#“your opponent is literally an Angel of Death”

[the-northern-continent]

The joke is that you can’t play Wicked Grace with Spite. As soon as he’s revealed, the game immediately ends.

[cheolism-archive]

DEVOTION

✰ — choi san x gang leader!f!reader ✷ — summary: after a year of fighting in a rebellion, san was tired of battle. like an angel, a goddess, you offered him peace.  ✰ — wc is approx. 12k ✷ — genre: nsfw, first meetings, mafia/gang society, simp!san, themes of worship, cultish if you squint, toxicity but san likes it ✰ — warnings: morally grey themes between both reader and san. violence, blood, and murder alongside other mature scenes, including those sexual in nature. in particular: literally licking someone else’s wounds, finger sucking, gagging, and oral sex. there is a heavy power imbalance with reader being the superior, but san is explicitly into this. he has a praise, humiliation, and devotion kink. non-sexual feet washing as a worshipping act. reader has pussy hair and is hinted to be a virgin, but not established. ✷ — rating: 18+. pay attention to the warnings.  ✰ — note: the reader in this fic is the leader of a gang, or a “sect” that inhabits a city and she is referred to as “the empress”. at one point san will lick blood off of the reader. i will put the beginning and ending of this sequence in bold so those who are disturbed can skip. thank you to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and offering words of enthusiasm to this fic!! i really appreciaste it <3

p r o l o g u e .

the city held its breath when you fall ill. it's a fleeting illness, your aunt, who was left regent in the wake of your illness, announced. the empress will return to her duties as quickly as possible.

and then nothing happened for six months.

rumors spread. you'd died and your death was kept a secret to prevent rival sects from trying to steal territory; you'd been kidnapped for ransom and the "sickness" is a smokescreen. some spoke of treachery, but that's quickly hushed up. for who would dare betray the empress, the sweet little lamb of a girl who crowns her citizens with flowers?

then your aunt was found dead in a pool. seemingly too suspicious to be a coincidence, you began to get better. 

the city let out a relieved breath.

you began to appear in public once more. the city basked in your attention. all seemed to thrive. you kept the city secure under your watch, each entrance and exit under firm surveillance, guards on the corners of streets with guns at their hips, politicians carrying suitcases of powder, corrupt men and women entering your penthouse and never seen leaving.

"it's wrong," said choi bada to his brother. "she'll run our sect to the ground."

and once again the city held its breath as choi bada took a single, nearly-perfect shot at you, missing by a mere breath.

war had begun.

choi san had no choice but to stand beside his brother. surely choi bada was right; he wouldn't steer san in the wrong direction. he wouldn't do the wrong thing.

public buildings were desecrated with bullets and blood. san got used to the feeling of fighting, of bruised muscles and blood staining his clothes. he was commanded to destroy a temple you had dedicated to the gods, offerings of the common and rich alike littering the white granite steps. and so he got used to the feeling of wrongness, of feeling as if he was walking a dark and dangerous path of sin.

then choi bada was killed.

the empress, it was relayed to san as he was chained to a wall, was giving him a choice: die beside his treacherous brother or fight in the empress's arena for her forgiveness.

in the end the choice was easy. after all, san had been fighting for the past year of his life. what was one last battle?

san would forever remember the face of the final body. his opponent’s face was a violent mixture of red and purple, blood staining his mouth and teeth. he was ugly from the brutality of the world, another testament to the harshness of the world. 

the crowd roared with approval. they were thirsty; fervent. 

it was deafening. the screams and shouts of the crowd nearly drowned out the thundering of blood in san’s ear, his adrenaline shooting through his body like waves crashing down against rock. he couldn’t think. he couldn’t do anything other than stand there in the arena, looking at the bodies littering the sand. 

“our winner!” declared a voice, loud and booming even without a microphone. the overseer moved into the arena, his clothes a bright, clean stain against the bloodied sand. he effortlessly wove around bodies to get to san. “our champion!”

the overseer grabbed san’s forearm. the other man’s hand was spotless against san’s skin, which had dirt and sand and sweat molded to flesh. san protested for a moment, instinctively pulling away. 

he had been fighting for as long as he could remember. touch meant hurt, and he had long stopped expecting otherwise. 

the overseer laughed at san, lips twisted thin and wide. he grabbed at san again. “keep easy, pup,” he hissed out. “you’ve won the fight. congratulations. but you won’t win the battle if you keep trying to bite.”

san wanted to punch this man. he remembered how the overseer had introduced him, the snake in wolf’s skin, the brother of the traitorous subordinate to the empress. he remembered the overseer glancing over him, loudly announcing that he’d do. 

san was just another pawn for entertainment to the overseer; to the crowd. he was just another puppy expected to sit and lay and play dumb. 

he’d been fighting for so long. who would fault him if he were to swing around and throw a punch into the overseer’s face? who’d disapprove if he were to slam the man into the ground, if he were to fucking drive his knee into his stomach? 

san made to draw back. he cast a wild look around, searching for something. instead of aid, his eyes caught on the large screen. for a split second he saw himself, feral and filled with hatred. then the screen switched, showing the empress. 

the empress’s lips were split in a smile, showing off the white of her teeth. she had her chin resting on her hand, watching; watching san.

“our champion!” the overseer yelled out once more. “the winner of our empress’s victory! choi san!”

the crowd’s praise grew to a frantic roar, rabid with their adoration. he couldn’t see them, the lights of the arena bright. they loved this, san knew; loved blood, loved fighting. it was a performance to them. it didn’t matter who was in the arena; they were all dispensable. 

who mattered was who walked out. 

“to the empress,” said the overseer, moving his hand to clap san’s shoulder. his nails dug into san’s flesh. “she was most impressed by your little performance.”

san let the overseer direct him from the arena. the crowd was alight with awe, despite knowing san. well: despite knowing san’s brother. despite knowing that for the past year san had fought alongside his brother, war replacing the blood in his veins, soft words replaced by venom. 

none of that mattered anymore. none of it mattered now that san had won, had survived a fight against forty-nine others. he was blessed, the crowd saw now; blessed by the gods and to be blessed by the empress. 

he had punched and murdered and shot relentlessly in the name of his brother for the past year. and as the overseer bid the guard to open the gate separating the sands of the arena from the crowd, san realized he wouldn’t be expected to fight anymore. 

because that was why he had been fighting, wasn’t it? 

he was bound by blood to fight alongside his brother. even as he realized it was wrong – fighting for the sake of it, fighting for the sake of power was wrong –  he had to stand beside his brother.

and now he was stepping from the arena, stepping from the sands of war and leaving behind bodies he had injured with his own hands. he realized he could leave it all behind. he walked in a prisoner, was walking out a winner. he won the empress’s crown; would wear the flowers of victory. 

it didn’t matter who was in the arena. 

who mattered was who walked out. 

his brother was no longer his ruler. 

now it was – 

“the empress,” the overseer began, speaking loudly into san’s ears as to be heard over the crowd. people reached out to press their fingers against san. he didn’t know why. he had been bathed before the arena, but it didn’t matter. he was covered in sweat and grime. he was bruised and scratched. 

someone pressed their fingers against san’s bicep. he flinched back, inadvertently pushing back into the overseer. the other man gripped san tight. “when you see the empress, you won’t look the empress in the eye. kneel at the empress’s feet. both knees, hands on the ground, forehead between. the empress will say your name. you will announce your wrongdoings and beg for forgiveness. if she forgives, you will earn the empress’s victory. don’t look at her. don’t say anything beyond what i have instructed you.”

the overseer directed san up the stands. there were all kinds of people: some wore tattered clothes; some suits, hair greased back; some industry uniforms. they were all youthful and vibrant beneath the arena lights. 

the empress and the empress’s court, as it were, were separated from the rest. the empress’s balcony overlooked the entire arena. only the elite within the gang – sect, san remembered, within the sect – were allowed to sit this far up, this near the empress. 

and it showed. they wore polished suits and glittering jewels. the holsters of guns were bedazzled and glimmering. instead of cans of beer, they held crystal glasses. these were the ones the empress trusted most – no, san corrected again. the empress doesn’t trust anyone. these are the ones that have gained, in one way or another, the empress’s approval. 

murderers and sellers; crooks and robbers. 

san was directed up a short staircase. he stepped foot onto the platform. the metal was covered in soft, lush rugs. incense was lit, overtaking the dusty air of the arena with a fragrant scent. it was purified; they were purifying the space. 

san’s eyes flitted over the rising smoke from the incense, and then he caught sight of the empress. 

caught sight of you. 

“eyes,” the overseer warned. 

san fixed his eyes onto the ground. the overseer guided him with a hand on the shoulder, steering him towards the center of the podium where you sat. once the overseer adjusted san so his shoulders were square with you, presumably, he dug his hand down onto san. san went, obediently, to his knees. 

his knees, bruised and raw from fighting, hit the soft carpet. san placed the palms of his hands down against the rug, his knuckles violently red from all the punching he had done, already swelling – and he placed his forehead down against the carpet. 

something settled the crowd, silence taking over and reigning. 

a voice broke through. “choi san,” you said, “younger brother to our dearest choi bada, of the formerly respected choi clan.”

your court tittered with laughter at the reminder of how far he had fallen. 

“no worry.” your voice neared. you had risen from your chair – your throne. “the man you were when you walked into the arena is no more. now you are before me, clean from your sins if you so wish to be. 

“tell me: choi bada spoke of treachery and murder, of annihilation of our precious sect; do you concur with your brother’s disastrous agenda?”

san spoke to the ground, but, he found, he was speaking from the heart. “no.”

two letters, one syllable. 

that’s all it took to renounce his brother, to turn his back on his brother’s corpse. 

“no,” you echoed. “yet you had fought alongside him. you had killed and burned alongside him. were you not his most trusted?”

san scraped his nails against the rug. “i was.”

you hummed. san thought he recognized the tune, but then it was gone just as he was able to reach out and catch the thread of it. “you could have chosen loyalty to this true emperor, as he proclaimed himself. my guard would have killed you alongside choi bada. and yet you entered my arena, fought, and won. you entered to leave your old life behind, yes? you entered to renounce your clan.”

“yes.”

“and so you will,” you said. “rise, choi san, and know that no hatred, no ill-will, will be held to you.”

slowly, as if you were a predator, a lion, and he were the prey, a mouse, san moved. he lifted himself from the bow. he did not stand. he remained kneeling, palms placed on the torn fabric stretching over his knees. san kept his face towards the ground. 

“let me see you.”

san thought back to the overseer and his warning: don’t look. he wasn’t to look at you. yet you were asking, were telling him to look. 

so san looked. 

and looked. 

maybe it was because for the past few years of his life he had been fighting. ever since his brother had declared himself the new emperor, had spurred a rebellion in the name of progression, of tradition, san had been fighting. perhaps he had been fighting since he was born, constantly trying to remain in the good graces of a temperamental, powerful older brother. 

regardless: san had been fighting for far too long, and he was tired. 

before he’d thrown the final punch; before the man with the bright smile tried to stab a knife into san’s thigh; before san had stepped foot into the arena, before his name had been announced to the masses; before his wrists and ankles were put in chains; before his brother announced his surrender, fuck, before he even announced his rebellion, san was tired of fighting. 

he wanted to fucking stop. 

‘if she forgives, you will earn the empress’s victory.’

and now you were before him, brilliant and beautiful and blinding, offering an end. 

you were confession and absolution. you were thunder clouds parting to reveal soft, ever-blue skies. you were serenity and stability. you were peace, an end to a life of war. 

you were beautiful. 

san drank you in greedily. he took in the shape of your nose, the curve of your lips; the fall of your hair, the way you were dressed plainly in white and clean of any jewelry despite the extravagance of the elite around you. 

your eyes widened as san didn’t look away from your gaze. the overseer hissed behind him. neither of you paid him any mind. instead san watched as a small, pleased smile teased at your lips. 

you stepped down from your throne. everyone seemed to hold their breath as you descended. san knew without looking this was being projected onto the screen. 

your feet were bare. san remembered you were not to step on unclean earth, were not to be touched by unclean hands; not to hear unclean words. your attendants, san had heard, were cleaned before aiding you. their nails, even, were cleaned meticulously. only the pure could touch you. 

“choi san,” you hummed again. you had a twinkle in your eyes. a more ignorant man would claim it to be innocence. san knew better. you were analyzing him. “your brother named you one of his most trusted, bid you to aid him in rebelling against our sect.”

“he did.” 

you waved your hand. an attendant stepped forward. he held a golden platter. upon it rested a circlet of flowers. san didn’t know flowers, but even the most ignorant concerning flowers would be able to recognize the small, white blossoms as wax flowers. as your flowers, as the empress’s victory. 

your blessing symbolized. only those worthy could wear it, show off the empress’s favor. it was a sign of their devotion to you; of your protection to them. to gain it was magnificent; to be stripped of it, deadly. 

“and you rejected choi bada.”

san furrowed his brows. he should lie; should say he rejected his brother, claim he felt it was the wrong thing to do from the beginning. he should claim his allegiance was only ever to you, his empress. 

but san couldn’t lie. not to himself; to you. 

“not at first.” the elite on the podium gasped. you shot the crowd a silencing look. san only carried on once your eyes were upon him once more. “he was my older brother. i thought he could do no wrong. it was – was my duty, my pleasure to be with him.”

you moved towards him, hands going to the crown of flowers. “until?”

“the temple,” san said, hesitating. “it – it was wrong. he was wrong. it was evil. cruel. horrible.”

you smiled down at him, the crown of flowers resting delicately on your fingers. “your heart is golden, young wolf.”

san shook his head. “if it was then i would’ve known from the beginning.”

“the plots of those closest to us,” you began, “are often concealed. we do not regard our precious ones with clear eyes, choi san.”

you were talking about your aunt. the one who had poisoned you for five years to weaken you, had used your illness to try and spread her territory and harvest your riches. who had exploited your youth, your naive innocence and trust and turned around and hurt you. 

perhaps you and san were alike. you both had been betrayed by those closest. 

san considered you. the line of your proud shoulders, the stability of your hands. you were the heavens revealed after a storm. you were his empress; his goddess. 

“no,” he said gently. “i should have known better. the gods have honored and blessed you as our empress. i should not have presumed any man to know better than the gods. i should have known better than to listen to my brother’s lies.”

“lies,” you repeated back. “i suppose he spoke of my imperfections. in some regard, he would not be wrong. i am mortal.”

san frowned. he lowered himself again. slowly san crawled forward, his bruise knuckles and bloodied forearms – not his blood, of course – stark against the soft white of the rug. he reached, with dirtied fingertips, for the hem of your long, white dress. he lifted it, and, like a devotee to a goddess, lowered his head and press his lips to your feet. 

he withdrew. 

“you are perfect,” he said. “any imperfections, spoken or thought, are lies. you are my empress. i would give myself to you for an eternity. i will give myself to you for an eternity.”

your face, for a split moment, was horribly vulnerable. he saw you not as an empress, as a queen of a city of sin, but as a woman. 

then, just as quickly, your face turned back into stone. 

“you would give yourself,” you said, “to me.”

“every part of me is yours,” san earnestly said. “body and soul.”

you glanced over him, eyes taking him in. san wondered what you saw. he wondered if you just saw the superficial part of him, what only appeared on the surface. if you saw the sharp cut of his eyes, the line of his jaw; the broad square of his shoulders and the bruises and scrapes that littered his skin. or if you saw beneath that. 

what lay beneath the surface of him, san did not know. he didn’t know if it was anything special – if he was anything special. he had killed and sinned just as any other person in the arena; had been taken as a prisoner. he was just as dirtied as everyone else. 

everyone but you. 

your shoulders relaxed back and you grew to your full height, an empress once more. you stepped to san, lifting the crown of wax flowers up for all to see. “the redeemed brother of choi bada,” you announced, “who prostrates himself before our gods and our great empire. this empress, low and humble before our heavenly fathers and mothers, accepts choi san into our empire with open arms. 

“let choi san spend the rest of his life in reparation to our empire. let him serve our great city in body and soul. let him prove himself devoted, and let us say no more of his past.”

and then you were placing the flower crown upon his head. 

the crowd roared with approval. 

you glided your fingers along his hair. he wanted to stop you. he knew his hair was greasy from sweat, knew his skin was dirty. he wasn’t clean. and yet you traced the side of his face with the pads of your fingers, let your nails skim along the line of his jaw. 

it was too much. it was too much. san couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him and he didn’t expect pain. here you were caressing him as if a lover, as if he were precious. it was too much. 

you brought your hands back to your body. you raised one up, palm out, for silence. the crowd quieted, reverent before their empress. 

when you spoke, your voice was stern with authority. “let it be shown our gods and empire is just. let it be known that our empire will not turn its back on those who repent. let it be known that i will not punish those who offer themselves wholly, who renounce their sins before me.”

your hands framed his jaw. you tilted san’s face up, and then you were pressing your lips to his forehead. 

san felt his entire body go numb. he couldn’t think; couldn’t breathe. 

the crowd screamed fervently. you continued to speak, though san wondered if anyone was able to hear your words. 

“let it be known i will not turn my back on those who need me.”

and like a flower with the sun, san so desperately needed you. 

you stepped back. your face had grime around your mouth from where you had kissed san’s dirty forehead. a attendant stepped forward with a white cloth, but you waved them aside, letting the dirt remain. 

“bring him to my bath,” you ordered, gesturing towards san. you looked towards him, brows raised. “you will serve me, body and soul, yes?”

san nodded. 

you smiled. it was a small turn of the lip, but san felt it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

san couldn’t help but feel horribly out of place in your penthouse. 

it was the sort of place that he never would have stumbled into ordinarily. windows took up the entire wall, clean and giving him a view of the artificial glow of the city underneath the moon. the furniture and carpets were all white and spotless, the floor a mute beige that warmed the space. 

everything was all clean. there were no personal touches within the penthouse from what san could see as he was guided from the overly large living space to the master bathroom. everything was meticulously placed, offered no insight as to whom the owner of the penthouse – the entire building, really – was. 

there were flowers throughout the penthouse, san noted. they were the only source of life within, the only sign of color. geraniums and roses, lilies and petunias. they were spaced out as to not overwhelm and truly were the only things within the space that betrayed the character of the owner. 

the attendant slid open the door to the master bathroom. immediately san was hit with the gentle scent of vanilla and flowers, though he couldn’t place what particular sort of flower he was smelling. the bathroom’s size was in proportion to the rest of the apartment, meaning it was still considerably bigger than any bathroom san had stepped into before. 

the bath was already running, though san was tempted to call it a pool. it was longer and wider than any man or woman could possibly be, settled into the ground with shining white marble framing it. the bath only touched one wall, artificial stone breaking up the smooth texture of the rest of the room. 

the attendant moved about the bathroom, leaving san by the door. she turned off the faucet of the tub. “don’t worry about the water, there’s a heater in the tub.”

she went to the lights. the bright overhead lights dimmed; the wall scones lit up, giving the bathroom a dark, moody feel. 

