of making even the most tedious conversations feel alive.” His eyes softened, and for a moment, he wasn’t the sharp, collected man you knew so well. “Though I don’t think this moment qualifies as tedious, does it?”
You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No. It doesn’t.”
Neither of you moved for a moment. His hand found yours, his fingers warm and steady, and though the gesture caught you off guard, you didn’t pull away. His thumb traced slow circles over your skin, sending a rush of heat up your arm.
“Veritas—” you began, but your voice faltered.
“Too much?” he asked gently, his brows drawing together, as if he was ready to let go at the slightest hint of hesitation.
“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Not too much.”
His shoulders relaxed, and the faintest trace of a smile appeared on his lips. He shifted closer, his arm sliding along the back of the sofa until his fingers brushed your shoulder. The scent of his cologne—something crisp with a faint warmth beneath it—lingered in the space between you, making your head swim.
The world beyond the sofa seemed to fade. His presence filled the room, his thumb still tracing light, deliberate circles on your hand. When his fingers grazed your neck, their touch feather-light, you couldn’t help the shiver that ran through you.
“You’ve gone quiet again,” he murmured, his tone both teasing and earnest. “Should I be worried?”
You turned to face him, and suddenly his face was so close to yours. His gaze locked onto yours, and your breath hitched. It felt impossible to look away.
“Not worried,” you managed softly. “Just… thinking.”
“Dangerous,” he quipped, though his voice held less humour now. His hand shifted, brushing along the curve of your jaw. His touch was barely there, yet it lit up every nerve. “Care to share?”
You hesitated, not because you didn’t know what to say, but because the words carried weight. “I was thinking,” you said slowly, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart, “that you don’t seem as restrained as usual tonight.”
A flicker of something—surprise, maybe—passed across his face before he smirked. But it wasn’t his usual teasing smirk; it was softer, quieter, like he didn’t want to scare the moment away. “Restraint,” he murmured, “has its time and place. And this… doesn’t feel like one of them.”
The charged silence between you was almost unbearable. Slowly, he leaned in, giving you plenty of time to stop him, but you didn’t.
When his lips finally met yours, the kiss was gentle and tentative, like he was testing the waters. It was fleeting, yet it left your heart racing. His hand slipped to your jaw, steady and warm as he kissed you again, this time with more certainty.
You melted into him, your hands coming to rest against his chest. His heartbeat was fast beneath your palms, and when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“We should…” His voice was rough now, laced with restraint. “Move somewhere more private.”
Your heart jumped at the suggestion, and you nodded, your voice barely audible. “Yeah.”
He stood smoothly, his hand slipping into yours as he cast a quick glance toward the kitchen. When he was sure your friends were still out of sight, he guided you down the hallway. His touch was firm, grounding, but there was a tenderness in the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles.
At the end of the hall, he paused outside a closed door. His free hand found the handle, turning it slowly. The hinge creaked softly as he pushed the door open, revealing the spare bedroom. He guided you inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The room was small but cosy, with a large window that let in a silver glow.
Veritas turned to face you, his expression a blend of uncertainty and desire. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "We can stop if you want to."
His words were sincere, giving you an out if you needed it. But the way his eyes roamed over your face, the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly around yours, betrayed his own longing.
You took a step closer, closing the distance between you. "I'm sure," you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your palm, and you marvelled at the softness of his stubble against your fingers.
He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. When he opened them again, they were dark with want.
He captured your mouth in a searing kiss. It was nothing like the tentative brush of lips from earlier. This time, there was no holding back. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the heat of his body through your clothes, the firmness of his muscles.
You responded eagerly, your hands tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss. He tasted of wine and something uniquely him - a flavour you knew you'd crave forever. His tongue teased your lower lip before delving into your mouth, exploring and claiming with a passion that left you breathless.
Slowly, he walked you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he looked down at you. "Tell me you want this," he breathed, his hands settling on your hips. "Tell me you need me as much as I need you."
The words were a plea, a confession. In this moment, the usually composed and controlled Veritas Ratio was laid bare before you, vulnerable and wanting. Your heart swelled with affection and desire.
"I want this," you whispered, your hands sliding up his chest to link behind his neck. "I need you. Please, Veritas..."
