#// ignore me just having massive revelations

[minakoaiinos]

Not listening to her album because I can't bear hearing one song about liking a man 🙏

[satoisms]

i'm rereading og given for funsies and the more i read the more i remember why i'm so attached to mafuyu. he's literally just me.

[thegoldencontracts]

Hi

What do you think about Self aware!Housewardens and what are your Headcanons for them HSBSJJAJAJAHA idk I've been into ddlc recently.

FELLOW DDLC + TWST FAN SPOTTED I MUST RAMBLE

I'm going to make more specific fics with this later because who doesn't like self-aware AUs? Probably someone but that someone is not me

Ignorance is Bliss

The housewardens of Night Raven College come to a crippling realization about the truth of their world. They all handle it in different ways.

Riddle, who knows he's in a game, that everyone here is fake. What did he learn all these rules for? What was the point of his suffering? He's just a character to be watched by others for amusement's sake. Was the Queen of Hearts a mere character too? Did any of this have meaning? But then he sees you. You're real, and he's enraptured. What are the rules of your world, the real world where life isn't some story to be played? Though Riddle can't help but envy you, he really does wish to get to know you better.

Leona is hit by the revelation after his overblot. Everything he's gone through was all a part of some game. Just a way to keep players entertained. You're real. You'll never have to deal with the crippling realization that everything you say's a part of some script, that whole life's a game you'll never be able to leave. More than anything, Leona hates the fact that he knows your kindness towards him is all fake, but he still can't help but be captivated.

Azul is envious, just like Leona. He's gone through all of this just for entertainment? His overblot, his family, his world- none of it was real? And you're there, watching his suffering like it's some game for you to play, because that's really all it is. A game. He's a character in a game. But, seeing how real you are, even if your words are conveyed through the black sprite of a self-insert protagonist, how genuine your kindness is - it draws him in. He's meant to be a cold, rational individual, but perhaps he can be a bit softer with you. You won't mock him. You won't leave. And besides, if this really is some odd game, can't Azul get more of your gems with gap Moe?

Kalim is rather accepting of his circumstances. Sure, he's heartbroken to see the truth - that his whole life's a part of some gacha game meant to make some massive corporation called Disney more money, but can he really do anything about it? Besides, Kalim has always been someone who believes in making the best of the terrible hand he's been dealt. He's stayed kind in the face on constant poisoning attempts, and he's kept his heart in a world where there was no one he could trust. And in his attempts to make the best of his situation, he can't help but get closer to you. After all, you're a real person, and you don't gain anything from turning on him. You appreciate his kindness, and even if there's a fourth-wall separating the two of you, Kalim's grateful.

Vil is shaken by the revelation. This is all a game? You're just here to be entertained? But in spite of how worldview-shattering the realization that he's just a game character meant to Garner profit is, he can't help but he oddly comforted. Nothing's wrong with him. Neige 's performance was supposed to be worse than his, and the ordeal at VDC was just as unfair as he thought. Though Vil isn't exactly fine and dandy, he's not quite broken either. And, in the actual fanbase of this game he's in, people like him better than Neige? And you're one of those people? If it turns out you write fanfic or draw fanart of him, he'll be very appreciative.

Idia's shocked. His brother's death, his overblot, all the overblots, they were setups for him to be a character in some non-otome gacha game? It's weird. Idia's all too used to not being in control of his life, though. He just tries to cope in any way he can. He's definitely going to try and learn about his fandom, what type of ships and fanfic and fanart and the like are made about him. He's one of the most likely to try and ask you about the fandom. If you make fancontent for him, he's going to be especially interested. Be warned, though, he will nitpick your characterization of him so hard. At least your stats are better now, I guess?

Malleus is already an isolated individual, and now you're telling him what little connection to others he has is fake? In all honesty, he's definitely the most attached to you out of all the dorm heads. You're the only real friend he'll ever be able to have. The only real friend any of them will ever be able to have. He does find comfort in his massive fanbase, though. You're telling him all these people care for him, and because of the difference in the way time passes in game vs in reality, they won't die in a matter of what feels like seconds for him? As shaken as he is by everything, it really is a comfort.

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Din Djarin cock worship drabble (din djarin x you)

pairing: din djarin x f!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit descriptions of smut, (assumed age gap maybe???), the armour stays on except for when din eats pussy (which is 24/7 in this universe), overstimulation wc: 1.4K a/n: hello lovelies, this is just a part of something that has been cooking in my brain for the last week. I was ignoring my schoolwork and other responsibilities as usual and rewatching mando, and just thinking about how that modulated rasp makes me melt, and how I would give anything to tie Din Djarin up and suck the soul out of him to hear those moans. that man deserves his cock to be worshipped, and I think about that on the daily tbh . this is unfinished but i hope to complete it this weekend!

Impenetrable beskar steel forged under sweltering heat that could rival Tattooine’s binary suns. Stealthy, calculated, choreographed skills of a warrior, so innate to his being, an exoskeleton similar to the armour he wore.  An unshakeable creed that represented devotion, honour, humility, and strength.

Powerful, weathered strength. Strength that shouldered hundreds of bounties, countless days of survival in the harshest planets, and so many physical injuries he’s lost count at this point.   

Din Djarin was a humble man. He never boasted his abilities or displayed a cocky nature. He had no reason to. Growing up in the covert, competing drills and sparring with other Mandalorians, he let his combat skills speak for himself as opposed to his words. Din would never deny his strength however. He knew he was strong, despite his age, and despite the aches and pains that permeated his body after each hunt. It was a quality that he could always pride himself on- at least that’s what he thought up until this point. Until he met you.

It turns out the stoic facade of strength that the hardened warrior so heavily relied on, crumbled the instant you could get your hands on him. Well, your hands and your mouth. 

Nearly 3 months had passed since you joined the mandalorian And the child. Three months since you offered your skills to help him with his bounties and take care of the child when he was off on his hunts. 3 months since your relationship progressed from just ship mates and acquaintances coexisting in solitude and monosyllabic answers, to partners that shared each others bed every night. A cacophony of grunts and deep groans to catch your breathless whimpers and keening whines filling the hull of the razor crest. 

You soon learned how much of a pleasure dom that mando was. Well, Din to you, now that he had entrusted you with his name. Once he learned what made you tick, what made you scream out his name as your eyes rolled into the back of your skull, he was fucking insatiable.

Most nights he wouldn’t fuck you until he made you cum on his tongue or his fingers at least twice. And even then you’d be a mess. Squirming and sobbing as you pushed his head off your dripping sensitive cunt. Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, you could feel the heat rolling off his broad body as he caged you against the bed.

“It’s okay, you can take it cyar’ika,” he would coo at you as he fed his thick cock into your warm wet heat. “Need this tight pussy nice and wet before I stretch you out on my cock.” 

You never lasted long, your orgasm crashing over you as you pulse around his length, writhing into the bed sheets. 

He reveled in being able to take you apart. Pushing you to the limits of your pleasure that it almost became painful. He fed off of it. 

It was rare however, that Din ever let you return the favor. Whenever you attempted to take him into your mouth, to show him your desire and appreciation, he would bat your hands away. Or he would only let you taste him for a minute or two before he’d manhandle you back onto the bed, legs spread by his massive palms, as he beheld you like a deity he wanted to worship over several lifetimes. His ferocity to have you usually outweighed his usual firm patience. 

You doubted that you were bad at giving head or that he didn’t enjoy it. Din was vocal, that much you were surprised to learn. As vocal as that modulator in his helmet would allow. Nothing rivaled the groans and curses you were rewarded with as you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, eyes never straining from the T of his visor, taking him deep in your mouth, sucking on the head. You could only bask in the glow of his praise and delicious sounds for so long before Din became impatient and hauled you off his cock, the desire to be deep inside your warm wet heat his sole focus. “Need to have you now meshla,” he groaned, “can’t fucking wait any longer.”

Tonight would be different, you thought to yourself earlier that day as you watched Din stroll down the ramp of the Razorcrest, eager to begin his hunt for the next quarry. You had landed on Trandosha near dawn, and while the lush landscape of the planet appeared inviting Din had made it clear that you and the child couldn’t explore while he was gone.

“The quarry hasn’t exactly been covert about laying low, so it shouldn’t take long to track him down.” He explained as he restocked his munition and triple checked his weapons. 

Something about the methodical, almost choreographed manner in the way he loaded the pulse rifle bullets in his bandolier, reloaded his blaster, secured his vibroblade on the inside of his boot made you ridiculously horny. Watching the weathered faded leather of his gloves, caress the barrel of the rifle, mold around the handle of the blaster, those same gloves that molded to the curves of your body. You felt your throat go dry as he kept talking.

“Are you listening cyar’ika?”

Two leather clad fingers settled underneath your chin, urging it upwards to meet his visor.

“Huh?”

His helmet tilted to the side ever so slightly as he appraised your glossed over gaze, not before letting out one of those deep sighs that you had come to know and love. 

“No leaving the ship while I’m gone, under any circumstances. Got it?” The fingers under your chin shifted as his hand curled around the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently over your jaw.

“Trandosha may be a decent planet but Trandoshans are ruthless hunters, and they wouldn’t miss an opportunity to capture a sweet thing like you, or the child.”

The thought didn’t scare you. Having been around Trandoshans before, you knew they were cunning hunters, but the large reptilian species were slow on foot and clumsy with weaponry. They were nothing in comparison to Din’s prowess and perfected combat skills. 

Humming in response, you walk your fingers up the cool beskar of his chest plate, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Good thing I am traveling with one of the most ruthless and equally feared bounty hunters in the galaxy hmm?”

Burying your fingers in the curls peeking out from underneath his helmet and tugging slightly, you reveled in the shaky exhale he let out. 

He leaned down, resting the forehead of his helmet against yours.  A quiet rumble leaving the depths of his broad chest. 

“Ruthless huh?” His strong arms snake around your waist, pulling you flush against his broad body. You basked in the warmth emanating off his armour. While he appeared a mountain of metal, it sent a thrill through you upon feeling the humanity coursing through his body, the life exuding from underneath his beskar shell.

“Yes Din.” You replied with a smirk as you arched your back, smushing your breasts against the cool, hard angles of the chest plate.

“Ruthless in catching your bounties, ruthless in destroying your enemies,” you look up at him from under your lashes, “ruthless when you fuck my pussy and make me cum so many times I lost count.”

He lets out a noise, between a groan and a growl, as his hands slithered down to grip your ass, tightly cupping your ass cheeks, trying to pull you impossibly closer than you already were. It wasn’t enough to be pressed up against you, he needed to be inside you. That much was evident as you felt the hard outline of his cock, nudging against your lower belly. 

“Damn fucking right I am. That tight little pussy is mine.”

It was your turn to shiver as your eyes fell shut and you bit your lip. Stars, the power that this man had over you. How he was able to make you fall apart with just his words, that filthy fucking mouth hidden underneath his unreadable halo of steel.

He leaned down till the helm of his helmet was beside your ear. “No leaving the ship,” he repeated in that delicious rasp. “I’ll be back soon okay?”

Little did Din know the surprise you had in store for him later.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Niragi Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Heavy BDSM, Edging, Overstimulation, Aftercare, Ownership Kink, Marking, Biting, Petnames, Consensual Dub-Con, Consensual Abuse of Physical Strength, Knife Play, Mentions of Blood, Spit Kink, Cum Play, Rough Sex, Dominant Niragi, Submissive Reader, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’, etc.

A/N: If you don't like this kind of content, please don't flag it ! It really hurts us authors and our engagement ! Instead, please consider blocking my account or changing your account viewing preferences so you aren't exposed to unwanted/NSFW content in the future :-). Here is a wonderful post which details how you can do just that <3

You’re his. Simple as.

And he makes sure to remind you - and anyone who crosses your path - on a near-daily basis.

Whenever he sees fit, he’ll just corner you and pin you down, telling you to “Calm down, Angel – you’re makin’ me hard,” – his way of warning you that whatever he has planned for you will only worsen the more you struggle.

And his bulge against your back is a very visceral promise of that.

Loves forcing your hands beside or above your head; it reminds you both of how much stronger than you he is – how weak and dependent you are compared to him.

How he owns you.

Bites your throat and shoulders, sucking marks, crafting you a necklace of bruises fashioned by him – his own branded jewels of love.

He’ll make sure they’re visible, too.

He needs to ward off other people from you by leaving his mark, his signature.

If he thinks you’re being bratty or uncooperative, he’ll go to any lengths to break you down until you submit to him entirely.

“You’re not making this any easier for yourself, Love,” he says. “Just tell me why you’re being so infuriating and I won’t bleed you this time.”

Massively into knife play.

Loves hearing you squeak and moan whenever he holds a knife to your throat or drags the blunted edge up your thighs, pressing it to your throbbing, aching core and cutting your underwear open, ravaging you.

He’s so rough when he’s in this kind of mood.

Will pound you until you bleed. Or give out and admit your feelings to him. Either will suffice; yet Niragi knows which he can draw from you first.

And his stamina and endurance are no joke.

He will outlast you in every faculty.

That’s the territory that comes with being a trained killer.

And he will remind you of that constantly.

“How does it feel–” he rasps, pants, as he pounds you from behind, the bed jutting with each thrust, “–to know you’re being fucked by a killer,”

The question is always rhetorical. He just revels in the feeling of you clenching around him when he recalls just how easily he could end you right here, right now.

But he doesn’t. And he never would.

He loves you far, far too much.

But that doesn’t stop him from being straight-up disrespectful.

Orders you to open your mouth, only for him to spit into it whenever he knows or suspects you’re being untruthful.

Also loves covering you in his cum.

His favourite thing is to cum inside you and watch it ooze from whichever holes he’s chosen to abuse that day, but something about covering you in it makes him feral.

Edges you constantly.

Uses your release as a bartering chip.

“Tell me why you’re being such a brat and I’ll let you cum.”

It’s a trap. Your honesty is punished, too.

Once he tears a satisfactory answer from you, he’ll let you - make you - cum.

And as your orgasm is still rolling through you, he’ll keep going. And going. And going.

