Esme ✨️
@guraiuna.bsky.social
63 followers 100 following 130 posts
Biology student and casual writer | Chilumi 🐳✨️ | Okikagu 🐶🐰 | I hop from one obsession to another like a frog Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himaera
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Reposted by Esme ✨️
It's been a long time. New chapter out today

#chilumi 🐳✨

Links below — (!)
Reposted by Esme ✨️
/just some more #Wrionette, 'cause I got few more works. These three even seem to have a plot (although actually chronologically they are 3rd, 4th and 6th works - and 6th in the center, and 3rd at the end)/
Reposted by Esme ✨️
clingy 🐱

( #wrionette , Wriothesley/Lynette, sfw)
Reposted by Esme ✨️
big bad wolf found a mate
🐺💕💕💕

( #nsfw #wrionette )
Reposted by Esme ✨️
Lynette takes offence at being called a wolf
And there is no honor, he lied to her– but there is pleasure. So, so much pleasure as she moans the name he never entrusted her with but she knows regardless.
The pillow her only confessor as she finds release from the ache in one core but not the yearning in the other.

///End.
Lumine sinks her face in the pillow bellow her
"Ajax..." A whimper escapes her– a pathetic little cry muffled by the plush pillow. Intelligible, yet she knows exactly what she said.
Its sinful sweetness still seared into the flesh of her treacherous lips.
She yields.
+
It buzzes deep inside her ear as /he\ holds her down, one arm twisted behind her back, the other trapped beneath the sole of his boot.
Nagging her.
And making her insides melt as her face grows redder and redder to her utter horror.
+
Accent just as thick as the one of her companion from tonight, yet so different. There's clear satisfaction in the vibration that bounces around inside her eardrum.
And she knows exactly why she likes it.
"Yield." Another voice, of another ginger, not the one from Nod Krai, whispers in her ear. Breath shockingly warm against the shell of her reddish ear. "There is honor in admitting defeat, /comrade\." The voice purrs.
+
And it back-fires monumentarily when as he pounds her from behind, the stranger leans down on her, forcing her elbows to buckle beneath his weight.
Golden eyes widen as warmth spreads from her shoulders to her lower back. He's dwarfing her and to her horror, Lumine /likes\ it.
+
She tries to not think about it. Tries to focus on the dizziness and the pleasure– because she /is\ drunk and she /is\ feeling good
She gathers that all she needs is a change of pace– or positions if you will. When she gets the chance, she flips them in a less intimate one
+
Yet when her lips wrap around his earlobe, she doesn't feel the chill of the crimson stone. Nor the metal where it should meet his flesh.
She feels just flesh. And warmth.
And she finds herself sniffing. The corners of her eyes sting. Her lips quiver around the flesh.
+
A glimmer in a rhombic shape that sears her insides with that eerie familiarity she had been avoiding the whole night.
Lumine's throat runs dry.
She's drunk and getting fucked senseless by a stranger; she wants to tug at the earring–
Maybe rip it off his earlobe with her teeth
+
Her vision has warm, coppery hues; his face is buried in the side of her head and his messy ginger locks are getting in her face as he thrusts into her with no rhythm.
Too inebriated to hold onto one. To lost in the heat of her body.
For a split second orange turns into red.
+
Or perhaps, she does answer him.
Sprawled across his bedsheets somewhere in the living quarters of Speranza.
Gloved hands tangled deep in her golden locks and her thighs locked around his hips.
She does answer him– if moans are answers then she answers him plenty.
+
After he sees that she is okay, the bastard– no, he's not a bastard, not /this\ one at least – dares to smirk down at her. Blue eyes twinkling with self righteous amusement.
"I take it you don't like it when I call you comrade then?"
Lumine does not answer him.
+
It takes a few deep breaths for the burn to subside, under the worried gaze of the ginger who rushed to her side. Lumine wipes the dew drops that formed at the corners of her eyes. Tells herself it's a normal phenomenon when one chokes on strong alcohol.
+
The familiarity is back. Lumine still doesn't want to pinpoint it.
Not even when he calls her "comrade" and she nearly chokes on her drink.
And as she struggles for air under the shocked expression of her companion, it burns.
Her airways
Her eyes
Her poor scrunched little heart
+
While she did enjoy those– and the way he would sometimes run his gloved hand through her hair, she found those... nice.
Pleasant.
It's when he speaks drunkly that she gets restless. His accent gets thicker. It sounds different from the accent she had heard around Nodkrai.
+
By the time they get to the second round, his speech is starting to slur. Which Lumine at first wants to mock Jab at his weakness and start a fight She's itching for one, she realises. She's restless, her heart is racing– and /not\ because of the make out sessions that followed
+
It must be the lighting because she was sure his eyes weren't /that\ blue... or were they...?
He tastes like alcohol and surprise. And smugness, which too feels oddly familiar, yet in her drunken stupour, Lumine refuses to even try to identify the source.
When they part away, the blue of his eyes twinkle with intrigue and Lumine's heart churns.
+
Push him away.
Treat him like utter garbage. A villain– despite not having commited any crime from what she gathered.
She doesn't do that, it's too cruel and uncalled for; that much she realises.
Instead, she kisses him. Grabs his collar and crushes their lips together.
+
He is annoyingly insightful; he sniffed her reticence from a mile away which irked her more than it should have.
And his laughter is too... something
Too warm. Too guarded
Friendly but not genuine. Warm but in a cordial way that gives her the urge taunt him. Mock him.
+