His name on your lips seemed to break the last of his restraint. With a groan, he kissed you again, his hands slipping under your shirt to caress the bare skin of your back.
It wasn’t long before Veritas' fingers deftly worked at the zipper on his trousers, his movements quick yet precise, revealing the bulge straining against his underwear. With a deft tug, he freed his cock, the hard length springing forth, already flushed and throbbing with need.
He stepped back slightly, giving you a moment to take in the sight of him. Moonlight spilled across his body, highlighting the contours of his muscles, the defined lines of his abs. His cock was long, with a prominent vein on the underside.
You wasted no time, sinking to your knees before him. The plush carpet cushioned your knees, but you barely noticed. His cock jutted out, hard and proud, the tip glistening with pre-cum in the moonlight.
Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for him, fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft. He was hot and heavy in your grasp, the skin velvety soft over the rigid flesh beneath. You stroked him slowly, savouring the weight of him, the way he twitched and throbbed against your palm.
Veritas groaned, his head falling back as he savoured your touch. "God," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. "Feels so good-”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, stoking the fire building in your core. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. The taste of him exploded across your tongue, salty and musky, uniquely him.
Emboldened, you took him into your mouth, your lips stretching around his girth. He was big, filling your mouth completely, but you revelled in it. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him deeper, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head.
"Fuck," Veritas gasped, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Just like that, baby. Take me deeper."
You obeyed, relaxing your throat as you pushed forward, taking him inch by inch until he hit the back of your throat. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you held him there, your nose pressed against his pelvis, breathing in his scent.
Veritas’ grip on your hair tightened, his hips rocking forward slightly. "God, sweetheart," he moaned, his voice strained. "You're incredible."
The praise washed over you, spurring you on. You bobbed your head, setting a steady rhythm as you worked him with your mouth. Your hands slid down to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm.
Veritas' hand cupped the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you further down his shaft. "That's it, baby," he groaned, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take all of me."
You complied eagerly, relaxing your throat as you pushed forward until your nose nestled against his pelvis. The scent of him filled your senses, musky and intoxicating. You held him there, savouring the weight of him on your tongue, the way he throbbed against your palate.
"God, beautiful-" Veritas gasped, his hips rocking forward slightly. "You're so good at this. So fucking perfect."
His words sent a thrill through you, stoking the heat building in your core. You pulled back slowly, letting him slide from your mouth with a lewd pop. Strings of saliva connected your lips to his cock, glistening in the moonlight.
"Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. "I want to see you get off while you suck my cock."
Your cheeks flushed at his words, but you didn't hesitate. Your hand slid beneath your skirt. You were already soaked, your panties clinging to your skin.
You circled your clit with your fingertip, gasping at the jolt of pleasure that shot through you. Ratio watched with hooded eyes, his cock twitching in your grip.
"That's it, baby," he urged, his hand guiding your head as you took him back into your mouth. "Make yourself feel good. I want to hear you moan around my cock."
You obeyed, increasing the pressure of your fingers as you sucked him deeper. Your other hand came up to fondle his balls, rolling them gently in your palm. The combined sensations were overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge with each passing second.
Veritas’ breath came in short, sharp gasps as you worked him with your mouth and hands. His cock throbbed against your tongue, the veins along the shaft pulsing with need. You could tell he was getting close, his hips rocking faster, his grip on your hair tightening.
Suddenly, he pulled you off him, his cock slipping from your lips with a wet pop. "As much as I love your mouth," he panted, his eyes dark with lust, "I need to be inside you."
You nodded eagerly, your heart racing at the thought. He helped you to your feet, his hands roaming over your curves appreciatively. With a swift motion, he pushed your skirt up around your waist and tugged your panties down your thighs.
Veritas gently pushed you back onto the bed, his eyes roaming over your body with undisguised hunger. "Always been so pretty" he murmured, his hands skimming up your thighs to your hips.
He settled between your legs, the heat of his body seeping into your skin. You could feel his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. Slowly, he pushed forward, stretching you open around him.
You gasped at the sensation, your back arching off the bed. He was so big, filling you completely. He gave you a moment to adjust before starting to move, his hips rocking in a steady rhythm.