At first you could assume it’s his bid to fulfill his own needs, but even after he finishes inside you and he simply doesn’t relent, realisation dawns on you.

Your insides are aching, pleading for a moment’s respite. But Niragi doesn’t stop, battering your hole and keeping it stretched over his bulging cock.

There comes a point where you’re banging your fists against his chest, begging him to stop because you’re so sensitive and it hurts, but he ignores you.

“If I were to let up that easily, I wouldn’t get to have any fun. Quite unfair after I let you cum, isn’t it?”

Looks into your eyes as he does it, too.

Will tie you up if he finds your cries and flails to be too bothersome.

Binds you to the bedposts so there’s nothing you can do but watch and feel as he slams into you at such a harsh, killing rhythm that has you thinking whatever’s leaking out of you right now is blood.

Very much into BDSM.

Will use his strength to bend you into whatever shape your body will allow and bind your limbs together, making it entirely impossible for you to break free as he has his way with you.

“You’re mine,” he’d say, grinding the shape of his cock into your walls; and all the while you’re moaning, crying, tears streaming down your face as euphoria tightens in your centre. “Nobody else can have you - please you - the way I can.”

Big fan of punishment, btw.

There are times where he puts you in a cage and just cums on you, making you stay there until his semen is crusting on your skin, makeshift scales on the creature he has reduced you to.

Also gets a kick out of spanking you, either with a belt or his hand.

When he’s feeling particularly cruel, he makes you count them until you reach the limit he has set for you.

And Heaven forbid you lose count, or you both start all over again.

Niragi likes to make sure that every time you try to sit down, you remember him – what he did to you.

When all is said and done, even when you’re used and stuffed and Niragi is milked dry, he is always up for more.

If you insist you can “go another round,” he’ll push you back down onto the bed.

“Oh, is that so, Sweetheart?” he says, looking down at you with mischief. “I might just break you if we go again.”

He’s joking, ofc.

When you're actually spent for the night, he just collapses next to you and looks upon you as if you are god, eyes dark and round.

Though he'd attribute that longing look in his eye to you being too emotional or clutching at straws - simply projecting that which you wanted to see.

Though, he will admit (only to himself), that it does feel nice to be so seen on occasion, but only by you.

Secretly loves to snuggle. All the time.

And he holds you as you’re drifting off to sleep, keeping you flush against his chest, wondering how he got so lucky to have met you.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-) Masterlist

Masterpost

[wildechildwrites]

Bodice Ripper

Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+, noncon, kidnapping, violence, oral, masturbation

No use of Y/N

Summary: You, the princess of an unnamed kingdom, are attending a masquerade ball. You get kidnapped by a man in a skull mask with unclear intentions.

A/N: I got too caught up into the nuances of political kidnappings which is crazy because I really just wanted to write some bodice ripping smut but the social implications of being ravished were too detrimental to your fake life that I couldn't commit to it fully

AO3 Link: Bodice Ripper

18+

The gown you’re wearing is decadent, layers of pearlescent pink silk flowing around you, your shoulders bare, your waist tightly cinched. You’re wearing your mother’s best diamonds, glinting prettily in the hollow of your throat. The mask obscuring your face matches your dress, delicately resting on your nose bridge. 

The ballroom around you is lush with wealth, thousands of candles illuminating the space, rich tapestries covering the walls. Couples spin in the center of the room, and laughter fills the space. The masquerade is the event of the season, everyone decked out in finery. The prince is here, somewhere amongst the masked guests, and you’re determined to find him. Your country is small, but powerful, and there have been whispers of an engagement, an advantageous love match between you and the young dauphin. You survey the scene, looking for a familiar figure.

The man who catches your attention is massive, wrapped in a black burial shroud. His face is entirely obscured by a skull mask, the very visage of death. It's a horrible costume, brutal in a way that makes it striking, sticking out from the soft splendor of the rest of the crowd. He’s standing completely still, a harsh juxtaposition from the revelers milling about, and his eyes are unmistakably fixed upon you. A chill runs down your spine, and fear makes you turn away from his cold gaze.

A young man approaches you and asks for a dance, and you quickly recognize him as one of the sons of a duke your father often goes hunting with. He’s a fine enough dancer, despite his clammy hands, and you allow him to twirl you about, temporarily forgetting your unease. Your eyes catch on another man, tall and slender, dressed in velvety royal purple, and smile to yourself. The prince certainly hasn’t made the sport a difficult one. You detach yourself from your partner, politely making your excuses.

When you cross paths with the prince, you let your fan slip out of your hand. He smiles brightly at you, before leaning down to pick it up. His mask does little to hide his handsome face.

“You dropped this, madam.” He says, returning your fan to you with a gallant, slightly pompous, bow. When you reach for it, he captures your gloved hand in his, softly bringing it to his lips. 

“Thank you, your highness,” you say, dropping your eyes and curtseying appropriately.

“I believe you have mistaken me for someone else,” he responds, his voice playful. “But if you’ll do me the honor of dancing with me, I will attempt to behave as princely as I am capable.” 

You’d be a fool to think you’ve captured his full attention, and you ignore the way your dance partner's eyes stray hungrily away from yours. You know what’s expected of you, what is expected of him. True fealty from the future king is an unachievable goal, one you have no interest in. This is what you’re meant for, the duty that has been hammered in since you were a child. Resources and connections for your father’s kingdom, the admiration and envy of the court. The prince talks about his own accomplishments, the hunting he’s done recently and his skills with a blade. Your eyes flit almost unconsciously around the room while he speaks, looking for the terrifying specter from earlier, but the man that had frightened you is nowhere to be seen. You let yourself unwind, getting lost in the music and the prince’s eyes.  

You dance a few waltzes before the prince excuses himself. “I promised I’d play cards with the duke,” he says, his eyes following an earl’s daughter across the room. You curtsey sweetly, murmuring the appropriate tittering phrases, and you two part ways. The room is warm, and you head towards the balcony, desperately in need of some fresh air and solitude.

Outside, the terrace is deserted, and you’re grateful for the momentary peace. Music filters through the open doors, the sound of conversation muted to a dull hum. You sigh quietly. The gardens beyond are dark, but the moon is shining brightly. You stare up at the stars, picking out constellations. A branch snaps, just out of sight, and you stiffen, peering into the dark. 

“Is there someone there?” You call. 

The only response is the quiet chirping of crickets. 

You’re uneasy, hairs standing on end. Turning back, you yearn for the crowded safety of the ballroom.

The man in the skull mask stands between you and the french doors, and you let out a gasp. You grapple for your manners, trying to regain control of the situation.

“I–I apologize, sir, you startled me.” You say. The stranger makes no answer, taking a step closer to you. You step back. He takes another step. His eyes are cold, locked on yours as he advances. 

“You’re behaving most uncouthly.” Your tone is demeaning, but it makes no difference, not seeming to register as the man takes another step, closing in on you.

“You can’t– You’re not supposed to–” your composure cracks, adrenaline coursing through your veins. He reaches for you, and you evade his grasp, whirling around to run into the gardens. 

You hike your skirts up, uncaring of modesty, sprinting as fast you can through the darkness. Branches scrape at your skin as you dodge around them, trying to put distance between you and your pursuer. You hear him behind you, loud footfalls drawing closer and closer. Lungs burning, you desperately try to breathe around your tightly laced corset. There’s a hedge maze on the grounds, and if you could just get away from him–

You yelp when he lunges for you, tackling you roughly into the dirt. Your gloves rip, your palms and elbows aching from the impact, but you struggle against the weight on your back. You throw your head back hard, smashing the back of your skull into his nose, and are rewarded by a string of oaths, half of which you've never heard before, falling from the stranger’s mouth. His large, thick fingers wrap around your throat, pinning you in place. 

“Stay still,” the man snarls. He’s breathing heavily, voice raspy. His accent is thick and distinctively english. 

Something hard is pressed into your back, and you fearfully wonder if the man is armed. When he grinds his hips against yours,  a cold trickle of realization hits you. Your parents had kept you largely in the dark about what happens between men and women, but you had heard the whispered stories of the servants, the tittering of married friends. Horror stories about highway men and rapers. Your maidenhead is the only thing of any real value that you have, and you renew your struggles even as he keeps you pinned. 

“Get off of me!” You shriek, and the man freezes, as though caught off guard, before pushing himself off of you. He lets out a string of curses, before grabbing your arms and roughly pulling you up. 

He reaches up and pulls the mask off your face, drinking in your features hungrily. You stare at each other for a heartbeat.

“What do you want from me?” You ask, trembling. Your words seem to reset him, and he straightens up, towering over you. He’s massive, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight, his costume sending a chill down your spine.

“It's not what I want from you, princess. It's what I want from your father. What you’re going to help me get from him.” he replies coldly. “The people are starving. Not that you’d even notice, hm?” He’s hurting you, his grip almost crushing, shaking you as he speaks. “Your father and that bastard of a prince don’t care about the common folk’s struggles.” 

“What exactly do you expect me to do about it?” you hiss, speaking before you have the sense to stop yourself, irritation rising. The man’s expression is impossible to read with the mask, but you think you’ve shocked him. “I have no claim, no real power. I do what I can, I feed the poor and donate to the church, but I do not write laws. I cannot influence my father’s decisions nor the prince’s.”

“You’re standing here, neck dripping with diamonds, telling me you’re powerless?” 

The aggravation in his voice scares you, but you forge on through gritted teeth. “I am merely a bauble and a future broodmare. You’d have better luck kidnapping one of my brothers. My father may not even condescend to pay whatever ransom you’ll demand, but you obviously didn’t plan this out quite well.” Your tone is frosty, haughty despite your terror.

He slaps you, hard, and you gasp in shock, tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t take that tone with me, princess.” He snarls. “Whether it’s money or your pretty little head on a spike, I’ll get what I want.” 

He pulls coarse rope from his cloak, binding your hands tightly, cutting into your delicate wrists. He heads into the darkness, dragging you behind him. You stumble in your heels, and he lets out an irritated sound before wordlessly throwing you over his shoulder. It’s as if you weigh nothing, and your face feels hot when his large hand presses against the back of your thighs, holding you steady. You can feel the warmth of him through the layers of fabric. You’re hyper aware of the indecency of it, your skin tingling.

The path isn’t lit, but his footsteps are confident. A horse snorts softly in the dark before the man suddenly puts you down, grabbing your bicep roughly. 

“Don’t move,” he says, his voice ice cold. You nod, too frightened to speak. The horse in front of you is beautiful, stormy gray and massive. He lets go of your arm and reaches into his cloak, procuring an apple. He offers it to the animal, whispering softly as he feeds it, petting its nose gently. You take a step back, trying to be subtle, and his head whips around. 

The man boosts you onto the horse, throwing himself on after you. You’re pressed against his chest, back flush against the hard planes of muscle as he urges the horse on, setting a quick pace. 

The horse is bigger than your own, stretching your legs uncomfortably wide, and you shift, quickly getting sore. Whatever is in his pocket is prodding into your lower back, and you wiggle your hips, trying to make yourself more comfortable with the limited space you have, when the man lets out a low noise in the back of his throat, a firm hand grabbing your waist.

“Quit squirmin’,” He grounds out. His voice sounds oddly strained, and you cease your movements immediately. You ride in silence for a few more moments. 

The path you're taking is unfamiliar, and curiosity wins over your reason.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask.

The man ignores you. Time passes, and you peer into the darkness, trying to spot any landmarks. Hopefully your absence has been noticed by your guards by now, and there are people looking for you. The night is cold, your arms covered in gooseflesh as you begin to shiver. Your captor wordlessly pulls you closer to his chest, wrapping the cloak he wears around your bare arms. You murmur a thank you automatically, and his grip on you tightens slightly.

“What's your name?” You ask softly. 

“It's Ghost,” the man replies after a moment. You feel a spike of irritation. 

“What’s your real name?” you ask, your tone slightly petulant.

“Why do you want it so bad, hm? Going to set your betrothed on me? If he’s not too busy whoremongering, maybe he’ll chop off my head.” His tone is mocking. “You’ll call me what I tell you to call me.” 

 You ride until dawn is breaking over the hill, coming upon a barn in the middle of a field. The surrounding countryside is unfamiliar, and you haven't seen any other houses or buildings for miles. You're exhausted and sore, body aching and stomach rumbling. Ghost stops short of the barn door, dismounting before pulling you into his arms in one fluid motion. You don’t resist as he carries you into the barn and places you with surprising gentleness on a pile of soft hay.

“I need to go feed and water the horse.” His voice is stern, a cruel bite to it that chills you. “There’s no one around us for miles. You've run from me once before and I caught you, if I have to chase you again I will punish you.” 

You stare up at him, trembling uncontrollably. There’s a beat of silence. He sighs, an almost wistful noise, before wordlessly leaving the barn. 

Your body is failing, the long horse ride and constant terror leaving you drained. You fight against unconsciousness, worried about what Ghost may do, but the hay is soft and sweet smelling, the barn warmer than the chill of the night.

Ghost finds you curled up on the hay, head cradled in your arms. He watches the soft movement of your breath pensively. The soft skin of your wrists is rubbed raw, angry beneath the ropes still holding them together. There’s a bruise forming on your cheek, and he’s sure that you’ve got more bruises hidden under your dress.

The concept had seemed so noble when the revolutionaries who hired him planned it. Distribute the ransom money amongst the poor, remind the monarchy of their own vulnerability. Standing in the dim light of the barn, confronted with a frightened girl and his own brutality, Ghost doesn’t feel noble. 

The desire that has been mounting since he had chased you down doesn't feel very noble either. 

Less of a man and more of a monster, he removes his mask and lowers himself on the hay beside you.

When you wake, you're laying on Ghost’s chest, hand curled in the tunic he wears. Your wrists are no longer tied, and he’s no longer wearing that horrible mask. Your face gets hot. He’s handsome but rough looking, light scars scattered across his face. There’s a smudge of dried blood under his crooked nose from when you headbutted him last night. You attempt to untangle yourself from him as gently as you can, scared of waking him. In response, his brow furrows, arms tightening around you unconsciously. You freeze and lie still, watching the shadows on the wall change as the sun rises, his heartbeat steady in your ear.

