#Also the words manipulation and negotiation
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𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 | Emperor Geta x reader

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summary | Emperor Geta takes a liking to you but ends up with far more than he bargained for.
author's note | full blame on @hauntedhowlett. also don't look at me and tell me that man doesn't have a mommy kink, he does.
content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!geta, dom!reader, mentions of spousal/child loss, brief mentions of pregnancy, subtle mommy kink, lactation kink (titty suckin' hell yeah), oral (f receiving), use of sweet boy/good boy, unprotected piv
word count — 4.2k
A widow, a mourning would-be mother—naive amongst your youthful glaze, the softness in your features as you stare down the two brothers from across the long, crowded table. It has only been a fortnight now, but your face proves entirely unsuspecting.
This meeting was about you—not of your late husband, not of legality or current issues to address, but your qualification to have a spot amongst men. Most were unaware of your puppetry with your late husband and his place in the senate—an older man triple your age that had brought you for a price.
Easily to manipulate, easy to convince.
“There is no place here for a mockery like this,” An older gentleman with stringy, greying hair chirped up from his seat, fist tucked under his wrinkled chin, eyes carefully examining your figure, licking his split, dry lips, “she is young—negotiate a price with her father and—”
“He is dead,” You state flatly, a piercing glare shot down the line toward the spoken male, seemingly ticked by the sound of your voice, expecting submissiveness, “And I will assure the price is one you will never afford.”
Caracalla, as aloof as he was, seemed to snicker at that. A high-pitched cackle that slips from his lips as Geta raises a brow, his mouth hidden behind his curled fingers, opposite hand spread out wide on the arm of his throne.
“I am well versed,” You address both of the emperors directly, “Educated—my husband would be displeased to hear me say this, but he was not the smartest man. I have lost more than just him, but I am not here to beg.”
There was no love lost, fortunately. He wasn’t a good or bad man, only a man. He frequented brothels often, voiced his displeasure when you weren’t serving him correctly, and only forced a child upon you because of societal standards. It was distressing, still deep in your own grief as you avoided the deadlocked stares from the surrounding men, praying that one of the two young emperors would have a soft spot, or even a weakness.
You would find it, if needed. But, Geta’s amusement was a comforting sign.
The same man, displeased with your presence, grips hard enough at his wooden cane that it starts to crack, “Better yet, force her to work in the brothel. Plenty of use for you there,” His gaze switches from the head of the table to you, nodding his head with a triumphant smirk.
“As I am sure your wife would love to hear about your visits,” There’s a collective tenseness, both of hands gripping the table and men shifting in their seats, eyes flickering back and forth between the volleying conversation, the dueling man’s face going slack, “do not act surprised, you keep company of men with loose lips, be thankful one of them has died with the rest of your pitiful secrets.”
Geta clears his throat then, sharing a brief moment with his brother as they nod in unison.
“I will consider this,” He begins, tongue swiping along the inside of his bottom lip, “given the suddenness of—”
“Your highness, do not fall victim to her deception, she is—”
“If you value that head of yours,” Geta’s words are biting, quick, “you will not interrupt me when I am speaking.”
He’s highly temperamental, the dagger he’s spent twirling in his hand for the past several minutes tossing lazily against the wood as he flicks a hand up dismissively, “Get out of my sight,” He excuses them all, aside from his finger pulling like it was held on a string to aim in your direction, “you—stay.”
You’ve just resigned yourself to death, surely.
–
The wine is dark, staining his upper lip as he drinks, clunky rings tapping against the glass of his cup as he passes you off a cup of your own. He had his own private quarters, opposite of his brother and hidden down a long, trailing hallway, an office-like room attached to his quarters.
You weren’t going to defy his command as unsettling as it felt, his glittering and colorful robe dragging against the tile floor as you stood silent, a comfortable distance away.
Your dress was unbearably tight, back straight as an arrow while your shoulders ached, but you didn’t waver, didn’t slouch. Your breasts spilled over the fabric, barely covered by the shawl draped over your shoulders, signs of motherhood that had yet to dissipate. You cleared your throat, shuffling quietly on your feet.
“I do not like nervousness,” Geta announces, turning his head over his shoulder as he swivels his body to lean against the edge of the desk—the room was clearly unused, aside from now.
“I am not nervous,” It wasn’t that at all, rather an uncertainty.
“Drink,” He suggested, nodding his head toward your full glass, “it will help.”
He doesn’t seem to believe you and you defy his order further, traveling toward him to rest the glass against the desk, hands settled at your stomach as you look at him, his eyes carefully tracking your movement as he sloshes the wine around in his mouth, a fingertip trailing the rim before he mirrors your actions.
“G—your highness,” You begin indecisively, “forgive me for sounding…selfish, but is there something you require? Do I serve a purpose being here?”
“What are your current living arrangements?” He asks suddenly, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, tilting his head in question.
“I am living under the selflessness of a senator’s wife—though, if he knew, it would not be welcomed with open arms,” Geta is aware of your steadfast gaze, rare that you ever looked anywhere but his face, not the usual roaming nervousness he had become acquainted with.
“Ah,” He chuckles, “If I may pry—well, I am…is it—”
The man who had challenged you earlier with a wife too gracious for her own good.
“Yes, unfortunately.”
Geta contemplates—he wasn’t against you having a voice within his council, aware that it wouldn’t be well-met, but there was a way to ensure safety and submission; he's learned to mold and shape to achieve what he wants at the lift of a finger. It was a mix of power and practiced manipulation.
“You will relocate here, to the palace,” He informs, “as an extra measure and because I am fond of your…bite,” His mouth upturns in a lazy smirk, “you will be well cared for here, I assure you.”
A man who was far too fond of his toys, you notice the glint in his eyes as soon as his expression morphs. Greed; he could have everything and even that wouldn’t be enough.
It was only minimally amusing, his confidence.
And within a few hours and a few snaps of his fingers, you were set up comfortably in your own room, a pleasant conversation with his less than stable brother and the obedient monkey perched on his shoulder—he was endearing, but visibly paranoid.
You refuse the help of the servants as you attempt to retire for the night, brow furrowed in frustration as you reach unsuccessfully for the tied string of your dress, resilient and stubborn in your unwillingness for help as you curse to yourself, half a second from ripping the fabric in half before the door to your room is opening quietly, creaking on it’s hinges.
“I assure you, they are here for a reason,” Geta remarks fondly, the faint fire of the candles lit around your room painting him in a warm glow, softening an unusually rigid man, he approaches without a word as you relent, hands curling around the edge of a nearby chair, his hand working methodically along the knotted fabric at your back, a few minutes passing before he’s tugging it loose, a breath of relief slipping beyond your lips.
Geta takes a few steps back, ringed fingers interlocked behind his back as he watches you expectantly, watching quietly as you turn with your arm clutching the fabric to your chest, hair loosened, your face relaxing into a natural scowl.
“Do you require anything of me?” You ask, curious of his lingering presence but not feeling threatened or undermined—shockingly, he seemed unsteady. Unsure. His confidence failed him for the first time in his young life, “If there is…something you would like to address, I will listen.”
“When did you marry?” An odd start, but you answer with ease.
“Fifteen—he promised my family wealth, it was a simple trade. They died not long after. Tuberculosis, or so I was told,” You shift from one bare foot to another as Geta’s lips pull together in a narrow line, “You know, we are not much different.”
That grabs his attention, his eyebrow raising in a silent question as you approach slowly, arms crossed over your chest now, holding the fabric in place, “Coyness is unbecoming, Emperor.”
“Enlighten me,” Geta replies, his restless hands finding their way over the collars of his robe as he tightens it around himself, joining him near the end of your bed—a strange thing to claim; this entire room, yours.
“If my math proves me right, we are of the same birth year,” You begin, “—those men, your advisors, they severely underestimate you and Caracalla. They are scared of you, yes. But, if given the chance, they would strike you down without a thought,” He turns his head, blinking away a sour expression, feeling particularly bare despite his state of dress.
Your gaze was powerful, intense, even Geta could not handle it.
“I am trying to say that I understand,” You clarify, tilting your head to catch his eyeline, reaching out slowly to provide a comforting touch, hands curling around his wrist, “not that I understand your role and the burden it carries, but being young and overlooked. I have felt that, I still feel it.”
He’s never been approached so openly—though he prefers the proclivity of men who bow down without question, his psyching was always searching for something more. A poor boy without love, or meaningful relations. You offer a soft smile as he turns his head to you.
“You came here for a reason,” You remind him, “—make it clear.”
His eyes follow the steady rise and fall of your chest, your fingers curling over the rough, coarse lining of the dress as it pushes your breasts up, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip in a wordless hunger.
“Did you plan to force yourself upon me?” You ask curiously, his face flushing with embarrassment, “Or, perhaps, hope that I would be charmed by you?”
“It is rare that I am denied,” He explains, like a petulant kid preparing to be denied their favorite toy, “—but, you are not mine.”
“I belong to no one,” You clarify, “I am not a whore, or a servant. We are…equals, yes?”
“Not entirely,” Geta counters, still donning the crown on his head—more subtle than the formal one he wears around, a delicate band of gold leaves adorned with gems, “but, it seems—”
You smirk slightly to yourself as you reach forward with one hand, plucking the band gently from his hair and tossing it aside to the bed, fingertips trailing down to his chin as you tug his face to look at you.
“You need not put on a performance for me,” You comfort him, his features softening as his eyes flicker toward the crown, “it is as simple as just asking, Geta.”
At level ground, it feels more appropriate. If he wanted your head, he would have it.
Eagerness invades his mind, clawing forward as his palms form to your neck, jaw, lips pressing against yours with impatience, a hum of hunger laying in wait in his throat. For a second, you allow it. Indulge in the simplicity of desire that has been long forgotten, sighing fervently against his mouth before you’re taking grip of his robe and forcing him back, his eyes blackened with lust and his mouth open, blinking with confusion.
“Ask me,” You demand him, “I have allowed so many in my life to take, not this. Not you.”
Geta clears his throat hastily, closing his mouth, gathering the immense willpower it took to listen, comply, “May I—may I kiss you?”
You nod, a grin spreading across your face as he lunges forward eagerly once more, held back by your surprisingly powerful grip, unaware of how your dress had shifted down, held up solely by the body contact against Geta, chest to chest.