“usually you should be scrubbed clean,” the attendant said, wrinkling her nose as she took san in. “obviously you haven’t bathed in days. but the empress insisted on leaving you as you are.”

the attendant went to the marble counter. she pressed on something, and then a cabinet door was opening. san wouldn’t have been able to guess anything was there at all, as there were no handles and he couldn’t see the frame of the door. 

she withdrew from the cabinet with white towels. “the empress will direct you on how to attend her. do not presume familiarity; do not mistake her kindness for permission. it’s hard to get blood out of stone.”

san’s eyes snapped to the white stone wall framing one side of the bath. it had been unassuming before, just another pretty feature; now it seemed to stand before him ominously, a stark warning. 

“you mean –” he broke off, brow furrowing. “the empress –?”

“our dear lady is not a sweet little lamb,” the attendant said, pride the undercurrent to her tone. she placed the towels on the white counter. she bumbled around, pulling things from drawers san hadn’t noticed. the attendant reached out for a vase of flowers, sweet little things with white petals and yellow centers. 

“the biggest mistake one can make is to presume her submissive in any respect,” the attendant advised him. “never presume to know more than her. never think, for a single second, that you aren’t eating out of the palm of her hand.”

san shifted back. you had been – well, not unassuming. but he hadn’t – didn’t – this picture the attendant was illustrating of you seemed so stark in comparison to the woman who had grabbed his face and kissed it so gently. he couldn’t imagine you like this. san couldn’t imagine you being a master manipulator, couldn’t imagine you having some secret agenda. he couldn’t imagine you, so benevolent and beautiful, being a snake wrapped in lamb’s wool. 

the attendant hummed, content with the flowers. she turned to san. she looked him up and down. “if you have some sort of secret agenda –”

“i don’t!” the words were forceful and sure as they escaped san’s lips. he frowned at the attendant, standing straight and staring down at her. he crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the muscles of his arms clench from how rigidly he was holding himself. “i swore my body and soul to the empress. any person who dares to say otherwise is wrong.”

the attendant inclined her head. “so you say.”

and then you were walking into the bathroom. 

san felt his breath leave him all at once. even in the dim artificial lighting you were perfect. you were bare of any accessories, simply clothed in a white dress with your feet gently slapping against the floor. yet you were more beautiful than any gaudily clad creature san had ever seen. 

you said something to the attendant. san didn’t hear. he was too busy taking you in: the soft lines of your arms, the precious curves of your mouth. the way the very air around you seemed to sweeten with your presence, bending to your purity.

the attendant left, and then you were raising your arm up to finger at your earrings. 

and san saw red. 

literally. 

your forearm was painted a vibrant red, blood gently pulsing from a single cut. 

san was at your side in a second, his hands reaching out for your arm. he grabbed you, his hands cradling your forearm as he frowned down at the injury. 

“what happened –”

but san was cut off by your hand pressing into the tender meat of his neck. your thumb pinched mercilessly, making san shutter and his grip on your arm weaken. 

“down,” you hissed, sharp and severe. 

obediently san dropped to his knees, hands at your hips. ignoring your own injury you grabbed his hands, forcing them away. 

“don’t touch me,” you snapped, your injured arm darting out. you gripped his hair in your hand, nails digging into his scalp. you wrenched his face back, exposing the line of his throat and making him gasp into the humid air of the bath. “never, ever touch me without permission. you understand me?”

“you’re hurt,” san gasped out, eyebrows high on his face as he pressed his head back into your hand. it hurt, your grip on his hair harsh. yet he didn’t want to move away, didn’t want to move from the pain you were delivering onto him. “you’re hurt, empress.”

he watched through squinted eyes as your jaw, which had been jutted out in anger, softened. the corners of your mouth sagged from where your lips had been twisted from fury. 

your grip on his hair loosened. you clicked your tongue, stepping close. 

gone was all anger from your being. instead you moved close, your hand cradling san’s cheek. blood dripped from your wound, down onto his pants and the marble floor. 

you hummed down at him, thumb gently swiping along the sharp cut of his cheekbone. “i apologize,” you whispered, voice sweet. “forgive me. when a person rushes towards me i cannot help but react.”

san felt his heart clench at hearing you say such a thing. if it was up to him, you’d never feel fear again. never feel as if you were in danger, never feel anxiety or terror. you’d be safe; safe for ever and ever. he’d make you safe. he’d make the world safe for you.

“i should have known,” he said in apology. 

you smiled, then. you laughed softly. your fingers went to his black hair, pulling slightly as to expose his face to you further. “sweet boy,” you said. 

san turned his face towards your palm. you let him. he let his eyes flutter shut, nose tucking into the curve of your hand. he felt treasured like this; precious.

“next time you greet me,” you said, voice light, “remain still until you are acknowledged. understand?”

“yes, dear empress.”

you grinned down at him. “my sweet boy,” you cooed again. 

yes. 

yours.

“you are hurt,” san said. he blinked up at you, mouth pushed into a soft pout. “what happened?”

“nothing of consequence,” you returned. “i only worry about it staining your clothes.”

san frowned. you were hurt, and it wasn’t anything important?

“you could help me clean it,” you said, hesitant. 

san looked up at you. you were so beautiful and kind. you were a powerful woman, far above any else in superiority and worth. and yet you were allowing him to help you when you were in pain, when you were in need of aid. 

you, so innocent and – and holy, to be touched only by the pure, were letting san touch you. not only that, you would letting him clean you. 

“come on, pup,” you instructed, “clean me.”

slowly, as to not startle you again, san grabbed your arm in his hand. he moved your hand from his face, immediately missing it. but you had given him a task, and san would be deplorable if he were to hesitate in acting on it. 

when san touched his tongue to your blood, he found, to his astonishment, it tasted perfectly normal, as anyone’s blood would. it was tangy, tasted like rust. it wasn’t horrible, san found. it wasn’t revolutionary, of course; he wouldn’t go around drinking other’s blood. but it was, well, your blood, a symbol of your humanity, and you were letting him lick at it. 

you hummed softly, stepping close. you slid your free hand into his hair, petting softly. there was little space between the two of you. and san loved it. he couldn’t help but smile gently into your skin. san pressed a soft kiss to your arm, ignoring how he only seemed to further spread your blood. 

“so messy,” you said, and san peeked up at you. you were smiling down at him, and san swore he could see your eyes sparkle. “such a messy eater, choi san.”

he pressed another kiss to your skin. san alternated between kissing your arm and licking at your wound, his mouth overwhelmed by the tangy taste of your blood. he endured it, though. he couldn’t help himself. he felt, weirdly, as if he was drunk. 

it was almost as if this was some sort of drug; as if worshiping you were addictive. san was kneeling before you, blood smeared over his mouth, and he didn’t want to stand. he didn’t want to erase that gentle smile from your face. if that meant kneeling before you and licking your wounds, then –

well. 

he’d done worse things for more horrible people. 

eventually you pulled san away. your wound had long stopped bleeding. your arm wasn’t entirely clean, thin smears of bright crimson a blight against your skin. 

you cupped his face with both hands. you looked over him. san wondered what you saw. 

you pressed your fingers to the corner of his mouth, lightly following a path he was blind to. “you’re so messy,” you said again. “covered in blood and dirt.”

your fingers wandered over his face. san’s eyes fluttered. you followed the curve of his nose, the sharp jutting lines of his cheeks. 

“you are to attend me in the bath,” you said, voice a sweet song. “and yet you are covered in filth. you will wash before you serve me.”

then you stepped away. 

you went to the hidden cabinet the attendant had gone to earlier. you opened it, removing a white towel. 

“kneel in the shower,” you commanded. 

the shower was tall and large. the showerhead was large and like a saucer, and when you turned it on the water was like a trickle of rain. 

san went and kneeled in the shower underneath the water. 

“your clothes,” you said, tossing the white towel onto an ottoman beside the shower. “take your clothes off.”

san felt himself flush. you hadn’t said for him to take off of his clothes, and so he hadn’t thought of it. he felt sheepish; stupid. 

you didn’t make fun of him, though. you held out your hand. san stood, beginning to take off his clothes. you kept your eyes on him as he did so. first came his tank top. it was white originally, though the arena had dirtied it considerably with sand and other grime, and tight against him. once it was off he handed it to you. you took the shirt from him, letting it hang from your fingertips, continuing to let your eyes smooth over his abdomen and chest. 

next, his shoes and socks. he kicked those out of the shower. 

he only hesitated when his thumbs were hooking into the waistband of his underwear. 

you laughed at him, dropping his pants and shirt to the side. “don’t be shy now,” you teased. “are you not going to attend me? will you not wash my body with your hands? be naked and let us be on equal ground.”

and so he pushed his underwear down. he fought to get it over the swells of his thighs, but then they were quickly falling to his knees and onto the floor. 

you stared at him openly. 

san’s dick – regrettably – was at half mast. he felt as if he had been hard ever since you made him kneel in front of the arena crowd. and with you staring he felt a small sense of shame, but still his cock continued to harden, blood thickening it and letting it take on a darker hue. 

“cute,” you laughed again. “now on your knees.”

san returned to his knees. you stepped into the shower. you were still wearing your white dress, and you were ignoring the shower water as it rained down on you. 

slowly, leisurely, you reached for a bottle of soup. you squeezed out a small white liquid to your hand, and then you were stepping close. 

you were perhaps half a foot away. you were close enough to where all san had to do was lean his head forward to press his face into your stomach if he wanted to. 

your free hand went to his chin. you tipped his face up. you cupped water in your hand and then began washing his face. after a handful of seconds you were lathering his face in some sort of face wash, fingers gentle as you scrubbed. 

“you’re getting all wet,” san mumbled, opening an eye to peer up at you. 

you raised your brows at him. you rinsed off your hands, and then you were cleansing his face of the soap. “i’m bathing you,” you said simply. “why would i take off my clothes?”

san thought it was odd for a fleeting moment that you weren’t undressing despite the fact your dress was absolutely soaked, but then you were running your fingers through his hair. 

“you will have to keep yourself clean,” you instructed him. “especially if you are to attend me.”

“attend you?”

you scoffed. “did you not devote yourself to me, ‘body and soul’? regretting your words already, choi san?”

he hurriedly shook his head. you left him for a moment to reach for a bar of soap. 

“if you’re going to attend to me, ‘body and soul,’” you began, sliding the soap along his shoulders, “you will need to keep clean. you cannot touch me if you are dirty.”

you stilled. you tapped his chin with a finger. san looked up. your face was serious, your eyes sharp and mouth firm. “you are devoting yourself, yes?”

“until i die, empress.”

you relaxed, visibly pleased at san’s eagerness. “you will be mine. you are mine, then, choi san.”

“yours.”

you returned to cleaning him. he tried not to look at you too much. the white dress stuck to your skin as if it were your skin. san could see the curve of your breasts – tits felt too crude of a word to use for you – and the soft imprint of your nipples. 

“if you do well enough when you bathe me, you can be my bath attendant,” you declared. you stepped back. “stand.”

“bath attendant?” san stumbled to his feet, legs slightly numb from having been kneeling for so long. he’ll have to get used to it. he liked being on his knees for you. 

“‘body and soul,’” you reminded. “don’t you want to bathe me?”

san nodded. “so badly,” he said.

and he meant it. he thought about bathing you, his hands gently massaging soap into your hair. he’d wash whatever part you wanted. he’d take care to wash behind your ears and neck, to lightly rub soap over your breasts if your nipples were particularly sensitive. he’d even wash your pussy if you’d let him. 

san felt blood rush down to his dick at the thought. it was horribly, disastrously crude of him to think such a thing. he should be ashamed. 

you rubbed the bar of soap over him. your hand followed, sliding along his skin and smoothing the suds. your hands were sure as you slid them along his abdomen, thumb swiping over his muscled stomach. 

“so strong,” you said. “it would be a shame not to have you as a member of my personal guard.”

“‘body and soul.’”

you laughed at him, reaching up and pinching at one of his brown nipples. he hissed, dick throbbing as he reached up and cupped his own tits to protect them. “you are awfully devoted,” you teased. “it is a good thing you stumbled into my arena instead of someone else’s, choi san.”

“i wouldn’t be like this to anyone else,” san announced. his eyes flicked over your face. your hair was stuck along your forehead, and he could see that you had on mascara, the black liquid running over your cheeks. 

rise, choi san, and know that no hatred, no ill-will, will be held to you.

you had crowned him with the empress’s victory. you had promised him absolution of his sins. you were merciful. you were beautiful. 

“you wouldn’t have to be in my guard,” you murmured, moving around him. you went to his back. he felt acutely aware of you. the soap traveling over his skin, your hand smoothing over the muscles of his back. “you fought for one tyrant already. i will not be another.”

san let out a sharp breath. 

he turned. he looked down at you. 

“i’d do anything for you.”

for a moment you just stared at him, your hands stilling over his abdomen. the shower beat down on his back, water sliding along his body. 

“so much power for one woman to have,” you murmured. “turn back around.”

you continued to bathe him. your hands slid over his body. when your hands went to his dick, san couldn’t help but tense. you ran your fingers along the veins of his hips, letting them lead to the base of his cock. his cock was fully erect. you paid his tumultuous state no mind. you slid your hands along his dick methodically, touch sure and firm. 

san sucked in a deep breath, his hands going to your shoulders, searching for something to tether him. 

“hands off of me,” you ordered. your hand could just barely wrap around his dick. you slid your fist from the base of his cock to the tip, wrist twisting. 

san let out a groan, and he tried to ignore how high his voice went at the end of it. your hand continued to his balls, fondling lightly as you gave a perfunctory wash there, too. 

you released his dick. it flopped up to his stomach, and he couldn’t help but wince at the urgent need that shot through him, his cock throbbing. san wanted your hand wrapped around his dick again, wanted it so badly. 

“finish up,” you commanded. you stepped from the shower, dropping the bar of soap onto the ground, not bothering to hand it to him. 

san turned and bent over to grab the soap. when he straightened, he turned back to face towards where you had left him. you had one shoulder of your dress down around your elbow, your hands reaching up for the other as you watched san. 

he got, delightfully, the feeling as if you had been studying him while his back was turned. san felt, stupidly, as if he were a little mouse and you were the mighty lion. as if he was running frantically between your paws, searching for a way out as you continually shifted your paws, not giving him a way out. 

well –

san didn’t want a way out. 

if you wanted to play with him like cat and mouse, san would let you. you saved him. from what, san didn’t know, though he did know whatever his fate would have been had you neglected to acknowledge his victory would have been far worse than this; worse than standing naked in the bathroom of your penthouse, erection strained and wanting. 

you saved him; you wouldn’t hurt him. 

you gave him the empress’s victory. you would protect him. 

further: you asked him to bathe you, to guard you. 

you wanted him at your side. 

when san finished washing, all the dirt and grime of his old life swirling down the shower drain, he turned off the water. 

you had completely undressed, and were standing by the sunken tub. your dress and undergarments were scattered. san couldn’t help but let his eyes rove over you. he looked at the curve of your thighs and where the meat of them mellowed to bleed into your knees. san stared at the hair of your cunt, at the soft skin of your stomach; the hang of your tits and your nipples, hard due to them being exposed to the room. 

his dick ached. 

“get into the tub,” you ordered. 

the tub, san found, varies in depth. the steps were cold white marble, and when his foot was submerged beneath the water, it was extremely warm. the water was the sort of warm that would lure its occupants to sleep. 

when he crossed the tub, as the stairs were on one side and you the other, the level of the tub floor began to steepen. near the stairs, once he was off of them, the water only went to the middle of his thighs. as he neared you, the water began to slowly rise until it lapped against his lower hips, warm around the base of his cock. 

you had lowered yourself to sit on the edge of the tub when he climbed in. your legs were hanging over the edge, knees parted just enough for him to stand between them. 

you were grinning, the white of your teeth striking against the plush color of your lips. 

“what a predicament you have there,” you murmured, eyes flicking down to san’s dick. 

he felt blood rush to his face as you gazed unabashedly at his cock. “i –”

“clean my feet,” you interrupted. you leaned back on your hands, not concealing your body in the slightest. san looked over your stretchmarks, over the pebbling of your nipples. he wondered, fleetingly, if you’d let him lick them.

“your feet?”

“you said you would clean me,” you said. “go grab the soap.”

the soap, as it turned out, was on the other side of the tub. slowly san waded through the water, pushing against it. he grabbed the soaps, all flower-scented and bottled, and turned back to you. 

“shame,” you said. “i quite liked the other view of you.”

blood shot to his face again. san was sure his cheeks and ears were vibrantly red. 

“this view is not so bad either,” you amended. 

he knew you were talking about his abs and his dick, just as he knew you had been talking about his ass with the prior comment. san was being treated as if he were some piece for you to ogle at, and fuck, if that didn’t make his dick absolutely throb. 

you spread out your knees, letting san press close. he set the bottles beside you, and then he couldn’t help but let his hands hover over your hips. 

“you want to touch me?”

san looked up to you. your head was tilted slightly, and you were looking down your nose at him. he traced the curve of your jaw with his eyes, the line of your throat. he wanted to touch every inch of you. he wanted to devour you. 

“yes,” he said, voice hushed and yearning. 

you smiled, baring your teeth at him. you raised your leg, and then you were pressing your foot flat against his stomach. 

“clean me.”

and so san began to wash your feet. 

he cupped the water in his hand, bringing it up and letting the water escape his hand to trinkle over your foot. san ran his hand over your foot. despite the fact that you walked barefoot, as to represent your divinity, the underside of your foot was nearly clean. 

even as san finished cleaning one foot and shifted to the next, starting by rinsing it off, his erection didn’t flag. he continued to wash your foot, trying to ignore how his cock throbbed in tandem with his heart, how the warm water of the tub lapped over his balls and the base of his dick. 

you hummed as san finished washing your second foot, toes flexing in his hold. he smoothed his hand over the gentle incline of your foot, thumb swiping over your ankle. 

san looked down at your skin. your foot was drenched, your leg dry. he ran his fingers over your skin, letting the pads of his fingers drag along your flesh. san 

“could i –” san broke off, looking up at you. you raised your brows at him, waiting. “can i kiss your skin?”

you tilted your head. you flicked your eyes up and down his figure. eventually, slowly, you nodded. 

san felt his heart flutter in his chest. he bent over. he pressed the tip of his nose to your leg, feeling the slight bumps along your skin from where your shaven hairs were trying to break through. he let his lips ghost over your skin, torturing himself; appreciating you. 

san let his lips trail down your leg, and then he was at your ankle. 

slowly, but not hesitantly, he pressed a kiss to the skin there. 

you sucked in a breath. 

san pulled back slightly, looking up at you. his voice, when he spoke, seemed to come from deep within him. “you okay?”