You can tell when Ghost finally wakes by the way his breathing changes. He pushes you off of him gently, and you feign sleep, listening to him move about. When the door of the barn creeps open and shut, you sit up and look around. It had been too dark before, but now you look around for any exits. There’s a loft, and you wonder if you could reach it before Ghost gets back. 

The mental image of him dragging you down after you’ve climbed up makes you reconsider the idea. 

You wonder if he can be bargained with. You knew how to play the game with men, how to simper and say the things they wanted to hear, and the game was much easier when they were attracted to you. You remember the way Ghost looked at you when he first ripped off your mask and heat rushes to your face as you begin to strategize.

When Ghost comes back inside, you’re standing, hands clasped behind your back and posture straight. You look more like you did when he first saw you, confident and blooming in the low light of the ballroom. The dirt on your face and gown do little to detract from your regal nature, and your eyes meet his without the fear from last night.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, your voice clear and almost musical. 

He doesn’t respond, his gaze trailing down your figure, and you bite your lip, pushing down your trepidation and stepping towards him. The surprise in his expression is poorly masked, and he tilts his head, an unspoken question.

“I’m being paid a large amount of money to bring you to a revolutionists group.” He says frankly. He’s stalking closer to you, soft and slow, like a fox after a hare. You resist the urge to step back.

“Please Ghost,” you respond, eyes wide, letting your bottom lip tremble, “My father can pay more than what they’re offering. Whatever you ask, I will write a letter demanding it, and we can have a courier from the nearest town take it to the palace immediately.”

You close the gap between the two of you, gently reaching out and placing a hand on his chest, tilting your chin to look him in the eye. Your expression is soft and pleading, and you resist a shudder at the odd, predatory look quickly forming in his eyes. One of his hands shoots out, grabbing your wrist, keeping you trapped against him. 

“Are you trying to negotiate with me?” Ghost murmurs. The intense look on his face frightens you, and you take an abrupt step back, trying to pull away from his iron grip, realizing your judgment of him had been erroneous far too late. You’d been desired before, exchanged longing looks across ballrooms, swapped love tokens and letters, but no one had ever looked at you with such fierce hunger. 

“I–I’ll tell the king that you rescued me. That you heard my screams and saved me.” You feel the tables quickly turning against you. “I’ll get you whatever you want.”

He laughs, a dissonant sound against the grim set of his features. “What I want,” Ghost leans in, his voice dropping. “Is something I can’t have.” Your chests are nearly pressed together.

 “I have been fighting my baser nature since the moment I saw you.” The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, his voice like velvet. 

“I don't care that you're a princess. I wish you were a shepherd’s daughter, then I'd have snuck you away to the woods to fuck you on the soft ferns while your father tends his flock.” 

No one has ever spoken to you in such a way. Heat fills you unexpectedly, but you rebel against the foreign sensations and growing need, tugging your wrist out of his grip.

“You can’t have me,” you say weakly. Ghost leans down, fisting his hand in your hair. You expect him to kiss you, but he uses his grip on you to pull your head to the side, exposing the smooth column of your throat. His breath is hot against your neck.

“Come now, princess. You expect me to believe that there have been no trysts with stable boys? I’m sure your beloved little prince has stolen a kiss or two. It’ll be our little secret.” His voice is a purr, and he places a delicate kiss right below your ear lobe. You tremble, gasping at the sensation.

 He huffs, amused, before sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin. You let out an indecent mewl, hands rising up to fist the front of the tunic he wears. Ghost pulls back, his eyes sparking with an avian intensity before capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is fierce, want shooting through you as you gasp against his mouth. His tongue sweeps against yours, and you lose yourself in it until you feel his hands wandering, touching your breasts. You struggle against him, tears welling in your eyes as you try to pull away. He pulls you against him harder, grinding his hips against yours. You turn your head to the side, trying to escape his demanding mouth.

“Please don’t,” you cry. “I’ll be ruined.” 

“We wouldn’t want that.” His voice is full of sarcasm, but he cups your face tenderly, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Don’t cry now, dove, I just want a taste. We’ll keep you nice and pure.” 

He picks you up, laying you back onto the straw. You look at him, a pinched expression on your face, and he captures your mouth in another kiss, devouring you. You can feel the burning heat of his body through the layers of your dress. His hands run down your sides, bunching in the fabric of your skirt. He hikes your skirt up, forcing your legs apart, and you know what's coming, bracing for his touch as he mouths along your neck, but his rough hands are still a shock as he pushes your thighs apart. You freeze with anticipation as he lowers himself down your body.

The only warning you get is the feeling of Ghost’s skin brushing against yours before his warm tongue traces a long, relishing lick up your dripping slit, ripping a gasp from you. He buries his face against you, licking deeper, his tongue exploring previously untouched places as you writhe beneath him. The sensations are all so foreign and overwhelming. You fist your hands into his hair, unsure if you want to push him away or pull him closer. 

Ghost is relentless, his hands pinning you down, trapping you as he licks you open, and you let out a wail. An odd sensation is building in your stomach, and you try to escape his insistent mouth, squirming against his hold. His nose is pressed up against the top of your slit, his tongue circling around inside you. A shudder runs all the way through your body, reaching a pitch that has you crying out, bucking against him as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your thighs tremble around his head, and you whine as he continues his ministrations, feeling overstimulated, your head hazy. He finally allows you to push him away when he’s had his fill, leaning backwards. The lower half of his face is soaked, and you blush as he uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.  

Ghost unlaces his breeches, pulling you out of your haze. He’s still got one hand holding you down, and you begin struggling again, fear building.

“No, you can’t—” Ghost leans down and captures your lips with his, interrupting your pleas. He pulls back, gently cupping your face in his hand and shushing you, making soft noises as you struggle against him. 

“I promised princess, I just want to feel you.” You relax slightly, still nervous as he pulls his cock free. It’s huge, the tip leaking and nearly purple. He kisses you again, his mouth rough against yours, and you whimper as he presses himself against you, dragging his cock through your folds, gathering your slick. When the tip catches against your entrance, you let out a gasp. 

He pulls back, his eyes dark. You watch, entranced, as he wraps his hand around himself, pumping his fist slowly up and down, coating his cock with your slick. It’s obscene, and you feel yourself flush at the indecency. Heat rushes down to your core as you watch him stroke his cock.

Ghost’s gaze is burning, eyes flitting between your face and your wet center, drinking up the sight. 

“See what you do to me?” He snarls, picking up speed. He grabs your hip and pulls you closer, flat on your back with your legs spread around him as he fucks his fist, his knuckles brushing against your center. You whimper, and the hand on your hip digs into your skin, hard enough to bruise. 

When he finishes, he says your name like a litany. It echoes in the empty space of the barn, like the clanging of church bells. 

His cum dries on the soft skin of your navel and mound, sticky and uncomfortable. He helps you pull your dress down, and tucks himself back into his breeches. 

Ghost kisses you again, his mouth is softer against yours now, and you kiss back, your inexperienced tongue rasping against his. He pulls away, and the silence between you is heavy. 

“What are you going to do now?” You ask, your voice quiet. His expression is conflicted as he reaches up a large hand to push some stray hair out of your face.

After a long silence, he finally answers you. “I’m taking you home.”

[tyxoxo]

One Night Only - IV.

ch. 3, m.list

Jeno x fem!reader series

Genre: slow burn, fuckboy!jeno, enemies to lovers/hate fucking fwb! bookstore jeno → model jeno au, 00’ dream + mark + jun (seventeen) character inserts

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: pure filth, jeno is mean, cocky, stubborn, this relationship is extremely toxic (i dont condone, this is pure fiction), (future) unprotected sex, choking, slapping, degrading, spitting, dumbification, dacryphilia, oral (f and m receiving), cum play, envy, mdni!

tagging: @nonaism @pradajaehyun @painted-hills

a/n: omg after freaking forever i finally have chapter 4. tysm for waiting and massive hugs to those who commented on previous chapters and left me encouraging asks to continue!

Chapter 4

[ The drop of his umbrella was the last thing you could recall before connecting your lips to his. ]

He was just as steady as you hoped he would be; unrelenting in his attempt to devour your mouth. Your arms reached up to wrap around his cold neck, pulling him closer into your embrace, his cologne still just as evident as before.

His lips felt scorched against yours, despite the rest of his skin feeling a few degrees cooler from the rain.

The sound of your lips colliding filled the hall of your apartment; smacking, licking, tugging as if it was your last kiss.

Neither of you were concerned if someone saw. You were too busy reveling in how his hands explored your body in such a heated rush. How the two of you were using tongue within seconds of kissing for the first time.

Before you could even try to pull him by his collar into your apartment, you felt his wet hands clasp under your thighs and hoist you up. Your legs immediately wrapped around his tiny waist where you belonged, that familiar flame in your core charging upon making contact with his groin. He managed to growl into your mouth, sending vibrations through every nerve in your body.

The wind that blew past you as he carried you into your apartment made you wonder if he had enough patience to make it to your room. It didn’t matter where two of you landed, as long as you could keep kissing him.

“Where’s your room?”

His voice had transformed into something so deep. Deeper than you’ve ever heard. But you would never admit to him that his low tone made you wet.

If this was anyone else, you would’ve combated this foreshadowing. But he sounded so confident with what he wanted to do to you.

Your mouth latched onto his neck, completely ignoring his question so you could taste the rain on his smooth skin.

“Behind me…go straight.” You could feel thunder brewing in his throat from his grunts while sucking along his adam’s apple. You attempted to make last minute marks along his neck before he got to your room. And guessing by how his vein pulsed against your tongue, you succeeded.

Jeno resumed carrying you to your bedroom, kicking the door open. The only lighting provided was the night light plugged in the corner, offering some assistance to your vision.

You had never been tossed on the bed before, but to experience it with such force was enough to shatter your equilibrium.

Before your eyes could adjust to the dimly lit room, Jeno had already thrown his jacket and shirt across your room creating a loud “splat” sound. You wished to focus more on the contours of his upper body, but he had already descended in a hunting stance towards you.

He lowered himself, positioning his broad frame in between your legs. His lips connected to your clothed chest this time, trying to bite through the collar of your cotton shirt. He seemed so starved, so animalistic.

You craved to be kissed there. But it seemed your fingers were having trouble lifting your shirt off your head. And by the looks of Jeno’s furrowed brow, he was getting impatient. In two swift motions he stripped you down to your underwear, throwing everything to the side against your computer desk. You arched your back at the feeling of your nipples being exposed to the cold air in your room. They were already hard from the moment you first kissed him.

The smell of your escence filled his nose, causing him to inhale so violently. His eyes rolling back as if he was overtaken by a deviant spirit.

“You smell so, fucking, good.”

You bit your lip hard in response, trying your hardest to suppress a moan that could’ve easily fueled his already molten ego.

He licked his lips and combed through his soaked strands before diving in, using his mouth to latch onto your sensitive nipple and using his hand to give attention to the other.

It felt so shameless to let a moan escape your lips because of him. But he worked his tongue so well, alternating between flicking, and tugging on it with his teeth. Your eyes were shut, not being able to see that he was absorbing your look of bliss, with mental notes to keep you that way for the rest of the night. Your hands were up splayed at your head, grabbing desperately at your pillow.

His mouth then switched to your other nipple but this time, his hand trailed down to cup your clothed core. Jeno’s eyes fluttered when he felt that you weren’t damp…you were soaked.

The pads of his fingers practically sliding along the strip of your panties. He maintained concentration rubbing his fingers along the flood in your underwear and sucking your now-abused nipple.

Your body jolted upon feeling his tongue change direction, starting at your bellybutton and then licking up to your neck; his warmth leaving a wet trail along your upper body. He met your lips again, your tongues dancing together as one.

Saliva pooled against the corner of your mouth as your wet muscles twirled against each other. Your body squirmed, completely drunk off of how he tasted.

So warm…and inviting, a stark contrast to his character.

His left hand reached up to grab a hold of your entire jaw. You froze at the harsh hold he had on you, not even concerned if he squished you beyond repair. Through your hooded eyes, you could see a long line of saliva between the two of you as he disconnected. Jeno’s eyes followed how the line stretched and fell.

Jeno’s tongue descended upon yours a second time. He then rose up, the both of you watching the bridge form and fall again. One lick of his lips broke the connection and he used his hand to smear the fluid over your mouth in such a rough, unhinged way that you were still processing the moment.

You raised your head to see where he had gone as your bed felt lighter. He stood at the edge, creating somewhat of a strip show as he began to unbuckle his belt. His eyes bore deep into your own as he managed to sling his belt through all the loops of his jeans with just one hand.

There was no time for waiting on him to tell you what to do. You knew what you wanted.

You lunged towards the edge of the bed, like a depraved pawn.

Crawling towards him was invigorating in its own right. He smirked down at you, obviously eyeing at what a spectacle you were.

Your hands danced out of control to unbutton his pants and yank them down his chiseled thighs. Your eyes were met with a bulge you’ve only hoped to see in your dreams. The elastic of his expensive-looking briefs were hanging on for dear life, swelled to the max from his erect cock.

His tip was peeking out of the waistband, swollen red, leaking pre-cum with every inhale and exhale. It was obvious that your eyes were trying to process all of this. You hadn’t even pulled his briefs down yet and you were already salivating.

Trying to take him would be a challenge, no matter which hole he decided to abuse.

The motion of his length snapping back against his abs as you pulled down his briefs was already playing like a broken record in your mind. He was undeniably huge. There was no way he could fit in either part of you.

The light caresses he gave across your forehead transitioned into his hand squeezing around your neck, without warning. No room for air and barely any sensory awareness to blink away the tears forming in your eyes from the pressure. You knew he could see you struggling to breathe.

But he didn’t care.

He lowered his head to your level, his irises a gleaming body of ink.

“Don’t fucking waste my time.” Jeno spat at you, his cock getting harder at the sight of a vein popping along your temple from how hard he squeezed your throat.

A huge gulp of air was the only fair thing he offered you, his hand releasing in just the same amount of speed as when he first took hold of you. You shuffled to the ground, being at his complete disposal on your knees. It seemed that position would fare way better than trying on the bed.