It was teasing, taunting him with the ability and control you had over him, lips grazing against his testingly as he laughs too, a quiet and joyous noise as you finally let him have it, arms wrapping over his shoulders as his own hands roam down your sides, around your back and down your side, squeezing a hand at your thigh and bringing it up, high enough that it can rest at his hips, his fingers kneading into the exposed skin near the slit of your gown, toying with the delicate skin that he could reach.
You revel in the neediness, an intense feeling of want washing over you, his nose following the lines of your face as they nudge at your chin, forcing your head up as his kisses trail down, spit slicked lips pressing into your skin, bodies separating as you dress falls, as bare as he under his own robe, plump breasts pulling his eyes down, a slow blink and an instant flick up towards your face.
“Seems the effects of motherhood are taking their time to dissipate,” You admit, his fingers twitching at the sight of them, “If that is an issue we can end this he—”
“No,” He growls, “it—sorry, it is not.”
You reach for his hands quietly, his gaze following your direction as you cup them over your breasts, the heavy weight of them in his hands, the gentle squeeze that would otherwise make you wince but instead has your thighs clenching together. Geta was practically salivating at the sight, mesmerized by the fullness and warmth, his thumbs rubbing carefully over your hardened nipples, a small opaque drop of liquid painting his finger.
You grab his thumb suddenly, shoving his hand away at the sight.
“Despite a loss my body continues to provide,” You explain, “ It is not a lot, but it lingers.I have tried…everything to will it away.”
“Why?” Geta asks, looking up at you with newfound curiosity.
“It is not ideal, you see—”
“Who has told you this?” Geta pesters, watching the liquid drip down his finger before he brings it to his mouth, “I see no issue.”
Your nose twitches in uncertainty, his fingers trailing an abstract pattern into the underside of your breasts, around the side, admiring, “I have always been curious,” Geta admits, his voice trailing as you slowly guide yourself to sit on the bed, the emperor following in suit as he kneels against the edge of the mattress between your open thigh, “did he appreciate your body for everything that it was?”
“He was barren,” You admit, “He liked my mouth on his cock and that was all. He did not care for much else or my pleasure at that, he was much too inadequate anyways.”
He doesn’t address the glaringly obvious admittance—a much longer story for another time that neither of you cared for at the moment, “May I?” He asks politely, his hot breath ghosting over your chest as you nod, his mouth latching onto your skin in an instant.
It starts at the center of your chest, face buried between your breasts as he pulls his robe open, aided down by the push of your hands, his alabaster skin contrasting the plum sheets, his knee rising briefly to push into the sheets as you catch a glimpse of his cock, hanging heavily and intimidating in its size, anticipating of the stretch if you allowed him so far.
His tongue follows a planned path, along the underside of your breasts and around your nipple, grazing over the pebbled skin with the subtle taste of sweetness seeping into his taste buds as his lips wrap around and such, the faintest push of teeth in your skin as his eyes peer up at you, your brow furrowing in delight at the sudden shock to your cunt, nothing like you’ve felt before.
You did not know pleasure like this, a fair trade. It was a shock to the system.
He’s looking for acknowledgement, trading off to share the same care to the other breasts, his free hand trailing to the side of your face and under your neck, cradling you with a gentle touch as the hand on your breasts curls around and squeezes, sucking gently at your breasts as his head tilts into your comforting touch, your opposite hand turning as you run your knuckles alongside his jaw.
“Sweet boy,” You praise, “is that what you wanted?”
As if he hadn’t been eyeing you the entire meeting, breasts squeezed together as you leaned daringly over the table to argue with your aggressor, quenching the hunger all day with a steady diet of wine and the assorted fruit placed around the palace, always within reach, watching you quietly.
He nods slightly, distantly, as he’s focused on his current task.
“Geta,” Formalities forgotten by now, his eyes widened as you stare at him, rising on your elbows with a waiting expression, “have you lost your tongue?”
“It would—it would seem I have not,” He chuckles with a knowing smirk, swiping his tongue around your nipple in a circular motion, “I am pleased, yes.”
He shifts his arms around you, curled fists landing in the sheets beside your head, his cock sliding against the inside of your thigh as he settles to his knees, a fresh flush to his chest as he admires your state of nakedness, trailing two wondering fingers from your chest to your pelvic bone, a slow dance in the low light of the room.
You nudge his hand away, “You are eager,” You note with a fond tone, watching as began to lean into you, eager to capture your lips once more, but your fingers are pressing over his lips before they reach their destination, shaking your head in disapproval, “I have ideas for better use of that mouth, Emperor.”
He pulls back with grin, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as you filter your fingers through his ginger hair, curling your hand over the back of his head as he bows, settling on his belly with his cock trapped between the sheets, slowly his nose buries into the coarse curls, his tongue dragging down the seam of your pussy.
Geta can only liken it to a taste of the divine, or the closest he would ever reach, settled between your open legs with a mission to please, to satisfy. And for the first time in his life—serve someone other than himself. Normally he would bark at the informality of things, only allow his given title, a strict instruction of a bowed head and obedience, but he finds himself bending to your rule and dropping to his knees, if you demand.
“You have your wits and sharp tongue,” He hums against your cunt, a delightful noise slipping out as you tug at his hair, “I suggest you put them to good use.”
As he does, you find yourself drifting.
He is precise, thorough—which is not at all expected from a man of his status, or any man, really. They were never concerned with the pleasure of anyone but themselves, but Geta has proven you wrong in many ways as undesirable as his ruling may be.
You only cared for your life anymore, witnessing how delicate it could be when it came to everyone around you.
He likes to watch, too. It isn’t at all surprising, eager for praise he brings you to a quick and intense, but fleeting orgasm. It swells in your stomach, the heat pooling before it explodes, hearing the satisfied groan as he licks you clean, murmuring a shaky, “Good–good b-boy,” as you force yourself to catch your breath, allowing him to climb his way back up your body with the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, both of you sighing into the shared space as your foreheads meet and Geta was completely at your control, awaiting your next command.
“Are things often like this?” You ask curiously, “Is this what you seek?”
Domination; someone to submit to.
In a daze, he shakes his head, lips parted slightly.
“Do you enjoy that I make you feel this way?”
He smiles, sated, nodding in response.
“I want to feel you,” It was a whispered request, his eyes searching your face—again, even just the nudge of his cock between your folds was enough to make you tense and you find your own fingers drifting between your legs, dipping inside of you as he looks down, mesmerized as you guide his hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around his as you work together in tandem.
When his brow draws together, you guide him inside of you, staving off his impending orgasm.
“Slow,” You instruct, hands traveling to grip his face, nodding his head between your hold, “You are…quite large, I am not used to that,” Geta seems to find a surge of confidence at that, leaning forward greedily to capture your lips, his teeth dragging along the fleshy skin as he angles his and pulls back slowly, entering you at the same pace despite the impatient shake to his body, eager for more, “slow—slow, look at me,”
“You’re obedient,” You praise, “far more than I expected.”
“My brother likens you to a goddess,” Geta notes, the odd timing sending you into a gentle snort of laughter, “I must say I agree, you are mesmerizing.”
“I prefer Caracalla not be a topic as your cock is buried inside of me,” You retort with a kind smile, his own morphing into a frown of concentration as your knees hike around his hips, encourage him to lean his weight against you as he rocks his hips, a gentle rhythm that is drowned out by the sounds of the city at night.
His itching impatience grows tiresome, gripping desperately at whatever skin he could reach, pitiful moans of pleasure inked into your skin with the silent plea of more—please, more?
“Make me come once more,” You urge him, “and take what you need.”
It was all he needed to hear, taking the opportunity to slip out of you as he guiding you toward your stomach, guiding one knee up toward your chest as he hovered over you, turning your head to face him as he pushed his cock back inside of you, your walls fluttering around him in satisfaction of being filled again.
There was a perfect view of the sky this way, a small alcove open to the night breeze, stars twinkling against the contrasting colors of midnight, “It is beautiful,” He begins, not admiring the same sight as you, a shakiness to his voice as he pumped his hips at a nearly unbearable pace, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you.
He’s panting into your skin, a feeling you’ve experienced in plenty of other circumstances, with a well-versed ability to separate yourself from your body as men chase their pleasure, but with the emperor, it was a different experience.
A cacophony of small whimpers followed by an utterances of words you’re not sure he or his brother have spoke often, “Please—-please, may I—“
The gravity of the situation flips as you realize your mistake, giving a man with far too much reach and power any type of influence over you, your brain searching for a way to counter his plea as you turn your body, arm wrapping around the back of his neck as he shakes with his impending orgasm.
Words are lost, unable to speak before he’s pulling out of you, the drip of his warm seed coating your skin, the tight grip at your chest loosening in an instant.
Thank the gods, you pray silently.
“I apologize,” He breathes heavily, bottom lip swollen and red from the mutilation of his teeth, chest flushed bright and burning, “if—if I scared you.”
He uses his discarded robe to clean you up, unthinking of the consequences as he leaned back to stand, fully nude as he extends his hand in wait, beckoning you closer.
“Scared me?” You challenge, curling your hand into his own as he pulls you up, legs bracketing his thighs as your hands come to rest against his abdomen, staring up at the emperor.
“Your bark is quite frightful,” He admits, “I can only imagine how you would rip me apart had I gone too far,” His words trail, a softening to his voice as he curls his hand around the side of your face, a gentle gesture.
“Would you like that, Geta?” You ask with a creeping suspicion, a smirk spreading across your face, “For me to rip you apart?”
A man of such power, unrestrained and chaotic—shrinks.
Almost too shy to admit it.
“Careful, my lady,” He warns, “I am still a ruler of Rome, such disrespect is—”
“Punishable by death,” You confirm, “but, you promised me safety, yes?”
Geta nods silently, watching the slow crawl of your fingers up his chest before they grab his chin, your thumb smoothing over the dimpled skin, his lips pulling apart in a shaky exhale.
“And I am sure a good boy like you will keep that promise?”