“i’ve been worshiped before,” you said, in lieu of an answer, “but not quite like this.”

“shall i continue?”

san watched as you visibly shivered before him. his dick throbbed, a slight pearl of precum budding from the tip. 

you nodded. san pressed his lips to your ankle once more. 

san let his mouth move over your skin. he didn’t bite or lick or anything. he simply explored. his mouth was but a tool used for mapping, learning the rises and curves of your body. 

once san found he was satisfied with one leg, he shifted to the other. 

san’s mouth went to the crook of your knee. he turned your leg in his hand. he pressed his mouth to the part where your knee and thigh met, his nose pressing into the flesh as he mouthed at your skin. 

you let out a gentle sigh. it was slight, hardly there. san only heard it because he was so incredibly tuned into you. he wanted to listen to every hitch in breath, wanted to be able to see every twitch of a finger. san wanted to devote himself to you, and so he heard the slight breath that escaped you, the little exhale, as he kissed your thigh. 

his dick, horribly, angrily, throbbed. his balls were tight against him, precum beading and sliding along the head of his dick. 

you hummed at him, and then you were lowering your leg. “you’ve a problem.”

“it’s not a problem,” san said. he settled his hand on your knee, wanting to press his mouth back into your skin. “i can ignore it.”

you shook your head. “fuck yourself,” you said, words so horribly dirty compared to the white aura of pureness that clung to your identity like a shroud. “fuck your hand, choi san.”

san took his hand, the one not on you, and moved it to his dick. he didn’t begin fucking, instead intently watching you, as if he were a dog waiting for the command from his master to have the treat. 

“i told you what to do,” you said, voice dry. you shifted closer, thighs now dangling over the edge of the tub. 

san fisted his cock, immediately shivering into his touch. he felt as if he had been effectively edged for hours. san brought his hand down to the base of his dick, slowly, deliciously, dragging it up to the tip. the water smoothed the stroke, each motion of his hand making san keen into the touch. 

“how funny,” you said. san looked at you. you were still, eyes watching his hand as he fucked himself. “such a strong man driven to patheticness by the sight of a pair of tits.”

“no,” he groaned from the back of his throat. san thumbed at his dickhead, not bothering with the slit; being uncut, he was far too sensitive there to bother, the sensations too harsh for him. his foreskin glided with his strokes, concealing and revealing his tip in equal measure. 

“it’s you,” he got out eventually. “been – been hard.”

you chuckled at him. “since when? since i made you kneel for me in front of hundreds?”

san was quiet. he stilled his hand at the base of his dick, furtively bucking his hips into his hand, the sensation too little to do anything proper. 

“oh it was,” you said, glee gently curving around the edges of your voice. “you’re really into this devotion thing, aren’t you? into worship.”

“never been before.”

you laughed again. you reached out one foot, nudging against his thigh. san let out a choked noise, and then he was fucking his fist down onto his cock. 

“you get hard from kneeling to your empress,” you said. “the strong man who killed ten men before my eyes likes being made to bow in reverence. how fucking cute of you, choi san.”

san groaned, this one loud. he began fucking his fist in earnest, the strokes quick. you placed your legs on either side of his thighs, and then you were bringing him close, legs wrapping around him. 

“fucking choi bada’s general. likes bowing to the empress that demanded the death of his brother, hm? that it, choi san? just needed me to tell you what to do? you like me telling you what to do, choi san?”

“yes,” he hissed out. 

you laughed, loud and harsh. he opened his eyes to watch your chest heave with your laughter. you looked at him, eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“then cum,” you commanded. 

san’s orgasm ripped from him, balls tight and throbbing as his release tore through him. he couldn’t help but tip his head back, exposing the column of his throat, hand frantic as he worked over his dick. 

san didn’t stop fucking his hand until it was bordering on the edge of too much, little shocks of pain shooting through him. 

when san opened his eyes, satisfied, it was to the sight of you covered in his cum. 

thick and white, the fluid stuck to your skin. his cum was covering your thighs and stomach and tits, not great enough to completely conceal your skin, but still significant. 

san felt horrified. 

here you were, this pure, divine person in front of him. you wore white, your attendants had to clean themselves before even handing you a glass of water. and here you were: covered in his cum. 

“i suppose,” you drew out, “it is a good thing i’ll be bathing.”

you lifted a hand, going to swipe at some of the cum on your stomach. 

san darted out, his hand wrapping around your wrist. “don’t,” he said, urgent, “it’s dirty.”

“then you’ll just have to clean it,” you taunted back. 

you drew your hand through the cum on your stomach. you pressed your thumb to the fingers stained with san’s spunk. you inspected it, as if you were curious. 

then you held out your hand. 

“clean me.”

for a moment san was confused. his brow furrowed. he looked between your stained fingers and your face. 

you raised your brows. “clean my hand, choi san.” you paused, and then: “it’s the least you could do for touching me like you have.”

san felt himself blush. he reached out, both of his hands wrapping around your wrist. he was acutely aware of the fact that you were watching him, eyes not missing a single movement. 

san lifted your hand to his mouth. he hesitated for a moment. he pressed his lips against the tips of your fingers, and then he was moving them into his mouth. 

your skin was salty in his mouth, and slightly soapy from having bathed san. san didn’t take your fingers out, though. you had told him to do something, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to do it. 

san guided your fingers further into his mouth. his spunk was on the tips of your fingers, and nearly immediately he could taste it. it was bitter and horrible, and san didn’t understand how anyone could swallow it.  

knowing you had commanded it, however, and not wanting to let you down, san continued to push your fingers into his mouth. he gagged when your fingers were halfway, the pads of your digits pressing gently against his tongue. 

you laughed. “oh cute,” you cooed. “poor little choi san can’t handle two fingers in his mouth, yeah?”

cheeks tinged with red, san fought against his gag reflex to slide your fingers further. he had to stop when he felt the tops of your nails at the far back of his mouth, the feeling of wanting to gag licking at the back of his throat. 

“don’t gag,” you said. “i hadn’t told you to take my fingers into your throat, but now that you’ve decided to do so, you will. swallow around my fingers, choi san.”

feeling bullied, but not disliking it, san swallowed around your fingers. 

his mouth went tight. he could feel the vacuum of it, the sucking sensation. 

“suck my fingers clean.” you shifted before him, your free hand reaching up to brush at your cheek as if you had an inch. “lick them.”

san ran his tongue over your fingers, gathering his cum from them. he swallowed again, only to immediately gag. san pulled away from your hand abruptly, lips pressing firmly together and throat working fervently to try and assure that there was nothing else foreign in his mouth. 

you wiped your hand over his shoulder. “how boring,” you said absently. 

“i’m sorry,” san apologized. he placed his hands on your knees. you didn’t immediately scold him. “it just felt weird.”

“it just felt weird,” you echoed back. “are you going to make it up to me?”

san nodded, and then he was pressing his face to your tits. 

instantly your arms were around him, hands sinking into his hair and nails digging. he hissed, and he heard you say his name, low and dangerous. 

but then san ran his tongue along the curve of your tit. he found he loved the first taste of it, the combination of your slightly sweaty skin and his spunk, and so san quickly licked a long stripe over your tit again. 

your fingers weakened in his hair, nails scraping lightly. you gripped the ends of his hair, and then you were pressing your nose to his ear. 

“you better lick me clean,” you muttered. “i don’t want to dirty the bath water with your spunk.”

san shivered in your hold. he didn’t know if it was from your command or how your voice spat out spunk. 

san ran the flat of his tongue over your skin. he licked at your tits as if it were his favorite meal. 

once you deemed them clean, you were pushing his face lower to your stomach. 

san, ever obedient to his empress, began cleaning you there, too. 

it was weirdly relaxing. san lapped at your skin. he continued even when most of the cum had been licked from your torso, just letting his tongue rove over your flesh. 

“good boy,” you eventually praised. 

then you were spreading out your legs, pushing san back. you were gentle with it, however, and he felt his heart flutter in his chest and his dick give a little lurch. 

“here,” you said, your hand sliding to your cunt. “don’t forget here.”

your cunt, in consideration with the staining of cum to your tits and stomach and thighs, did not need to be cleaned. 

but san found himself kneeling along the ledge that ran the complete length of the sunken tub, his fingers going to your cunt. 

he used his thumbs to spread your lower lips, nails scraping lightly against your damp pussy hair. for a moment san just looked, taking in the pretty shape of your cunt. 

then san was pressing his nose to your clit, tongue rolling out to lap at your hole. you were wet, the fluid bittersweet. san couldn’t help but lick at you again as soon as he had tasted you, running the broad width of his tongue up your pussy. 

you moaned out, the loudest san had heard from you thus far. 

and he found it absolutely addictive. 

san didn’t know if all cunts were like this; didn’t know if it merely pertained to your pussy. but san found himself completely fixated, letting his tongue run from your hole to your clit, gathering your fluid and swallowing it eagerly. 

he wanted to, quite simply, devour you. 

no – 

that wasn’t right – 

san wanted to worship you. 

your cunt was his altar, and san was devoted. he thrusted his tongue into your hole, licking at the rim. san moved his tongue to your clit, and that, too, he worshipped. he found it particularly addicting, the way you moaned and thighs tightened around him as he lapped at your clit.

san slid a finger into your hole, and you gasped out as you tightened down on it. your cunt clamped down on his fingers as it if were his cock, unwilling to let it go. your pussy milked his finger greedily as he ran his tongue over your clit messily, your hips in constant movement underneath him. 

“fuck,” you groaned out as his finger arched up, pressing against a spongey pat of your pussy. your voice was loud, echoing around the bathroom. fleetingly, san thought about the other attendants and how he didn’t want them to hear the precious sounds you were making, because then, honesty, he’d gave to punch them until they forgot their own name, but then you were tightening your thighs around him. 

fluid trickled around san’s finger as he thrust it in and out in rhythm with his licking of your clit. he lapped at the velvet area framing your clit, flicked his tongue rapidly against the spot in sporadic stimulation. 

eventually your moans crescendoed, and a rough call of “san!” burst from your mouth as your pussy tightened around his finger and fluid gushed from your cunt. 

san didn’t stop fucking his finger into you and licking at your pussy until you were hissing, physically pushing him away. 

you had laid down at some point, and now you were propped up on your elbows. your face was twisted into a scowl, chest heaving as you looked at him. 

for a few moments you didn’t say anything. you just stared at him. 

eventually you pushed yourself up off of the marble. your skin was covered in goosebumps, and when you ran your fingers along your hairline san saw sweat had collected there. 

you were shockingly quiet. 

san laid his hands on your thighs, coming close. “are you okay?”

you looked at him, brows furrowed. your eyes danced over his face, taking him in. 

then you scoffed, pushing him back. “you’ve got cunt juice on your face.”

you slid off of the edge of the tub and into the water. you were close to san due to him having been pressed against the edge. your hands went to his hips, and then you were moving him away from you, albeit not cruelly. 

san watched as you sunk down into the water, letting it come up to your neck. you grabbed a handful, wetting your face. 

“what do you want me to do?”

you glanced at him, eyelashes clumped together from the water. 

“i suppose you wash me,” you said. “no one has ever attended me in the bath before, so you won’t have a point of comparison. you can decide if that’s good or not.”

“no one’s served you in the bath before?” san frowned, moving to grab the face wash. it was, in a complete contrast to the white marble of the room, in a sweet pink bottle with little cartoon characters decorating the bottle. “that attendant said you had killed someone in here.”

you shrugged. you stepped to him, your hands on his abdomen. you angled your face up towards him, waiting. “i have. did. and can.”

san ignored the threat. he held the bottle in one hand, using his free hand to spread water over your face once more. he tried to ignore the proximity, the way your hands touched his stomach. 

he didn’t dare to ask at first, knowing it wasn’t his place. he was made to serve you, and san didn’t have a problem with that; he would never ask for anything different. more importantly: san didn’t want anything different. 

“what happened?” he squeezed some of the face wash onto his hand, and then he was gently rubbing it into your cheek. “why did you kill someone?”

“i’ve killed a lot of people,” you mumbled, eyes falling shut as san’s hand roamed over your face, applying the face wash. 

san hummed in acknowledgment. it was hard to think of you killing anyone, especially when you were like this. you were still in his hold, pliant as san ran his fingers over your face. you were soft and sweet, hands gentle against his abdomen, and he just couldn’t imagine you using those hands for sin. 

“you shouldn’t have to kill anyone.” san, satisfied with how your face was lathered with face wash, dipped his hand into the water. he then, gently, slowly as to not get any in your eyes, began to wash the soap off of your face. 

you frowned at his words. 

san, sensing you wanted to speak, wiped at your mouth. he pressed his thumb along your lips, swiping at the soap. 

“i am the empress of a large . . . enterprise,” you said. you peered at him. “to ask another to do such a thing without being willing to do it myself leads to dissent. i cannot be a good leader if i am unwilling to do what i ask of my followers.”

san felt a pang in his chest. he couldn’t help but feel admiration for you. the thought of you killing anyone, of bloodying your pure hands, filled san with such unease that it twisted at his stomach. but your explanation for the brutality filled him with pride. you were not some far-off, lofty creature urging worship. you were willing to do what had to be done. 

san decided, not for the first and certainly not for the last time, he was proud to be the one you crowned victorious. 

he smoothed his hand over your face one last time. san let the pads of his fingers trail over your chin, and when you didn’t immediately push back, he continued his exploration. san dragged his fingers down the column of your throat. he couldn’t help but watch his fingers travel. san settled his finger on your clavicle, letting his thumb drift down. 

“do you need your hair washed?” san’s voice was deep even to him, and he could feel blood rushing down to his cock. his dick throbbed as he smoothed his hand downward, the thumb gently gliding along the curve of your tit. 

your nails scraped against his abdomen. “no.”

san looked over your tits, admiring the hang of them, your pebbled nipples. he wanted to put his mouth on them, san decided. 

“i do need washed,” you announced. 

san pulled away. he immediately missed your body, missed your hands against his body. 

san grabbed the body soap, and then he was returning to you. 

“lift your arms,” he said, glancing you over. 

you hummed, tilting your head. you looked him up and down. “no,” you said. “i’m sure you’re capable.”

san hesitated before you. he wasn’t sure quite what you were saying at first. but then you raised your brows at him, waiting, and san felt his dick throb painfully as realization struck him. 

san slowly, haltingly, reached for your arm. san ran his hand over your arm, lathering your skin. he hesitated before sliding his hand along the underneath of your arm, fingertips pressing into your armpit. 

you stood still, letting san wash you. he was gentle but efficient, trying not to linger on any spot in particular. 

san tried to fight the instinct to just run his hands along your body and attach his mouth to your tit, wanting to worship. you were perfect and before him, and he didn’t know how long you would let him admire you for, and he sort of wanted to test it. 

eventually, you went to the ledge of the tub, climbing to rise up out of the tub. your skin immediately broke out into goosebumps, and, seemingly despite yourself, you shivered. 

you turned to him, water falling in droplets around you. “my legs,” you said. 

and so san began to wash your legs. he was careful here, too. he ran his hands along your calves, along the backs of your knees. san took care when cleaning the insides of your thighs, biting down on his lip to keep his touch from lingering. 

once he was done, he sunk his hands into the water to wash them. 

“i’ve finished,” he said, glancing over you. 

“not quite,” you returned. you sat back on the edge of the tub. you spread out your legs, baring your cunt. “you haven’t cleaned here.”

san blinked. 

he tilted his head, confused. “but i already cleaned you there, didn’t i?”

you sighed, rolling your eyes. “you’ve licked me,” you clarified. “i need to be cleaned, choi san. i can’t walk around with a dirty cunt.”

“do i – do i lick you again?”

“choi san,” you admonished, “who knows where your mouth has been? your fingers are clean enough.”

and so san went between your legs, your knees knocking against his arms. 

san smoothed his hands over the inside of your thighs, taking you in. he hadn’t been quite able to fully look at you before. now, with his dick throbbing and hard once more, he looked his fill. 

you were laid back against the cold marble. your tits were like mounds, rising with every breath you took. 

“you better hurry,” you announced into the bathroom air, “and clean my cunt before i get too cold.”

san swallowed his hesitation down. 

then he was sliding his hands to your cunt. 

he didn’t quite know what you were wanting from him. he didn’t know if there was a special soap you wanted him to use, if you truly meant for him to clean your pussy. san was a man confused, and you didn’t look like  you were going to give him any aid any time soon. 

san thought back to how he had cleaned your cunt earlier, lapping at it like a puppy. he decided you didn’t truly mean for him to clean your pussy. 

so san slid one of his wet fingers into your damp cunt, slow and rigid. 

he watched as your body tensed beneath him. you relaxed just as quickly. 

san, for a lack of a better word, swabbed your pussy with his finger. he searched within your cunt as if it were some vessel in need of cleaning, as if he were trying to find something hidden within you that needed addressing. 

eventually, though, you got tired of it. 

“a second finger, choi san.”

san withdrew his forefinger. he was gentle as he slid both fingers into your cunt, knowing two was significantly more of a stretch than just one. you let out a long breath as you forced your body not to react to the second intrusion, lashes fluttering. 

this time san took creative liberty. he scissored his fingers out, forcing your pussy walls to spread out and accommodate his digits. you weren’t loud, instead letting out gentle gasps. 

your pussy, san noted with some degree of excitement, was gaining dampness. the hair of your cunt had already been wet from the tub, but as your body began to dry, your cunt only seemed to maintain its moisture. 

as he scissored his fingers, feeling your walls resist and relent, a decidedly lewd and wet sound began to fill the bathroom. it was, of course, the sound of your cunt wetting itself, the slick noise produced by the near-constant move of his fingers within. 

san looked over your body. you were so angelic, all spread out on the marble. his dick throbbed in response to you and your beauty.  

san changed the angle of his hand, lowering himself so he could kneel along the ledge and get a better angle. he curled his fingers up towards the front of your body, hitting that branch of nerves that had your knees squeezing around him and mouth opening wide in a sweet gasp. 

“san,” you gasped out, and – 

– and fuck –

his name was a blessing falling from your lips. san had heard many beautiful things in his life: the song of a violin in an orchestra hall; the bubbling laughter of an infant; the silence that came after a year of battle. he had never thought a single word could be beautiful, thought it could be glorious when uttered, but the way you said his name made san feel as if it was gilded and sparkling. as if you were a goddess uttering a blessing. 

san bit down on his lip, and then his second hand was joining his first at your pussy. he began thrusting his fingers into your cunt in a decisively wicked and relentless rhythm, striking the branch of nerves perfectly. 

he coupled the sensation with slick swipes of his thumb over your clit. san watched as your body reacted beneath him, thighs lifting up off of the marble, hips eagerly trying to search something out. 

you gasped into the air, back arching. 