You licked your lips as part of your concentration while gliding his pre-cum down his shaft with your trembling hands. You sped up your movements, not wanting to stir the beast above you any longer. His veins shocked your palms with each stroke, pulsing from all the blood that kept him as hard as a diamond.

Jeno felt so relieved. To finally be touched there, after a month. And for it to be you of all people, made him feel so powerful. Seeing you struggle when you hadn’t even started, made his pride peak to an unhealthy amount.

With each stroke, you squeezed him hard, making sure to go from the tip all the way down to the base. It seemed that you were doing well enough, as he began thrusting in your hand; the sharpness of his hips an obvious preview for what would come later.

The way his essence illuminated his cock made you hungry for more. Even the way he combed his bangs back to get a better view of your hands working his dick motivated you to not waste his time.

It was inevitable that you would have to take him in your mouth soon. The thought wasn’t out of distaste, but rather nervousness from how often you would choke around him. Both of your hands barely covered him and his tip alone was intimidating. Yet, he was so perfectly structured, and you couldn’t help but shift your thighs together to subdue that longing in your core.

“C’mon what are you waiting for?” Jeno probed above you, licking his lips in anticipation.

Your mouth had never stretched this wide to take anyone in before. But you managed to invite him in with a drooling tongue. You didn’t get far, but you compensated by stroking his length, using his remaining slick as lubrication.

The sigh he let out was delicious.

You just hoped you could impress him enough so he wouldn't shit talk you to whatever friends he had.

After a few moments of trying to get your tongue in the right position, there was somewhat of a rhythm forming even though your jaw was being tested of its limits.

With every gag you made trying to take more of him, Jeno released a guttural groan from deep within.

“Look at me bitch. Don’t look down.”

His words didn’t sting near as much as the slap against your cheek. If anything, it made more of your arousal pool against your inner thighs. You wanted to tell him to slap you again but your entire mouth was full.

Not much could be discerned through your watery eyes. But you scanned up anyways, meeting his inflamed lips from how hard he chewed them.

His hands reached down, one cupping underneath your chin and the other resting on top of your head. This type of headlock was completely new to you but you didn’t resist. Somehow through the pressure, you formed a natural response to put your hands behind your back to demonstrate your willingness to obey.

His hips thrusted sharper, his tip practically stabbing the back of your throat with each back and forth motion.

You couldn’t help but close your eyes from the soreness forming along the back of your throat, but if he had something to say about it, you would take it. There wasn’t much he could fit, but he was determined to keep trying. You felt filthy, but with such grandiose: all of the saliva dripping down your body and onto the floor, his growls bouncing off your bedroom walls, your tears streaming down your cheeks by the second. There was only so much nose breathing you could sustain. And now that he was obsessed with seeing your eyes scrunch up with the pressure of blocking your airway, he wasn’t going to slow down anytime soon.

“Fuckkkk. You’re trying so hard aren’t you?” He whispered now, trying to hide the tell-all of his impending high.

“I’ll get you there, someday. You’ll learn how to… take all of me.” He paused often, the feeling of your tongue sliding along the underside of his cock being too much to handle.

It took very little effort to realize that you were merely a tool for Jeno to use. All those days you pushed his supremacy to the back of your head, trying to deny that one day, the two of you would be here like this.

With one final thrust, he stilled inside your mouth, hunched over with his upper half practically laying on your head. His grunts and strings of profanity flooded the room. Your hands rushed to slap against his thighs, signaling that you for sure couldn’t breathe now. Neither did he or his cock care about your surrender. He remained there with complete control over your head, keeping you in place. His cum jetted out in thick spurts, bubbling up inside. You choked on all of the above, your body trembling and on the verge of collapsing. Your entire mouth was filled to the brim, yet you wanted to down it all like a complete animal.

“Yesss” His single exhale stirred you out of your vertigo.

A loud “pop” filled the room from Jeno backing out of your throat and a huge gasp from your vocal chords was left in place. Your hands cupped underneath your chin to catch any remaining fluid that tried to waste onto the floor. It wasn’t the mess you were concerned about, it was the fact that he tasted so clean. You slurped at your hands like he was a delicacy all kept to yourself.

Jeno continued stroking his still-hard cock as he watched you gulp down all that he had to offer.

“So hot…” He whispered while kicking off his pants and briefs that were hung low at his ankles.

He then walked over to where he threw his jacket, digging in the inside pocket to grab a familiar foil packet. Within a second of ripping it with his teeth, he glided it over his dick with grimace. You’re only guess would be that he disliked the constraint, not surprising.

Once he was somewhat satisfied, he stepped over to you and lowered his slicked hand around your neck again. You failed at trying to take the pressure of your jaw as he hoisted you up with ease and tossed you on the bed.

Before you could try to suck your fingers clean, he had already ripped your underwear in half and tossed it behind him.

Your yelp only got louder by the time Jeno dragged you to the edge of the bed, hooking his arms around your thighs. For that brief second of him being at your level, you wanted to kiss him again. But it seemed his mind was already hooked on other things. He was more focused on how you clenched around nothing when he pried your legs apart…and the way your aroma was even stronger and more intoxicating than before.

Your eyes followed his face with every action he did, not even realizing that his cock was awaiting your entrance. His raised brow got your attention. It seemed he pondered in thought on whether or not you could even take a few inches of him.

His girth was intimidating, obviously. And you didn’t have any recollection of taking someone like him before.

But the waiting was torture.

“Please…” The whimper that fell from your lips was so pathetic. But it caused a shift in Jeno’s uncertainty. In a mere blink, he tested your flexibility; prying your legs even more outward and as far back as you could allow. Your eyes then dragged down to his length. From the moment he slipped into you, there was a feeling of ascension…whatever words you could think of before your mind fell into a state of oblivion.

He sighed in ecstasy as you tried to maintain to get accustomed to his size. Luckily, the amount of your arousal provided a slick entry at first, but you still felt his lack of prepping. The more he tried to inch forward, the more you winced.

You tried to back away to relieve the pressure, but his hands kept your hips in place.

“Do you know how long I’ve needed this?”

“You were made for me.”

There was enough confidence left in you to agree with him.

You felt reckless for thinking this would be painless, but the trail of sweat inching down his abs and shameless lick of his lips made the stretch get easier with every breath. These hyperfixations weren’t going to last long, as you could feel the pit in your stomach grow deeper.

Your vision blurred as he bottomed out, his entire body flush against your own.

Jeno realized you were already too drunk to kiss him back but he swallowed the labored breaths that fell from your lips anyways; mouth hung open as he sucked on your tongue, enjoying the vibrations from your pitiful vocals.

At first he thrusted slow, relishing in how your walls trapped him in; rocking into you, prolonging the hilt as best as he could.

You knew there could be more.

And he proved your point. Jeno pistoned into you now, with your bed creaking as it became stressed against the two of you, though still not as loud as the skin slapping that followed. You clawed at your sheets for support as your whole body began to shake. Each connected hit made your body recoil, adding onto the pleasure of his veiny cock being somewhat of a ribbed feature made just for you.

From that start, he didn’t shy away from expressing his pleasure. It was the most unhinged sounds you’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. Occasionally a curse word would mix in with his grunts: a “fuck” or “shit” to be precise. And his eyes would constantly scan up and down your sweat slicked body, from your breasts to your blissed out face. To which you probably assumed looked a mess; contorted into whatever unsightly expressions your muscles produced. But to him, it was a sign that he was doing everything right.

Throughout all of this, you managed to tolerate your legs being pryed and bent apart for this long, and by the looks of Jeno’s gratification, this must’ve been his go to position if the girl allowed.

Not that you would protest against him.

“You’re taking me in so well. You feel that?” Jeno’s right hand trailed towards your groin, applying pressure in the process. Your body jolted upright at the added friction surging from his tip now brushing against your womb, obviously visible even under the dim lighting.

“I’m in so fucking deep.”

You then raised your hands to hook around his neck and bring his face closer to you. He obliged, lips connecting after what seemed like eons. The kiss was still just as messy, due to his hips not once faltering. But you liked it that way.

You were still just as fixated as him on the sounds of your nether regions talking to him: juices squelching and constantly flowing out onto your sheets. That combined with how his words equaled the rhythm of his hips was enough to ignite more flames under your skin.

“Keep your hand there, please.” You broke the kiss to make that request, hoping your supplication would be fulfilled.

And he did.

“Fuckkk. You’re so slick… so wet. I can feel you, getting close.”

Jeno’s tone was shaky now. Just when you thought he couldn't get any deeper, he slammed you further into the bed, one hand stiffening around your throat and the other keeping your leg as far back as you could stretch. Your hands immediately clasped around his for leverage as your airway became obstructed. He lowered his face, his lips millimeters away and denying you of any kiss you wanted. His irises were unrecognizable, pupils dilated more than you’ve ever seen before.

A devilish chuckle brewed from his chords, icy as it hit against your chin. His wickedness was all in part to how close you looked to becoming unconscious.

“Cum on my cock…cum on my fucking cock bitch.”

Each word through gritted teeth matched his thrust, growing in intensity. Seismic waves rutted through every fiber of your body. Your strained moans that managed to escape through his restriction on your breathing geared him to go deeper and harder. Jeno’s grunts turned into moans now, mouth hanging open, lockjaw from the success of his power trip and your intense orgasm.

Stars overtook your vision, ringing blared through your ears, and warmth flooded the rest of your senses as you came undone. Jeno’s hold on your throat didn’t let up and neither did the force of his cock kicking that familiar wave into overdrive. The pressure he held against your airway made the “thump” in your pulse slowly diminish with each sea of white that flashed across your vision.

The numbness that trailed after, made his strength irresistibly addictive. It felt too good to tell him to let go.

Jeno shook his head to separate his sweaty bangs, practically dripping down his temple. Your eyes were fluttering, body going limp underneath him.

He let up without your permission. A series of gasps for air followed. An obvious feeling of disappointment washed over you as he drew back; your legs falling like heavy weights onto the mattress, and your pussy already deprived of his size as you trembled from the involuntary clenching of your walls. Regardless of your lower body being in stasis, you used what remaining strength you had left to prop yourself up by your elbows to see where he had gone. Through the haze, you saw him upright and still above you with his condom already off, his eyes still boring deep into your own.

With one final stroke, milky white shot from his tip. Multiple ropes fell onto your ribs and stomach, feeling tepid against your sweaty skin.

You could tell by the way he collapsed next to you that he wasn’t going anywhere tonight. And you were surprisingly okay with it.

Not knowing how to carry on the rest of the night with Jeno around, you decided that once you found the strength, you would clean yourself up and hang both your clothes up to dry.

~

*ring* *ring* *ring*

The unpleasant sound of an incoming call stirred you from your sleep. Once you turned over to grab it from your nightstand, your eyes grew in horror.

The caller id read: Renjun.

You obviously forgot to set an alarm last night. And it was currently 12pm, right on the dot for when you were supposed to meet him at the museum.

With a face palm, you answered, hoping he wasn’t furious.

“Hey! I made it here. Are you closeby?” Renjun’s cheery voice made you feel even more like shit.

“Please don’t hate me, I forgot to set an alarm. I’m actually still home but I'll be there as fast as I can!” You winced in anticipation for his response, hoping he would forgive you for being late because his best friend completely destroyed you last night.

“Oh no worries! How about we grab a bite to eat first and then go? I can snag us a table at Uju’s, they’ll probably have a wait anyways since it’s lunch time.”

You exhaled in relief.

“That sounds great. I’m on my way!”

You hung up and immediately turned to the other side of the bed so you could wake up Jeno and tell him to leave.

To your surprise, it was empty.

There didn’t seem to be a note left behind or a text message, not that you expected different. But a part of you wondered that if you didn’t have this play date with Renjun, would you have stayed in bed replaying last night? Probably.

You thought it would be easy to get up and power walk. But the events of last night left you limp and sore. So much so that Renjun might question it when you make it to the restaurant.

You rushed to brush your teeth and put on some leisure clothes, mentally thanking yourself for showering the night before.

~

It was one thing to limp in front of strangers but to limp in front of Renjun made you very self aware of how crippled Jeno made you. Surely this would wear off later today.

“There you are!” Renjun exclaimed while standing up from the table to greet you, pulling you in for a hug to your surprise. You tried your best to wobble over and return the embrace.

“Here I am!” You exclaimed as you took your seat at the small round table.

Luckily, you were only 15-minutes late and by the looks of it, Renjun only had enough time to order drinks.

You had never been to this restaurant before either, too many to count. But it had a nice contemporary and casual feel, perfect for a sunny noon in Seocho-gu.

“Are you doing okay? Just noticed you limping a bit?” He asked while taking a sip from his tall glass of water.

Of course, your cheeks grew hot at his question but you managed to cool them off with a sip of the cold water before answering.

“Yeah I’m fine! I slipped last night walking home from the station. The rain was no joke.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. You didn’t fall but you were sure that he could relate to how strong the rainstorm was after the employee appreciation dinner last night.

“Yeah no kidding. The wind actually tore my umbrella but it was about time I got a new one.”

“So how did you find out about this new museum?” You asked while looking over the menu.

“I saw it on Instagram just scrolling through my ‘for you’ page. I asked Jeno if he wanted to go but he said no.”

“Does he do that a lot?”

I guess if you wanted to learn more about the guy you fucked, it would best be learned from his childhood friend. Not like Jeno would be personable with you.

“Back then, no. But ever since we left our parents to move in together, yes. I guess he just has no interest anymore. Would much rather go on dates or watch scary movies.”

“That’s unfortunate.” You trailed off with a sigh.

“Well if you ever find any more events and places to see, i’d be down to join.”

“Of course!” He beamed a smile while bowing in his seat.

A server soon came up and took your orders. Earlier, the two of you observed how big their portions were, even for lunch time. So you both thought it was best just to share since that would be plenty along with the side dishes.

To pass the time, you tried thinking of multiple ways of delving into Jeno’s background. But each time you wanted to spit out the question, you retreated. Renjun would be intelligent enough to realize that you were asking way too many things about a guy you seemingly despised. He’d seen enough of how Jeno treated you, and talked shit about you.