#emperor geta#emperor geta x reader#emperor geta x you#emperor geta x y/n#emperor geta x female reader#joseph quinn#joseph quinn smut#emperor geta smut#gladiator 2#emperor geta fanfic#geta x reader#my writing#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn x you
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series: love me two times
businessman minho! x former one night stand reader (and soon to be spouse)
chapter 1: whiskey, regret, and other engagement traditions
read introduction here
word count: 3100 words
WARNINGS: strong language, sexual content (maybe eventual smut if i have the strength to), emotional manipulation, toxic family dynamics, power imbalances, alcohol use, eventual gun violence, blood and injury, blackmail, surveillance, themes of control, secrecy, betrayal, emotional repression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, psychological tension under the guise of romance, dubious business dealings, mentions of public scandal and reputation damage, manipulation via arranged marriage, and consistent, unapologetically bad decision making from most, if not all, characters involved. british humour. in case you all pussy out from that.
A/N: oh my god she's here. chapter 1 is here. i have no clue as to how this is going to end but i put my whole soul, heart, brain and dick into this fic. (which is a lot, mind you) thank you for the support on a whimsical little intro i wrote at my grandparents' house while my dog slept on my feet. thank you thank you thank you. chapter 2 coming next weekend. hopefully. also omg sho's first non lower caps fic
playlist. (coming soon)
─── Lee Minho had always been a man who thrived in chaos. Corporate wars, high-stakes meetings, and PR disasters were his playground. But even he couldn’t have predicted the one nightmare he’d spent years running from would land right back in front of him, wrapped in a perfectly tailored suit, flashing a smile that had ruined him once before.
He could handle anything…
Except the one person who had, through one night alone, known exactly how to bring him to his knees.

Lee Minho liked to think of himself as a man who could handle anything.
Corporate warfare? Child’s play. High stakes negotiations? His playground. He could charm billionaires over black coffee and through a simple peak of his collarbone, crush competitors with a smile, and walk out of a scandal cleaner than he went in, usually with a headline the press couldn’t stop foaming over.
Adaptability was his superpower. Precision, his trademark. Control? Non fucking negotiable.
At least, it had been, until you happened.
Again.
He stared at you, his supposed fiancé(e), the ghost of one of his most notable past mistakes, and thought—briefly, desperately—that maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he had worked himself into a stress-induced psychotic episode, and in reality, he was rocking back and forth in his office chair while his assistant frantically called for medical assistance. Would he be embarrassed that this would be the second time this would be happening? Maybe. Would he atleast be overjoyed by the fact that you weren't standing before him, far more gorgeous than all those years ago? Absolutely.
But no. This was real. You were real. This was happening.
You were still standing there, looking just as horrified as he felt, though, annoyingly, still unfairly attractive. Time had been disgustingly kind to you. And you had that same look in your eyes as before, the one that told him you were about seven seconds away from causing him severe emotional distress. And possibly a boner. Although he wasn't drunk enough for that. Not yet, atleast.
His brain short circuited as he watched you approach the table. You, of all people. He had been expecting a stiff, glass-of-champagne, charity-gala kind of person. Not you—the human embodiment of bad decisions and incredible, incredible sex.
Minho could laugh. His parents had unknowingly betrothed him to his favourite one-night stand. Brilliant.
“You have got to be fucking with me,” you finally said, sliding into the chair across from him.
“I wish I was,” Minho muttered, picking up his glass of whiskey and downing half of it in one go.
“So,” you said, resting your elbows on the table. “Long time no see.”
Minho blinked at you. Long time no see? You were acting like you’d bumped into him at Tesco, not like you were about to be married to the man you once absolutely ruined in a hotel room after a night of reckless decisions and expensive cocktails.
You, who had once dragged him into a bathroom stall at some questionably pricey nightclub and ruined him for every person he fucked after. Which he unashamedly agreed, were a lot. And the worst part was perhaps, that he remembered everything. He remembered the way you had looked at him that night, like you knew exactly what you were doing, like you had been born to make him suffer in the best possible way. He remembered your voice, the way you had laughed at him when he’d tried to act cool and ended up tripping over his own shoes, too fancy for him at the time. And he remembered the morning after, waking up alone, the only trace of you being a note scrawled on hotel stationery that simply read:
cheers for that. 10/10. no notes.
Minho had never been so simultaneously offended and impressed in his life.
And now? Now he was supposed to marry you? Spend forever with you...or atleast attempt to?
He took another large sip of whiskey.
“So,” you said, eyes sparkling with amusement. “How’s life been treating you? Still a bit of a man whore, or have you finally learned to keep it in your tailored trousers?”
Minho inhaled sharply through his nose. “I am a legitimate businessman.”
“Ah, so still a man whore,” you mused, nodding sagely.
Minho chose to ignore you.
"This… is a mistake," he muttered, running a hand through his usually well tamed hair. "This has to be a mistake."
"Oh, absolutely. Because otherwise we'll have to tell our parents we can’t get married because we’ve already seen each other naked," you say, leaning back in your chair with an unimpressed look. The very same that had drawn Minho to you that night. Because who did you think you were? Ignoring his wit and charm as he sat in the club's sofa, basking in attention and alcohol? The arrogant lad had decided that night, to prove himself to you. And prove, he did. A decision he didn't otherwise regret...until now.
Minho groaned and tried to reach over to his glass of whiskey, only to realise you were already drinking from it. "I swear to God, this is karma. This is divine punishment for my past sins."
"Well, considering your past sins include half of Central London, yeah, probably," you said with a shrug, swirling the now empty crystal glass.
He glared at you, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. You, in contrast, beamed at him with the kind of saccharine sweetness that suggested you were enjoying every second of his suffering. Minho noted internally, that you'd make a terrible actor, given that while the smile made it seem as though he was the only one seconds away from throwing up, your bouncing knee gave you away.
Minho, for his part, looked as though his soul had momentarily left his body. He blinked slowly, like someone trying to wake from a very specific, very inconvenient nightmare.
"Right," he said eventually, clapping his hands together in a sharp, business-like motion, as though trying to galvanise himself into action. "Let’s get this over with. How are we going to get out of this engagement?"
You shrugged nonchalantly, as if the matter were no more serious than choosing what to have for lunch. "Run away to Spain? Fake your death? Oh! You could seduce my grandmother so she convinces my father to call it off?"
"I am not seducing your grandmother."
"Coward."
Before Minho could offer a retort—no doubt a scathing one—a waiter, appeared at your table. He was the very picture of refined hospitality: all polite smiles, pressed shirt cuffs, and the faint waft of expensive cologne that trailed behind him like a signature.
"Good evening. May I start you off with a drink?"
"Whiskey. Double. Actually, just bring the bottle," Minho said, without so much as a blink, eyes still on you.
"Make that two," you added, not missing a beat, but still being polite and stable enough to break eye contact with Minho and smile at the waiter.
The attendant gave a courteous nod and retreated, leaving behind a faint trail of bergamot and judgement.
Minho exhaled slowly and dropped his head into his hands for a moment before glancing up at you, utterly defeated.
"This is going to be a disaster," he muttered, as if saying it aloud might somehow lessen the blow.
Minho barely had a moment to wallow in the tragic comedy of his predicament — engaged, against all logic, to a person who had just suggested seducing their own grandmother — before reality doubled down.
It came in the form of a booming, far-too-cheerful voice that could only belong to one man.
“Ah, Minho, you’ve met your fiancé(e)! Wonderful!”
The words rang through the restaurant and Minho flinched so hard he nearly knocked over the cutlery. He didn’t dare turn around. There was no need. He knew that voice. That was the voice of a man who thought forced betrothal was not only acceptable, but downright romantic.
His father.
Minho visibly recoiled, gripping the edge of the table as if bracing for impact. He had to physically resist the very natural urge to bang his forehead repeatedly against the pristine linen tablecloth.
And then, his parents descended upon the table in full force — exuding money, control issues, and the smug satisfaction of people who had just solved a problem by creating three more.
His mother was dressed in a sleek, couture suit that probably required its own bank account, looking every inch the woman who judged people based on the mineral content of their bottled water. His father wore the expression of someone who’d just sealed a lucrative merger and genuinely believed his son should be grateful for it.
And then there was your dad.
Looking every bit like the kind of man who once tried to bribe a headmaster with a case of vintage wine and a framed photo of himself shaking hands with a minor royal. So what if you weren't the best at studies during school? Was it really your fault that your Physics teacher was a bigger bitch than daddy dearest here?
Minho had never met him before, but he looked exactly as one might expect the father of someone like you to look—sharp suit, sharper glare, and the quiet intensity of a man who considered emotional vulnerability a personal failure. He radiated a kind of heavy, generational disappointment, like someone who’d been sighing over your life choices since the moment you learned how to form opinions of your own.
“Hello, sweetheart,” your dad said, planting a quick kiss on your forehead, affectionate in the way a CEO might congratulate a junior employee for not burning the office down. Then he turned to Minho, assessing the man who was supposed to be his future son-in-law with a look that would've made 16 year old Minho audibly whimper.
Your husband-to-be, drawing out every ounce of his professionalism, business acumen, and carefully cultivated adult composure, managed to respond with:
“Hi.”
Brilliant. Smooth. Absolutely nailed it. James Bond could never.
Your dad, unsurprisingly, looked as though he’d just been personally insulted.
Minho’s own parents, however, were beaming across the table, undoubtedly proud of their matchmaking skills.
“This is perfect,” his mother gushed, settling into her seat like she’d orchestrated the entire evening herself (she had). “I knew you two would suit each other.”
Minho let out a laugh that could only be described as emotionally strangled. Suit each other? Yes, absolutely. Because nothing screamed long term compatibility like a one-night stand from his blackout phase that he'd spent the past few years actively repressing, only to now be legally tethered to it in holy matrimony.
“So,” your dad said, leaning back in his chair with all the gravitas of a man about to sign a trade deal. “Shall we discuss the terms of this marriage?”
Terms. Terms. Marriage. Minho wasn’t sure which part of that sentence he found more horrifying — the casual contract language or the undeniable implication that none of this was a joke.
Minho looked at you, searching your face for some kind of solidarity. Instead, he found you sipping your whiskey like it was just another Wednesday, eyes half-lidded, posture relaxed—like this whole thing wasn’t giving you heart palpitations.
But oh, it was.
You weren’t calm. You were resigned. You’d played this game before. You knew exactly how your father operated: charm first, control second, and condescension somewhere in between. This wasn’t a dinner—it was a business meeting. And you were already sick of it.
“Well,” his father said briskly, “the wedding will take place in three months.”
Minho choked violently on his drink. “Three months?!”
“Yes,” his mother replied smoothly, not even blinking. “Any longer and people will start gossiping.”