"God, you feel amazing," he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder.
His words sent shivers down your spine, stoking the fire building in your core. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. He obliged, his thrusts growing harder, faster.
The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful stroke. Veritas' hands gripped your hips, his fingers leaving bruises on your skin. But you didn't mind the pain, not when pleasure was coursing through your veins like liquid fire.
Despite the intense sensations coursing through your body, you bit your lip, muffling your moans and gasps. The thought of Aventurine and Topaz hearing you in the other room was enough to keep you silent, even as Veritas’ thrusts grew harder, deeper.
He seemed to sense your restraint, his eyes locking with yours in the darkness. "Don't hold back," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. "I want to hear you.”
You shook your head, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You couldn't risk it, couldn't bear the thought of your friends walking in and catching you in such a compromising position.
Veritas frowned slightly, but he didn't push the issue. Instead, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, swallowing your silent cries of pleasure.
His hips never stopped moving, each thrust sending shockwaves of ecstasy through your body. You could feel your climax building, getting closer to the edge. He seemed to sense it too, his pace quickening, his breath coming in harsh pants against your ear.
"Come for me, sweetheart," he growled, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Let go. I've got you."
His words were your undoing. With a muffled cry, you came undone, your body convulsing beneath him as you gushed around his cock. Veritas quickly pulled out, his cum shooting out and splattering on your folds.
You lay there in the aftermath, your chest heaving, your limbs trembling. He collapsed on top of you, his weight a welcome comfort.
Slowly he rolled off you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He pulled you close, your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist. You could feel his heart racing, matching the pounding of your own.
He kissed your shoulder softly. "We should probably get cleaned up and head back out there," he said, his voice tinged with reluctance. "Before Aventurine and Topaz come looking for us."
You nodded, leaning in to kiss him one last time before reluctantly pulling away from his warmth.
༉ - 2.5k
The training grounds hummed with the steady rhythm of swords meeting swords, the sharp ring of steel echoing in the air. You were lost in the rhythm, your every move precise as you worked through the drills Jing Yuan had set for you.
The weight of the training session was starting to catch up with you—your muscles burning, sweat trickling down your back—but you refused to stop. His gaze was always on you, but today, there was something about it that made your heart race a little.
Jing Yuan was a study in effortless grace, each movement fluid and controlled as he parried your strikes. His hair shimmered in the sunlight. His composure was unmatched—he never seemed to break a sweat, even when you were struggling to keep up. And yet, his every motion felt like a reminder that you still had so much to learn.
“You’re improving,” he said suddenly, his voice a smooth, unwavering contrast to the intensity of the training. He dodged your strike so easily it was as if he already knew it was coming. “But you’re still too tense. Stop thinking so much- Let your instincts take over.”
You nodded, trying to focus on his words. You couldn’t quite explain it, but his praise always felt so... personal. It was like he wasn’t just teaching you how to fight; he was seeing something deeper. And you hated how giddy that made you feel.
The practice continued, but with each passing moment, it became harder to focus. Every glance he gave you seemed to leave you a little more flustered, his every compliment a spark that made your heart flutter. You tried to shake it off, to stay in the moment, but your movements became a little less fluid.
“That’s better,” he said again, his eyes narrowing as he watched you catch your breath. “You have the power. You just need to learn to channel it.”
“Thanks,” you muttered, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across your skin. It wasn’t that you weren’t good at sword fighting, but when Jing Yuan spoke to you like that, it felt different. His words were a quiet evaluation, but they made your heart feel exposed, as though he was seeing right through you.
Minutes blended together in a haze of quick movements and hurting muscles. The sweat on your forehead trickled, and you could feel the strain in your arms and legs, but you pushed yourself harder, determined not to disappoint him. Finally, when the session was over, you dropped your sword, your breathing heavy.
"That's enough for today," Jing Yuan said, his voice quiet yet imperative as he stepped toward you. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the fatigue in your eyes, the way you were trying to steady your breathing. "You have worked hard.
You managed a small smile, though the weight of the session left you feeling drained. "I'm fine," you said, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. You weren't sure if you were convincing anyone, least of all him.