The best you could do without sounding contradictory was ask,

“So is Jeno the main person you’ve stayed in contact with since elementary school?”

You weren’t sure if the answer would yield much satisfaction.

“Yeah pretty much. Believe it or not, I don’t think he could live without me. He would never admit it though.” Renjun smirked to himself.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, I probably shouldn’t say too much. Not that I don’t trust you but…Actually never mind.”

He shook his head, his bangs waving back and forth just as strong as his hands.

“You can tell me. I try to stay away from him as much as possible, you know that.”

You hoped your last bit sounded convincing because the way Jeno fucked you last night had you second guessing your clarity.

You were sure that he was probably going about the day like normal, adding you to his ongoing list of girls he snatched. But that had to be it for him, and he was okay with it.

On the other hand, you felt stripped of your decorum. But deep down, you wanted to test just how much more mean he could get: your very own sick and twisted journey to resilience.

You thought that Renjun was still ignoring you, based on the lack of eye contact and incessant lip chewing.

“Okay, don’t tell him I told y-”

“I won’t!”

“Well the reason I said that is because Jeno doesn’t really have a home to go back to.”

Your eyebrows raised in piqued interest, already trying to guess what he could possibly mean.

“As you heard at the employee dinner, Jeno is trying to get into modeling. But it seems I’ve been the only one in his life that’s believed in him. His parents started questioning him towards the end of high school on why he wasn’t applying for colleges considering his test scores were pretty good. But once he told them he wanted to model, his dad went ballistic. To this day I still don’t know what all he said, but based on the fact Jeno’s dad has always been pretty hardcore authoritarian, and his mom just gives into whatever his dad says, it seems Jeno doesn’t ever want to see them again. He hasn’t for 4 years.”

This probably explained his unbridled rage and contempt for pretty much everyone.

“Daddy issues. Lovely.”

Was all you could produce from his spiel.

“Shhhh! Don’t let him hear you say that or it’s game over.”

Renjun seemed quite perturbed by your insult, as if “big and bad” Jeno could possibly be here right now.

“Is he really your friend if you fear him that much? It’s complete bullshit!”

“What’s your sudden peak of interest in him anyways? Is there something I should know?”

Your burst of energy from all of these revelations were shut down.

And the server arriving with your food came just in time.

[dreamsinarcadia]

Mistletoe (Part 2)

In which Heung-min and his best friend find themselves under the mistletoe over the years (and he’s pretty much to blame for it)

Pairing: Sonny x bestfriend!reader

Warning: flufffffff

Note: The photo above is how I picture Sonny’s mother looking at her child towards the end of this chapter

⬅️ Part 1

13 years old

Enduring a shiver so strong that it rattled her bones, she had to physically stop herself from launching a frying pan at Heung-min’s head. “Never, in my thirteen years of existence on this planet, have I been this cold before,” she mumbled under breath, teeth still chattering furiously from the unforgiving frost she had been forced to endure just an hour earlier.

Was football practice even worth it? Especially when she wasn’t even a football player to begin with? No. Absolutely not. She liked books and eating biscuits in the warm comfort of her bed, for crying out loud!

But then again, she would rather dig her own grave with a soup spoon than admit that seeing the smile on Heung-min’s face today made the possibility of losing her toes to frostbite worth it. Almost worth it… almost.

He was busy flying around his kitchen, trying his best to balance the massive basin (usually reserved for his mother’s kimchi stock), the kettle and a dish towel. Ambling towards his frozen friend, he bent forward to allow her to carefully collect the kettle and dish towel from his arms.

“I told you to wear extra layers,” he chided gently and sniffed. The tip of his nose could honestly have given Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer a run for his money.

She made a show of sniffing back just as obnoxiously as possible. “Did you? Did you really? Or did you break into my room at the crack of dawn and yell at me to get my ass out of bed?”

“Um, yes. I said ‘layers’ four times, and I know this because I counted.” He pulled out a chair to sit down in front of her, bending over to set the basin down with enough force to have the water slosh around and speckle the floorboards. “But when have you ever in your life listened to a single word of wisdom from me?”

“Start saying wise things and I just might listen.”

"Well, I was nice and warm until someone stole my scarf and gloves," he teased, ignoring her little remark to glance over at her bundled up nice and warm in his woollen scarf - a gift that had been hand knitted by her mother three Christmases ago.

The gloves and scarf gloves thief in question merely grinned as she carefully poured the hot water into the basin. As soon as it was warm enough, Heung-min gestured for her to put her feet in. Soon, the sounds of giggles filled the small kitchen as they knocked ankles and toes to try and find a comfortable spot in the warmth of the basin. She remained silent for a moment, letting her gaze map the features of his face. He was awfully close. “Count yourself lucky that I didn’t take your hat,” she mumbled under her breath.

“I’ll be sure to thank my ancestors.”

It was blissfully warm again. Soon enough, her teeth stopped chattering and the shivers stopped wracking her frame. She closed her eyes to revel in the moment and decided to ignore the sudden slosh of water as Heung-min removed his feet from the basin. Suddenly, it felt a little colder.

Wordlessly, Heung-min began working himself around the kitchen to pour some hot tea from the flash his mother always kept on hand at the dining table. With a quick glance back at his friend (who was either dead or snoozing), he rushed upstairs to his room to grab something.

By the time he arrived back in the kitchen to grab the mugs from the table, she had already opened her eyes to glare balefully at him. “Get your toes in here, the water’s getting cold.”

A smile erupted on his face. She was just so darn cute when pretended to be angry at him.

“Yes boss.” He carried the mugs of tea forward and sat back down, only to hold them well away from her grabby little hands when she attempted to reach for one.

“What—“

“The tea is yours for the low price of one kiss.”

Oh for…

She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes when he set his mug aside to pull out a familiar sprig of basil leaves from his pocket. He wiggled it enticingly between their heads. She really had to start hiding her mother’s pot of beloved plants from this boy.

She weighed her option. Was she still cold? Sort of. Did she like tea? Yes. Did she like Heung-min? That was an answer to debated over another day. Honestly speaking, it really was a small price to pay for the tea. It smelled positively heavenly.

And so, with little consideration for Heung-min’s blood pressure, she clamped her hands on his shoulders to yank him forward and place a quick kiss, that lasted no longer than a second, right on the corner of his lips.

It was only a little while later that his mother discovered his son sitting alone in the kitchen with his feet in her precious kimchi basin and a mug of cold tea on the floor. She merely shook her head at the way he was smiling dopily down at a bunch of leaves in his hands, a dreamy expression on his face and quite possibly the reddest nose and ears she’d seen on a child.

“Heung-min?”

“Yes?”

“Are those Mrs. Jeon’s basil leaves?”

“… please don’t tell her.”

Part 3 ➡️

•

Author’s Note: I started a Christmas fic in December and we are well into July 🥲

[mental-about-you-too]

Crowley + bluffing (+ memory)

Source

A lot of people have written about the indications in S2 that Crowley was once a Very Powerful Angel (specifically, an Archangel). And yeah, some hints are pretty blatant (eg "Thrones, Dominions, or higher"), and there are some sound analyses out there--so it's very possible that he was.

But I don't think that's necessarily the case.

I think that, when it comes to his power (or his bargaining position more generally), there's always a decent chance that Crowley is--at least partially--bluffing.

Source

25 Lazarii

As @halemerry pointed out in this meta about colors, purple is not only the color of massive angelic power--it's also Crowley red + Aziraphale blue (this was a revelation to me).

Source

I think it's made pretty clear that the remarkable power of the 25-Lazarii miracle isn't (in itself) evidence that Crowley was once among "the mightiest of Archangels"--it means that together, Aziraphale and Crowley are as powerful as the mightiest of Archangels.

Source

So when Crowley claims he might have done the "miracle of enormous power":

Source

and Shax doesn't question him, I don't think it necessarily means he's Very Powerful. Maybe he is. Maybe she knows it. But I don't think she does, and I don't think we do either.

Who knows? He could be bluffing.

"I meet a lot of people."

I think something similar could be going on when it comes to Crowley's memory. Yes, memory is a theme in S2, and mention of Crowley's memory (or rather, lack thereof) is a recurring point, so it probably means something. (And the line "looking at where the furniture isn't" does sound like he might be familiar with Jim's experience of amnesia.)

But in the cases of Furfur and Saraqael: sure, maybe he doesn't remember them--or maybe he's just calling them forgettable to be annoying and obstructive.

Source

He doesn't feel like playing along with either of them. He doesn't want to encourage some sort of connection. He's not their friend. Sure--maybe he dismisses Saraqael with "I meet a lot of people" to cover up an actual lapse.

Source

Or maybe he's just being a bit of a bastard (affectionate) and trying to get on their nerves.

In other words: maybe he's bluffing.

And so maybe Crowley was an Archangel. Maybe his memory was erased, and he had to work at recovering it piecemeal. Or maybe he was somebody of respectable power but middling influence (eg a Throne or Seraph, as per this informative meta on angelic rank). Maybe he lost some memory due to trauma, and he puts on a flippant front to hide pain from those who might take it as weakness. Or maybe he remembers everything, and he just enjoys sticking it to power at every opportunity by being infuriating.

Personally, I like to think of Crowley and Aziraphale as institutionally insignificant beings who happen to have enough audacity and imagination (and capacity for Caring About Things) to make themselves everyone's problem.

I don't know, maybe I just like the way book!Crowley and Aziraphale seem to be in similarly-middling positions in their respective organizations, yet still decide to team up and try to avert the apocalypse. Maybe I'm hung up on the underdog narrative, and ignoring evidence. (And/)or, maybe the whole bluffing thing is all very obvious--after all: he's a demon. He lies.

Edit: After writing this, I found this meta by @avelera about the Doylist argument for Crowley being a high-ranking angel, and it's...honestly pretty convincing (I have Pratchettist preferences about Our Heroes' status, it seems). But who knows? Maybe Gaiman will subvert the pattern. Maybe he's bluffing too.

[eldritch-spouse]

THAT LIVIUS X VINNEL ANON IS NOW GETTING ME TO SHIP ICONS WITH YOUR OTHER OCS, JUST FUCKING GREAT/sarcastic /pos (sorry if this one's long I just gotta get these outta my system lmao)

Kalymir x Patches: because let's face it, Patches can absolutely take quite a bit of a beating [and we know he'd beat off to getting a beating anyways], but there's always the threat of Kalymir ACTUALLY just straight up killing him - Admin assures him that they won't let him die, but sometimes, the way that Kalymir grins at him makes him worry... Also I love size difference and I want Kalymir to (figuratively) tear his ass apart with his cock

Vorticia x Morell: obvious reasons. He's one of the greatest monster chefs of all time, she's the Greed icon - she keeps coming back for his food (and occasionally his bobbles) and he keeps getting very flattered that the literal icon of greed loves his food. Also... Madame Pinnie did mention that Morell has had horny thoughts in which HE'S the one being eaten, even if he's also super terrified of that... And... Firstly, Vorticia's a snake-monster, so idk how her body would react to the poison, but if we're being hopeful, she'd be immune to it - or maybe the fact that she's the icon of greed has something to do with it(?); second of all, she'd probably have the equipment and/or magic to get rid of the poison.

Rinxx x Nebul: HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT-- Nebul to me seems like the type to absolutely exploit the fact that Rinxx has a ton of money and would use him to buy all the sex toys and pearls he could ever want (plus stuff for Purpur of course). Also, the idea of Rinxx being a sugar daddy for Nebul is HILARIOUS. I can imagine Nebul knowing this and being frustrated, because he can't just turn around and give the bird to an Icon (his ass is big but his balls aren't). He has to live with the fact that, no matter how he dominates Rinxx in the bed, no matter how much the Icon allows the Wraith to degrade and demean and even hurt him-- Nebul is not the one who's in control of the dynamic. Idk if he would, but would Nebul ever grow to start liking the fact that he's actually the submissive one? (On a sidenote: I can imagine Rinxx groping Nebul a lot cause he's thick as FUCK and also forcing the guy to wear much tighter, more leg revealing clothes that hug his thighs and ass-- also forcibly pounding Nebul into submission when Nebul irritates him, hehah)

[I love how you spell Rinx like he's a pornstar, Rinxxx. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)]

Ah, Kalymir and Patches, we've talked about that. You captured the essence of it well, but the ass tearing is going to be more literal than physical here. Patches, ever the glutton for pain, will find all his cravings brutally satisfied. And Kalymir, ever fond of resilient little things, will adore taking Patches to his undead breaking point over and over and over.

Morell and Vorticia is equally stressful. All of these are. Vorticia will work Morell stupid in her desire to taste all his talent, but Mori is getting a delicious ego stroke as well as watching a massive woman take rabid, almost lustful enjoyment from devouring his cuisine. It'd be hard to ignore an inkling of chemistry here. But, as you know, typically, most people who lay with Vorticia perish. Perhaps it'll be a different story here, she wouldn't want to lose the best chef she's ever met!

Rinx and Nebul is an interesting pair. And indeed, Nebul will keep fighting for his dominating role as hard as he can. Sexually, he'll never accept submission, and outside of intimacy, he'll still try to cling to any minuscule shred of power he can attain, even if all he can do in certain situations is refuse gifts- Which is very frustrating for Rinx. Fact of the matter is that even when he holds control, it is only allowed and never inherent, which will chew at the wraith. But goodness, the benefits of this dynamic are so many... He can at least revel in the power of being so wanted by someone of such status.

[reimeichan]

Yknow what yeah I do wanna talk about that last post I reblogged.

Because I was in survival mode for so long, I didn't even realize it was survival mode even when I got out of it. My brain was so convinced for years afterwards that I was STILL in danger constantly, even though I was no longer being constantly traumatized and re-traumatized by my abusers. I thought by simply escaping I was allowing myself to heal and recover, never once realizing I never actually did the work to do such. Plus, Survival Mode had been my norm for over twenty years of my life. I didn't know anything else.