Gossiping. Of course. Because obviously, public perception was the real villain here.
“Three months is plenty of time,” your dad added, nodding with the calm authority of a man who hadn’t even asked how you felt about any of this.
Minho's brown eyed flickered to you again, looking for help. A hotline number. A hint of rebellion. Something. Anything.
You just smiled at him.
It wasn’t kind.
“Now then,” your dad continued, “what about a prenup?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Minho’s father nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll have our legal teams draft it immediately.”
“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” Minho cut in, finally finding the will to form sentences again. “But- do I get a say in this?”
His mother tilted her head in that familiar, patronising way that suggested she thought his input was adorable but entirely unnecessary.
“Minho, darling,” she said, her tone one of pure condescension, “this is for your own good.”
Your dad chimed in, nodding. “If either of you had a reliable romantic track record, we wouldn’t be here. But let’s be honest-” he waved a hand vaguely in your direction “-you don’t, and-” he turned to Minho, gaze sharp and deeply insulting,“-you certainly don’t.”
You smiled tightly, jaw clenched just enough that it hurt.
Minho felt his soul attempt to vacate his body. Right there. In the middle of this overpriced, mood-lit, jazz-playing nightmare of a restaurant. He was going to die. And the only thing good about a death here would be that Art Blakey was playing in the background.
“So it’s settled,” his mother said brightly, with finality in her voice, “Three months from now, we’ll have a wedding.”
Minho turned to you. You turned to him.
You raised your glass in a slow, sarcastic toast.
“To our bright and happy future,” you said, voice honeyed, but eyes suddenly cold.
And your father smiled like he’d just won. Because unbeknownst to the two of you, he had.
•━━━━━━━━━━━•
Minho had made a lot of terrible decisions in his life. A truly impressive number. Enough to warrant a multi-part documentary series, probably titled Lee Minho: A Lifetime of Questionable Choices—with dramatic re-enactments, ominous voiceovers, and a theme song that sounded like a slow motion car crash. His friends could probably star in it too.
But agreeing (not really) to marry you?
Oh, that was shooting straight to the top of the list. Hall of fame. Permanent exhibit in the Museum of Regret.
Because it had been barely twenty four hours since the disaster that was your engagement dinner, and already, he felt his life being ruined, one sarcastic comment at a time.
“So, how long have you two been engaged?” Felix asked innocently, if one could call anything Felix did innocent, while stirring sugar into his overpriced cold brew.
Minho looked up from his coffee, eyes already tired. He’d made the mistake of inviting you to brunch with his friends. In public. With witnesses. Clearly, he’d suffered a blow to the head.
“Oh, it’s been wonderful,” you gushed. You reached over to squeeze Minho’s hand like you actually meant it. Maybe you did. Minho didn't want to bother with the details if it meant another migraine. “We’ve been informally engaged for a whole, what, twelve hours now? It’s been magical. Truly life altering. I can’t wait to be legally bound to this man forever.”
Minho squeezed your hand back. Hard.
“Yes,” he deadpanned. “Overjoyed. Thrilled. Best day of my life.”
Felix, the little gremlin, grinned, his mind already turning your worrying marriage into a soap opera. “Well, it’s about time you settled down, hyung. You’ve been a menace to society for years.”
“First of all, that is highly inappropriate. I am a legitimate businessma-”
“Mate,” Chan, Minho’s business partner, cut in. “You once forgot a woman’s name mid-bloody-date.”
“And she had to remind you,” Hyunjin added, sipping his neon-green liquid. Whatever it was.
“And you still got her number,” Seungmin chimed in, looking vaguely offended on behalf of all women. You'd be sure to send his number to your recently heartbroken friend.
Minho groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why had he thought bringing you to brunch was a good idea? Why had he brought you into public? With his friends at that? He had practically announced a 'Bully-Lee-Minho' day himself.
“Oh, don’t worry,” you said brightly. Too brightly. “He’s very devoted now. Wakes up every morning and just stares at me in awe, whispering about how lucky he is.”
Felix gasped, awestruck at the beauty of love at first sight. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” you said, smiling. “He even cries a little.”
Minho nearly inhaled his coffee. “I do not-”
“He does,” you said solemnly, giving his hand another squeeze. “It’s beautiful.”
Chan leaned back in his chair, way too entertained. “Well, I can’t wait for the wedding. Have you set a date?”
“Not yet,” Minho said quickly, cutting you off before you could say something like ‘we’re thinking next week, on a volcano.’ “We’re taking our time.”
“Oh, obviously,” you added, ever helpful. “We have to enjoy the honeymoon phase before I find out all his deep, dark secrets. Like his skincare routine, or lack thereof. Which I'll have to change either way. Or his browser history.”
Hyunjin gagged. “Please. Spare us.”
“No, no,” you mused, eyes alight with mischief. “I think he’s hiding something. Like a secret past. Maybe he was a failed K-pop trainee. Maybe he’s got a tattoo that says ‘Live, Laugh, Love.’ Or he owns a mug that says Boss Babe.”
"I actually gifted him that." Chan added, sipping his protein smoothie.
“Or if he has a pet rock named Gary, considering one of his girlfriends was Australian,” Hyunjin added and Chan nods proudly.
“Or an old TikTok account where he lipsyncs to early 2000s emo hits,” Seungmin said.
“I knew you gave eyeliner energy,” Felix muttered.
Minho buried his face in his hands. “Please. I am begging you all to stop.”
You just leaned in, resting your chin in your hand as you smiled sweetly. “Aww. He’s shy.”
Minho resisted the urge to walk directly into London traffic.
But even as the table erupted into laughter, and your brunch turned into an impromptu roast, something shifted. A cold thread of unease slid down Minho’s spine.
You were laughing, yes. Playing the part perfectly. But beneath the sparkle in your eyes was something else—something guarded. The way your smile didn’t quite reach all the way. The way your shoulders tensed every time someone mentioned the wedding, like the word itself had claws.
He couldn’t put his finger on it, not entirely. Maybe it was the text from your father that he had watched you ignore minutes ago. Maybe it was the transparent pants Hyunjin had worn years earlier making a reappearance in his head for some reason. Or maybe it was just his own overworked brain, spinning a conspiracy out of nerves and too much caffeine.
Whatever it was, Minho decided to shelve it for later. He had reports to review. Contracts to sign. A mountain of paperwork waiting for him and exactly zero emotional bandwidth to spare.
He’d figure it out. Eventually.
For now, he’d go home, finish his paperwork, and go to sleep.
Not knowing that what he’d wake up to would be far more fearsome than your father’s moustache.
Far, far worse.
Because somewhere, in a dimly lit security office, a grainy CCTV recording, dated four years ago, timestamped 2:14 a.m., was being uploaded by hands far too eager and far too vengeful.
A bed. A hotel logo in the corner. Two familiar silhouettes.
And the unmistakable beginning of the scandal that would burn everything to the ground.
...
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Yandere Hannibal Lecter Alphabet
❝ 🔪 — lady l: The more I wrote, the more I felt sorry for whoever would be the object of Hannibal's obsession... Anyway, I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! Good reading. 🤎
❝tw: yandere themes, obsessive and possessive behavior, kidnapping, cannibalism, mention of death, mention of non-consensual drug use, manipulation, gaslighting, punishments and murder.
❝🔪pairing: yandere!hannibal lecter x gender neutral!reader.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?
Hannibal likes to touch you, although his touches are more subtle. A hand on your shoulder, holding your face and looking you in the eyes, as well as holding your chin to make you look at him when he's talking to you.
He also prefers gifts and words of affirmation. Although Hannibal isn't great at expressing his feelings for you, he likes to talk philosophically as a show of love and to give you gifts. Lots of gifts.
Hannibal is not very intense in his affections, unless he is feeling jealous, otherwise, he quite soft about it.
Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?
Hannibal is willing to get very messy. He has been killing for decades, ever since he was a young boy, so brutal murders are nothing new to him.
His modus operandi doesn't change by itself, but if you are threatened or if he is jealous, Hannibal can be much more cruel and savage. Much more.
Hannibal will kill, torture, and collect some organs and meat for a romantic dinner between you later.
Blood doesn't bother him, none of that bothers him.
Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?
Hannibal will try to be patient with you. He understands that it is stressful for you to be in an unfamiliar environment and will be as gentle as he can. However, if you are rude or yell at him, Hannibal will be more stern.
He does not want to hurt you (much), but will restrain and hurt you if he feels it is necessary. You need to behave and control your tongue if you don't want to lose it.
Hannibal can indeed mock your fear and he probably will, it is in his nature. He will imitate your voice in a mocking tone and even whisper as a form of mockery.
Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?
Hannibal is a cannibal and you will follow his diet and that is non-negotiable. The most he can do is not tell you about the type of meat you are eating at first, lying that it is pork.
But if you really ask him, he will not lie. The faster you get used to him, the better your life will be. And well, Hannibal cooks very well, doesn't he?
Cannibalism would be the only thing he would force you to do. He is a monster, yes, but he would never force himself on you or anything that could traumatize you too much.
Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?
Hannibal will hardly show his heart to you, at least at first. He doesn't trust easily and even then, he still has mistrust.
He could be kinder and more open about his affections for you but never expose himself too much. He doesn't want to give you a chance to use it against him. But you wouldn't be this stupid, right?
However, Hannibal could open up to you about his past little by little and tell you about his sister, for example. The most vulnerability you would get from him would be his eyes slightly teary and his lips trembling as he tells you about her.
Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?
Hannibal wouldn't be surprised by this, in fact, he would be surprised if you didn't fight back him when he kidnapped you.
He wouldn't be annoyed or particularly bothered. He's already expected this behavior from you and he's already prepared to correct it. However, if this isn't resolved quickly, Hannibal will use more persuasive methods on you, such as flashing light therapy.
Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?
It's not a game to Hannibal. He didn't kidnap you because he was bored and wanted something to play with, but because he's obsessed with you and wants to keep you with him.
But he'll have fun watching you try to escape him. He knows you won't make it, that he'll always be ten steps ahead of you. You can try all you want, but you'll fail. And Hannibal will be watching while he sips a glass of thousand-dollar wine with a grin on his face.
Run as much as you want but he will always catch you in the end.
Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?
Cannibalism and flashing light therapy.