“won’t you say something?” your voice was raspy, and when he looked down at you your legs tightened around him, knee lifting up as if you were trying to cover yourself with it. “say something.”

“you’re perfect,” san said. 

when you came, cunt tight around his fingers and mouth open wide, he thought you were divine. 

san continued to fuck his fingers into your pussy as you came, though he gentled considerably. he drunk you in greedily, eyes darting over your body as you tried to catch your breath. 

he loved you, he thought.

eventually, you let out a strangled groan, your foot on his hip and pushing him back. 

san went obediently, pulling his hand from your pussy. he stepped off of the ledge and into the tub. 

you sat up, eyes distant. he didn’t know if it was from the force of your orgasm or not. for a few moments, you just sat before him, brow furrowed and lips pressed into a firm line. you were not, for a few minutes, tether to the earth. he wondered what you saw. 

san could see the moment you came back to yourself, blinking and seemingly shaking yourself out of whatever daze you had been in. 

“are you –”

“back,” you commanded. 

san moved further into the tub. you shifted, gently lowering yourself in. san watched as you stoically washed at your inner thighs and pussy, not caring to be particularly gentle or modest. 

deeming yourself clean, san supposed, you stood from the tub. 

he went to the edge, bracing his hands on the marble. “let me help –”

“no.”

you stood, water dripping down your figure. san watched as you went to the white towels. you took one and wrapped your hair up, your body shivering in the cold air. next you wrapped yourself, though you didn’t quite stop shivering. 

“clean yourself,” you announced. you didn’t look at him as you went to the door. “you’ll find things to make a bed for yourself in the living room. i am not to be disturbed.”

san pushed himself out of the tub, kneeling on the marble, lips ready to ask a question –

but you were gone, leaving san alone in the bath with the white flowers on the marble counter.

[velariscalling]

Poison - A Cassian Imagine

Characters: Cassian x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Cassian and Reader have some history, and when she captures him for Hybern, they pick up where they left off, despite how she may have just cursed him to death.

Warnings: Smut, oral (both receiving), restraints, wingplay for a sec, mentions/description of injury, mentions of death, Cassian is literally poisoned.

A/N: Ok my first smut is here, please be kind lol. I'm actually much more nervous posting this than I was with my first fic, which is crazy! Also, happy birthday to the wonderful @sarawritestories! I hope you like it my lovely <3

Disclaimer: GIF isn't mine - credit to whoever it belongs to.

“Very good work, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Cassian stifled a groan as he rolled his neck to the side, cracking the bones that had gone stiff in his slumber. The voices he heard continued, but muffled as if he were underwater, and his vision swam so much that he nearly gagged.

He moved to reach an arm up to rub the back of his neck, needing to relieve the dull ache he felt, when he realised his hands weren’t moving. They couldn’t move. The chains rattled around his wrists over the alarm sounding in his brain as he snapped back into action, seeing the world in stark clarity.

“Oh, you’re awake,” A melodic voice chirped up from a few metres away. Why did that voice sound so familiar? “I’m glad. I missed you, actually.”

Cassian lifted his head and his eyes focused on the female stood in the shadows, leaning against the wall casually. Something sinister glinted from her hands in the flickering light - something metal, he realised with a jolt. No. Remain calm. That’s the one thing he would never forget from his training - never let your opponent know what you’re truly feeling. Even if you’re completely shitting it. “What is this? Or better yet, who are you?” He asked with lethal calm, still training his eyes on the dark silhouette, coaxing her to take the bait and fear him.

A huff sounded from the darkness. “I’m hurt, Cassian,” She stepped forward, illuminating her features only slightly, but enough for him to make out her exaggerated pout. “Really hurt. Here I was thinking we could have had something, and you don’t even remember me? We are definitely not off to a good start.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, sighing like a disappointed mother with a shake of her head.

He squinted, zoning in on her features. Her stature, her hair, her eyes. It wasn’t until his gaze met the intensity of her stare that the memories began to wash over him like ice cold water.

~~~

Leading an army into war was never going to be an easy task. Cassian knew this - it was not the first time he’s done so of course. But when so many of his front line had been struck down by Hybern soldiers, it was a little difficult to remain level-headed. For the first time in his centuries of experiences, Cassian felt like his control was slipping from his grasp.

People were coming at him from every direction, soldiers informing him of their comrades’ predicaments, and not a single one of these people seemed to scent the blood soaking through his leathers, or notice the wound gaping from his arm. Cassian winced every time something brushed against it or he had to move the arm, but continued to tend to the injured as much as he could before sending them to the healers tent.

“You’re hurt,” A soft voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned to look in the direction the voice had come from, only to spy a female, not looking to be more than a couple of centuries old. A healer, it seems.

“You would be the first to notice,” Cassian responded gruffly. He couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was, like an angel come to help him during his time of need, but he quickly brushed off the thought, deeming it inappropriate in the current time and place. And frankly, irrelevant. “It’s fine, I have things to sort out-”

“Cassian, if I may,” she interrupted, eyes careful as she gauged his reaction to her urgency. “You’ll bleed out if you don’t get someone to take a look at this soon. Please, come with me to my tent and I will fix you up. It should only take a few minutes at most.”

Cassian’s brain ticked back and forth, weighing up the options. He knew that his priority should be his men - it's always been the army first, himself later - but she was just so inviting. And as the gash on his arm throbbed with pain, he found himself nodding at her in agreement.

Her tent was small, and more or less bare. He didn’t even notice the lack of a bed, or even a blanket to sleep on. Only a chair which she gently coaxed him onto as she opened a small kit, mixing together an ointment to apply to his arm. She left it on the side to sit for a moment, presumably to let the compounds mould together before use, and approached him with a wet rag.

The way she peered down at him intently as she cleaned his arm had his cheeks flushing from something other than pain and stress. He silently thanked his already red cheeks for concealing any giveaway that the intimidating general was really just a big softie. He flicked his eyes up to watch as she worked, and couldn’t help but take in all the details of her face: the slight squint as she concentrated, the way her eyes flicked back and forth to ensure there were no bits of dirt remaining in the blood, and how her tongue poked out between her teeth as she focused. There was something else about her as well that he couldn’t quite pin-point… something familiar, as if he recognised her, but also something- something wrong. Like her features had been rearranged to conceal someone he used to know.

“Do you often stare at your healers?” She asked as the stepped away to dispose of the rag, interrupting his train of thought. Her tone was chastising, but the ever so subtle cheek to her voice gave away the tease.

Cassian bristled, fumbling for a moment as he felt like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t, and frantically searched for a way to jump back on top of the situation as she shook her ointment, seemingly satisfied that it was ready. “Only the pretty ones,” He grinned smugly, completely in control in that effortless, almost arrogant way of his.

The healer raised her eyebrows as she approached him, an amused glint in her eyes as she steadied his arm with one hand and prepared the ointment with the other. “This might hurt,” she said shortly, before pressing it against his wound. Cassian hissed in pain, gritting his teeth together to try to dampen the blow. This was worse than actually getting the gash in the first place, he thought.

A few moments passed, which felt ridiculously long to Cassian, until the female straightened her back and took her hands away from his arm. “All done,” she quipped, before turning away from him to dispose of her equipment once again. Cassian unclenched his fists at his side in an attempt to relax, despite the tingling in his arm resembling a dance troupe of a million needles tapping away on his bloody cut. “You might want to sit there for a moment, Cassian. Not everyone reacts well to the medicine, I would like to make sure you’re okay before you get back out there.”

Cassian shook his head softly. “I’ll be fine, thank you for your care,” he began, ready to brush off her advice with a wave of his hand. He attempted to stand up from the chair, using the armrests to push himself up, but he barely rose a few inches before his head swam as if he’d been dealt an uppercut to the chin, and he fell back into the seat with a gasp. His body was suddenly heavier than he’d ever felt it before, every single limb feeling like it had at least three sand bags attached. “Shit…” he mumbled, his vision scattered with sparkling dots and patches of darkness.

“Just relax, Cassian…”

Her voice sounded distant, like a call to slumber, beckoning him to fall victim to the darkness. And as his head lulled to the side, he allowed it to coax him into the abyss, just as he saw the glamour flicker off her face.

~~~

“Y/N.”

“Surprise, Cassian,” She grinned as she stepped closer, completely leaving the darkness in order for Cassian to see her face - her real face.

“So, you poisoned me,” Cassian deadpanned, after his memories fully returned. “You posed as a healer, and infected me with poison through my cut.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she watched it all come back to him, piece by piece fitting together in a puzzle to create a complete picture. “And didn’t I put on such a spectacular performance?” Cassian rolled his eyes, averting his eyes from her piercing gaze as she continued talking at him. “You were so enamoured with me. And all from one pure act of kindness? So easy to please, General. I’m just a little offended I didn’t look like me at the time.”

“Enough changing the subject,” Cassian growled, growing increasingly irritated, not only at the female in front of him but also the fact that he was not in control. He needed control. “Who glamoured you? The King himself? I wouldn’t put it past his petty ass.”

Y/N scoffed, delighted to see his agitation. “Does it matter? You’re here now, exactly as planned.” She ran a menacing finger down the edge of the blade in her hand, watching the shine of the metal. The contrast was stark - the deadly glint of the dagger against her soft, delicate skin. But Cassian knew that that was her own, constant glamour. There was nothing delicate about her - she was more deadly than any weapon.

As Cassian tested the chains round his wrists binding him to the armrests, he realised the grave mistake he made. He roared in pain as the chains sizzled his flesh, and Y/N couldn’t help but bite her lip to surpress a grin at the way his muscles tensed and rippled as he writhed. “I wouldn’t bother, darling. Faebane chains. Aren’t they fantastic?”

Gritting his teeth, Cassian opened his previously clenched eyes, setting on her with an air of distaste. “Anything else up your sleeve?” The question was dry, sick to death of the games already, but the excitement practically vibrating off Y/N told him she wasn’t finished with him just yet.

“Well, maybe just one tiny detail. You may have woken up from that poison, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still in your system. You’ll die without the antidote.” She said idly, eyebrows raised with a slight mocking pout on her lips as she examined her fingernails without a care in the world.

Cassian startled. He knew there was more to the story, of course there was, but that is not what he was expecting. His mind whirred with a way to get out of this situation, a way to turn the tables in his favour, but he kept coming up short. “What’s the point, Y/N? Huh? You never even told me why I’m here in the first place, I think it’s only fair that if I’m gonna die, I should at least know why I’m going down.”

“Well of course I was going to tell you, I’m not a monster,” Y/N laughed - actually laughed. “You’re here because we can’t have you commanding those Illyrian bastards to victory. Without you, they’re lost, leaving the goal wide open for a win for my side. Silly little baby, aren’t you?” She went to tap his nose - condescending little bitch, Cassian thought, and turned his head to the side with a grimace, which Y/N did not like one bit. That playful grin on her face was gone in an instant, replaced by a face so stoney and cold that even the worst of creatures would be afraid. In that split second of rage, Y/N grabbed Cassian’s jaw with her whole hand and yanked him back to face her where she was suddenly inches away from him. “That was rude, Cassian.”

Then, he snapped. He finally snapped, and her hand around his jaw, commanding him as if she were his superior was the breaking point. Her control was his breaking point as he spat in her face, completely losing his grip on the leash to his anger. But Y/N… oh no, Y/N wasn’t so easily perturbed, and as Cassian’s rage subsided and he watched her eye him with malice, he remembered as much.

“So feisty,” she purred as she wiped her face with her hand, eyes not leaving his pissed expression for a minute. She just loved the way his jaw ticked with anger, and how sharp the lines of his face became as he watched her every move, just like he used to do… well, with less anger and more lust. “You used to love when I took control, Cassian, remember?”

Gods, he remembered, of course he did. He remembered their secret rendezvous, the way they snuck around not to get caught. He remembered how she would crawl on top of him agonisingly slowly, and kiss all the way up his abs and chest, leaving her scent all over his body. Or how they’d wind up cramped in a tiny storage closet, her back pressed against the wall and her nails digging into his skin as he took her as his own, stifling their sounds of pleasure at the mere whisper of someone walking past. But what he loved most was when his face was buried between her thighs as she crossed her ankles, locking him in, his own hips rutting against the bed for any sort of friction he could get amidst the desperation to draw high after high from her.

“Oh,” Her voice dipped in honey shook him out of his reverie as he remembered where he was, hands bound and body poisoned. He caught her eyes once more, and a gasp escaped him as he saw just how blown out her pupils had become, almost sucking up any light remaining. “I think someone still likes that idea.” It took Cassian a moment to realise what she meant, and just how sloppy he had become. During his trip down memory lane, he had allowed his scent to shift, completely exposing just how turned on she still had the power to make him.

With eyes like the devil, Y/N leaned forward and licked a hot stripe up the side of Cassian’s neck, dropping her dagger in favour of caging him in with her arms. “Remember this?” She asked, her voice dripping with seduction as she moved to brush her lips up his clenched jaw, a hand slowly travelling down his front. Once her lips had reached his ear and she nibbled on the soft flesh of the lobe, her fingers ghosted across the growing bulge in his lap. “And this?” She whispered, her breath on his ear making him shiver as she squeezed lightly, feeling him through his leathers. She bit her lip - he was just as big as she remembered. Cassian grunted at the feeling, teeth clenched in a feeble attempt not to give himself over so easily, despite the fact that they both knew it was useless.

Y/N pulled away far too soon, leaving Cassian feeling cold without her touch. “Are you tempted yet? I’m sure there are better ways we could be using this time, don’t you think?” She began to circle his chair, eyeing him up like a predator would stalk their prey. Oh, how she loved seeing him try to fight it, fight her, fight his inevitable arousal. It was already thick in the air, weighing down on them both, and he was only lying to himself.

“Better ways such as letting me go so I can lead my armies?” Cassian countered. Gods, he was so adorable when he tried to steer the conversation away from what he truly wants. His voice was so tense, almost like he was in pain, trying to reign in his instincts to ravage her… not that there was a whole lot he could do from his position. But any self-restraint was shattered once Y/N had made her way behind him and trailed a delicate finger along the edge of his wing. A strangled groan left his mouth as soon as she made contact, just like she used to do, her nail grazing the fragile skin.

“Don’t be silly, Cassian,” she crooned, breathing hot air onto the trail of fire she just left on his wing. She made her way back around to his front, studying him like she was able to see right through him. With her lips curled up wickedly, she leaned in once again, placing her hands on both of his muscled thighs. “Are you nervous, General?”

“No,” Cassian breathed, throat tight and strained. A lie.

“Do you want me?” A shift of her hands, closer to where he was straining against his pants.

“Yes.”

The word came out too quickly, and Cassian could have cursed his mind for running on auto-pilot and blurting it out, but he knew it was the truth. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was desperate, and if his needs weren’t sated, he would become a wild animal bucking and thrashing to get out of these chains, uncaring if they burned all the way through his wrists.

“Say it again. I need to know you mean it.”

“Yes, Y/N,”

The next few moments were a blur, but all he knew was that he felt the chill air on his cock, hard and leaking, and that Y/N was already on her knees. Fuck. Her eyes glimmered with a sinful satisfaction at how red and throbbing she’d managed to already make him, and she leaned forward to gently lick the bead of pre-cum that sat on his tip. Cassian shivered, wanting nothing more than to wind his fingers in her hair and push her down on his cock, but all he could do was watch. Y/N had always been in control, really, and a part of him buried deep down had always liked it. His waiting cock pulsed at the thought, which didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N, a wide grin spreading across her face before she dipped her head and took him in her mouth.

Cassian’s head tipped back in pleasure, his body completely at her mercy as she bounced her head up and down, taking him like only she could. “Fuck, you were always so good at this,” he groaned, fists clenched to make up for the way he longed to touch her. “Take me so fucking deep.”

Y/N moaned around him as she took him as deep as she possibly could at his words, the vibrations causing him to buck his hips up into her mouth. His cock hit the back of her throat and she gagged, an obscene wet sound filling the room as she pulled her lips off him with a pop. The sight was truly erotic, as a string of saliva connected her mouth to his weeping cock.

“Why’d you stop?” Cassian panted, ignoring the desperate tinge to his voice. Ignoring how he’d become a puppet for her to play with. “I was getting close, come on, just-” He made to reach for her again, before he remembered the lesson he’d learnt earlier. Y/N only watched on, amused.

“You’re getting weak,” she tutted as she rose from the floor. “Have you forgotten, Cassian? You can’t cum unless you can make me cum first. Those were always the rules…” she trailed off as she undid the buttons of her leathers, pulling them down along with her panties in front of him. Putting on a show that he was only allowed to watch, and not participate in. For now.

Cassian’s eyes bulged as she carefully climbed on top of him, making sure to avoid the chains and planting her feet either side of him. She stood, holding onto the back of the chair for balance, and it was then that she lifted one leg, planting her foot next to where she held the chair, exposing her glistening core to him. “Are you gonna be able to make me cum, Cassian? Or has it been too long that you’ve lost your touch? It would be a shame to leave that cock of yours desperate and leaking, but rules are rules.”

“Please,” Cassian felt the shock as Y/N’s eyebrows rose at his plea. She didn’t think he’d ever begged before. He was even surprised at himself, but didn’t have enough time to think about it. No, there was no time, he needed to act, and act now. “Please Y/N come on, I can do it, just let me taste-” His words were cut off as Y/N pressed herself against his mouth, turning his rambling into muffled noises.

Cassian responded immediately, as if a shot of adrenaline had been released into his veins. His tongue flicked out, lapping up her wetness that had been pooling in her panties ever since he woke up. He groaned at the taste, plunging his tongue inside her, trying to taste as much of her sweet nectar as he possibly could. “You’ve missed this, haven’t you?” Y/N gasped, her tone almost patronising, but Cassian didn’t care. Quite the opposite, actually - this side of her always had him craving more and more. She grabbed hold of his hair that had long since fallen out of it’s half-bun, and began rocking her hips against his face. “Look what a little time off has reduced you to. A desperate, begging mess, just for me.”

He was in a state of utter bliss. Cassian held his tongue out obediently, allowing Y/N to ride him as she pleases. She spread her wetness over his mouth and chin, coating the stubble prickling on his skin, and she moaned as her clit rubbed deliciously against his nose. “Stay there for me General, that’s it,”

Cassian groaned as she used him for her own pleasure, content to be her personal fuck toy. But as his knuckles turned white with the force that he was gripping the armrests with, it was clear how much he wanted to use those bound hands. He wanted to slap that ass as she rocked her hips until his handprint was burned into her skin. He wanted to reach up and play with her nipples that he knew were hard and perky for him. And better yet, he wanted to explore even further inside her with his fingers, further than his tongue could reach, and have her release crashing down on him.