For four years after leaving that traumatic environment, I continued on as if I was in survival mode. And, well, that was what worked for me. Work was basically an extension of college which was an extension of high school, and I continued to beat myself up internally to do chores and shit the same way I would avoid being yelled at by my parents. I didn't see anything wrong with any of this. After all, I had a stable income and was no longer dealing with a toxic, abusive environment. Why did anything need to change?

Well, turns out, a lot of my old coping skills were only helping me because they were so maladaptive and hurting the people around me. My emotional dissociation made me distant and inattentive to the emotional needs of the people closest to me. My reliance on panic and adrenaline to get myself started on tasks made me unreliable to others who actually treated me like a human being. And as I slowly realized how much my past had shaped my current behavior, I became more and more aware of how different my current life and my old life were.

And that revelation felt like ripping the carpet from under me, only to find a massive whirlpool of chaos where there should have been solid ground.

It was like my eyes suddenly opened to all the trauma and grief and emotional turmoil that I had pretended did not affect me was now rushing out as a stream out into the open. I had opened Pandora's Box and couldn't close it again. My life that I had carefully cultivated quickly fell apart as I was now all too aware of just how much I hadn't actually worked through and processed. I lost my partner of 14 years, and the stable job I held for 4 years. I was a mess as I tried to untangle the mass of cobwebs in my head from decades of pushing things away, the cobwebs that feebly held me together until they no longer could.

And... slowly, I replaced those cobwebs with stronger things. Instead of ignoring my traumas, I faced them. Instead of ignoring my feelings, I let myself feel them. Instead of pretending everything was fine, I let myself fall apart, so that I knew how to better put myself back together again. I replaced the old coping skills and old behaviors that no longer served me with healthier things that allowed me to move forward. I stacked things neatly in my head where I could see them, instead of shoving them away into a corner.

And in time, I learned how to be happy.

It's weird, really. I thought I knew what happiness was. I thought happiness would have been louder and more obvious. I always saw the people cheering on screen and celebrating as what happiness would feel like. But I've found that happiness is gentle and calming, and I realized the "happiness" I had growing up was not truly happiness.

I'm doing better now. It fucking sucked to get here. But... it's worth it.

[makethatelevenrings]

“I trust you, it’s ok” is soooo Assassin verse 👁️👁️

Sooo true bestie hope u enjoy this :)

He stood in the doorway and watched as you carefully stepped into the room. The walls were littered with posters and pictures of bands to circus performances to photos of the numerous people that came and went from this place. The covers on the bed were rumpled, the bed unmade, and your fingers ghosted over the rich blue plaid detailing on the comforter. Medals and trophies filled a shelf next to books that had pages sticking out, scrawled handwriting detailing calculus equations and English essays.

You swallowed past the sudden dryness in your throat as you took in this perfectly domestic life. A heavy breath escaped you and you pushed aside the sudden clawing ache of loneliness that bubbled up in your chest. Was this the life you could have had?

“Why are you showing me this?” You settled on asking. “You don’t…I tried to kill you. Repeatedly. This is your life. This is personal.”

Your voice was bordering on hysterical by the end of your words. After being shot a week ago, your life had descended into chaos. Bruce Wayne, Batman, was Dick’s father. Dick, who was Nightwing, your target for the past few months. He had known about your hit on him, but he also had intel that the organization that trained you would continue if he didn’t stop them. He figured he could get information from you, but you suspected that he hadn’t factored in taking you in full time.

And now you stood in his childhood bedroom in this massive manor where a kind butler insisted on helping you do everything and Bruce Wayne drank his coffee black with one sugar in the morning and Dick Grayson kept assuring you that you were safe.

But how could you be safe? Everything you knew, everything you had been told, and everything you had done in life was being slowly chipped away to reveal the horrific truth. You were a victim of kidnapping, trafficking, and unspeakable crimes. You were a child soldier turned assassin. The ground under your feet shook with every revelation, every new strand that was revealed in this tangled spider’s web of hell.

“I trust you,” Dick said simply as if he were just talking about the weather and not an emotionally charged statement that made your chest tighten. “It’s okay.”

You wanted to protest and tell him that he shouldn’t. You weren’t someone to be trusted. You were someone that followed orders and that was it. You had tried to kill him for fuck’s sake.

He must have seen the distress on your face because he called your name softly because you had a name, not just that stupid fucking number. Bruce had correlated your identity with missing persons reports and matched your DNA with the case. Your family was gone. There was no one out there looking for you any longer. But there was this one man standing before you, saying your name and giving you a chance to reclaim your agency.

He spoke your name with a softness that you didn’t deserve and it made the wound under your bandages burn with the lingering reminder of who you were. Were. Past tense. You didn’t have to be that person anymore if you didn’t want to be. Dick had told you that. Alfred had told you that. Even Dinah, a therapist who apparently specialized with people like you, told you that.

Looking around the childhood room of a man that trusted you, you began to realize that maybe they were right.

Dick grinned when he saw the fiery spark return to your eyes. He tilted his head and motioned towards the hall.

“C’mon, there’s someone I want you to meet. I think you might find a lot in common with him. I warn you though, he really likes making zombie jokes. Ignore those.”

[merrilldidnothingwrong]

Cassandra recruiting Cullen would've made sense if the writers had the backbone to write the story honestly. Instead of the "Templars are actually the good ones and Grey Wardens are bad" nonsense we got, they should've followed the tread created in the previous games.

Cassandra is VERY pro-Chantry, pro-Templars and anti-mage. She is the worst choice for Divine because she just puts everything back the way it was. The logical path for Cassandra's character would be for her to recruit Cullen for one reason only: He is anti-mage. Extremely so. And to Cassandra, who probably hopes that this new Inquisition will be like the one of old, he is the right type of person for that job.

A Templar to go against the pro-mage attitude of both Leliana and Josephine. Bring back the Inquisition of old. Restore the Chantry to the way it was.

But the writers were cowards so we get this nonsense instead.

Honestly, yes. The fact of the matter is that Cassandra and Cullen are very similar as characters. And that doesn't speak well of Cassandra.

So much of Cassandra's character and story in-game very much parallels what the writers claim Cullen's story is. A Seeker who joined the order full of fire and belief, who committed horrible acts in the name of those beliefs, but after times of having those questioned, those beliefs are shattered by a revelation. And yet.

Just like Cullen, Cassandra doesn't do any true growing in the events of the game. While she's horrified when she learns the truth of Seekers and the Rite of Tranquility, that doesn't cause any massive change in her worldview, and more significantly, it doesn't offer the opportunity for the player to push her to change her worldview, the way an earlier DA game might have. Indeed, the game also goes out of its way to excuse and ignore everything Cassandra's done as a servant of the Chantry, in order to sell its centrist viewpoint.

This isn't to utterly disparage Cassandra and to say that she's beyond any kind of growth or improvement, or to make people feel guilty about liking her before understanding the context that Inquisition goes out of its way to hide. Cassandra was my first romance in Inquisition, before I really figured out what the fuck was going on with the story.

And ultimately, I think that Bioware's determination to hide and misrepresent the truth about characters like Cullen and Cassandra and the Chantry in general is what angers me the most. It betrays Bioware's unwillingness to commit to the deep story of the dangers of religions as political institutions, or to admit that the people in power aren't everything they're cracked up to be. (I'll probably expand on this point in another post now that I'm thinking about it)

To sum it up, yes, anon, you're completely right. The game and the story would have been much better served if Bioware had committed to acknowledging Cassandra and Cullen's pro-Templar stances being what they are. - Mod Alistair

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Dominant! Ghost Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Heavy BDSM, Edging, Overstimulation, Aftercare, Ownership Kink, Marking, Biting, Petnames, Consensual Dub-Con, Consensual Abuse of Physical Strength, Knife Play, Mentions of Blood, Spit Kink, Cum Play, Rough Sex, Dominant Ghost, Submissive Reader, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’, etc.

You’re his. Simple as.

And he makes sure to remind you - and anyone who crosses your path - on a near-daily basis.

Whenever he sees fit, he’ll just corner you and pin you down, telling you to “Calm down, Pipsqueak – you’re makin’ me hard,” – his way of warning you that whatever he has planned for you will only worsen the more you struggle.

And his bulge against your back is a very visceral promise of that.

Loves forcing your hands beside or above your head; it reminds you both of how much stronger than you he is – how weak and dependent you are compared to him.

How he owns you.

Bites your throat and shoulders, sucking marks, crafting you a necklace of bruises fashioned by him – his own branded jewels of love.

He’ll make sure they’re visible, too.

He needs to ward off other people from you by leaving his mark, his signature.

If he thinks you’re being bratty or uncooperative, he’ll go to any lengths to break you down until you submit to him entirely.

“You’re not making this any easier for yourself, Love,” he says. “Just tell me why you’re being so infuriating and I won’t bleed you this time.”

Massively into knife play.

Loves hearing you squeak and moan whenever he holds a knife to your throat or drags the blunted edge up your thighs, pressing it to your throbbing, aching core and cutting your underwear open, ravaging you.

He’s so rough when he’s in this kind of mood.

Will pound you until you bleed. Or give out and admit your feelings to him. Either will suffice; Ghost is a patient man.

And his stamina and endurance are no joke.

He will outlast you in every faculty.

That’s the territory that comes with being a trained murderer.

And he will remind you of that constantly.

“How does it feel–” he rasps, pants, as he pounds you from behind, the bed jutting with each thrust, “–to know you’re being fucked by a killer,”

The question is always rhetorical. He just revels in the feeling of you clenching around him when he recalls just how easily he could end you right here, right now.

But he doesn’t. And he never would.

He loves you far, far too much.

But that doesn’t stop him from being straight-up disrespectful.

Orders you to open your mouth, only for him to spit into it whenever he knows or suspects you’re being untruthful.

Also loves covering you in his cum.

His favourite thing is to cum inside you and watch it ooze from whichever holes he’s chosen to abuse that day, but something about covering you in it makes him feral.

Edges you constantly.

Uses your release as a bartering chip.

“Tell me why you’re being such a brat and I’ll let you cum.”

It’s a trap. Your honesty is punished, too.

Once he tears a satisfactory answer from you, he’ll let you - make you - cum.

And as your orgasm is still rolling through you, he’ll keep going. And going. And going.

At first you could assume it’s his bid to fulfil his own needs, but even after he finishes inside you and he simply doesn’t relent, realisation dawns on you.

Your insides are aching, pleading for a moment’s respite. But Ghost doesn’t stop, battering your hole and keeping it stretched over his bulging cock.

There comes a point where you’re banging your fists against his chest, begging him to stop because you’re so sensitive and it hurts, but he ignores you.

“If I were to let up that easily, I wouldn’t get to have any fun. Quite unfair after I let you cum, isn’t it?”

Looks into your eyes as he does it, too.

Will tie you up if he finds your cries and flails to be too bothersome.

Binds you to the bedposts so there’s nothing you can do but watch and feel as he slams into you at such a harsh, killing rhythm that has you thinking whatever’s leaking out of you right now is blood.

Very much into BDSM.

Will use his strength to bend you into whatever shape your body will allow and bind your limbs together, making it entirely impossible for you to break free as he has his way with you.

“You’re mine,” he’d say, grinding the shape of his cock into your walls; and all the while you’re moaning, crying, tears streaming down your face as euphoria tightens in your centre. “Nobody else can have you - please you - the way I can.”

Big fan of punishment, btw.

There are times where he puts you in a cage and just cums on you, making you stay there until his semen is crusting on your skin, makeshift scales on the creature Simon has reduced you to.

Also gets a kick out of spanking you, either with a belt or his hand.

When he’s feeling particularly cruel, he makes you count them until you reach the limit he has set for you.

And Heaven forbid you lose count, or you both start all over again.

Ghost likes to make sure that every time you try to sit down, you remember him – what he did to you.

When all is said and done, however, when you’re used and stuffed and Ghost is milked dry, he is the king of aftercare.

Will make sure all your needs are seen to, regardless of how oddly specific they are.

Simon will not let you move a muscle, even if you insist you can “go another round,” he’ll push you back down onto the bed.

“Oh no, you’re staying put, Sweetheart.” he says, looking down at you with all the fondness of one who has discovered love for the first time. “I’m scared you’ll break if we go again.”

He’s joking, ofc.

Secretly loves to snuggle. All the time.

And he holds you as you’re drifting off to sleep, keeping you flush against his chest, wondering how he got so lucky to have met you.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[stevieschrodinger]

Alpha!Steve/Beta!Eddie

So I've done a couple of little ficlets of these two but this thought has just been hounding me

Steve's a possessive bastard. A possessive Alpha. Eddie revels in it. He eats that shit right up because he's never felt this wanted, this coveted, in his entire fucking life and he will fight and die before he gives up even a second of this. He has a perpetual bruise on his throat; Steve worries at the spot pretty much daily to keep it fresh. He always smells like Steve. ALWAYS.

If they happen to be apart for a couple of days for whatever reason, work, Steve needing Robin time or Eddie running a campaign or band practice or whatever, Steve makes sure Eddie has a rolling supply of worn clothes, insists he wears something of Steve's if he showers or whatever, until Steve can get there and refresh the scent in person.

Steve loves coming on Eddie. Loves coming on him more than he loves coming in him.

Steve's only actually knotted Eddie a couple of times; it takes a hell of a lot of prep and leaves Eddie deliciously, but also noticeably, sore for a day or two after. So they don't do it a lot but...Steve's an Alpha, and no matter how hard he tries to hide some of his baser instincts, sometimes they peek through without his permission.

Some of them, Steve outright embraces; Steve nests like a champ, and Eddie compliments all his hard work, just so he can watch Steve puff up like a massive fucking bird or something. Steve cooks. He provides. He keeps Eddie safe. Eddie often wonders if Steve leans so hard into these instincts because it makes the other ones easier to ignore.

Sometimes, when they're fucking, he rests his hand on Eddie's stomach. Eddie's pretty sure Steve doesn't even know he's doing it; otherwise, knowing Steve, he probably wouldn't. Steve has that shit on lock. But Eddie watches, and he sees it. Feels the teeth when Steve worries at that spot on his neck. Eddie's a Beta; there's no scent gland there, nothing to mate them, not like an Alpha or Omega.

Doesn't stop Steve, though. He spends more time at Eddie's throat than he does kissing Eddie.