He studied you a moment longer, his sharp eyes picking up the subtle signs: the way you were holding your breath, the way your hands trembled ever so slightly. With a soft sigh, he leaned in closer, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. The touch was light, but it sent a ripple of warmth through you, and you couldn't quite keep the flutter from your chest.
"Let me check you over-" he said, his voice dropping an octave soft yet purposeful. "make sure you're not hurt."
The words should’ve been routine, should’ve been just another part of the training, but the closeness between you, the way his gaze lingered a little longer than usual, made everything feel different. His touch was so careful as he ran his hands over your arms, your shoulders, your ribs—light and methodical, almost as if he were memorising every detail of you. Each brush of his fingers sent sparks through your skin, and you had to force yourself to breathe normally.
“Does this hurt?” His fingers pressed against a sore spot near your ribs where you'd taken a hit earlier.
You gasped softly, the breath catching in your throat, before shaking your head. "It's a little sore.
His eyes softened, a glint of concern in them as he regarded you, yet there was something else, too-something more than mere mentorship. The air between you grew thick with unspoken tension, not exactly teacher and student, but something else entirely. His presence overwhelmed you; the way he watched you-also so intense-made it even harder to think clearly.
Before you could catch yourself, your fingers grazed his chest-just the lightest touch, but it felt like an electric jolt went through you. The space between you contracted, and the pull you'd been fighting became too much. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were leaning in, your lips brushing against his in a fleeting, impulsive kiss.
The world seemed to stop for that second, and then Jing Yuan froze. His body stiffened, and for a second you thought you'd made a terrible mistake. But when he pulled back, his expression wasn't anger or confusion-it was soft, searching. His gaze lingered on your face, as if he were trying to understand the emotions swirling there.
You stepped backward in haste, heat flooding your face as you muttered, "I- I didn't mean-"
But before you could get the words out, his hand was cupping your cheek, his touch warm and comforting. His thumb stroked your skin with soft gentleness-a motion that made your heart thud. "Don't apologise," he said, his voice soft, low-assuring. "You don't have to be sorry."
The air between you seemed to thicken with the weight of the moment. Jing Yuan leaned in just slightly, giving you space to pull away if you wanted to, but you didn’t. You stood there, your heart racing in your chest, the tension building with each breath you took.
“I think…” he began, his voice a little quieter, “you’re not the only one who’s been holding back.”
Your breath caught in your throat. That was all he needed to say, and in that moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. The spark between you wasn’t one-sided. And maybe this was the beginning of something neither of you had expected.
Slowly, hesitantly, you reached up to cover his hand with your own, pressing it more firmly against your cheek. "Then what’s stopping us?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Jing Yuan's eyes darkened at your words, a flash of hunger in their depths. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.
You nodded, your eyes locked on his, unable to look away. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
With those words, Jing Yuan closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a passionate, desperate kiss. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste you.
You melted into him, your arms winding around his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervour. The world spun around you, your senses overwhelmed by the feel of his lips on yours, the scent of his skin, the sound of his ragged breathing.
You felt yourself being pulled into Jing Yuan's embrace, your bodies pressing together as the kiss deepened. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your head spin, his tongue exploring your mouth with a passion that left you breathless. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as you lost yourself in the sensation of his touch, his taste, his very essence.
Time seemed to stand still, the rest of the world fading away until there was nothing but the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms. Jing Yuan's hands roamed over your back, your sides, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. You arched into him, craving more of his touch.
Jing Yuan broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pulled back to look at you. His eyes were dark with desire, but there was a flicker of concern there too. "We should move somewhere more private," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "There are too many prying eyes here."
You nodded, your heart still racing as you glanced around the training grounds. He was right. Anyone could stumble upon you like this, could see the way you were clinging to each other, the way your lips were swollen from his kisses. The thought sent a thrill through you, even as it filled you with a sense of urgency.
Jing Yuan took your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours as he led you away from the training grounds. You followed him willingly, your steps quick and eager, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of his touch. He led you through the winding paths of the gardens, past flowering bushes and babbling fountains, until you reached a secluded grove hidden behind a curtain of willow branches.