Hannibal will eventually tell you the truth about the origin of the meat you consume. Since it is from a close friend you had, perhaps a member of your family, he will appreciate your reaction to it. He is so cold and calm about it, as if it is no big deal and to him, it is not.
Hannibal will subject you to flashing light therapy with his own cocktail of drugs to manipulate and gaslight you and you will only have memory lapses. Not knowing what he did to you, what he made you do, is scary in itself.
Only he knows what he did, the things he does to you. Just as he has complete control over you.
Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?
Hannibal is a man who lives in the present, and doesn't usually think much about the future. Well, he was like that until he met you and discovered that he wants to think about a future with you.
He likes to imagine the two of you killing together, enjoying and sharing the meat of your hunt with a good wine while exchanging affectionate glances. A big house in Florence, his favorite city. And, perhaps, a family of your own one day.
It sounds like a perfect future with you for both of you, don't you agree?
Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?
When Hannibal Lecter gets jealous, people die. It's that simple.
He doesn't know how to handle his feelings for you, but that doesn't mean you have the right to give your attention to someone else, to an unworthy pig. How dare you? How dare they?
Hannibal will make sure to give a very painful and undignified death to whoever made him jealous and the two of you will have a lovely dinner later.
Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?
Hannibal likes to watch you. He always has his eyes on you, even if he's paying attention to something else, whether it's reading, cooking or playing his harpsichord. And he loves to watch you sleep; there have been countless times when you've woken up with him looking at you like a predator.
He's always watching you and nothing goes unnoticed. If you sigh differently, if your posture is softer or sterner, he'll notice and know something's wrong.
Hannibal is gentle with you, in his own way. He won't hurt you unless he deems it necessary. His hugs are always protective and possessive, as are his kisses. There's no reason for him to be cruel to you if you don't give him a reason to.
Just behave and you'll be rewarded.
Love Letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?
Hannibal will prefer to approach you without having to kidnap you at first (but he is not against doing so).
His courtship of you will be in the most traditional and chivalrous manner possible. Hannibal is a gentleman. He will take you on romantic dates, cook for you, read to you, draw elaborate and perfect pictures of your beauty, give you flowers, pull out your chair for you, open the door for you... Hannibal will not let anything go unnoticed. He wants to charm you and he will succeed.
His approach to you will not be subtle. Hannibal is very confident and he knows how to gain people's trust, even if he seems and acts strange. And he knows that with you it will be no different.
Hannibal will make it clear from the beginning that he is interested in you. And he will do everything to court you and, if it doesn't work for some reason, well, he can always be more direct and kidnap you. Whichever comes first.
Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?
Yes. Hannibal wears a person suit and his true nature is very different from what he shows to the world.
Only you are allowed to see it and be alive, you are the only one he has allowed to know the real him. Anyone who has caught a glimpse of the monster beneath has ended up at his dinner table. How lucky of you.
He may look like the typical "weird European", but that is part of his image, carefully polished over the years. Hannibal is monstrous, cruel, and a sadist beast beneath his person's suit.
Naughty: How would they punish their darling?
Hannibal's punishments are usually very elaborate and calculated. He doesn't do anything on impulse or without thinking it through, and this is also reflected in the way he punishes you.
Hannibal doesn't usually use physical force to do this. He can tie you up and gag you if he thinks it's necessary, but he'll be as loving as he can. However, this doesn't stop him from choking you or holding your face so tightly that one movement could break your neck. Wordless threats are his favorite form of punishment; just seeing the fear, the recognition in your eyes of his control over you, over your life, is enough for him.
In more extreme cases of disobedience and disrespect, he can drug you and use his famous flashing light therapy to correct your bad behavior.
Opression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?
All he deems necessary.
Hannibal doesn't want to degrade you, but he will take away your rights if you are disobedient and try to fight him. Although he is a very patient man, he also has limits and will have no problem taking everything from you.
Your basic rights will become privileges. Except for food, don't worry, Hannibal won't let you go hungry. But the rest? He would take away everything from you.
Your freedom, your privacy, your safety. Everything.
Patience: How patient are they with their darling?
Very patient.
Hannibal is a very patient man, he can wait years to kill someone for a simple offense, so why wouldn't he be patient with his darling?
Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?
If you die, Hannibal will spend the rest of his days in melancholy and missing you deeply. He will honor your body in whatever way he sees fit, whether it be eating you to keep you with him forever or preserving your body so he can still talk to you even though you are no longer alive.
If you managed to escape, Hannibal would hunt you to the ends of the earth. He has plenty of time and money to do so, and he knows he will eventually find you, even if you flee to another country. It is just a matter of when and what he will do to you for daring to try to leave him.
Perhaps amputating your legs would be a good way to start. But don't worry, you won't feel any pain.
Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?
No. Hannibal doesn't feel guilty, and if he does, it's not much. He may have regrets, but he definitely doesn't feel guilty about kidnapping you.
You've always been his, and taking what's rightfully yours isn't wrong. He's just taking what's always belonged to him.
And Hannibal would never let you go.
Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?
Hannibal cannot be defined by a trauma. He was always a monster, he was always destined to become one, he just repressed it before his sister died.
Nothing happened to him. He happened.
He has always been this way and he has no problem or shame in admitting it.
Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?
Hannibal is a sadist in every sense of the word. He doesn't necessarily need to cause physical pain to someone to enjoy their pain, their suffering.
But with you... He tends to be softer, although his nature doesn't change. He may enjoy seeing you cry, just so he can be the one to dry your tears. And he will definitely draw you crying afterwards. And only he can make you cry.
Anger is an emotion of yours that he can handle well, only if you are not rude or disrespectful to him. Otherwise, Hannibal will have to punish you for bad behavior.
He will not let you isolate yourself. Hannibal will leave you alone when you need him, but he will not let you isolate yourself. You will still have to talk to him and be around him when he wants you to.
Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?
His curiosity.
Hannibal is not much different from the classic yandere, just more curious. His curiosity is motivated by several reasons and this can make him much more cruel to you.
Out of pure curiosity, Hannibal can simply kill someone you love and then serve you that person's organs and then tell you the origin, the truth, just because he is curious to know how you will react to it.
And he certainly will not be dissatisfied with your reaction.
Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?
Hannibal doesn't usually show his weaknesses to anyone, not even you. He is very careful and meticulous in everything he does and says.
However, you are his main weakness. Hannibal doesn't know how to deal with his feelings for you healthily and if anything were to happen to you, he could react very badly to it. Hannibal has even thought about killing you several times just to get rid of his main weakness but he cannot bring himself to actually go through with it.
If you tried to kill yourself or something like that, he might be a little disconcerted and more reckless in keeping you protected. Hannibal's strange emotions can be a weakness, but remember, he is always at least ten steps ahead of you and he can easily tell if you are planning something.
Wit's End: Would they ever hurt their darling?
Yes. Hannibal has no problem hurting you to make you behave.
He will not leave visible marks on your body or face, though. You are a work of art to him and he does not want to ruin you.
Art is supposed to be beautiful to look at and any marks destroy its original value.
Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?
Hannibal would rather be adored than worship you. He wants you to see him as your protector, as the only person who can fully understand and accept you.
However, he always compliments you and touches you in a more reverent way, as if he were touching something fragile that could easily be broken. Hannibal would love to show you off to others, to have you in his arms, perfect and immaculate, while he introduces you to the elite.
His care in touching you is the ultimate in adoration he shows you, as is showing you off.
He doesn't do well with boundaries and always goes beyond them, so Hannibal has no limits on what he would do to win his darling. Everything is within his acceptable range.
Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?
As mentioned before, Hannibal is a very patient man, but he won't be so patient when it comes to getting you for himself.
If his courtship isn't working, or worse, if you are interested in someone else, Hannibal will drop everything he was trying to build with you in the right way and kidnap you.
I'd say a few months, depending on the situation.
Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?
Yes.
Hannibal would have no problem breaking you, making you a shell of your true self. While it is not his ultimate goal, if you give him no other option, he will do it without hesitation.
He would rather have you as a broken doll than not have you at all.
But don't worry, he will take good care of you. Hannibal always takes good care of his belongings.
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Tom Riddle NSFW Alphabet
Afterwards
Giving aftercare? Before marriage it is Rare, but deliberate. He won’t cuddle, but he’ll silently clean her with magic, fetch a glass of water, and fix her hair. Acts like it’s routine, not intimate.
Receiving aftercare? Doesn’t like being doted on. Finds it weak. But if she gently runs fingers through his hair post-orgasm, he’ll allow it without comment.
Falling asleep after? Never. Tom stays awake, even after intense sex, quietly watching his partner like a puzzle he hasn’t finished solving.
Beg
He lives to make Y/N beg. He draws it out—makes her say everything, clearly, shamefully. “Say what you want. Use your words.”
He doesn’t beg—ever. But his version of needing her sounds like this: “You’ll stay. Whether you want to or not.”
Body
Favorite on himself: His hands. Elegant, pale, deadly—he uses them to manipulate everything, including her.
On Y/N: Her throat (he watches it when she swallows or moans) and her inner thighs. He likes seeing her marked up.
Erogenous zones: His lower abdomen and jawline are surprisingly reactive to soft touches. Biting his neck? Dangerous, but effective.
Clothing
Prefers sex partially clothed—loves lifting her skirt, pulling her panties aside, unbuttoning only what’s necessary.
He sees nudity as a reveal, not a given. He undresses her slowly, controlling every second.
Cum
Takes a while—controlled. He’ll edge himself if it means delaying gratification.
Loves cumming inside—it’s ownership to him.
Also enjoys pulling out and watching it drip down her thighs. He calls it his mark.
Delay
Absolutely. He denies her orgasms often—and makes her thank him after.
Doesn’t enjoy his being delayed unless he’s the one doing it for control.
Dirty Talk
Master of it. Low, calm, calculated. “Do you hear how wet you are just from my voice?”
Likes when Y/N appeals to his power: “Please, Tom—I’ll be good, I’ll do anything.” That drives him over the edge.
Drive
Very high sex drive, but it’s purposeful. Not a need—it’s a choice.
When obsessed, he’ll have her multiple times a day, just to watch her fall apart.
Dynamic
100% dominant. Cold control, never brutish.
Shows dominance with restraint, orders, and denial. If she tries to top, he lets her get exactly two minutes in before flipping her and whispering, “You tried.”
Eyes
Must be watched. Eye contact is non-negotiable.