Not that Eddie minds. At all.

Eddie's a Beta, so he won't have a heat. Which means chances are low Steve will ever rut. Sometimes though, just every now and again, Steve turns a little....feral. A little forceful. Gets in his own head and gets caught up in his body, and in Eddie's. Eddie loves it.

He's also confident that Steve loves him exactly how he is, which gives him the confidence to ask, "what do you need, Alpha?"

"I don't," Steve makes a funny little noise, goes back to mouthing at Eddie's bare shoulder, then makes another noise, all frustrated, before falling back on his usual answer, "just you."

"Uh hu," Eddie agrees, just lying there placid while Steve gives him a fresh hickey and ruts mindlessly against Eddie's thigh. Steve is hard and hot and leaking so freely it's dripping down the side of Eddie's leg. Eddie loves it when Steve goes all instinct like this, and Eddie gets into the sex sure, looses himself a little bit, Steve drives him crazy, sure. But sometimes, when Steve's like this, Eddie is essentially sober while Steve is high on his own...Alphaness. An Omega would get dragged straight under, but Eddie...well, maybe he gets a little envious of the idea, sometimes, that he and Steve will never bond in that way...but being able to lie here, sure turned on as all hell...but not loosing his mind....that means that he can watch Steve like this. Fully appreciate Steve Harrington getting lost in his own head. The pheromones are loud and clear enough that Eddie can scent Steve's horniness in the air, but he doesn't get fuck drunk. At least, not until they get the show on the road.

"I need...I need...shit Eddie, I don't know. I love you. My Beta."

Steve calls him that sometimes. And he doesn't hesitate over it. He never forgets what Eddie is, who they both are. And Eddie appreciates that, but he also knows Steve has thoughts that he is definitely ignoring. "You want me to present for you, Alpha?"

"Eddie..." Steve's voice is muffled from where he's now going for Eddie's nipple; he loves to play with the piercing, and Eddie bites at his own lip to subdue his own groans, "don't need that."

"I know," Eddie plays with Steve's hair, "but it's okay to want it. I'll present for you Alpha...you can fill me up with so much lube it's...dripping out of me, like slick."

Steve makes a strangled noise, followed immediately by a frustrated one, "you don't have to pretend to be something else-"

"I know baby, and that's why I can, if you want to. It's just pretend, you know what I am...doesn't mean you can't try and breed me right up."

Steve goes absolutely still under Eddie's hands.

"You want to put a pup in me, Alpha?"

Eddie gets flipped over so fast he thumps back down into the mattress, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS23 Fic Update: "Carolina Moon" Chapter Four

I am more than a little embarrassed and sorry about how long it has taken me to update this story. It was never my intention to keep you waiting so long. However, here at long last is an update, and I hope to have another one to you this week yet - and this to be more regular (at least close to weekly) in the future. Thank you THANK YOU to those who have been patient and stayed interested in this story. I hope you will enjoy this new chapter!

Thank you as ever to the @cssns for running such a wonderful event that I have always been thrilled to be part of. And thank you for the gorgeous fic cover art to @eastwesthomeisbest and to @xarandomdreamx for the massively encouraging beta reading and thoughtful comments.

Can be read from the beginning HERE on Tumblr or HERE on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter Four: No Use Running Anymore

Killian Jones felt his own breath rasping frighteningly in his lungs, barely forcing its way raggedly through his chest as he watched Emma shuddering in his loose embrace, her whole body trembling and the gaze in her eyes glassy and faraway. It scared him, the intensity of the power which had taken her over - beyond either of their control - and he wasn’t sure what to do to help her. He could keep her from collapsing to the ground and lying there boneless in the dark, from hitting her head or flailing her arms, but Killian was at a loss as to how he might reach her wherever she had retreated to in her mind.

Finally, drawing in a sharp gasp for oxygen, Emma’s lungs seemed to fill, and she began to breathe more normally, her eyes were on her trembling hands and she edged far enough away that there was some distance between them, as if embarrassed at having leaned on him and letting him witness her what she’d just gone through. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and it  was clear she still felt uncertain and off balance; the weak tremor still running through her limbs as the after effects were visibly obvious. And yet it was the haunted pain clouding her eyes that held him captive, unable to blink, move, or even look away - though he could sense she would like him to do so. Emma might be able to read most of the folks around her and think to hide her own thoughts and feelings, but to him she was an all-too-open book.

At least somewhat assured that she was herself again, well on the way to recovering her breath and her composure, Killian’s mind returned to her staggering revelation without any conscious effort on his part. “Emma… what you said… about Rose’s killer? What did you mean?” he questioned gingerly. His dark brows lowered over his eyes intently, studying her with a concerned but necessary focus. “You said she wasn’t the only one.”

Looking up to meet his searching gaze, Killian could see Emma’s reluctance, and he hated himself for pressing her, even as he knew she needed him to do so. Still, the film of tears he saw in her green eyes and the way one spilled over the lower lid and trailed down her cheek, was almost his undoing; he bit back words rescinding the question with all the force he could muster. This was important, painful or not. Though he knew Emma had to recover, and that she had lived with her abilities - her “sight” - being pushed aside, ignored, belittled, even persecuted, all her life, there was a reason she could see the things she did. Her supernatural knowledge could help as well as hurt. He knew she had used it for just such a purpose in the years she had been gone. He might not have found the right time to tell her yet, but he had followed her successes in Boston, devouring each news story of the “psychic” - he could just see her huff of disbelieving annoyance at the catch-all term too - who could find missing people when all others had lost hope. He had cherished each article of a child found, holding every tidbit of praise for her close to his chest. He didn’t know how things had fallen apart in Boston, or what exactly had brought Emma back to Storybrooke, but he mourned the scars of youth that still lingered in her bearing. A part of him had never stopped hoping she might one day return, but he would never have wished for her to remain so alone and so haunted.

Her trembling fingers caught at his suddenly, as he moved to brush her hair from her flushed cheek, and she held on tight, needing his steadiness like a lifeline in a howling gale. Those wide, emerald orbs were searching his as if not sure what to make of his question. “W-what did you just ask me?” she murmured, voice fragile as a butterfly’s wing on the still night air amidst the crickets chirping and bullfrogs calling from ponds hidden in the trees at their backs.

Was she really so used to being doubted? After so many times she had saved lives, provided answers no one else could, and proven herself over and over, was it still that much of a shock to be taken seriously? Killian was ready to follow her lead, to charge into action at her back, once she had her bearings again and he was sure she would be alright.

“You aren’t going to ask how I know? Where the pictures come from? If - If I’m sure they’re real?”

He shook his head gently, never breaking eye contact with her for a second. This was important, and he needed her to see he meant every word. “Of course not, Lass,” he finally answered, words calm but sure. “I’ve known you all my life and have never known you to lie - or to be wrong in the visions you’ve seen… no matter how they might hurt.”

Looking down at their joined hands, their fingers now intertwined as he held onto her just as tightly. “No questions asked?” she mumbled dazedly, as though encouraging herself to take him at his word. “Really? Just like that?” And when she raised her face to meet his eyes again, there were still the shining tracks of tears on her cheeks, but they were no longer falling; she had blinked them away and a look of willful determination was taking over her features. “Why?” was all she whispered then, staring at him so open and raw it seemed as if she wanted to drink in his every word. “Why would you do that?”

Killian brought their joined hands up to his lips, bowing his dark head slightly over them as he hardly dared breathe, pausing to make sure she wouldn’t pull away before pressing the softest pursing of his lips to her knuckles and holding them there, breathing warmth against her skin. “Because, Emma, as I said… I know you. Love and trust, even basic kindness, have been all too rare in your life. People have always treated you a certain way - the wrong way - doubting you, hurting you, using you until they don’t need you anymore, and then throwing you away.” He wet his lips, trying to gather his nerve and praying he wasn’t about to say more than he should - or that he hadn’t done so already - then plunged on. “I aim to be different. I’m right here with you for the long haul, if you’ll have me.”

For a moment, Emma seemed frozen, stunned beyond response, but she finally shook her head wonderingly and offered him a tremulous smile, still clutching his hand but moving to stand, which he did as well, then helped her up beside him. “How did you…?” she finally asked breathily.

A crooked smile pulled at one corner of his mouth as Killian sighed, gingerly moving to tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow and guide her back toward his truck, still idling on the rough shoulder of the quiet country road. “I know that lost look in your eyes all too well,” he explained as best he could while he helped her with the high step up into the cab. “Our circumstances may be different, but the feeling is the same. We’ve both been lost for too long.”

He closed the door with those words, but Emma caught at his sleeve through the open window, keeping him in place before he could round the front of the vehicle. “Thank you,” she whispered - only two small words, but full of meaning. She would take the support, the belief in her, he was offering. She had been fully prepared for him to back away, to be too discomforted by what the visions did to her for him to stick around. She’d experienced more people like that in her life than she could count or even remember. But instead, Killian had witnessed the flashes of horror and darkness sweep over her, seen how much it took out of her and he was still standing right there looking at her the same way he always had. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so surprised. Rose had been the only person who truly seemed able to understand the magnitude of her gift and curse and was always there trying to help in any way she could. It made a poetic sort of sense that her brother might do the same.

“We have to look into this, Killian. If Rose w- wasn’t the only one…” she stumbled at the thought of her friend’s pale, bruise-mottled limbs against the muddy ground that morning so long ago, swallowing down the nausea in heaving gulps. “If her killer’s kept on all this time… I should have known. I should have done something…”

Tremors seized her once again until Killian pulled her into his chest, holding her tight until she steadied, and then pulling back just enough to firmly cradle her cheeks in both hands, pulling her focus back before she could sink into the void grappling to pull her under. “Hey, no, none of that,” he coaxed firmly, holding her steady until she nodded her assent. His own heart was beating against the confines of his chest, but he would calm it later; Emma needed his certainty. “We’ll figure it out, Swan. I promise you that. If you’ve seen there are others we need to find, Love, then that is exactly what we’ll do.”

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Early evening dusk had come to rest lightly on the rumpled covers, smushed pillows, and his clothes tossed haphazardly all around the room when Dr. Graham Hunter blinked back into awareness near the dinner hour. Groggily, he berated himself for dozing off so early while attempting to piece together why he had stripped stark naked and went to bed before even having any supper. Then, his brain caught up with him, and he sighed, Ruby’s arrival in his office downstairs, her seduction and his weakness in falling for it once again, all coming back to him in a rush. He scrubbed a tired hand down his face and felt the weight of realization pressing heavily on his shoulders - even before he turned to look at the pillow beside him and his hand reached out for her to find empty space.

He was a fool. When it came to Ruby, he always had been, Graham admitted to himself as he rolled over with a frustrated curse, allowing himself a whiff of her decadent camelia perfume and honeyed musk on the pillow before flinging it away with a growl. How he fell into this pattern with her - crawling to her on his knees when she crooked her finger or batted an eye his way, and then waking up alone and picking up the pieces of his shattered dignity when she vanished (and she always did) - he wasn’t quite sure. He had fallen for it years ago, and yet somehow, despite knowing better, he was still such a lovesick pup over her that he settled for the scraps she offered him every time.

A noise downstairs caught his attention suddenly, breaking into the well-known litany of shame and self-recrimination. Maybe her trying to slip out unnoticed had been what woke him from his doze. Without pausing to think or second guess, Graham vaulted out of bed, pulled on the track pants he’d draped over the chair in the corner after his morning run, and pounded down the stairs, intending to catch Ruby before she made her quick exit. Fueled by angry hurt and adrenaline, he could only think she wasn’t going to get off quite so easily this time.

He caught her with her fingers grasping the door handle, her wicked heels held tightly in her other hand; her intentions blatantly clear. At his strangled call of her name - sounding a far sight more desperate than he’d meant for it to - she whipped around with a guilty, wide-eyed look painted across her face as she stared back at him over her shoulder. Neither of them moved or spoke for several long moments; Graham because he was practically vibrating with desperation, hurt, and anger in equal measure, Ruby seemingly waiting to see what he would do.

‘Or figuring out if she could sweet talk her way back into his good graces,’ his more realistic inner voice chided. ‘Had he still not learned how ridiculous he was to hope for anything else from her?’ Trying to steel his heart against the natural inclination to charm and cajole her back upstairs, to try to get her to stay while he made supper and to spend the evening together - just spend time with him out of bed, actually allow him to get to know her, or even show that she could want something more from him than the occasional physical thrill he could provide.

Before he could find a way to put any of this into words, Ruby tilted her head slightly, a guarded and slightly embarrassed half smile pressing a sweet little dimple into her cheek as she prepared to wheedle her way out of the awkward spot, just as he had predicted.

“Hey there, Handsome,” she crooned, the smile growing when he didn’t interrupt, clearly gaining confidence in her comfortable and familiar ploy. She let her graceful fingers release the door, her hand falling back to her side as she took a step closer to him. “Sorry if I woke you. I wanted to let you rest, even though I got a call and had to head out. No reason you shouldn’t be able to enjoy a break. You work hard enough, you’ve definitely earned it.”

Damn her for knowing exactly what she was doing to him! Graham swallowed hard as Ruby stood before him coyly biting her lower lip and staring up at him through her lashes innocently. One brightly lacquered red nail traced up along his bare chest between his pecs, and he struggled not to flinch, not to let the way his body immediately reacted to her touch be known.

But, of course, she did know what a word, a look, the slightest caress of hers could do to him. He had allowed her to play him like a fiddle too many times before for her to be convinced now by feigned indifference. Graham clenched his fists, closing his eyes for a moment and praying for strength, before catching her wrist and removing her hand from his chest, holding her gaze determinedly as a muscle in his jaw flexed with his aggravation and the amount of restraint it took not to pull her into his arms and give into her playful touch, pretend to buy the poor excuses and give into her charms. He didn’t want to force the coming confrontation; he knew it was going to hurt and likely wouldn’t end in any way he would hope for. Yet, he couldn’t go on blindly like this either - not anymore. He could only hope, deep down somewhere, as he barely allowed himself to wish in his quietest, most raw moments, that she needed more too, that she did care for him more than she wanted to admit. Maybe - just maybe - if he forced her into honesty, she might grasp it and open herself up rather than let him go.