As soon as you were out of sight, Jing Yuan pulled you into his arms once more, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your hands fisting in his hair as you kissed him back. His hands roamed over your body, slipping beneath your clothes to caress the heated skin beneath.
Your hands fumbled with the fastenings of Jing Yuan's robes, your fingers shaking with a mix of anticipation and nerves. He helped you, his own hands working to remove your clothing with a practised ease that belied his gentle touch. Soon, the fabric fell away, leaving you both bare in the dappled sunlight filtering through the willow branches.
Jing Yuan's eyes roamed over your body, his gaze appreciative as he drank in the sight of you. "You're beautiful," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. His hands skimmed over your curves, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Your fingers trailed over the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his abdomen, marvelling at the feel of his skin beneath your palms.
Jing Yuan groaned at your touch, his hips pressing forward to grind against yours. You could feel his cock, hot and insistent against your stomach, and it sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. Your own body responded in kind, aching and throbbing with a need that was almost painful in its intensity.
His lips found your neck, his teeth nibbling, and tongue leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you lost yourself in the sensation. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you harder against him, the friction delicious and maddening all at once.
"Jing Yuan," you gasped, your voice breathy and needy. "Please..."
His response was to lift you up, wrapping your legs around him as he carried you. Jing Yuan pressed you against the cool stone wall of the garden, his body pinning you in place as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. Your legs tightened around his waist, drawing him closer, craving more of his touch.
He held you up with one arm as the other delved lower, his fingers finding your pussy. You were already wet, your body ready for him, and he groaned at the feeling. "So ready for me," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "So perfect."
His fingers circled your clit, teasing and stroking, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You rocked your hips against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. Jing Yuan obliged, his fingers sliding lower to dip inside you, stretching you, preparing you for what was to come.
You could feel him, hard and heavy, pressing against your entrance. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, your body trembling with need. "Please," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you."
Jing Yuan's eyes met yours, "I've got you," he promised, his voice low and husky. And with that, he pushed forward
Jing Yuan’s cock pushed inside you slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched your face for any sign of discomfort. You could feel every inch of him as he stretched you, filled you, your body adjusting to his size. It was a delicious burn, a sweet ache that only made you want more.
"Dove," he breathed, the pet name a reverent whisper on his lips. His hips pressed forward, burying himself deeper inside you, and you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped. "So tight," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips for support. "So perfect."
You clung to him, meeting his thrusts. The pleasure was immense, overwhelming, and you could feel yourself already teetering on the edge of ecstasy. Jing Yuan's thrusts grew harder, faster, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he lost himself in the feel of you.
His thrusts grew more urgent, more demanding, as he lost himself in the heat of the moment. His hips slammed against yours, driving into you with a force that had you seeing stars. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.
Jing Yuan's lips found yours again, swallowing your moans as he drove into you harder, deeper. His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, circular motions. The added stimulation was too much, and you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of pure, blinding ecstasy.
"Atta girl," Jing Yuan growled, his voice strained with his own impending release.
Your walls clenched around him, milking his length as you rode out the aftershocks of your climax. Jing Yuan followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he found his own release. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he emptied himself inside you, ropes of cum spilling inside you.
As the final waves of your shared ecstasy subsided, Jing Yuan held you close, his body still intimately connected with yours. He peppered your face with soft, tender kisses, his hands gently stroking your hair and caressing your back. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the heated passion that had just consumed you both.
"Think that was a good training session" he joked, his voice low and content.
You couldn't help but laugh, a breathless, giddy sound that bubbled up from your chest. "I think that was the best training session I've ever had," you replied, your words laced with a mix of humour and sincerity.
your idk if you have thought of this but sunday’s wings NGHH 😃😃😃 imagine them just shaking and twitching from when he’s knockin ya boots because hes so lost in the pleasure 🗿🗿
・✶ ｡ synopsis — sunday's wings always shake when he's in you <3
warnings — office syx, very messy n sweaty, fem! reader <3
sunday's wings, usually all proudly and neatly decorating his head, were now furiously twitching and fluttering with every new motion of his hips pressing in and out of you, drowning you under sensual traces— furthermore making the sweat-stricken shimmer on your face catch the faint light in his cold office.