Mirrors? He adores them. “Look at yourself while I use you.”
Fantasy
Public sex where no one knows what he’s doing to her.
Magical bondage with enchanted restraints she can’t see but can feel.
G-Spot
Expert at finding it. He treats her G-spot like a lesson in anatomy.
Toys? He’ll use them on her while watching closely, correcting her reactions: “That’s not how a good girl moans.”
Hair
Immaculate. Groomed, styled, and maintained.
On her? He prefers natural— but doesn’t care just wants her.
Humiliation
Loves degrading her, especially when she’s desperate.
Calls her “needy,” “slutty,” “mine.”
Hates being degraded himself—sees it as weakness.
Impact
He doesn’t spank for fun. If he does it, it’s punishment.
Slaps her ass with control, sometimes between thrusts. Always leaves her red.
Kink
Primary kinks: Power play, orgasm denial, begging, mirror sex, degradation.
Curious about more extreme control play: magical restraints, possession.
Turned off by full submission from the other party—he wants her to break for him, not hand it over too easily.
Lingerie
Loves her in black or deep red. Lace, sheer, or strappy.
He doesn’t comment—just stares, unblinking. But he always fucks her harder when she wears it.
Location
Favorite: In front of a mirror.
Risky places? Yes. His desk, the Slytherin dorms, empty classrooms. “You’ll stay quiet. Or I’ll stop.”
Lube
Usually doesn’t need it—she’s soaked from his words alone.
If he uses it, it’s enchanted: warming or tingling.
Marks
Marks her everywhere. Thighs, collarbone, back. “Let them see who did this.”
Doesn’t like being marked visibly, but will tolerate bite marks where no one else can see.
Music
If anything, classical or ambient dark tones. For aesthetic and control.
Not loud—he likes hearing her.
Names
She calls him “Tom” in public, “ My Lord” or “Sir” in bed.
He calls her “pet,” “slut,” “darling,” or “my love.” Varies by mood.
Orgasm
His orgasm is quiet, intense. Voice low, breathing heavy, face barely cracking.
Doesn’t shake—controls it.
Makes her come first. Always. Even if he has to hold her down to make it happen.
Positions
Favorite: Doggy style, face in the pillow, one hand around her throat.
Likes folded-over missionary—keeps her legs against her chest so he can go deep and watch her face.
Dislikes lazy positions where he’s not fully in control.
Praise
Rare. Earned. “Good girl,” said low and rough, is a reward.
Loves hearing her praise him. “No one else can fuck me like you.”
Queen
Definitely a size king. He likes how much she feels him.
Watches her stretch around him—“Look at that. You’re taking it all.”
Restraint
Big into restraint—especially magical.
She wakes up not knowing how her hands are tied. But they are.
Never restrained himself.
Sensation
Temperature play: hot wax, ice cubes, warmed lube. Loves her reactions.
Slight pain? Yes. Controlled.
Sensitive to soft fabrics and feather-light touches on his inner thighs.
Sexting
Rarely initiates. But if she starts it? He replies with cold, precise instructions.
No nudes—he prefers words. His voice is filthier than any photo.
Size
Long and thick. Definitely above average. Slight curve.
Veiny, with a flushed head.
He knows exactly how to use it—and doesn’t rush.
Sounds
Not loud—his voice is soft but constant.
Low growls, quiet commands, and gritted teeth when he’s close.
Loves hearing her—the louder she gets, the rougher he gets.
Stimulation
Loves giving oral—but only when she’s been good.
His fingers are magic—literally and figuratively.
Most sensitive to tongue on his lower abdomen and behind his ear.
Strip
Will undress her piece by piece.
Likes when she performs for him. Standing over her fully clothed while she’s naked is his favorite power play.
Style
Rough. Controlled. Filthy.
Doesn’t “make love.” He takes.
Fast and deep, unless he’s punishing her—then it’s slow and torturous.
Top or Bottom
Dominant top.
Likes giving oral more than receiving—it’s another form of control.
Penetrates with purpose. Forces eye contact the entire time.
Tease
Master teaser. Edges her with fingers or tongue until she’s crying.
Hates being teased—will pin her down the second she tries.
Toys
Uses them on her—blindfolds, wands, vibrators.
Watches closely while they overstimulate her. Sometimes makes her hold one between her thighs at dinner.
Turn On
Intelligence. Desperation. Obedience.
A quiet “please” from her mouth will make him lose control.
Volume
Low but intense.
She gets louder = he gets meaner. Loves making her scream his name through clenched teeth.
Wet
Shower sex: Yes. Tight space, water trailing over their skin? He loves the control.
Not a fan of oceans/lakes—too unpredictable. He needs control, not chaos.
#anawritez smutt#smut#tom riddle smut#tom riddle x y/n#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle fan fic#tom riddle
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Mercury in Houses & Signs - How does Mercury govern their languages, tones, thoughts?
♡♡♡



❥ Mercury in Houses
Mercury in the 1st House - Enhances intellect and self-awareness, often prone to overthinking
Mercury in the 2nd House - Skilled in negotiation, places importance on financial matters
Mercury in the 3rd House - Excellent communication skills, enjoys traveling
Mercury in the 4th House - Values family and home life
Mercury in the 5th House - Proficient in intellectual games, enjoys performing
Mercury in the 6th House - Emphasizes health and well-being
Mercury in the 7th House - Values and admires an intelligent partner
Mercury in the 8th House - Enjoys studying mysticism and has the ability to uncover secrets
Mercury in the 9th House - Likes to enrich oneself through reading
Mercury in the 10th House - Mostly engaged in intellectual and research-oriented work
Mercury in the 11th House - Has a larger circle of friends
Mercury in the 12th House - Prefers to keep their thoughts and ideas hidden
❥ Mercury in signs
Mercury in Aries - they tend to speak directly and lack patience and sometimes are stubborn with their words.
Mercury in Taurus - they are shrewd and conservative in their speech. They carefully choose their words. They are good at leaving themselves room to maneuver.
Mercury in Gemini - they are skilled at communication and may use a mix of truth and fiction in their speech.
Mercury in Cancer - they are are sensitive and empathetic communicators, they avoid using harsh words when they genuinely like someone. They prioritize maintaining emotional connections in their communication.
Mercury in Leo - They have a strong desire to be seen as right and may express themselves boldly and confidently, sometimes even exaggerating their points to prove themselves correct.
Mercury in Virgo - They are known for their precise and clear communication style. They express themselves with clarity and attention to detail, ensuring that what they say aligns with what they think. They value accuracy and practicality in their speech.
Mercury in Libra - They are skilled at sweet-talking and using tactful language. However, their ability to follow through on their words may vary, as they prioritize maintaining harmony and balance in their relationships.
Mercury in Scorpio - they are sarcastic and may disregard others' feelings. They have a sharp and sarcastic communication style. They may disregard the feelings of others unless they have a deep emotional connection. They are often straightforward and unafraid to speak their minds, even if it may come across as harsh.
Mercury in Sagittarius - they tend to speak impulsively and without much filter. They may say things without fully considering the consequences and often forget their words quickly.
Mercury in Capricorn - they take responsibility for their words and have a serious and practical approach to communication. They prefer to speak with purpose and avoid engaging in meaningless conversations. They value clarity and reliability in their speech.
Mercury in Aquarius - they hold strong opinions and are often resistant to changing their views. They can be persuasive communicators and have the ability to influence and even brainwash others. They are independent thinkers who value intellectual stimulation.
Mercury in Pisces - People with Mercury in Pisces speak based on imagination and intuition. They are easily influenced or misled, but they can also be manipulative and deceptive.
It is advisable to approach astrology as a tool for self-reflection and guidance rather than relying solely on it for making major life decisions.
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dots and dashes | sylus

summary: Sylus gives insight into one of the many languages he's well-versed in.
tags: nsfw (mdni), established relationship, afab!reader, banter, morse code, vibrator, sex toys, orgasm edging, f!orgasm, aftercare/morning after, gift giving, evol abilites (sylus' energy manipulation), a pinch of fluff
wc: 2.6k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist
a/n: mildly inspired by one of his older text messages (affinity 37’s text message: deal)! also around his pre-debut, he had morse code in one of the teasers (official weibo post here) and i thought that was pretty neat so here we are ^_^)7
The leader of Onychinus kept a plethora of languages stored away under his sleeve. A man of multiple tongues and talents, you just wanted to know how to say one thing—anything, really.
Though, you didn’t think he’d take a silly comment in passing so seriously, and it landed you in his personal study the following evening. A rare day where your schedules aligned, Sylus took the opportunity to extend a warm welcome into the N109 Zone under the promise of a ‘lesson.’
Of all the languages, morse code was what he decided to reveal in his cards. A curious choice, to say the least, but it piqued your interest nevertheless. Cozied in one of the cushioned chairs, a beginner’s guide laid flat across the desk with your scribbled notes. Sylus’ chair was tucked to the side in observation, accompanying your lessons as a stand-in teacher of sorts.
Time passed in this way—he would offer a series of taps and drags with his fingers against the surface, and you would write them down. He was patient with you all throughout, solidifying the foundation for the alphabet before switching to small words and phrases.
A question that had been plaguing your mind since you arrived drifted into the air during a self-proclaimed break. “By the way, why do you know morse code?”
With a hand propping your chin, your gaze takes in his relaxed figure. Comfortably dressed in his light gray sweater, the detailed threads of silver patterns painted him in a softer aura that juxtaposed his usually formidable appearance. Rimless glass coveted the rubied gaze that would occasionally meet yours, though occupied in thought.
It was distracting, to say the least. A handsome distraction at its finest, though it doesn’t pull away from the message he quietly relayed to you.
A dot, two dashes. A series of dashes, another dot and some more followed. (.-- / --- / .-. / -.-)
Counting off the units that met the table in muted taps, you answer, “Work?”
“Good ear, sweetie.” Sylus nods, leaning back and adjusting the thin frames balancing atop his nose. “Sometimes, negotiations are better said without words.”
“That’s a thinly veiled way of saying threats, but sure,” you retort. He doesn’t deny your claims, rather letting out a small chuckle in acquiesce.
Sylus taps your forehead with his forefinger, amusement quirked in his brow. “You’ve seen the kind of talks and people I’ve dealt with. Who knows, you could use this in one of your little undercover missions too.”