A wave of need washed over him and he grunted, moving to suck her clit into his mouth. Her balance wavered for a moment as she yelped, and Cassian couldn’t help but smirk. The one thing he could take control of in this situation was making her cum, so he vowed to do just that. He switched fervently between sucking her clit and licking bold stripes up her centre, determined now to give her an orgasm like it was his entire life’s purpose. The lewd noises coming from where his mouth met her core was enough to make her shiver as Cassian coaxed moan after moan from her.

“Getting close?” Cassian found his voice for a moment and growled against her skin, hell-bent on sending her over that edge. He’d do it if it was the last thing he ever did - which could end up being a possibility, strangely. But the Illyrian had completely forgotten about the poison eating away from him on the inside, that would be a problem he’d deal with later. After he felt her essence dripping down his chin and neck, staining his scent for weeks.

By the way Y/N’s hips stuttered as she attempted to speed up, he knew the answer. She was too proud to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but those pretty moans increasing in pitch sang to him his praise. As she neared her high, Y/N gripped Cassian’s hair and yanked it even harder, sending his eyes rolling back in his head as he helped her chase it, beckoning and pulling her to release. “Fuck, Cass,”

Hearing his name tumble from her lips as the reigns of her power slipped from her grasp had Cassian devouring her like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. His victory shone in his eyes as he watched her mouth gape open and felt her legs tremble, and her screams filled the dark room as she free fell into the best orgasm she’d ever had from someone using only their mouth. She had to admit, he had quite the talent with that tongue of his. Meanwhile, Cassian was in heaven. He didn’t care that he was bound to a chair in chains that would burn his flesh if he moved. He didn’t care that poison was rotting his insides minute by minute. He didn’t care that he was dying, and it was all her fault. All he cared about was the blissed out look on her face as she rode out her high on his face, and the taste that he prayed wouldn’t leave his mouth until his last breath.

A moment passed and Y/N regained her composure, sliding off his body and taking back her position of authority in front of him. Minus the clothes on her lower half, of course. “Not bad,” she quipped, plucking up her underwear from where it had been carelessly discarded.

Cassian chuckled darkly. “Whatever. You can pretend that wasn’t the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in a long time, I don’t care. You still taste just as delicious as I remember.” His eyes burned into her as she dressed herself, once again hiding herself from him, but he felt like he could see right through those leathers. “So?” He said expectantly, nodding down to where his cock was still hard and throbbing with need.

“Oh, Cassian…” The way Y/N shook her head and laughed quietly to herself had Cassian’s insides churning. Whatever was about to come out of her mouth, he had a funny feeling that he wasn’t going to like it. “You didn’t really think it would be that easy, did you? You gave me what I wanted and I thank you for that, but I’d much prefer to leave you here, desperate and needy and pathetic… oh, and dying.”

This bitch is a fucking psycho.

Cassian clenched his jaw so hard he thought it may shatter on impact. “And how might I get this antidote?” He seethed, his voice shaking with how hard he was trying to remain calm, as he always tried to do, whilst simultaneously attempting to ignore the humiliation of having his cock exposed and still ridiculously stood to attention.

Y/N sighed dramatically, placing a hand casually on her hip. “You know Cassian, I really don't want to kill you, truth be told. I’d like to keep you alive. But I’m not allowed to give you that antidote until the war is over and Hybern has won.” 

“So you’ll give it to me?”

“Depends. On how long the battle lasts. You might not last as long.”

Dead silence filled the room. Cassian didn’t deem this worthy of an answer. He was done with childish wordplay. He was bound, exposed, powerless and dying, and he intended to find a way out of all of that.

“As for that blowjob,” she continued, breaking the silence. Cassian raised his eyebrows, hating himself for the interest that bubbled up inside him, and also for the way his cock twitched. “Well… I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

With that, Y/N stepped back into the shadows, disappearing without a trace, leaving Cassian helpless in two ways. Searching for a way to free and save himself, and unable to relieve the throbbing ache from between his legs. At least, not until she returns…

UMMMMM PART 2 IDK???

[erenthology]

Underground boxer Eren

Underground boxer Eren. You’re on tour with his team. They travel in his private plane and stay in different hotels while traveling through the states. Both are around the ages 20-23. This is basically “real” by Katy evans. Happy belated birthday Eren🖤 this is a messy filler-ish post, his real birthday fic coming out soon. I’ve had to cover shifts so I haven’t had the time to proofread and post. (Adhd brain)

Tw(?)Eren has a soft spot for reader. He’s a perv. They act like a couple but reader thinks Eren is just being nice. Eren is delusional. Reader is naive. Smut, Slight dub-con. Aftercare is slightly mentioned. Obsessive, possessive Eren. He’s immature. Very touchy. Let me know if I should add to this! Not proofread so there will be mistakes. Enjoy!

“Oh, there she is” Eren turns his head in amusement mid convo but stops in his tracks when he meets your eyes

Boxer!Eren who falls obsessively in love with the new sports rehab specialist on his team. He said he didn’t want one but Armin, his manger, insisted. thank god

Boxer!Eren who immediately tells Armin to place your seat next to his on the private plane.

“Need my sports therapist today, Armin. Send her to me.” “Eren, she’s a sports REHAB specialist.”

Boxer!Eren who knockouts his opponents to impress you

Boxer!Eren looks for you in the crowd during every fight to catch your reactions

Boxer!Eren who gets mad when you talk to the other staff. You’re supposed to be there for him

Boxer!Eren who deliberately gets hit in the rink when he’s feeling deprived of attention so he’ll get you to touch him

Boxer!Eren who forces you hold his hand when walking down the lobby since guys were fucking staring at you (they’re literally staring at Eren since they’re there for him)

Boxer!Eren almost cums in his pants when you show up one day in a too short a short skirt and tank top! He tries to look you in the face when you tell him good morning but he just can’t when your tits are right in his face

Boxer!Eren who’s feeling very, very possessive and semi freaks out all day, sending death glares to anyone who dares to stare. He even tries to cover your smaller frame with his body.

Boxer!Eren makes sure you feel his hips slightly pushing into your back when he’s reaching for something above your head, eyefucking you through staff meetings, charming you with compliments throughout the day. “You look like an angel, ya know that?” Using his panty melting smile that he knows has an affects on the ladies. Right??

Boxer!Eren who sometimes does things like run his hand through your hair in public so it’ll look like you’re a couple to any passerby’s. “What’re you doing?” “Hm?” He bends forwards as if he couldn’t hear you. “Oh, you just had something in your hair” sneaky fucker

Boxer!Eren ask’s if he can have some of your water? His is literally on the side. And makes sure to brush his fingers against yours when you give him your bottle with a bright smile on your face. He wants to kiss you on the spot.

Boxer!Eren is having the worst day. You’ve been laughing with Armin for 10 minutes straight. 10 minutes. Do you like him or something? He aggressively makes it known that he’s upset and decides not to speak to either of you. Didn’t last a second.

Boxer!Eren who tries to be in your proximity at all times. jumps at every opportunity to carry your luggage, walk you to your room, joining your morning walks. The guys tease him about his changed behavior when he’s around you but he doesn’t give a fuck. He likes to imagine you’re a couple already <3

“Alright [name], let me know when you’re done. I’ll wait for you” he waves, absolutely lovestruck.

“Eren do you have time to look over this real quick?” Jean asks

“Fuck off”

Boxer!Eren who had flowers delivered to your room and only gets a pat on the shoulder and a “thank you, Eren.. you’re such a great boss to your staff” back. Are you that fucking oblivious? He just wants to rip your clothes off and fuck you til you understand you’re his. Instead he forces a smile, “I’ll buy you whatever you want, baby.” And he certainly doesn’t miss the way you instantly start playing with your hair. Oh? Did he just make you nervous?

Boxer!Eren who’s finally had enough and books you into a two bedroom suit with him. “incase he needs to rehabilitate at night.”

Boxer!Eren who fantasizes the whole time about you to sucking him off to help him ease from all the stress. Or better yet bury his head in between your thighs. He just can’t stand being so close to you knowing you’re barely in any clothing, you know? …What do you wear to bed anyway? He needs to know.

Boxer!Eren who then knocks on your hotel door that night and ask’s if he can sleep with you :(

Boxer!Eren who said he just wants to cuddle but slowly pushes his knee between your thighs, rutting his hips into yours while holding you. “Wha-what’re you doing?” “[name] you feel so good,” inhaling your scent. “please just..just let me?” he pants, lips brushing your neck. Delighted with happiness when you nod.

Boxer!Eren who turns you onto your stomach, splays his larger hand on your back, slowly dry humping and tugging on your hair. The sight of you helplessly under him almost makes him cum on the spot

Boxer!Eren put you onto his lap mid-make out. pushing his hand into your panties with gentle touches. “Feels good? He ask’s when you moan into his kisses. “Yeah? you want my fingers in you?” The sight of you disheveled makes him go crazy. Harshly repeating the word “mine” again, and again against your lips.

Boxer!Eren who finally gets you on your knees in front of him, looking like you’re ready to do anything he pleases. Not a thought to play around with..

Boxer!Eren who’s been groping and touching all night. He’s currently sucking on your tits while jerking himself off against your entrance. “never been this hard before, please baby, lemme put it in. need you” he kisses until you give in

Boxer!Eren who whispered sweet nothings but literally folds you in half as he presses into you. He just can’t help himself. The sounds of his balls slapping against your skin and a mixture of your strangled noises fill up the room. He moves inside you, over you, into you. “fuck, fuck yes, like that, baby. You’re so good for me.”

Boxer!Eren who thanks you with a kiss on the forehead and whispers how good you’ve been for him. Then cradles you to sleep in his arms.

Boxer!Eren is delighted when he wakes up with your soft but pressed against his morning wood. Nuzzling his face into your neck. He smiles to himself. Knowing he’ll visit your room every night. You’re his to take care of from now on.

Xoxo

[pawpieboy]

( @ ) WHY CAN'T YOU LOVE YOURSELF? ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა . . .

sephiroth & gn reader · this was initially inspired by the song "why" about sephiroth and his descent into madness · post-nibelheim · hallucinations · angst

sephiroth's love comes in waves, like a heart on a cardiograph. sometimes they are intense, while other times, faint, like the fleeting touches he would leave against your warm embrace at midnight.

but they still happen to be there, even when he doesn't want them to be, and even when you cannot sense them on the surface of his emotions. but that is the thing, as a resting heart will always be the subtle queen in a game of chess.

the moment she takes down an opponent to save her king, is when tides are high and her decisions become literal. that is, of course, without exception.

sephiroth has never considered himself lovable, but he has contemplated loving.

when something is unloved, neglected, abandoned, and outcasted, it becomes stale, emotionless, absent, like time plays truant and a bit mischievous. and you were the spectacle that managed to discipline destiny.

he was okay with this, but not sharing his burden, with you.

sephiroth wasn't sure if he was doing his best. he wasn't sure if it was going to last. he wasn't sure if he was hurting you. he wasn't sure why you made him weep tears of glad. he wasn't sure what...this feeling was.

but he was sure that you were more important than his revenge.

he didn't mean to drag you into this mess, but alas, if the one-winged angel can desist his death a little longer, so can he do the same for yours. that is if, you'll allow him the love he's craved at every corner of inconvenience.

it took sephiroth a while, to get used to, this. there are times where he finds himself smiling, not because of the delight in your sugary voice, but because of hysteria. was jenova playing a game on his mind this whole time too?

so when he does sieve over in the sheets, extending an arm to where you should be lying, he tells himself this:

"the reunion is lonely, and so is jenova at the edge of the universe."

you may be part of his imagination but jenova alone wasn't the reason his cells dwindled and his mind spiraled into madness.

were you really what he wanted most in life? did dreams really come true? or were they just horrifying nightmares conjured up by his broken subconsciousness?

maybe you were someone special in his past life; who told him this? he's sure not to trust any of his feelings again after nearly committing genocide for his supposed 'mother'.

would you forgive him if he did?

but then you appeared right before him again in his dreams.

"do you forgive them, sephiroth?"

"sephiroth, do you forgive yourself?"

"sephiroth, please help me. . .sephiroth- i need you, sephiroth."

"the strongest is a fictitious statement; you wish someone was stronger than you, don't you?"

"meet me at the edge of the universe where your heaviest fears dwell. i will be there, waiting for you, next to mother. come forth."

[licorice-tea]

You’re An Angel When You Sleep

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: angst, drowning, a little “off-screen” violence, hurt/comfort, near death experience

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: literally wrote this in between classes so hopefully it doesn’t feel too rushed! not edited super closely yet, the grammar might be a little off. inspired by the song “Around The Bend” by Pearl Jam, specifically the last verse <3

Edited 2/28/24

Law is sinking, and there’s nothing he can do.

People call it “The Curse of The Sea.” They say that “she” turns her back on you when you eat a devil fruit. It’s simply the price to pay for such immense power.

And he has never had to worry about it before. His devil fruit ability affords him the security of being to prevent trips into the ocean. Not that he ever would fall- Law is far too careful a man- but he has plenty of crewmates and friends/allies that could somehow knock him overboard.

How sickening, that the first time it actually happened was at the hands of an enemy. And how disappointing, that it had only happened because of his own pride. A foolish disregard of taking caution while standing close to the railing on the enemy ship, when one of his opponent’s underlings threw something that didn’t even really hurt, but sent him overboard. In the midst of a battle where everyone was expected to hold their own- Law could expect no help as he plunged into icy waters.

It’s cold enough as it is, and his curse does nothing to help. He tries his hardest to stay conscious- perhaps he can still use his power if he thinks hard enough. People awaken their devil fruits all the time, so there’s no reason why he can’t do it now. But, no matter how badly he wants to simply teleport back to the deck of the ship, he can’t. The feeling of impending doom only serves to weaken his resolve, and soon enough Law is unwillingly giving up and giving in to the sea.

He’s about 10-12 meters down now. The weight of the water makes it feel nearly impossible to hold his breath for longer, so he lets out an exhale ever so slowly.

But no one is coming, and it’s time to accept his fate. “This is it,” he thinks, “just another pirate lost to the sea. That’s how it ends for me.”

He takes a moment to reflect on life up until now. So much pain and suffering, but in the end he just can’t stop remembering what little good there has been. His crew, who, no matter how much they bothered him, were his family. His blood family and Corazon, who he hopes to see again soon if there is any sort of afterlife. Then there’s you- with your uncanny ability to make him smile and laugh, your clever personality and friendly nature, all your strength and intelligence, and seemingly unwavering good morals. Law feels he barely deserves to have known you in this life, let alone fall in love with you as he has. Which is why he never shared his feelings with you or anyone, in all the time you’d been on his crew. Before this moment, he’d at least had the comfort of knowing there would always be the future, and therefore more time to open up to you figure out his feelings.

“How foolish.”

Law is just about to close his eyes- at least then it might be a more peaceful demise- when there’s a splash that breaks the surface of the waves. His eyes shoot wide open as he tries to figure out what it is, as it’s rather difficult to see clearly with his vision blurring and on the verge of losing consciousness.

All he can be sure of is that it’s a person. The light from above the waves surrounds their silhouette giving them an angelic halo, but simultaneously blocking out all their features from his view.

Law wonders, “Are you here to seal my fate? To ensure I don’t find some way out of this?” If he could, he’d ask that they do it quickly. Still, that painfully hopeful little part of his mind can’t help but come out in what are more than likely his last moments alive. “Or, are you here to save me? Are you gonna give me a second third chance at this? I don’t deserve it, but I will accept it. I’ll use it to do more; work harder, fulfill every goal. Confess to y/n.”

And that hopeful streak seems to take over his body as he uses his last iota of strength to reach upwards. Law’s angel continues swimming downward, but he can’t hold his breath long enough to see them reaching out to him, too.

His last thought is of you. He swears he can see your face on this mystery person as they get closer; your pretty eyes and lips, your hair swirling around your form underwater. Could it actually be… No, he doubts you’d even seen him falling overboard. But maybe he’s already dead, and you really are an angel. Law doesn’t get the chance to fully consider either reality though, as he finally blacks out.

-

“Gimme gimme gimme… a man after midnight…”

This is how Law taught you to do CPR on someone whose heart had stopped. Years ago, when you were struggling with keeping count of 100-120 beats per minute, he told you to “think of a song with the same count.” Most everyone’s go-to CPR song is “Stayin’ Alive.” But, you prefer the classic ABBA song. You pause every 30 compressions to administer 2 breaths, and as you remove your lips from his, a thought crosses your mind. “He looks so peaceful like this.” And even while unconscious, he’s handsome… angelic, even. Nevertheless, you’d much rather have an alive and annoyed looking Law than a dead and calm one.

“Is there a soul out there… Someone to hear my-”

Law coughs suddenly, and shoots up into a sitting position, gasping for breath.

“Law!” You throw your arms around his neck, nearly knocking the man back over.

And though he’s still catching his breath and coming to his senses, he lets you, and puts an arm around your back. “Y/n,” another cough, “what happened?”

You release him (much to his disappointment) and explain how the fight had ended soon after the crew lost sight of him; their captain. And, while the others quickly overtook the enemies, you dove overboard where you’d last seen him. It was pure luck, though guided by your intuition, that you found Law beneath the surface.

“Then I swam over here-“

“Which is where?”

You nod in the direction behind him. “Just around the bend from the harbor. The Polar Tang and the enemy’s ship can be seen from there, so I thought it’d be best to hide while you…”

“While I was dying.”

“Don’t say it like that,” you scold him with a frown, “you’re alive.”

“But I could have died.” Law says with very little pride. He sounds a little out of it, which makes sense considering the circumstances. “I could have died, and you saved me.”

“Well, any one of us would’ve, Captain-“

“Thank you, y/n.”

You shake your head bashfully. “It was no problem, really.” That’s a lie, and you both know it. The water in this part of the ocean is freezing, but through some incredible resolve that you hadn’t been aware of before, you pushed through it. For him. “So… We should get back to the fight, yeah?”

You move to stand up from your place on your knees, but Law stops you. With his hand on your shoulder, he pulls you back down to his side. “You said the fight is over?”

“Mhm.”

“Then let’s just… stay here, for a moment.”

He leans toward you hesitantly, though you’re not sure if it’s because he feels weak or he just wants you to hold him again. Either way, you wrap your arms around him and rest your chin on his shoulder. You hold onto each other with gentle force, and you feel him exhale deeply.

“I need to tell you something.” Law mutters.

You pull back enough to see his face. “Right now? Can’t it wait, Law-“

“I can’t want any longer.” And he really can’t. He’d tell you about how he had mistaken you for a living, breathing angel another time. For now, he just needs to fulfill his promise to said angel (to you?), and confess his love for you.