“Please,” he managed to choke out, his voice rasping, but steadier than he had feared it might sound. “Just stop with the excuses,” he pressed on, hating the way her eyes clouded with hurt, those ridiculously big, liquid brown eyes he usually couldn’t deny a thing. “We both know there was no phone call. You just wanted to get out of here before I woke up and tried to get you to stay, to really be here with me longer than it takes for a romp and to scratch your itch. I’ve done a poor job of showing it,” he hurried on, seeing she was about to interrupt, “but I’m not a puppy to trail along behind you and be at your beck and call. You know how I feel about you, Ruby; I’ve been more than half in love with you since we were about ten years old. But I can’t live on scraps anymore. No matter how much…” The words back up and he shook his head angrily, turning his face from her when she reached out to him again.

He’d heard her gasp sharply at his declaration, but she too was shaking her head, a lone tear running down her cheek. There had never really been much hope left within him that she could give him what he needed; she wasn’t ready, or wouldn’t allow herself. The expression on her face and the tension in her long, lean frame - poised to run - told him all he needed to know.

Finally, his eyes dropped to the floor, no longer even wanting to look at her and think of all they could be together, and what he would never have. With a final exhalation of defeated breath, he gave her his terms. “Don’t sneak in here like this anymore, knowing how I feel about you, when you plan to sneak back out again with the sunrise and not give me anything of yourself in return. I can’t do it anymore.”

Ruby’s breath caught on a ragged inhale, as if she were gathering herself to argue with him and then the words fled her in the face of his honesty. He knew if he met her gaze it would be glossed  over with unshed tears, panic covering her features at losing the passion and connection they had always shared, but unable to expose her true self - her psyche, her heart, her soul - to keep him. He forced himself to hold his resolve; if he allowed her pain to catch at him, he knew he would have to comfort her. It was who he was, and where his weakness had always been when it came to Ruby Jones.

“Graham…” she finally whispered shakily, her voice a wavering breath not much like the silken purr she usually employed. “I can’t - you don’t understand - “

But he cut her off, gently taking a step back, a safer distance away from her before he crumbled and gathered her up in his arms. “I understand more than you think, Ru. You’re not the careless, untouchable vixen you try to play. There’s more to you, more than anyone else has bothered to see, more than you let show. I want that for you… and for us. And I can’t keep tearing myself apart hoping while nothing ever changes.”

Her shoulders slumped as she saw that his mind was made up, and she blinked moisture from her lashes quickly, biting her lip in determination that she wouldn’t be hurt enough to cry. “You’ll regret this, Graham. You know that, right? Can’t the fact that you are special to me, that I always come back to you, be enough?”

“Not this time, Ruby,” he murmured, sorry already, even as he spoke, but still adamant that he deserved more than the dregs of her attention, even if that meant she left his arms forever.

“You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Hunter,” she commented sadly, one last plaintive attempt at banter with a half-hearted smile that died before the upward curve of her lips was completed. “Ever think maybe you’re asking too much of me?”

But he shook his head slowly, studying her intently now - in a way that didn’t allow her to avoid him. “No, I don’t.” He spoke softly, deliberately, intoning the words that he genuinely believed. “For far too long, I haven’t asked enough. There is so much more within you, Ruby Jones. A capacity for love and greatness that you refuse to let yourself experience. I know that… whether you can see it yet or not.”

She shook her head regretfully, mouth twisted in a sort of grimace. “Then you may need to have your head examined,” she retorted, her hand on the door again.

With her almost gone, and not knowing when he would see her again, or be able to speak with her or touch her, or smell the sweetly ripe and enticing scent of the shampoo she used on that silky mahogany curtain of hair, Graham panicked a bit and recklessly reached out, clutching her upper arms and pulling her just close enough to press his lips to her forehead and breathe her in once more, knowing it might have to hold him indefinitely. He almost took it all back, but clung to his pride by the very tips of his fingers.

“You know, I’ll be here… right?” he murmured, breath hot across the skin of her brow. “If you ever decide you want to make a real go of this…”

Ruby had her pride too though, and that wildness and fear which twined together to keep her running and at enough of a distance from everyone that she had convinced herself she couldn’t be hurt. Tall and as elegant as a statue, that poise trained into her since she could walk, she let out a watery chuckle. “You had your chance,” she warned, trying for offhanded nonchalance. Though it fell far short of her mark, she didn’t back down. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” She pushed the door open and slipped out of the clinic as quickly and quietly as she had appeared hours before.

Sadly, Graham sighed as he raked his hand through his disheveled curls before bowing his head in defeat. It hadn’t seemed that he had another choice, and yet in the moment he felt as though he had just made the worst possible mistake… and lost something he might never get back.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Once she’d left Graham’s clinic, Ruby found herself wandering aimlessly. Of course she’d returned to her snazzy little car and rummaged around in the duffle she’d stashed in the back for a more normal and less blatantly seductive outfit. She didn’t have any trouble wriggling into it in the backseat undetected. It was a slow, sleepy, late afternoon in a small town, creeping toward dusk, and there was no one in sight. However, by the time she had finished and settled herself back in the driver’s seat, Ruby was sniffing back tears and angrily wiping the silent tracks of those which had already escaped down her face. ‘Why did he have to ruin everything?’ ran on a fuming, repetitive loop in her head, crying out against her desire to shrug it off as if it didn’t matter that much anyway. They’d had some good times, and he was a catch, sure, but Graham Hunter wasn’t irreplaceable she tried to convince herself.  ‘He wasn’t happy with her in his bed? Fine. He’d be sorry once he’d been without for a little while.’

The rant she was trying to build up in her head sounded good, but she couldn’t put any feeling behind it - not really. She wasn’t even fooling herself. Graham was different from the other men she had charmed, toyed with, and strung along for a time. He always had been. She simply hadn’t wanted to admit that truth, and now it was boring its way into the center of her chest with all the strength of a drill bit. ‘How in hell had that happened?’ She’d sworn she wouldn’t give a real damn about anyone - not since even her own parents couldn’t be bothered to save a care for her. ‘How did he sneak through the cracks?’

‘Because he does care about you,’ a chiding but concerned voice that sounded a lot like how she remembered Rose’s whispered in her mind. He was there before you tried to lock everyone out, it added, and she shook her head, trying to scatter the unwanted reminders. With a growl of frustration, she swung back out of the little two-seater, noticing vaguely that though Storybrooke did not look very lively there were several small shops heading back toward the town square that had not yet closed for the day. ‘A distraction,’ she decided firmly, with a sharp dip of her chin and squared shoulders. ‘Take my mind off it for a minute, and before long, he’ll be in my rearview.’ The self-comfort rang a bit hollow, but she was already loping down the sidewalk with purpose, looking for something to catch her fancy.

The Sweet Shoppe on the corner had their door open, allowing a decadent and enticing scent of buttery pastry to drift out to passersby. Ruby grinned, cheered at least a little by the prospect of flaky layers of cinnamon sugar, crackly baked dough and butter in one of their famous pinwheels. One of those treats certainly wouldn’t right all that had gone wrong since she’d woken in Graham’s second story apartment an hour ago, but it surely couldn’t hurt, and she was grinning in spite of the hollow ache which had settled beneath her breastbone by the time she opened the door and entered the shop to the sound of the little bell above it chiming merrily.

Sure enough, she did feel rejuvenated after biting into the freshly-made and still warm delicacy. By the time she stepped back out of the bakery onto the sidewalk - one pinwheel happily devoured after practically melting in her mouth, and another bagged up for later in her hand - things didn’t look quite so bleak.

As Ruby headed on down the sidewalk, slowly starting to convince herself - for the time being at least - that she was recovering her equilibrium, she found herself reaching Emma Swan’s new store front, the displays in her window truly beginning to look much like a big city gallery and the potted flowers out front on the walk looking nearly ready for the upcoming grand opening. Some old, deep-seated pettiness stirred at first, as her dark eyes took in the signs of Emma’s determination not to quit - every bit as stubborn as any of the Joneses, too much so to back down, no matter who tried to keep her away.

But the longer she stood there on the pavement hopefully out of sight of anyone who might be inside since she was standing there gawking like she’d been frozen in place, Ruby couldn’t muster up the indignation and hateful bitterness she’d harbored before. Much as she had been hopeful to at last please her mother with her compliant agreement, or continue to feel hurt and jealous over the kinship Emma Swan had shared with her lost twin, the anger just wouldn’t come. In hindsight, with the light of day and the wisdom of years in between, she knew that Rose’s murder, the horror of that nightmarish day lost in the muggy, strangling soup of that long, horrible summer had not been Emma’s fault. In many ways, Emma had been another victim; one who kept being punished instead of laid to rest.

Despite the messes she had already made that day, Ruby determined that she was going to stop following the chosen family line. She would never earn Cora Jones’ elusive approval anyway, so why should she continue making herself and others miserable in pursuit of it? She had just reached out to try the door, just in case Emma was there, when the woman herself pulled into a parking space and exited the ancient VW that Ruby actually remembered her leaving town in years ago.

“Ruby Jones?” Emma questioned, her brow knit in concern as she moved to stand beside her on the sidewalk. “What are you doing here?”

Ruby shrugged a bit sheepishly, with what she hoped was a convincing smile. She wasn’t about to admit all that she’d just been thinking, and so she was at a loss for how to explain her presence. 

“You can’t think I’m crazy enough to leave the place unlocked, surely?” Emma queried, moving the bag she carried to the opposite arm and fishing a ring of keys from the bag at her side. “Not with how many people hate me setting up shop here. Speaking of, wouldn’t egging the place be a little simpler than trying to break in?”

She quirked a challenging brow at Ruby, but also waited patiently for an answer, standing in the opened doorway as the warm air drifted through around them. And Ruby had to give her that one; she had never dropped even a single hint that she would simply pay Emma a friendly visit.

Finally relocating her usual sass, she winked, slipping in the door on Emma’s heels before the other woman could change her mind. “Nah, that’s for the riff raff. I can do better than egging if I really want to make my point.”

“I bet you can,” Emma drawled, looking bemused by the whole situation.

Rather than saying anything else for a moment, Ruby roamed around the small but beautifully arranged space, taking in all that Emma had done to make the building her own and have it looking its best. She couldn’t help being drawn in by the photographs themselves as well. While she might have been too hardheaded to acknowledge it before, her eyes were open now to recognize that Emma Swan truly had a gift - one for capturing her subjects in a way Ruby had never seen the like of before.

Emma, meanwhile, had moved to the counter to deposit her things and turned to watch Ruby Jones with genuine curiosity. Not speaking, she merely observed, wondering what had changed to bring a self-appointed enemy to her doorstep, seemingly anxious to play nice. Someone could have knocked her over with a feather, as the old saying went, when Ruby suddenly turned with a broad smile from where she’d stopped to study a huge canvas bearing a close-up of a single, stunning, blood-red azalea blossom as its focal point. Some sort of mischievous glint was in her eye that Emma didn’t fully understand until she asked, “Any chance you’d sell this one to me before your official opening? It’s just the thing my mother ought to have for her birthday.”

Too startled to catch the surprised snort of laughter that escaped at Ruby’s words, Emma slapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide in shock. The brunette vixen she had always somehow felt was looking down her nose at her, looked genuinely pleased with her reaction, her pearly white smile broadening even more to look sharp and dangerous as well as alluring.

When she thought herself capable of calm speech instead of disbelieving laughter, she met Ruby’s eye and replied, “Oh, that can certainly be arranged, especially for such an illustrious recipient as your mother.” Emma was capable of her own sweet as pie with steel beneath expression, and she employed it now with a stealthy smirk of her own that made Ruby’s eyes widen in their turn. “Of course, I might have to charge you extra for not letting me be there to see her face when you gift her with one of my photos.”

The deal was struck, and somehow the unexpected exchange between them was healing. Nothing more needed to be said, but the years of avoiding one another, skirting painful history and old grudges, were past, and a weight fell from both their shoulders. They were two completely different people, with very different experiences and unique wounds to bear, but the one person they both had in common, and the fierce, proprietary love each had held for her - which had always stood between them - had brought them together at last. Just as Rose had always wished. As they laughed at their own impudence, and the vision of Cora’s affronted face when she realized the full import of the present, Emma gift wrapped the large frame, and Ruby gladly paid her for her first sale. Emma could almost feel her old friend’s presence over her shoulder and the echo of Rose’s sweet voice cheering her on.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

He’d nearly gotten caught that morning, lingered almost too long as the dawn’s first rays spread across the sky, bringing light and warmth to the the early gray and beginning to dry the dew on the grass. ‘Should have remembered the little hellcat can’t sleep through the night! Never has been able to!’ he cursed to himself as he awkwardly lunged into the deep underbrush a few feet from the porch. He felt damned lucky she’d chosen to come back to the little cabin of horrors so close to the woods, and so secluded from any neighbors… That could have been a fine end to things before they could really get going - and he’d bided his time far too long already, been more patient than a man should rightly have to bear - to get caught with his hand in his pants on her front porch and blow everything he’d worked for. She’d go running then - just like she’d done before.

Emma Swan would not escape him a second time. Just as they had been all those years ago, all the points were aligned, but now he was ready and prepared - he wouldn’t allow her to slip from his trap. Still, he needed to be careful… couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Dark, hungry eyes watched from the safety of the trees as the screen door flew open and his quarry dashed across the porch, down the rickety steps and into her car. He drank in her curves like a wino would savor the first sip from a hard-won bottle. Hard again, he gritted his teeth before succumbing to the empty pleasure of his own hand. ‘Not much longer,’ the mantra repeated in his head. ‘Not much longer, and she will be mine.’ 

It was almost too easy; she had stepped into his web better than he could have planned, more naturally than he had dared to hope. It wouldn’t pay to get overconfident, but he could feel everything falling into place.

Oh, he could bide his time a little longer - after all, he’d waited this long - but soon she would be within his grasp. Just the two of them, and no one near enough to interrupt, or be any the wiser. She wouldn’t be able to run from him then.

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