certainly, he had been waiting to see you all day and now? as you're sitting all prettily on the edge of his desk with your legs draped around his narrow waist, the man cannot even fathom on just how lucky he was— with lust floating in the air as he works on your dripping hole, over and over crashing in and out until you were practically leaning against his chest for stability.
and sunday, ugh, he was certainly all over you, starving and fondling with your tits before giving them a rough lap of tongue, taking one in his mouth as he hollowed his cheeks to suck heavily against it.
translucent streams of your cum squeeze from your wet cunt all over his entire shaft, filling the man's mouth with a deep craving as the small ring of white dissolves on his cock and drips down his office floor, making such a mess as thick splatters bounce off the ground.
sunday cannot stop himself and his wings show it all without question, on full display for you to feel and see just how mad you were driving him tonight, every night really, in fact, with his body pressed against yours like that right now, turning you sweaty and needy, you're both lost in the depths of passion when the grip on your hips tightens at every new thrust.
you moan out his name yet all he's responding with, no, the only tone he could respond with was a low growl and grunts of your name, quite literally hanging on a thread— and his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now dark with lust.
your hands cling to the edge of the desk, knuckles white as you attempt to ground yourself amidst the overwhelming sensation and sharp blows of his cock on your spasming hole— but sunday was relentless, you know that by now as his pace always quickens and never falters, each movement becoming more intense than the last as he grinds into your cunt to make your legs shake, mind break, the squelching and echoing of your pussy driving him insane.
in which — sunday, realizing he fell head over heels for you, tries to push you away, only to have his efforts backfire, which leads to a heated confession.
pairing — sunday x gn!reader
wc: 2.3k, arranged marriage, hurt/comfort, woooo tension!!!, takes place before penacony quests, sunday fumbles everyone cook him rn, apology scene ib maxton hall, reblogs r much appreciated! from event req: here + art by @/hanahanayart on x
the first thing sunday noticed about you was how you consistently avoided meeting his gaze, how your eyes seemed to wander, frequently darting to the ground.
even now, as you’re sitting across the table from him, you’re fidgeting with your hands, fingers nervously twisting the small charm on your bracelet. your eyes flit from the patterned tablecloth to the rim of your teacup, never settling on him for more than a moment.
you’re tense, he notes.
as you both go through the marriage contract, he finds himself distracted by the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration, and how your fingers fidget with the edges of the document; a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he observes your gestures.
the moment you notice him staring however, you stiffen and abruptly shift in your seat. he watches as the flush on your cheeks grows more pronounced, and your words come out in awkward stammers as you try to continue the subject.
though he catches on, quickly averting his gaze to spare you any further embarrassment. the corner of his mouth twitches as he shakes his head slightly.
right, you must be the type to be easily swayed by looks and status.
of course he’s aware of his own charm, and even more so, the effect he has on others —evident by the multitude of pursuers vying for his hand in marriage.
but something is different about you, different enough to intrigue him, different enough to distinguish you from the rest of the crowd, different and compelling enough for him to entertain the idea of marrying you.
sunday is a busy man.
his schedule is packed with a myriad of tasks ranging from managing various negotiations to organizing the upcoming charmony festival. his desk is cluttered with intricate sketches of the festival’s layouts, post-it notes with scribbled annotations, stacks of detailed itineraries, and reminders of… you.
you have a knack for surprising sunday with unique gifts that inevitably end up on his desk.
for instance, the delicate keychain that’s shaped like a tiny halo dangling just of reach, or the hand-knitted coaster he sets his mug on, or a handwritten note reminding him to take a break with a small doodle of him in the corner, or the sleek pen he’s using right now, personalised just for him (he complained about pens having grips that were too slippery or uncomfortable once.)
somehow, you never fail to invade his thoughts at every given chance. the worst part? he actually started looking forward to your presence —much to his dismay.
he doesn't know when exactly it started, but he’s certain “it’s all your fault” because he finds himself checking his phone much more frequently, eagerly awaiting your messages. he’s also become attuned to your daily visits, recognizing the distinct sound of your footsteps as they approach his office. heck he even finds himself rearranging his schedule to make sure he’s free during your usual visit time.