“Ok… What is it?”

Law is very straightforward as he says it. “I’m in love with you.” And he makes it impossibly hard to return to the battle when he asks that you never leave him in this life, like so many others have. Which you promise not to, of course, though it’s not exactly your decision. You tell him that you love him too, and in turn demand that he doesn’t die on you, either. Law nods against you.

The two of you stay there a while longer, in each other’s arms around the bend.

[circeyoru]

Cannot Compute

[Alastor x Robotic Demon!Reader]

Part 1 (here) — Part 2 — Part 3

Before your more-than-welcomed death, you were a trained assassin and bodyguard of a wealthy family. Due to the nature of running an underground, there were a lot of targets on their backs. So you were one of the orphans picked up from the streets to be one of their trained assassins

No surprise when you ended up in Hell

Your fascination with artificial intelligence and robots with human skin was probably the reason why your demon form was an actual robot. You unlocked ‘skills’ and ‘powers’ like a system was given to you when it was actually your powers to begin with. You had experimented with other demons to see if they had the same powers or system you did

They didn’t. So you chalked it up to it being an extension of your power, to give you some form of control over what you can do, to show yourself your potential. And followed the other side you did, you rose in ranks, nearly becoming an Overlord but denied it and kept to yourself. You weren’t looking for attention nor the fear and worship from others. You wanted to be strong to protect yourself, to rule and live your own afterlife, unlike your time alive

You were a great informant, since you had your system power, you could store as much as you wanted on others, much like a computer save function but without limit. Even better when you could hack and bring people into a virtual reality of your making, so long as they were weaker than you, you could devour their soul or corrupt it like a virus, even with a stronger opponent, you had the edge as long as you remained there with them

When you heard of the Happy Hotel, you were interested, purely curious of how demons can change. So you offered your services as the tech person. Meeting the others was an eye-opener, they were like the friends you never had for long

Of course, you got to meet Alastor, the Radio Demon who was gone for 7 years due to unknown reasons, as your files on him would tell you. His interest in you grew when he learned that you could overpower Vox and give him a run for his money since you were capable of hacking into him, literally

“Oh, how I wish I could have seen the look on his face!” Alastor laughed at the thought. You merely tilted your head in confusion, you were only defending yourself after Vox tried to take you by force since you rejected his offer to combine forces. New data: Alastor and Vox don’t see eye to eye

That was just one of the reasons Alastor would be so excited to seek you out and bring you around, especially when you had nothing to fix or help around in the hotel. Sure, you were monotonous and stoic with that metallic body of yours, but you’d give him the faintest smiles that shined brighter than stars. That was a charm of yours, to him at least. How he loved it when that smile was mostly shown to him and because of him

New emotion: fancy. Target: Alastor, the Radio Demon. Yup, you got a crush for once in your life and the afterlife combined, even better when you had the time for it! It only ended up with giving yourself weird quests to complete. Like meeting Alastor in the longue, say ‘hi’ to Alastor, and give Alastor a smile, etc. Then you researched how to express your feelings to him. Things went well when you let the flow take you, especially when Alastor was also taking the initiative

You’d mostly be with Alastor throughout the day, only separating when he was busy with his errands in the hotel or when he was broadcasting, for you it was whenever Charlie or someone else needed you for something and your duties. Though Alastor would find some way to stay close to you

When you learned of Angel and Husk’s soul contract with Val and Alastor himself, you genuinely offered your help to them, but they both denied it. To your surprise, Alastor caught you wanting to free Husk and offered you a deal, your soul for his, to which you declined. New data: Alastor wants to make a deal for your soul

Being in Hell, you knew there was one reason or another that granted all the people/sinners a place here. So you never painted Alastor in a positive light, though it was still shocking to you since he had never been evil or bad to you directly. That deal offer was really the first time you had seen his darker self

Note: Welcome home~ I'm gonna make you wish that I'd stayed gone. Say hello to an old series of mine, written so long ago that I nearly forgot it existed. Haha~ This has 3 parts (it was a very very long one cut into 3). And this is the shortest one (I think)

So what'd you think?

Circe Y. 

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (those that don't specify to being in all the works' taglist will automatically be assumed to be in whichever series they comment on)

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @snowy-violet

[onyourowndaisymae]

would i follow these obey me characters on social media? + social media headcanons

explanations + hcs below the cut:

content warnings: playful mentions of cyberbullying/death threats (reader's discretion advised)

post notifications on, loyal mutuals for life: thirteen, barbatos, mammon, satan

you cannot convince me thirteen does not have the funniest fucking twitter imaginable. she posts a lot of funny shit herself but also retweets a lot of good content too. she seems like the type to get in fights on social media and win by humiliating her opponent in the funniest way possible. probably makes a lot of jokes about fucking one or both of your parents

the barbatos one might be controversial but hear me out. i think that any account he'd run in association to his work would be dry as hell. but a personal, deeply private account? funny as FUCK. i think this man wouldn't post very often but when he does, it is quite literally some of the funniest shit you've ever seen. he's ancient, too, so i think he'd be persistent. just years of logging on to tell elon musk to k*ll himself (whiCH I AM NOT ENDORSING @ THE GOV IM JUST MAKING A JOKE OKAY WE'RE ALL LAUGHING HERE) in new and creative ways

mammon would probably post a lot about his shenanigans and that to me is worth tuning in to. i think his social media would consist of him posting about a new scheme/plan part of the way through (when things are most exciting) and then updating hours/days later with an "update: lucifer caught me and made me wear a dunce hat for a week straight" or something like that

satan would post the most normally in this category but i think he'd have some genuinely interesting stuff. he'd probably use a photo-based platform like instagram (technically devilgram but y'know what i mean) and his content would fall into two categories: cat pics and the most amazing, exclusive events you've ever seen. he'll post a photo dump of cats he feeds one week and then next is him at some gorgeous exclusive hot springs on a free trip one of his connections invited him on.

mutuals by choice <3: asmo, simeon, luke, levi

asmo posts a lot about himself, but like. c'mon. he's so pretty. and he also just posts a lot of pretty aesthetic influencer photos so it's nice to see him on your feed. he posts a lot, too, so your feed never quite runs dry when he's your mutual. he's also the type to hype your photos up in the comments like you're the only other person on the platform. lots of heart emojis and flirtatious comments on very mundane posts

simeon would be fun to follow in the way that old people are fun to follow on social media. long, sweet captions on his weekly post (that someone helped him post), cute but off-center selfies with the things he cares about, funny grandpa comments on your photos-- ex. "nice photo mc... 👍" without realizing how funny that comes off

luke is just cute and posts cute things. lots of stray animals, pretty sunsets, and cute baked goods. he's even got a few rare photos of barbatos on there looking slightly relaxed. levi made luke's accounts private when he first set them up bc he's been on too many weird corners of the internet to let that innocent angel be corrupted.

speaking of levi, he'd post a LOT about his dorky (affectionate) interests. he's one of the few that would post every day on multiple platforms. there's a pretty small chance you care about each and every thing he posts but regardless, it's nice to see him so enthused and happy.

mutuals bc i'd feel bad unfollowing: belphie, lucifer, diavolo, mephisto

belphie's accounts have all been inactive for YEARS, but if you unfollow him he does get offended. he found out asmo unfollowed him at some point and started an argument about it.

lucifer's social media is also rarely active, but anything he posts is usually at least a little important, so if you unfollow he'll know and get on you about missing it.

diavolo's account is quite literally all royal bullshit and official devildom information, but seeing as he doesn't have personal social media, he still values his friends following him. if you unfollow, his feelings will be hurt, but he'll stay quiet about it.

mephisto's account literally just posts the same lame shit that the RAD newspaper account does, word-for-word and post-for-post. unfollowing either of these accounts comes off as a slight from the feeble human that doesn't care about the devildom. his complaining is always so loud.

not following + no plans to follow: beel, raphael

beel posts exclusively about food. he doesn't run a food-themed account, that's literally all he finds interesting enough to post. he rates all of his meals after he finishes, too. fun, but not my type of content.

something in my heart of hearts tells me raphael's photos are all blurry. like he just thinks his D.D.D. camera is bad when really he won't focus the damn camera before taking a pic.

blocked, reported, cyberbullied for good measure: solomon

i KNOW this man is a menace on social media. he probably eggs on conspiracy theorists and purposely spreads misinformation. it's funny at first until following him starts filling your feed with the crazy bullshit he likes/retweets. he is playing devil's advocate on social media for the dumbest, most argumentative people online bc he thinks it's funny and it's quite literally going to drive you insane if you don't block him. when he's causing problems, he's posting stupid shit. he'd be the type to unironically post the "saw a snail today. effervescent" shit

[flamedraco]

Gonna talk about one of my favorite Wilbur headcanons.

A lot of people think Wilbur can't fight. He doesn't wear armor, he's a pacifist by nature, etc etc.

I disagree entirely. Here's why:

His father is the Angel of Death.

We consider Technoblade his twin brother.

He was considered a general in L'manburg.

I believe he can fight. And he can fight well. He just chooses not to.

I like that idea that Phil trained the twins, and being trained by the Angel of Death has combat benefits. Not to mention potential demigod blood if you think Kristin is the mother of the twins (which is usually the route I go down). They have powers, they're typically inhuman in some regard. So with Techno's general combat prowess, I feel like Wilbur can rival him just has a different fighting style.

Why does Wilbur not wear armor? Because he fights fast. He prefers being quick on his feet. I like the idea of him being elytrian and the thing about elytrian, as an origin, is that they literally can't have strong armor as part of their entire thing. Fucking. Drawback, lore, whatever. They can't have heavy shit. I like to think that Wilbur hates the idea of armor because it would only get in his way. He's a speed fighter, he chooses the sword over the axe and disregards defense in favor of offense. He uses potions and bows to stay light on his feet and fight faster than most can keep up with.

He just chooses to not put himself on the front lines because he believes in the concept of do no harm, but take no shit. He will fight back if it's necessary, but if he can avoid drawing his own weapon he won't even bring it. He prefers to strategize over being in the trenches. And he acknowledges that, as the person seen as the leader, if he goes down so does the entire operation. And him seeing armor and shields as a drawback means he, logically, knows his troops would be more focused on trying to keep him safe over their own safety. He can take care of himself if push comes to shove, but he doesn't want to be a liability. So he stays back, he makes the plans, but he keeps his sword sharp just in case.

He would prefer to talk his way out of situations. I feel like that is intrinsic to his character. But it's not because he can't fight. It's because he sees weapons and violence as a last resort.

Y'know. Until he started to fucking lose it in Pogtopia. Because he was just. Not thinking straight then. At all.

Which is why I really like the idea of, in any situation where he offers to spar with Q and help him learn his way around combat, Quackity does not believe his ass knows shit about it.

Only for Wilbur to put him on the ground a few seconds later before the little shrike bastard can even process what happened.

Technoblade strikes me as a character who fights with this sense of honor. Unless you yourself bring dishonesty to the battle, he will treat it like a duel and abide by the rules of such. Whatever those rules would be. Techno strikes me as a character who only cheats if he catches you in the act of cheating because then it's fair game. But most of the time he doesn't need to because he's just that good.

Wilbur is not an honorable fighter. He can have that sense of nobility when he feels it necessary or appropriate, but he understands that honor has no place on a battlefield when you're fighting for your life.

Technoblade feels...calculated but brutal.

Wilbur strikes fast, hard, and without mercy. And when he teaches combat he places emphasis on strategy, knowing your opponent, and most importantly, knowing to not play fair if someone is trying to kill you.

He looks at Quackity and tells him that if he insists on using an axe, he needs to play to his strength. He needs to look for weaknesses, he needs to fight like his life depends on it. He'd adjust Quackity's stance, he'd be overwhelmingly clinical about it. He's professional and when he fights it's like he's an entirely different person. Wilbur fighting is where you start to see his heritage. Who he's related to. And he wants to separate himself from that legacy. But it's still there, lingering in the background. The son of The Angel of Death and Goddess of Death, the twin brother of a demigod of war.

Wilbur is just. He can fight. He can absolutely definitely fight.

He just doesn't.

I touched on this concept in Arsonist's Waltz but because it was discontinued I don't think I got the chance to really expand on the concept. But this is always been how I've viewed his character's stance on fighting. He doesn't get physical because he believes in trying to resolve things with peace if possible. But if push comes to shove...he will. And he will do so without mercy or hesitation.

[dragon-cookies]

Gonna finish off this series with episode 8 and then go binge watch Bluey while I paint my walls today

Alastor distorting video feeds like a cryptid that can't be captured on camera is one of the most interesting things about him tbh

I still really, realllly feel like an all-out war with Heaven should be like, a giant show finale and not the end to the first season. Where do we go from here?? We already know God doesn't exist in this universe, so what other lore is even left to be explored?

Once again Charlie giving some big heartfelt speech really doesn't feel earned when we've barely spent any time with these characters

Hate to keep beating a dead horse here but Alastor when did you start caring about the hotel and its residents

He's a good dad to Nifty though, 10/10

"You have always been a worthy opponent" Pentious we didn't see you fight Cherri Bomb once in the show

Oh fuck off this More Than Anything reprise is really good

THEY FINALLY KISSED FUCKING HELL

And ofc they had to immediately follow it up with Adam lmao. Not even Alex Brightman can save this character

"That's how they can kill us? With our OWN weapons?" HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW THIS. WHY WAS THIS TREATED LIKE SOME BIG MYSTERY.

It's so fucking wild to me that we're seeing angels get slaughtered by the dozens and yet we're expected to believe no other demons have ever fought back against them until now??

FUCK HIM UP ALASTOR- WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY VOX???

Al's voice in this part??? Hello????????

Charlie why are you apologizing to the angels who are literally trying to slaughter your friends and family

jfc why did those two kiss, how does this show have zero idea how to write romance

oh he's fucking dead lmao

DAMN RAZZLE AND DAZZLE BEING BIG DRAGON BOYS, I'm GAME though Charlie why didn't you do this at the start on the battle

SHIT NO DON'T HURT THE DREG BOYS

FUCK HIM UP CHARLIE.

Vaggie should've taken Lute's eye tbh

Oh yeah you'd think Lucifer would've been here sooner considering the angels are attacking his kingdom but here we are

Honestly I think Charlie should've been the one to defeat Adam. He was fucking awful to her from the start.

NIFTY GOT HIM LMAOOOOOO

Lute why do you care about Adam?? He was awful to you too???

Also what happened to Alastor?? Is he good??

Also kind of wild we're dedicating an entire song to Pentious but his actual death was played off like a joke

Ohh fuck we're gonna demonize Lilith for being a less-than-perfect parent but completely ignore Lucifer doing the same thing aren't we. This happened in Helluva Boss and I can see it happening again

I love how literally no one gives a shit that Alastor's gone lmao

Oh wait there he is

Ooh so he definitely made a deal with someone, very interesting

HE'S AN ANGEL OH MY GOD

Also Lilith??? Is in Heaven???? What??????

Honestly nothing I can say hasn't already been said about this show and finale. Kinda stupid Al literally got hit once and then just fucking dipped until the end, like good job man way to show you cared. BUT ITS OVER AND I'M FREE. I'm gonna go paint my walls and sew some stuff

[ananke-xiii]

it's a shame, really, that supernatural didn't give us more insights into Sam's like guilty pleasures and stuff. 'Cause the whole thing with hair rock? It was fun, okay? And really interesting.

In 12x07 Sam and Dean, you know, just saved lots of people who were going to die a terrible death trapped in a secret location concert venue, they themselves managed to leave the fight unscathed, their angel and demon boy toys were basically most probably going to their deaths but they also left the fight in okayish conditions, considering, you know, that their opponent was Lucifer...

So, you know, when none other than we-gotta-save-everyone-always-at-all-time-or-I-am-a-failure-Dean Winchester says that that was a win I think it was fair to say it was, right?

But here's Sam, my dear boy Sammy, my beautiful morally-grey (although definitely a darker shade of grey lol) character, who's literally ended up using people for, you know, drinking demon blood and as ingreditent for a spell to save his brother...

This Sam right here has the audacity to say that that was not a win because Vince Vincente is dead and "No, he was still a person, and he meant something to a lot of people"?

Boy, your crush is showing.

[i-cant-sing]

Can I get a yan hades and yan Persephone? I’m not too sure about Greek mythology, but what if they or the fates, and in turn they, get attached to child?

You dare to make me write more Greek Myth when u know requests are closed by luring me in with Hades and Persephone and making them platonic yanderes???? You're evil.

Hmm, okay so I'm seeing Persephone getting attached to a child during her random trips to the Earth realm. She's just down here to go clubbing or something, and maybe some guys try to mess with her, not knowing that the goddess in front of them could literally kill them with the flick of her wrist. But just as she is about to kill them, a girl punches one of the guys before grabbing Persephone's wrist and dragging her away from them. You hail her a cab and ask her if she's okay. Persephone only stares at you in amusement, taking in your appearance. You're dirt poor, wearing tattered clothes, your wrists are swelling up from the punch and you look a bit malnourished. She only smiles before leaving, already planning her next trip to Earth. You seem to have intrigued her.

Next time she comes, she immediately looks for you and when she finds you, she's a bit shocked to find you in an illegal, underground boxing ring. She's pleased to see you know your way around the ring, throwing well executed hits to your opponent until he's knocked out. She isn't pleased to see how you put yourself in danger for some petty change, the organiser taking major portion of your earnings.

She follows you back home to a shabby little flat. Its way too late for you to be walking alone, she knows the evil nature of mortals. She watches you walk in to a tiny bedroom, greeting a lady who's lying in her bed. You kiss her cheek, tell her not to worry about the meds, that you'll get them soon.

Then she watches you go back to the lounge, and lie down on the couch. She watches you turn into the pillows, and your body begins to shake as you sob quietly. When she returns back to the Underworld, Hades noticed his wife didn't sleep well that night.

Persephone heart wrenches the more she finds about you. Your father walked out when you were 7, making your mother depressed and turn to alcoholism. You had to grow up very fast. Alcoholism turned not only your mother's life into hell, but yours as well. Your relatives refused to help the either of you, and when her liver began to fail, you had to step up for her, despite being abused by her.

You had to give up on your childhood, had to become independent. The world was not kind to you, not one bit. And yet you got up everyday, wore a brave smile and even helped strangers, like her. You were a rare soul, an angel walking among men.

And you deserved better.

Perspehone decided to make your life "better" by giving your mother a painless death. She passed away soundly in her sleep. But despite freeing you of burden, Persephone was still worried for you. She saw how broken you were over her death, and she saw how you struggled to get back on your feet. And each night Persephone laid awake in her bed thinking about you, wondering why she wasn't able to make your life better, Hades only grew more curious. When he confronted her, she hesitantly told him about you and your whole situation. By the end of it, Hades laughed, chuckling that "sounds like you want to adopt her."