His hands return to nestle in his lap, and it catches your eye then—a faint snap and swirl of black manifested into a box underneath his palm. Perfectly fitted and nearly hidden if it weren’t for the glimmering trim around the edges, and the fluttering crow feather swaying towards the floor.
“Curious, are we?” Sylus voices your thoughts, fingers drumming against the lid.
Two dashes and a dot, a couple more dots, another dash-dot and lasting dash. (--. / .. / ..-. / -)
“Gift,” you echo upon realization.
Your eyes wandered between his lap and the sparkling rubied gaze that honed his presence, reading between the lines. “Don’t tell me it’s another gun? Last time I checked, my Harrier 700 still works well.”
And the last thing you wanted to deal with was a run-in with customs, if that were the case—he’s already tried his luck before, and you weren’t counting on his luck index to grant a second chance.
“You’ve been taking good care of it, so there’s no need for a replacement,” Sylus says. He leans back, tapping a forefinger to his temple in thought. “I thought it would be nice to get you something for studying so diligently.”
It had your back straightening in attention—now you really had no idea what he could be hiding. Even so, a scowl sketched onto your face, wondering if you’ve walked into a trap. A dry chuckle parts his lips at your clear interest and adamant attempt to maintain a façade all the same.
“Sweetie, it’s all yours.”
“It’s not that simple though, is it?”
“Ah. You know me so well,” he muses. “As vigilant as ever.”
The box finds itself on the desk and his hands reach for your chair. They dance over the armrest before turning your full front towards him—where his cocked head and curled lips asked, “Let’s make a deal. How does that sound?”
“What’s the catch?” Your heart jumped into your throat, unsure of when the air became so… palpable. Damn him and his ridiculously handsome face, you couldn’t tell if it made this more bearable or stirred your senses further. “I might be willing to wager.”
“Relax, that’s one of the conditions.” His larger fingers swipe over one of yours, which had subconsciously curled into a fist. Gently, he coaxes your hand to open into his, soon neatly slotted and all encompassing with warmth. “You look nervous, and I haven’t done a thing.”
“I know.” Your shoulders relax when his thumb massages yours in a light stroke. “But you haven’t done anything yet,” you clarify.
“Which brings me to my second condition.” He brings it closer to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours when he presses a kiss to your knuckles. “A test, if you will. You pass if you manage to decode my sequence correctly.”
“My sequence,” you pause, catching the tail end of his proposal. “So there’s only one?”
“Why, do you want a whole pop quiz?” He snickers, a brow raised. “We’ll be stuck here all night if that’s the case.”
“Nevermind,” you shake your head, finding the prospect to be less than charming. One was more than enough to take on your plate.
You purse your lips then and poke in jest. “Are you doubting my academic prowess now?”
“I would’ve dismissed you entirely if I was,” Sylus points out, tugging your hand towards him.
It jerked you forward unexpectedly, though it seemed he was anticipating this—smooth swirls of red and black tangled around your body, gently placing you atop his expecting lap before softly dispersing. “There’s no doubt in my mind you’re as bright as they come,” he adds in honesty.
“What the—hey, now!” A flush ran across your cheeks at the newfound proximity.
Hips hovering above him, you nearly fell onto the fine meeting place between his thighs. You save yourself the embarrassment, reaching for the chair’s headrest to steady your shift. He allows you this much, your legs soon bracketing his own and enjoying the sight all the same.
You huffed, “Is this part necessary?”
“Par for the course, actually.” Sylus’ fingers ghost over your sides, before settling atop your thighs and his palms lying flat in a gentle caress. “You can always back out if you’re not game.”
An arrow to your pride dug into your heart at the mere offense. The competitive spirit that once laid dormant jerked into consciousness—absolutely not. “No, we’re on. Do your worst,” you raise in steadfast confidence. “I can take it.”
“Those are fighting words,” he says. The glint in his eyes was unmistakable, teetering on a fine line of fondness and scheme alike. “But I’ll hold you to it.”
—
So, maybe your confidence could only carry you so far.
Rather, it tumbled you into a predicament at the cost of your exposed cunt. His free hand lazily dimpled into the plush of your hip, simultaneously careful to keep you steady. No longer a comfortable chill, the study’s air swirled into a concoction of heat and burning salacity in every inhale.
“Sweetie,” Sylus purrs. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
It wasn’t for a lack of trying. The game of codes was the last thing on your mind when a fine man of caliber was perched beneath you, gracefully stringing you along and allowing you the same right.
Easily thrown out the window, especially so, when all inhibition was lost to his kneaded touches and peppered kisses. The smooth movements that treasured your skin with care, tugging your bottoms down just enough in the process and tenderly appreciating you throughout the heat of the moment. Even his hair stuck out in one direction to the next, unkempt from the field day your tugging fingers reshaped the silver stands into.
Be that as it may, you still groan, chest rising to catch your breath. Nails drag into planes of his firm shoulder blades, lightly leaving their mark. “It’s because you’re not playing fair, Sy.” If you had a nickel for every time you were close to crashing in his embrace from an impending climax, it would be two. While it’s not an impressive sum, both were earned in the past few minutes alone, under the direction of his cunning smile and newfound toy in hand.
To his kindness, he pulls the rounded head of the vibrator away from your clit—the once muffled hums rang out more clearly, whirring at the highest setting. It glistened to the naked eye, finely coated in a layer of your evident arousal.
“All is fair in love and war,” he says, unphased by the line of bait you failed to reel in. He leans forward to press a kiss into your temple, a sign of affection pairing with a gentle squeeze to your side. “Should I be nice and walk you through one last chance?”
Your hands trace the curves melting into his neck, grazing his nape in forewarning. “Thin ice, Onychinus head.”
“Alright,” he muses, though reveling at the added pressure that only spurs him further. “No need to get so formal with me.” The vibrator lowers in the same breath to meet your anticipating heat.
“Five letters. Ready?”
Your hips roll forward then, impatience losing its virtue if meant you could finally, finally seek some relief. “Was practically born ready, at this point.” And then, the first rhythm played out in three, gentle presses to where you needed it most.
Three dots. (...)
This was fine, you could handle this much.
A moment of pause soon sways into the vibrator sliding between skin, returning to the apex of your labia, and dipping once again.
A dash, added dot, and paired dashes thereafter. (-.--) “Still with me?” Sylus asks, taking in the sight of your eyes screwed in concentration. It was endearing, in some sense of the word, and his gaze lingered on your expression in intrigue.
Though grateful for the concern, you chide when your breath allows it. “Don’t stop, go all the way already.”
To stop halfway tested what little patience there was left in you. You raised your head to find his circles of crimson brimming with a fondness and undivided attention. All for you.
The grin he graces you with carries the same sentiments, newly tinted with mirth. “Whatever the boss wants.”
The humming returns without warning, and you jerk against the touch, gasping. A press and slide, following upwards once more in double succession.
Another dot, dash, and two dots in a row. (.-.. )
You were quickly beginning to piece together the puzzle he left you to solve, the audacity of it all.
Before you could admonish such revelations, you bite your tongue when he continues into the next piece. It was fleeting, but memorable—identical presses and a sinister slide, the buzzing toy greeting your entrance in slick abundance.
Two dots, and a dash. (..- )
“You’re not—” Your eyes grow wide at the newly placed prodding.
“Getting cold feet? A minute ago you wanted me to go all the way,” Sylus recalls with a click of his tongue. “It would be unlike you to stop right before the finish line, sweetie.”
You squirm against him, sensitive and incredibly aware of the coil threatening to unfurl. He takes notice, hand stilling in consideration.
“You can do it,” he croons, forehead to yours and capturing your fluttering gaze.
“Never said I couldn’t,” you say, a swallow sealing your determination.
Sylus smiles. “Last letter. Let's make it count.” The vibrator slips into your cunt, whirring against your walls in a sense of overwhelming ecstasy. He makes quick work of it all then, three generous thrusts of the wand disappearing almost entirely, save for his firm grip around the base.
Three final dots. (...)
It marks the end of his charades, and the beginning of your incandescent cries.
You came undone at last, release ebbing as a flurry of sounds shape themselves into your call. “Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.”
“That’s it, ride it out for me. You worked so hard to earn it, after all.” His nose brushes just beneath your jaw, a tender kiss in consolation to soothe your high.
He relaxes the toy out of your spent heat by the time your trembling thighs subsided, power shutting off and rolling onto the desk’s surface. A brief swirling of black and crimson manifests a small cloth into his hand, gently patting away the stickied outcome before it disperses in the same specks. His fingers rake along your sides, dragging the fabric of your bottoms into their proper place.
“Sylus.” You slump against his shoulder in recovery, bemoaning amidst the moment of calm clarity. “You are unbelievable. The damn answer was your name, of all things.” “And now you know how to call for me in code. Aren’t I generous?” The slight rumble of his chest supports the chuckle he lets out, deepened further when a curl of your fist smacks his shoulder in protest.
Endearment softens his tone as he draws circles into your back, taking the rolling punches. The other tangles his fingers against your temple, smoothing out the sides in thought. “I would say our lesson went well today.”
“One hell of a lesson,” you remark. Your breathing slows for a moment, listening to the drumming heart beneath your ear. His caresses were kind, lulling, attentive. A sense of peace, wholeheartedly yours and Sylus' alone.
Your gaze shifts towards the desk, when another piece of memory, well-decorated in its untouched trim, lies next to the toy. Forgotten, nearly—the gift. “By the way,” you murmur. “What’s in the box?” Whether it was out of laziness and unwilling to move from your warmth or pure convenience, Sylus waves his hand in summoning. Accepting the floating item midair, you were about to peel off the lid when he began to shift under you, interrupting your grand reveal.
“Hold on.”
With practiced ease, Sylus single-handedly cradles you to his chest and adeptly rises from the cushioned seat. No matter how many times he’s pulled it off in the past, it still leaves you breathless as if it were the first time.
You circle an arm around his neck, the other clutching the box with a huff, “I was about to do an unboxing, you know.”
“I know,” he confirms, and presses another kiss to your temple. “But you’re getting sleepy. Open it after a good night’s rest.”
A swirl of Evol pushes the doors open, his footsteps echoing down the hall and towards his sanctuary. Your mind willed to protest his attempt of procrastination, yet only a yawn pushed past your lips and proved his point.