you plague his mind to the extent that it distracts him, where he finds himself unable to focus on his work without your voice suddenly echoing in his thoughts; the sound of your infectious laughter, the warmth of your smile like a siren’s call, and the endearing stutter in your words when you say his name —which all seems to linger and sway with every thought.
sunday fears that he may have loved you more than he will ever allow himself to.
sunday gazes at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. his brows are furrowed, and a deep sigh escapes him as he tries to calm his turbulent thoughts, gripping the edge of the sink for support.
his current dishevelled appearance bears a striking resemblance to that of a fallen angel; stunningly attractive, yet marred by a decadent edge that whispers of turpitude.
as the head of the oak family, he shoulders countless responsibilities and maintains a careful distance from those around him. so is it wrong when he feels a twinge of insult, almost as if it's shameful to be powerless to resist you, when you entered his life with a mere marriage contract but seamlessly wove yourself into the deepest, darkest corners of his heart?
“sunday, are you okay? you’ve been in there for a while!” your voice echoes from the other side of the door, tinged with worry and care.
he’s confounded by your unwavering concern, unable to fathom as to why you continue to pour your heart into him, even as he remains cold and indifferent. he appears detached to you, often aloof and devoid of any intimacy —yet you never seem to mind.
you make him want to tear down the carefully constructed barriers he’s built around his heart and hold you close. even now as you soothe his back and gently preen his wings, he finds himself lost in thought, contemplating the possibility of abandoning his old ways and allowing himself to be vulnerable with you.
but he thinks you don't have to be so insistent on winning him over, really. because he has already belonged to you in a way that’s intrinsic, a devotion deadlier than hell.
perhaps he just hasn't come to accept it yet.
walking along the streets of golden hour, sunday is painfully aware of the stare you fixate on his figure, even though you try to be discreet about it. when his hand lightly grazes against yours, you freeze momentarily, your body tensing before you quickly adjust your pace to match his long strides, positioning yourself at his side.
you notice that his face is etched with a grim expression, lips drawn tight; he appears visibly stressed, a noticeable contrast to his usual calm demeanor.
“ahem…” you clear your throat, “y’know,” you begin, your voice soft with an attempt at comfort, “whenever i feel upset, i've found that treating myself to something nice to eat always helps lift my spirits.”
your words hang in the air as he remains silent, his gaze fixed ahead; undeterred, you continue speaking.
“there’s a new restaurant robin told me about yesterday, would you—”
“—stop talking.”
his words seem to have escaped louder than intended, drawing the attention of bystanders who now stop to observe the scene. murmurs ripple through the crowd as they exchange curious glances.
“oh… well i just wanted t—”
“just, leave me alone for once,” he interrupts sharply, each syllable from his lips like a drop of acid, eroding the walls of your heart until nothing is left but a hollow ache.
a flash of regret crosses his face the moment he sees your face drop. he watches in silence as you nod curtly before pushing your way through the gathering crowd, the haunting image of your hurt expression only further exacerbates the stress he’s already grappling with.
you gaze at the chat screen with sunday’s name, your fingers hesitantly hovering over the send button; his words from a few days ago echo relentlessly in your head, replaying over and over again.
you sigh before putting your phone down. he probably doesn’t want you bothering him, right?
in that case, even if he was 'annoyed' by you, why did he have to say it in front of everyone? sure he was cold to you at times, but you thought he cared for you at least a little. and if he intended to push you away, why accept your gifts in the first place?
regardless, you’re not about to forgive him so easily. your dignity demands that you maintain your distance for now, not merely out of pride but also to give him a taste of his own medicine.
sunday hasn’t received your usual “good morning” text today… the day before, and the week before. actually, he hasn’t seen you at all either. (but robin has, she mentioned that she noticed you seemed a bit down. when she asked about it, though, you didn’t give her a clear answer.)
his office feels eerily quiet without your timely “interruptions”; his desk, once cluttered with your little gifts and notes, now sits noticeably emptier. most importantly, your absence only serves to distract him more than your presence ever did.
he has lost count of the times he’s run his hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of frustration that has become all too common lately. what he said that day, was purely “in the heat of the moment”, a lapse into uncharacteristic harshness he now deeply regrets.