And just like that, Persephone got a solution.

When she expressed her desire to adopt you, Hades rejected at first, saying that mortals are not easy to take care of, nor should they be toyed with like this. But Persephone managed to convince him to at least see you before deciding.

And Hades saw what his wife was talking about. He saw how helpless, weak yet strong you were. Despite being pushed around, despite being beaten down, despite looking like you were always on the verge of crumbling and breaking down, you didn't. You still managed to smile at others, still managed to give the stray cats something to eat even if you didn't have anything to eat yourself, you still survived.

But you shouldn't have to survive. You should live.

And thus, the couple agreed to take you. And they were sure that a mortal would be happy to be spoiled by the Gods, no?

So when you heard a woman's cry for help from a dark alley, you rushed in to find the familiar looking lady, who was smiling at you. Something was off, but before you could run, a large man came from behind you and trapped you to his chest with one arm, his other hand covering your mouth. You saw the lady walk towards you with a smile, shushing you softly as your screamed into the man's hand when you saw her holding a golden knife.

No matter how much you struggled, you were no match for them. The lady caressed your hair, before placing a soft kiss to your forehead, making you freeze. And then you felt it. The knife went straight through your sternum, breaking it before reaching your heart. The pain didn't register at first, and then it came in waves.

Your tears were wiped away by the lady as you looked at her beautiful face, wondering just what had you done to deserve this. You went limp, gasping for air as the man above you cradled your neck. He smiled down at you, telling you that you did good, that it'll be over soon.

The last thing you heard before closing your eyes was her voice:

"See you soon, darling. We'll be there for you on the other side."

Part 2 is here!

[tomhiddelstonandzaynmalik]

"Death, Pestilence and Famine" Chapter 2

Warren Worthington III x reader

Chapter 1

You've always wondered why they tell people during rehab to repeat the:

"One day at a time" Motto.

Was it because it keeps you focused on the present? Because it pushes you to improve a day at a time? Perhaps to force you to forget about the mistakes from the day before? Or maybe this is all wrong and it's something completely different. Or maybe it's all of the above, who knows?

All you know is that at some point of this hellish existence you created for yourself, you started to chant it like a prayer in order to convince yourself that one day, it will be the last.

The last fight inside the Cage, the last bleeding nose and throbing knuckles, the last broken rib and black eyes, the last... Kill.

For some unknown reason, once you deep dived into the Cage Fighter's way of life, you managed to succeeded in at least one part of your plan.

'I'll prove them wrong" you onced said.

"If Mystique could do it, so can I".

Life forced you to master the art of turning what you always believed was your biggest weakness, into your biggest strength. And suddenly winning became easier than expected. Sure you will never be the strongest, nor the fittest, nor the most skilled of the fighters, but damn right were you going to be the last one standing. After all, it was easier to win when your opponent could never anticipate the upcoming hit!

And you did it, you finally learned that, although you were always going to come across as the least threatening of the bunch, you could always use that very same underestimation to your advantage.

But this enlightenment didn't came so easy. It took you a broken nose, a dislocated arm and oh so many bruises and cuts it would have taken forever to cure them all. What a way to start!

Thankfully God seemed to be in a good mood that night by sending you one of his angels to your rescue, who took you under his wing, quite literally, just as he spotted you barely walking out of the Cage that very same night.

-----------------------------------------------

The guy had carried you to what you could only asume was were he lived. It wasn't a house in any way, it was literally just an empty and cold warehouse which look as if it had been abandoned a long time ago. As the echo from your name slowly faded away through the emptiness of the place, he remain silent. After he tried to lay you down into the only indication of someone living there, a naked mattress in one of the corners of the place with nothing but a pillow, you muttered it again, yet he never introduced himself. You started to wonder if he was mute until he, as if reading your mind, spoke.

"Rule #1: Never give the first hit, unlike the rest us, you should always try to hide your powers until the other asshole is too confused by why you're letting him take the upper hand, then and only then you can use them to fight back".

You had no idea what you were expecting but this was definitely not it. His voice was coars and with a very obvious accent. But the way he talked to you sent a shiver, for some unknown reason, down your spine. His tone was stern and his face held little to no expression at all, yet you knew he ment no harm. Aside from his unmistakable angelic looks, there was something about thim that put you at ease.

It wasn't the time nor the place to start thinking about his looks, but as he was kneeling in front of you, carefully patting the blood from your nose, you couldn't help but to look at him.

"Rule #2: Insted of learning how to hit, learn how to resist the punches. Now, don't be stupid! I'm not saying you shouldn't learn how to fight, ok? But since your fighting style has to be more on the defensive side, I'll come more in handy".

The stranger was around your age, maybe a few years older and he was definitely the most gorgeous being that you have ever laid eyes on. He had towering feathery wings, that although dirtied and bloody, kept their beauty. His golden curls were styled in a sort of mullet which framed his face perfectly, accentuating his features. His eyes were bluer than a sapphire but what really cached your attention was how they held a certain fog to them. They seemed to held so much anger but at the same time they still captured an underlying tenderness, specially noticeable each time he looked you over, searching for bigger cuts and more serious injuries. He has such a piercing stare, it sent some unwanted blood to your cheeks. You knew there was no way your blush could go unnoticed, specially since he was at a mere feet frome you. You knew he saw the goosebumps on your skin and rosy cheeks, but he never mentioned it.

"Now, pay attention kid. Rule #3: Once you become a Champion they'll start paying you a shity amount in cash. If you miraculously survive 'till then, save every last penny until you have enough to escape this place! For the love of God, do not fall for anything that will consume your money or else you will end up... "

The blond suddenly stopped, you could tell there was more he wanted to say but his lips had been shut abrubtly, like he had realised he was crossing an imaginary line. No matter how much you wanted to tell him to continue, it was going to be pointless. He didn't seemed to be that type of person. And frankly the stress from an exhausting night was already making it harder not to collapse right in there.

Much to your surprise, he allowed you to stay the night. You snoozed off before he got the chance to change his mind. In any other moment you would have never slept in such a place.

An empty building in God knows where with complete stranger? This is how people get killed in horror movies! But at this point, it was either here or outside on the streets.

The morning after, as soon as you stepped foot outside the place, you heard some heavy steps come closer.

"Once you cross that door, don't ever speak of this night to anyone, I'll know if you do!"

"Yeah, sure! Oh and thank y-"

"Stop it! I don't care! I felt sorry for you, last night, that's it! I don't ever want to see you again, I'm not your friend and you're certainly not mine. And if we ever have to fight believe me I won't hesitate... I won't loose"

"Fine, I promise".

-----------------------------------------------

Warren was... Intriguing to say the least. The more you knew about him from the bits and pieces of information you gathered from other Fighters. Like his name, that he was the oldest fighter here and most importantly, Warren's family been crazy rich! The more curious you became.

But as promised, you never spoke to him again. You knew you'll have to live with the fact that your paths had crossed and drifted away that one single night.

All those questions will remain unanswered, that's how it was meant to be that's how he wanted things to be...

Three years went by were you kept your word, three years were you eventually became a Champion just like Warren. Three years of going undefeated. Until a tailed-blue-boy came along and changed it all. You were on a tiny cell-like room with only a tiny window from where you could barely see the Cage, when Warren's fight began. All you saw some blue dust, flapping wings, electric shocks and... Fire?

Something bad happened, something terribly bad! In a matter of seconds the once overcrowded place was emptied as people rushed outside before they were trapped inside the flames.

You took the frenzy of the situation as a green light to finally make your grand escape when you saw him.

"I don't ever want to see you again!"

"Fine, I promise".

But how could you keep your promise when he was like such state? His left wing was completely charcoiled, it was the blue boy's doing, but how? You shoocked your head, one day at a time, trying to focus again on what was truly important.

To break your promise.

To help him.

[silluuuu]

'Cause the fall is half the fight

i wrote a soul eater college volleyball one-shot today that literally nobody asked for. it's stupid and i love it. i wrote this today as a little palette cleanser after finishing this chapter of Angel. it was fun experimenting with second person (a new one for me) and getting to place the whole crew into positions and play with characterization a bit. the market for this fic might be incredibly niche (read: just me) but on the off chance that someone else was in the market for such a thing, check it out either below or on AO3:

“Ugh, this team is back this season?” your teammates grouse, as they nod towards a team already playing its first match on the court. “Damnit. ”

As a newcomer to the Death City University Volleyball League, you are uninformed about the particularities of its regular participants, so you ask them what the big deal is about this particular squad.

“Let’s start with the obvious,” your teammate says, right after the two of you barely dodge a spike that careens past where you’re walking, ruffling both of your hair with its force. The obvious presents itself to you in the form of a very loud, very short, very blue-haired ball of energy that slams into the floor with a cackling guffaw.

“That guy plays middle blocker,” your teammate tells you, and your surprise is visibly evident. But he’s so short, you open your mouth to say, right before you watch him jump five feet in the air and stuff his opponent’s spike into the floor like a Thanksgiving turkey. You close your mouth.

“Okay, so they’ve got an overpowered and unorthodox middle,” you say, “but that’s not enough to–”

“Two,” your teammate interrupts you.

“Huh?” you ask.

“They’ve got two overpowered and unorthodox middles,” they say, pointing to a black-haired, ponytailed, absolute bombshell of a human who swaps spots with the first guy on rotation. Like the song to a siren, you’re so distracted by her beauty that you don’t anticipate the savagery that is about to occur. The way she blocks is totally different than the first guy, but equally terrifying - graceful, swift, devastating. Once it’s done, you can’t even remember what you saw. Up, blocked, back into position in an instant. She makes a quick kill of it, like a shadow in the night. 

You’re starting to understand what your teammates mean.

“Okay, but every team has its weak point,” you say. “Where’s the weak link?”

“Sometimes,” your teammate says, “if we’re lucky, the right side hitter will have just gotten a manicure.”

You stare blankly at your teammates, probably because that sentence makes not a semblance of sense. They stare blankly back at you, understanding your bewilderment.

“One of their power hitters gets distracted by her nails sometimes,” they finally explain, and sure enough, at that moment, the other team marks a point because the right side hitter is staring down at her hands, fingers out and wiggling.

“Well, that’s lucky,” you begin to say, before your teammates shake their heads solemnly.

“Unfortunately they’ve got a contingency plan for that,” your teammate says, right as a guy from the sidelines erupts: “Liz, I swear, if you don’t stop looking at –”

To which Liz shouts back: “They looked nice in the light, okay?!”

“If you focus,” he adds, “you can pluck my eyebrows when you get home.”

Evidently this is a very persuasive statement, because Liz lets out an emphatic “sweet!” and then puts down an absolutely nasty spike for the next point. Unfortunately, the fact that it is persuasive at all defies all human logic, and you’re not sure if the answer will ever enter your grasp. You decide to just let it go.

“Who’s the angry one?” you ask. “You’re gonna have to specify,” one of your teammates says, but another seems to understand.

“The one with the weird dye job who was just yelling?” they ask, for clarity, and you nod. “Pinch server,” they explain. “Dude serves like a god.”

You stare at the team in silence for a moment, processing this. This time, your gaze lands on the setter, taking in the white-blonde hair, the slouch, the lazy expression. “That guy doesn’t seem too scary,” you say, nodding towards him. Your words are met once more with deadpan glances from your team, and you close your mouth again.

“If he were alone, maybe he’d be less scary,” your teammate explains, “but it’s the way he works with everyone else that’s terrifying.” 

In an attempt to comprehend what they mean, you watch. He coordinates, he connects. He doesn’t miss a single set. It’s like he pulls the whole team together. Maestro of the show, conductor of a symphony. Scary indeed.

“Plus,” one teammate adds. “Nobody can figure out if he and the left side hitter are dating or not.”

“…What does that have to do with volleyball?” you ask, and they shrug. 

“Nothing really,” they claim, “but you’ll see what I mean.”

The first thing you notice is the weird synergy they’ve got going on between the two of them; no matter where the setter puts it, she’s there to hit it. Even with the strangest placements, she finds a way to get there. It’s like they can read each other’s minds, or something.

The second thing you notice is that you’ve never seen two people hold hands so much on a volleyball court in your life. It’s one thing to congratulate teammates after a point, but this is just excessive. High fives after every hit, successful or not. Putting their palms against each other before they switch after the serve. Every single chance they have to touch, they take, and… it’s just enough to make you question it - to question what they are to each other. Just enough to drive yourself insane trying to figure it out.

You glance back at your teammates and they nod solemnly, understanding your predicament.

“Tell me more about her,” you say, and they oblige.

“When you asked me about the angry one,” that same teammate says, “that’s who I thought you meant.” 

A guttural half-yell half-screech echoes towards you from across the gym, followed by the sound of another spike pounding onto the court from the left side. Suddenly ‘you’re gonna have to specify’ feels like a fair remark.

“The rage isn’t even the worst part,” another teammate says. “The worst part is that she’s smart about it.”

And she is, you observe. The hits are placed near-perfectly every time, planned and executed in slow motion as she soars above the net. She’s quick and adaptable and completely lethal with her spikes.

“Why isn’t anyone blocking her?” you ask. You’re starting to get very comfortable with the sight of your teammates’ stony stares.

“League rules,” they explain. “In co-ed sixes, you aren’t allowed to block the women.”

“That’s stupid,” you say.

“She thinks so, too,” they say, nodding at the hitter in question. “Every year she starts a petition to change the rules, calling it an ‘archaic, sexist regulation’, and every year the higher ups just ignore it. Probably because they’ve never been to a game to see her hit. So she just runs around unchecked, dunking on everyone. Not that the guys would be able to do much, even if they could block her. She’s too fast and too scary.”

At this moment, it almost feels like she can hear you talking about her - green daggers pierce their way across the court, staring you down. You suddenly feel compelled to change the subject. 

As it happens, your eyes land on the final player on the court - the only one you haven’t talked about. “Tell me about the libero,” you demand.

At this, one of your teammates has to suppress a shudder. “She’s… the most unhinged of them all,” they say.

So you pay attention to her; the tiny little blonde who rolls and dives with absolutely meteoric speed, catching tips like she’s a goddamn bartender on a Saturday night at Death Brew. It’s not so much her speed that’s scary as her attitude. The deadly concentration when the serve comes, juxtaposed with the maniacal, slightly deranged laughter after every play, is a chilling dichotomy indeed.

The whistle blows, and the game for this confusing, compelling team comes to an end. Your team makes its way onto the court, preparing to warm up. As they leave the court, the setter and the hitter are still holding hands, fingers laced - an absolutely maddening cherry on top of the are-they-aren’t-they game they seem to be playing with everyone in this gym.

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

How would one write a realistic argument?

How to Write a Realistic Argument

Everyone argues.

Whether it be with a friend, sibling, parent, or coworker—arguments usually break out whenever there’s a stark contrast in opinion over certain things, which can happen a lot.

There are a variety of different kinds of arguments involving a wide range of people with different tempers. Because of this, writing arguments can be a bit difficult, but fear not, for this post is here to help!

1. Know The Writing Style of an Argument

For a very serious argument, the characters probably won’t stop and listen to what their opponent has to say.

It’s quick, choppy, and broken—each character shoving their emotions at one another and trying to get their point across without bothering to understand the other side’s opinions.

There should be a lot of em-dashes and italicized words for emphasis, and if it’s between two people, you want as few speech tags as possible; because there’s going to be a lot of back and forth, speech tags can serve to trip up the flow of the argument rather than help them.

When you do want speech tags or if there are multiple people arguing at once here’s some examples you can use:

Roared

Screamed

Yelled

Bellowed

Barked

Hissed

Shouted

Accused

Interrupted

Growled

Snarled

Spat

Screeched

Shrilled

But you also must know that your characters won’t just be standing stock still and yelling at one another; they’re going to be moving around, so here are some things you can describe your character doing during an argument

Expression contorting

Eyes narrowing

Speaking through clenched teeth

Baring their teeth

Lips twisting (into a sneer/into a snarl)

Hands balling into fists

Trembling

Breaking things/knocking stuff over

Pointing accusingly

Shoving

Spittle flying from their mouth

Stamping their feet

Face getting hot

Vein in forehead popping

Blood roaring in their ears/heart pounding

And if you want, to build tension you can put it in a dangerous place, like at the edge of a cliff or something—so you know fully well that if one of them goes too far it may end up with the other’s accidental death.

2.Know Your Characters

The most important factors of your argument are the characters participating in it.

You should have your characters’ tempers established beforehand so you know if they’re going to be hanging back while others argue or if they’re going to be throwing hands every other chapter.

Your characters’ tempers will shape how much tension the argument causes.

An argument with someone who is usually chill and slow to anger will be a whole lot more impactful and important than an argument with someone who is a known hothead, but it wouldn’t make sense if the argument happened over something minor.

Here’s a list of some of the tempers your character can have, ranked from lowest to highest on how much tension an argument with them causes

 (Just so you know, these aren’t rigid categories; most people are usually a mix of everything!):

–Hotheaded Character–

Fights with a hothead hold the least tension. 

Hotheads will fight over anything and everything, their quick fuse making them easy to irritate and anger. Their words can hurt people who aren’t used to it, but usually bounce off of close friends who are used to it and know that the hothead usually doesn’t mean it.

Arguments with hotheads have a high chance of turning physical, because their rage explodes in bursts rather than a slow buildup (the definition of going from zero to one hundred), and in any situation, hotheads are usually the ones to throw the first punch.

 Because a hothead could get riled up about a spilled drink just as quickly as they can get riled up about a friend dying, just having a hothead getting angry during a moment of severe tension won’t bring you the umph that you’re looking for.

However, your hotheaded character can serve as an instrumental character in triggering more serious arguments, one of their mindless snide remarks going too far with a level-headed or shy character.

Examples of hotheaded characters:

Stanley Kowalski, A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams

Lt. Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, Top Gun (1986)

Anger, Inside Out (2015)

–Aloof Character–

These characters are a lot like hotheads, but the many, many fights that they pick don’t involve them getting raging, screaming mad.

They’re cold, calculating, and cutthroat, and they couldn’t care less about what you think of them.

Their anger is a lot less “loose cannon” than the hotheads’. They say what they mean and mean what they say, and it’ll take a long time to recover from the tongue-lashings these people can dish out.

The greater tension, however, comes from when the aloof characters raise their voices and start shouting—their schooled, uncaring façade fades away and they’re left truly and undeniably angered by whatever tipped the scales.

It’s not too tension-building because these characters were just bastards to begin with, but it’s still unnerving and shocking to see a normally collected character lose their cool.

Examples of aloof characters:

Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Prince Cardan, The Cruel Prince by Holly Black

Alex Stern, The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

Sherlock Holmes, Most Media Types

Tony Stark, The Avengers

–Nonchalant Character–

These people usually don’t engage in meaningful arguments because they literally don’t care enough to bother. 

When another character tries to pick a fight, a character who is more nonchalant will sometimes roll their eyes at whatever accusation is being leveled at them rather than retorting. This can go either way, perhaps escalating the tension or diffusing it by not offering up a reply.

Kind of like with the aloof character, they don’t have any emotional attachment arguments that they start or are dragged into. They’ll argue for the sake of arguing, but they really don’t give a fuck about it. 

The part that draws the tension, however, is when the characters do give a fuck. A fight they get into turns heated, and a character’s normal devil-may-care attitude may morph into something else altogether.

Most nonchalant characters also may exhibit some hotheaded tendencies, which shows how muddles these archetypes can be.

Examples of Nonchalant Characters:

Han Solo, The Star Wars Saga

Deadpool, Deadpool (2016)

Angel Dust, The Hazbin Hotel

–Level-headed/Stoic Character–

These characters are the cool cucumbers of the group. They’re very, very, VERY slow to anger, and usually exhibit more maturity than their peers, almost never starting arguments. 

They’re the masters of diffusing arguments with a few words, and hardly ever raise their voices.

Sure, they may serve as backup to someone else and may jump to their aid with a bit of heat behind their words, but this hardly happens when the argument is their own.

Many hotheaded or aloof characters may try teasing or pushing these characters in order to act out, but it rarely works.

On the few instances that a level-headed character is angered, it is pretty serious.

Either one of the other characters poked fun at something they shouldn’t’ve—their dead parents, something they’re self-conscious about, etc.—or a member of the group makes a terrible mistake with dire consequences, and the stoic character has had enough.

This causes a lot of tension because “oh shit, the calmest person in our group just went off” and can usually signal a breakdown of the group because their strongest link is snapping.

Examples of Stoic Characters:

Geralt of Rivia, The Witcher

The Mandalorian, The Mandalorian

Spock, Star Trek

The Doctor, Doctor Who

Atticus Finch, To Kill A Mockingbird

–Timid/Shy/Quiet Character– 

An argument with a timid person causes by far the most tension out of everything, to the point where I call it “The Snap.”

Someone who is timid, shy, or quiet would rather not argue at all because they don’t have it in them to retort.

They may care a whole lot about the situation under contention, but for one reason or another they don’t want to start too much trouble. These people actively avoid conflict and usually try their best to diffuse situations before they start, whether it be by conceding, walking away, or pulling the nonchalant route and not saying anything.

However, unlike the stoic characters, they might be much more emotional; it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for a timid character to cry when being berated by the others, and they may even be outwardly livid, but they always back down in the end.

 However, they can only hold it in for so long.

 If you have a character who spends the entire book meekly accepting the verbal (or perhaps physical) harassment of other characters, you should most definitely put a “Snap” somewhere in the story, a point where the character has had enough and fights back.

 The timid character’s pent-up rage and sorrow explodes into a raging argument that will most definitely frighten the other characters.

 The tipping point may be the death of the loved one or just a simple, ordinary jab from an antagonist—the straw that broke the camel’s back.

 Unlike with the hothead’s quick bursts of anger like snap fireworks, the anger of a quiet character—much like with a stoic character—is like ten thousand pounds of dynamite with a very, very long fuse.

A quiet character will almost never have a contained argument once they’ve snapped; it will be like a category five hurricane, and God help the poor bastard that set it off.

Examples of timid/shy/quiet characters:

Carrie White, Carrie by Stephen King

Amélie Poulain,  Amélie (2001)

Bilbo Baggins, The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkein

3. Know The Rhythm of An Argument

An argument isn’t just 0 to 100 and then back to 0. 

The tension levels look more like a squiggly line than a single spike; the tension peaks and ebbs on various levels throughout an argument, especially if it’s a long, important one where both characters are snapping over a novel’s worth of building tension.

The argument can come in like a freight train or it can build up slowly, a character storming in after a realization or a single snide remark that snowballs into something much greater.

Then comes an accusation. Both characters brace themselves and realize that this argument isn’t just going to putter out.

More back and forth words exchanged. “I don’t like that you do this, this and this,” while the characters’ tempers flare even further, pushing them to say more extreme, hurtful things and working each other up into a rage.

A physical fight may break out between the two, throwing punches and insults.

The climax should be a huge, shocking exclamation or accusation. “I hate you!” “If you were never born, Mom would still be alive!” “This is all your fault!”

The tension ebbs. The characters stand in silence, bitter and ashamed of themselves.

They may agree on a few things, their tempers start to die down. They may come to some understandings or storm off with the tension unresolved. The argument ends.

This is the basic format of an argument; however, there are usually several levels of accusation-buildup before the eventual climax.

The whole point of an argument is that it leaves the characters’ relationships much different than they’d been before; they either understand each other much more, or they’ve become much more wary of one another.

If your characters’ relationship doesn’t change after an argument, then there was no point in writing it.

I really hope this helped! Happy Writing!

[octania]

Midnight stalker ( Dabi x Reader NSFW 18+)

Dabi x Reader

Warnings: Stalking, yandere, death (not Dabis nor readers), smut, NSFW.

Word count: 3300

Short description: A lot of scary things lurks in the dark, but when two blue electric eyes stick to you and don't let go, you'll see what the face of a villain who has a very specific way of showing his feelings looks like.

PART 2 - MIDNIGHT HUNTER

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"I have no useless feelings." - That's impossible. He would repeat those words to himself over and over again, but the only thing that’s useless in the end are exactly those words. He does not understand what's going on. And lack of knowledge is one of the first things that makes him angry. At one point, as he was following you as some kind of maniac for the fourth night in a row, hiding behind every wall bathed in darkness, he tried to convince himself that what was happening must be the result of your quirk. Yes, that is the only explanation. You know he's there and you bewitched him to follow you like a sad puppy.

"I am going fucking insane here." He cursed under his breath, rubbing his eyelids. Of course this was not the result of your quirk, you had no idea he was following your every step for days, you lived your most normal life, and despite everything, he saw you using your quirk on a third day of his mission, and it had nothing to do with what he had just claimed.

  He noticed you quite by accident. Damn that moment. He was walking down a dilapidated neighborhood in the middle of the night, minding his own business, when he heard a gentle female whisper from the corner of the street. Such a sweet sound was not at all characteristic for the place where he was, in fact, the only thing that could be heard from the corners of these streets was the screaming, swearing or unrestrained moaning of the lady of the night, not a gentle whisper. The devil did not give him peace, he had to see what was happening. When he leaned behind the wall of the building in the dark, all the filth of this place was gone. He had an eye for beautiful women, but none of them made him look at their faces longer than a few seconds before his gaze continued to their enticing curves. You knelt beside a pile of cluttered boxes, touching something small and fragile between them. A puppy. You stroked his soft head, whispering that everything would be fine and that he was safe now. 

He became a part of the shadows on the street, he managed to blend smoothly with each one as he followed you for the first time. You carried the puppy on your chest, not even looking back at the potential dangers of the neighborhood you wandered into. But the truth is, there was no real danger, not while Dabi was following you. He wasn't even aware that he would defend you to the last spark of his flame if something went wrong, and he didn't even know you.

 You were more than ... interesting to him. Yes, that was the word he decided to use. Everything he saw in life was gray and suddenly he discovered color. He had to see what the difference was, why his interest was growing. Fast enough, you got to your house. He stored the place, the street number, and the exterior of the house in his mental map, not even knowing that the place would become his obsession.

 That night he slept worse than usual. He rolled around on the rough sheets of his bed, trying to fall asleep and have a nightmare, what he used to do. But instead of the bloodthirsty scenes of his reality, before his eyes was an act of kindness and tenderness, a scene of you rescuing a puppy. It made him angry ... no, it made him furious.

"Tch ... damn it." He sat up, running his fingers through his charcoal-colored hair. It didn't take him long to open his eyes completely and jump off the bed, grabbing his dark blue hoodie, pulling it over his naked muscular body and diving into the cold night.

 He is in front of your house. He stands helplessly staring at the window. His eyes are half closed, but not from being tired. Fearful thoughts run through his head. "Damn bitch ..." - he wanted to hate you, he had to. People like Dabi, if only a little attempt is made to scratch the surface of their feelings, they defend themselves with hatred and denial because it is a place they never go into, because through life, they have learned that feelings bring nothing but pain and despair. So they decided to lock them up. Bury, hide, deny, and eventually destroy ... prevent them from surfacing, as was the case with Dabi.

He is in front of your window. He is looking at you. He found where your bedroom is. He watches you as you sleep. His electric blue eyes stare at you like a target. "You don't deserve to sleep so carefree ..." His intention was to finish you off at that point. Delete this irregularity. His hand was already bathed in blue flames, ready to obey his orders.

The light woke you up, disturbed your sleep. You opened your eyes, but there was nothing but darkness around you. You would swear the light woke you up. You laughed at yourself. Those crazy dreams. You rubbed your eyelids, which were still closing from the weight of sleep. You glanced at the clock on the wall. 02:45, that was the time the hands were pointing. Back to sleep, a simple decision. You turned on your side, your back was facing the window, but before you sank back into sleep, you turned once more to check on what your new hairy friend you had rescued from the street that night was doing. "That is odd ..." the little puppy sat on the edge of the bed, wagging his tail and looking out the window.

 "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck?!" - He banged madly against the wall of abandoned building back in his neighborhood. A gang of villains who decided to lurk innocent victims there that night fled like insects seeing a furious Dabi approaching, bathed in his own flames head to toe. As soon as his fist slammed into the bricks of the wall for the first time, they disappeared with their tail between their legs.  "Why did you have to look at me ... why ..." - you didn't even know that you looked him directly in the eye and that was what saved you. If you only woke up a few seconds later, you would never wake up again. He wanted to set you on fire and the place where you lived, to erase you as if you didn't even exist. But then your gaze caught his and a Pandora's box opened in his chest that he so desperately wanted to leave sealed. The kindness and tenderness your eyes carried seemed to shed light on his inner darkness. You froze him, a funny thing for someone bathed in flames. He escaped from there like those thieves from this building just now. Dabi doesn't run away. Dabi never runs away and does not dodge an opponent. He stopped hitting and sat down on the cold concrete. He leaned his head against the wall, his eyes searching for the large yellow moon that sat on the dark clouds. "Yeah ... that's exactly how you are." - in the monotonous darkness of his life, now something bright and big emerged, throwing its light on the shadows he kept inside. He compared you to the moon once more, this time again with a taste of hatred in his mouth. "That's it ... you are exactly like this, a big fucking irregularity."

At first he didn't want to go back, but he had to. He literally had to. His body ached from the mental prohibition he issued to himself. As a drug addict, he was drawn to another hit. He justified his action quickly enough, convincing himself that he wanted to check if this was all one big misunderstanding he had with himself. That he drank a few extra drops of alcohol  yesterday before he started following you. Anger piled up in his chest as he realized he was lying to himself. He drank only one whiskey, nothing compared  to what he normally drank. Before he could muster more hatred directed at you, he had already came close to your house. The interior was lit. She is home. The thought of you breathing only a hundred yards away from him lifted the hair on his head. He needed to stop those breaths, because that would surely stop his dilemma. He decided to put an end to this circus once again. On his burned neck, the culprits for that catastrophe were climbing on it again. A blue flame hugged him around the neck. As it appeared, so it withdrew, quenching his anger as if it had never been there.

You came out with a cheerful smile. Playfully jumped over the new leash you bought for your furry friend. You went for your first late-night walk together. You and ... a pair of bright eyes lurking in the dark.

When he saw you, he felt like a match whose flame was put out  with the weakest exhalation. That smile again. A smile that drew everyone to itself with its angelic vibe. Everything, even the dark and opposite of the angelic, Dabi. He has decided not to think about what he is doing, again patiently following you and watching from a safe distance. He realized that any attempt to explain or draw a conclusion resulted in his anger, and now he was rather tired of it. He could tell he was feeling defeated, not only because he failed to attack you, but because Pandora's box was now throwing its chains of dominance. He won't admit it, ever. He didn't even realize how hard it would be for him to deny it.

You came to the lake, after running and jumping with your puppy, you decided to sit on a bench and enjoy the murmur of the water. You tilted your head, removing the rubber band from your hair and loosening your ponytail. You inhaled a fresh breeze as it caressed your cheeks. Until your puppy suddenly jumped. He barked, wagging his tail merrily, looking toward the corner of the street. "What is it boy?" - you have to admit, you were lightly concerned. You haven’t seen anyone, and your friend apparently still feels someone. Although crime was not at a high rate in this part of the city, you were not far from the part where it was. You were far from an ordinary frightened girl, you knew how to defend yourself, you were brave, but you didn't ask for trouble if it wasn't necessary. You decided to head back home. Getting up, you picked up the puppy and headed the other way home. You checked behind you few times, but there was no one. Although, the feeling of someone watching you was not lost.

Damn traitor... he slipped away at the last moment before you saw him. This clumsy hiding was not in his style. He was usually pretty good at it, it was a part of his job, to go unnoticed. However, the others didn't have a curious dog sniffing you out from five blocks away. And after all ... he can only blame you for his slow reaction. Watching curls of hair falling over your bare shoulders that looked silky to the touch and your lovely face enjoying the breeze ... he swallowed more than once, fascinated by your every move. For the first time, he decided not to whip himself because of his weakness, but the desire to punish you for bringing him into a situation like this was growing.

The days went by and his night occupation did not change. Due to his absence from duty, he had a clash with other members of the LOV. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t do his part of the job. He forgot his responsibilities, following you instead. He remembers exactly what he learned about you that night when he was supposed to work. You like lollipops. You like lollipops a little too much. Of all the things you carried in those grocery bags on your way back from the store, lollipops of different fruit flavors took up most of the space. Hell, not only did you take them home but you ate three pieces on your way there. First you lick them a couple of times, traveling with your tongue around the round candy, then you put the whole thing in your mouth, sucking greedily. That evening he stopped  a few blocks before your house, turned, went to the park, went behind a large tree whose century-old trunk could hide three adults, and helped himself. The way you swirled your tongue around that candy drove all the blood into his lower body. His dick was hard in a second. He saw you on your knees in front of him, first crossing over your full lips with his tip. How he pulls you by the hair as he fills your throat to the point where you can’t breathe. How he decides when you will get oxygen. How obediently you give him pleasure by sucking his dick juicier than you did a lollipop. How he touches your lips with his thumb while you still receive it in your mouth. Scenes popped before his eyes, while he jerked his rock hard cock. He growled under his breath, feeling that he will reach the climax soon. He would make you swallow every drop, and only after he was sure you were an obedient little girl would he let you inhale when he took it out of your mouth. He came on a dry tree trunk. What a pity, it could all be in your mouth.

Who ... the fuck ... is..he ...- he saw red in front of his eyes. His blood was boiling and his hands were shaking when he saw you walking your dog with someone. That someone was a guy. You talked and laughed, walking pretty close to each other. When the damn idiot brushed his shoulder against yours, Dabi could clearly see how he is tearing that limb off  that morons body. Up to this point your smile had been creating a warm feeling in his chest that wasn’t there because of his fiery power, but now he felt disgusted every time you laughed. Repulsive, the only word that could describe the scene in front of his eyes. Something so disgusting must not happen again, there are already enough disgusting things in this world.

You and your friend parted quite far from your houses. He has been around for over a year, trying to get out of the friend zone you have putted him in from the moment you met. Before he left, he hugged you. You carefully returned the hug, not wanting to give him false hopes. You patted him on the back and walked away slowly, shouting “See ya’!” to him. You should have said goodbye, because you'll never see him again.

 Never before had he been so happy to take someone’s life as now, and the list of people he hated was long. However, this transcended hatred. He fed the horror in his eyes as he burned him slowly, so slowly that the unfortunate young man lost consciousness a couple of times from the pain and agony. But Dabi did not give him the satisfaction of dying in ignorance. He would punch him in the face, welcoming him back with his crazy smile every time. He wanted him to feel what he felt when he saw you two together. He wanted him to spend his last moments in hell and be fully aware of it. He burned him layer by layer, first the outer layer of skin, in order him to be alive for as long as possible. As he began to burn his inner organs, soon after the soul of his victim left the mutilated body. He threw it in the dumpster, like garbage that belongs there, and went looking for you.

You loved the night. You were always attracted to the mystical, the mystery of darkness and what is in it intoxicates your desires. Although you are a good person, you had a taste for dark things. Maybe you didn’t show that side of you so much in front of others, and because of it you had to endure endless efforts of the goodies  just like your friend, who wanted you to share the softness of romance with them, but that wasn’t enough for you. You used to not even know what you wanted. Your thinking was interrupted by an instinctive sense of danger. You couldn't even turn around to check what was behind you when your eyes were covered by complete darkness. The pressure on your eyelids made your head hurt. A rough palm gripped you mercilessly, and before you tried to defend yourself with your hands, like handcuffs another hand wrapped itself around your wrist. An unknown person pushed you against the wall, squeezing you with his weight. He was strong, he squeezed the air out of your lungs with his pressure. Before you could speak, you felt a breath on your cheek.

 „Make even a sound and I will bite that lips off your pretty doll face.“ Observation alone was no longer an option. After feeding the need to destroy what approached something that was his, he had to feed another need. He had to taste you. He had to know what the poison tasted like. You disrupted his way of life even without knowing he exists, you can’t do anything more when you finally feel his presence. At least he thought so. He forgot that like any addict, overdose is an option. He felt its sting the moment he pressed his lips violently to yours. With his lips he savagely parted yours, his tongue searching for yours, absorbing your taste and the sobs that came from your throat. The surface of his tongue traveled along yours. The longer he greedily kissed you, the worse the need to continue was. He kept your eyes still covered, fighting the urge to grab you by the jaw and let go of your  arms just to turn you over and lift you up against the wall as he lit your clothes. But his need to absorb you was stronger than his sexual desire. Pandora's box was now bursting, releasing the thoughts and feelings that haunted him like devils, and the fact that you didn't return the kiss voluntarily gave birth to more anger in him. He moved his head away from yours, breathing hard.

"If you don't want to become a living torch, you better not turn around." You could feel the pressure on your body being released, your hands free again, and the other person's sense of presence fading a bit. You stood in shock, eyes closed. Of all the fears and horrors you  have imagined when he first grabbed you, this was the last thing you thought would happen. That he will force you to kiss him and then disappear. I must not turn around, I must not ... the curiosity and fearlessness that were your most pronounced traits made your head turn and your eyes absorbed the sight of the person who attacked you. You saw his strong broad shoulders getting more and more away... you shuddered when you saw the scars on his arms and neck ... the black pointy hair... The last thing you saw was exactly what you shouldn't have seen, the look of blue eclectic eyes disappearing around the corner of the building into the night.

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