he envisions the hurt in your eyes, the way your expression crumpled as his words pierced the air, the weight of his own words gnaws at him, and he feels a pang of guilt so sharp it almost physically hurts.
he may have been reserved with his affection, but he never intended for his words to wound you so deeply. ultimately, he was only trying to guard the vulnerability he rarely reveals; but now, his facade has crumbled. and even he can no longer convince himself of the cold indifference he once tried to project.
it’s a bitter irony that he thinks you shouldn’t try so hard to win him over, when he tries just as hard to resist you.
his efforts would have paid off,
—if only his heart is as cold as he pretends it is.
he hears your footsteps for the first time in two weeks.
as you enter, he tries to mask the relief on his face, but his eyes betray him, softening as they lock onto you; his pulse quickens, and he rises from his desk almost instinctively. as usual, you keep your eyes averted, but today, the familiar shyness has been replaced by a palpable tension that he can’t ignore.
you set the stack of documents on his desk before turning to leave in silence, but his hand reaches out and gently grasps your wrist, halting you in your tracks.
“—wait, please,” his voice trembles.
you turn around, finally meeting his gaze. the steady rhythm of his heart quickens into an erratic flutter, almost like a caged dove desperate to escape.
“i apologise… for what happened that day.”
“a simple ‘sorry’ would suffice for the embarrassment you put me through, but it doesn’t erase the sting of your words or the way you belittle my feelings,” your voice quivers slightly.
you shake your head and let out a frustrated sigh. “listen, i’m not a pawn for you to play with. just tell me how you really feel, not what you think i want to hear.”
you pause, searching his face for any sign of genuine emotion, but all you find is the same frustrating distance. “i mean it, i’m truly sorry, please let m—”
“you can’t just say you're sorry and expect everything to be fine." you scoff and wrench your hand away from his grasp with a sharp jerk, “cut the crap, you’re seriously driving me insane!”
there's a pause before he responds. “im driving you insane?” his eyes narrow, his expression growing intense as he steps closer. with each step he takes towards you, you retreat until your back hits the edge of a bookshelf, the cool wood pressing against you.
“but do you know what you do to me?” his hair tumbles messily and hangs over his forehead. “do you think it’s easy for me to keep my composure when everything you do makes it harder for me to hold it together?”
his hands, which were previously clenched at his sides, now grip the edges of the bookshelf on either side of you, closing the space between you even further.
“maybe i’ve been distant,” his voice, though strained, holds a desperate edge. “but it’s not because i don’t care, it’s because i'm terrified of what i might feel if i let myself get too close.”
“it’s because you drive me insane —and i can’t get enough of it.”
you pause, taking in his raw confession before burying your face into his shoulder; a damp patch forming on his clothes. “but it’s not fair, sunday.” your fingers dig into his shoulder, but he couldn’t care less.
“you can’t push me away and then pull me back in with your words.” your words are muffled; he tenderly runs his hand along your back, his soothing touch calming you down.
he sighs before saying, “i know i’m sorry, please give me some time, i’ll make things right.”
“promise?” you ask, lifting your gaze to meet his. he gently cups your cheek with his hand, his thumb softly caressing your skin.
he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “i promise.”
and this time, he lets himself sink in your embrace, holding you tighter than before. it’s then he realises just how much he had missed out on.
extra:
“darling...”
“hm?” you gently stroke his wings, smoothing out the feathers with delicate care.
his wings flutter slightly under your gentle hands, softly rustling as you brush through the layers of plumage.
“why were you delivering documents to me that day?” he asks, voice laden with curiosity.
you let out a soft chuckle as you recall the nervous expressions of the staff on that day when sunday walked into his office. his wings had fluttered with every tentative step someone took toward him, a clear sign of his agitation.
“i don’t know,” you reply with a hint of amusement. “maybe none of your staff dared to come near you, so they asked for my help.”
he subconsciously leans into your touch, a soft smile playing on his lips. “well i’m grateful you came by,” he murmurs, though he can’t quite hide the way his wings quiver in response to your tender caresses.
“it turns out, i got more than just a set of documents that day."
you raise an eyebrow playfully. "oh? and what might that be?"
he leans in closer, his forehead gently touching yours, “a reminder of how much i need you."