Curling into his embrace, you faintly mumble into his neck, “I’m wide awake.”
“And the sun shines at midnight,” Sylus deadpans, unimpressed at your performance. “Don’t fight it. If you’re tired, then sleep. I’ll make sure the gift will be there when you wake up.” “You promise?”
“With my heart,” he says.
It was a simple response, yet the timbre of his words imbued security and affection all the same. As if he meant more than just ensuring your box was safe, swearing to something beyond your greater comprehension.
One blink lasted longer than the one prior, sweeping the thought and yourself away into soundless sleep. Another time, perhaps.
—
You would find out the following day that he stayed true to his word. In the quiet hums of the morning, a slumbering giant clung to your side, his breathing calm and unknowing you had finally peeled open the mysterious box.
A finely crafted jewel twinkled amidst padded velvet, a clasp secured on one end. Engravings inlaid in a series of familiar dots and dashes; you couldn't help but softly laugh, a finger tracing the pattern.
(-... . .-.. --- ...- . -..)
Beloved.
#kinktober#love and deepspace#sylus#love and deepspace smut#sylus smut#lads smut#lnds smut#lnd smut#lads x reader#lnds x reader#lnd x reader#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace scenarios#love and deepspace fic#sylus x reader#sylus x you#love and deepspace sylus#lads sylus#lnd sylus#lnds sylus#gklnd#grandisknight fics#grandisknight kinktober
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I’ve spoken before about the importance of healthy, respectful behavior from Dominants and how damaging poor dominance can be. But today, I want to gently shine a light on the other side of the slash. Because while submission is a beautiful, vulnerable offering… it’s also a role that comes with responsibility. And sometimes, submissives (just like Dominants) can fall into patterns of poor etiquette, disrespect, or even toxic behavior. Please understand that this isn’t about blame, shame or character assassination. It’s about creating awareness.
So let’s talk about a few behavior that can be harmful coming from the submissive side.
🖤 Topping from the bottom. This doesn’t mean expressing a need or asking for negotiation, it means trying to control the scene while it's happening. If you’ve consented to submit, then suddenly start giving instructions, correcting your Top, or trying to steer the entire experience without consent, you’re not submitting, you’re attempting to dominate the Dominant. And in a scene, this can not only break the energy, it can be deeply damaging and disrespectful. And in worst case scenario it can force the dominant into a Dom drop.
Something to keep in mind: If you can't surrender, you're not ready to submit.
*do not confuse this with Power Bottoms.
🖤 Withholding communication or using emotional shutdown as control. Going silent after a scene, refusing to use your safeword but still holding resentment, or using vulnerability as leverage (“If you loved me, you’d know what I need”), that’s not healthy submission. That’s emotional manipulation. You are responsible for your voice, your words, and your accountability.
🖤 Ignoring boundaries and consent. Yes, Dominants have boundaries too. No, we don’t exist solely to fulfill your fantasies on demand. Sending explicit messages without consent, pressing for intimacy, or guilt-tripping for attention is not cute. It’s disrespectful.
🖤 Entitlement masked as submission. Just because you want to serve someone doesn’t mean they owe you their time, dominance, or energy. Offering your submission doesn’t guarantee it will be accepted, and expecting otherwise is deeply inappropriate.
🖤 Emotional manipulation or sulking when corrected Power exchange isn’t one long validation session. Sometimes you’ll be corrected, held accountable, or reminded of a boundary. If your response is to pout, guilt-trip, or withdraw affection to punish your Dominant, that’s not submission. It's immaturity.
🖤 Using trauma or insecurity to avoid accountability. We all carry wounds. But weaponizing your past to excuse poor behavior, dodge growth, or demand someone else to carry your emotional load is unfair to everyone involved. Healing is a journey, and yes, a Dominant can be part of that. But the dominant isn't your therapist, and they aren't there to carry what you’re unwilling to face.
🖤 Bratting without negotiation. A little brattiness can be charming if it’s consensual, desired, and part of the dynamic. But bratting as a constant challenge to authority, especially without discussion, is just another form of disrespect.
🖤 Publicly disrespecting your Dom/me (or any Dom/me). Whether it’s sarcasm, teasing, or trying to embarrass your Dom/me in front of others- if it hasn’t been negotiated, it’s not dynamic play... it’s humiliation. And that’s a hard no.
Something to keep in mind: a submissive who can’t honor their Dominant publicly isn’t ready to serve them privately.
🖤 Comparing your Dom/me to others. Your Dominant is not a customizable fantasy doll. They are a person. And telling them someone else was “stricter,” “hotter,” or “more intense” is just a way to show you don’t know how to honor what you have.
So being a submissive does not exempt you from being self-aware, respectful, and emotionally present. In fact, those qualities make your submission more powerful, more beautiful, and more worthy of being held with care.
Just as I believe Dominance must be practiced with care, structure, and responsibility… Submission should be practiced with honesty, humility, and reverence.
You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be intentional. So if you’re going to kneel, do it with a heart ready to listen.
#bd/sm blog#lesbian domme#domme/sub#dominance and submission#awareness post#this could be good guidelines to keep#bd/sm community#bd/sm mommy#domme mommy#d/s relationship#d/s sub#d/s lifestyle
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so, i've been working on this anakin skywalker/darth vader series and i thought about some fluffy/smutty things with anakin. so, enjoy! these may seem a bit out of character, but let's just say that if anakin wasn't manipulated by palpatine, this is who he would be, just a man in complete and utter love with his girl <3 (also, this is one of my first times writing for him, so be kind pls!)
warnings/tags: senator!fem!reader, fluff, obi-wan knows but pretends not to, ahsoka and rex are little shits, the 501st, anakin is a loverboy, smut, anakin is a munch (i'm sorry, but it's true), oral (f!receiving), fingering, mention of edging, overstimulation, unprotected piv, exhibitionism(?), creampie
You and Anakin first met when he and Obi-Wan were assigned to you. You were a young senator, and he was still a Padawan.
There was a threat on your life, as there always seems to be.
Obi-Wan was immediately suspicious of the lingering looks between you and Anakin but chose not to confront either of you directly. He settled for pointedly clearing his throat whenever Anakin's gaze lingered too long.
Your first conversation alone with Anakin involved him awkwardly asking if it was always so exhausting being a senator. You replied with a laugh, "only when someone keeps trying to kill me."
Anakin insisted on personally checking your quarters every night, even though Obi-Wan assured him the threat wasn't likely to appear beneath your bed. "You can't be too careful, Master," Anakin would reply, failing to hide the slight blush on his cheeks.
Padmé noticed something developing between you two during senate meetings. "Be careful, Y/N," she'd tease gently. "You might distract him enough to compromise your own protection."
During an assassination attempt, Anakin instinctively shielded you with his own body, whispering fiercely afterward, "I won't let anything happen to you." Obi-Wan pretended not to notice the intensity in his Padawan's voice.
You found yourself making excuses to keep Anakin around, such as requesting extra sparring lessons for "self-defense." Obi-Wan didn't comment but raised an eyebrow every time he walked past the training room.
The first time Anakin saw you dressed formally for a diplomatic event, he stumbled over his words. Obi-Wan had smirked knowingly and commented, "careful, Anakin. A Jedi must always remain focused."
You quickly realized Anakin had difficulty hiding his jealousy whenever another senator or dignitary complimented you. "You're pouting," you'd tease lightly. "Jedi don't pout," he'd insist stubbornly, folding his arms defensively across his chest.
The Jedi Council had suspicions of attachment, but Obi-Wan regularly vouched for Anakin, albeit with weary sighs and pointed glances toward his Padawan.
When the Clone Wars started Anakin became a bit more confident, and perhaps a bit more cocky.
There was one time that you were going to negotiate with some Separatist senators and Anakin and Ahsoka were there to be your protection.
Ahsoka was immediately suspicious the moment she saw Anakin adjusting your cloak before the negotiations. "Master," she whispered with a teasing grin, "I don't remember cloak-straightening being part of our Jedi duties."
Anakin would pointedly stand a bit too close during diplomatic meetings, earning amused looks from Separatist senators. "You know," you'd whisper afterward, "you're not very subtle." He'd frown slightly, "I'm just being thorough."
Obi-Wan pretended not to overhear when Rex quietly asked Anakin why he insisted on assigning an entire clone squadron outside your door during missions. "Security measures," Anakin would respond stiffly, ignoring Rex’s knowing nod.
That’s not to say you were any better. Whenever Anakin addressed you with something other than your name it was either “senator” or “angel.” But when you addressed him you would say, “I can handle myself big guy.”
Ahsoka and Rex always suspected something was up with the two of you. In fact, the entire 501st knew you two were more than just friends. There were even betting pools.
Ahsoka and Rex one day went to go ask Anakin about some mission plans. Ahsoka, not bothering to knock, opened the door to his quarters on the Resolute, only to find the two of you kissing. You shoved Anakin away and tried to come up with an excuse as to why you were in a Jedi General’s quarters on a Venator.
“I was… uh… fixing his hair?” You said slowly, looking down at Anakin on the floor after you had shoved him away.
After Ahsoka caught you and Anakin kissing, Rex tried to keep a straight face while he quietly handed credits to Fives. "Don't say a word," Rex muttered, giving Anakin a pointed look.
Obi-Wan sighed dramatically when Ahsoka accidentally blurted the incident to him later. "I suppose it's better I pretend I didn't hear that," he said wearily, rubbing his temples.
Anakin insisted nothing changed afterward, but his voice would always soften noticeably whenever he addressed you in front of others, earning amused smirks from Obi-Wan.
Cody once teased Rex about Anakin’s protective habits toward you. "Your General realizes Senator Y/N has a blaster, right?" Rex shrugged, smirking. "Good luck convincing him that matters."
You frequently borrowed Anakin’s Jedi cloak during missions, claiming it was "just because it was cold," even when it clearly wasn't.
Whenever Anakin had a short break from the war, he would never go to his room in the Jedi Temple. He’d always stay at your apartment by the Senate. Which meant Artoo beeping at Threepio to “shut up!” after watching you and Anakin share just a little peck. “But Artoo! It is inherently against the—” Beep!
Artoo had developed a habit of casually "accidentally" locking Threepio out of your quarters whenever Anakin came over. "Oh dear! Master Y/N, there seems to be a malfunction again—" Beep-boop! "How rude!"
Sometimes Anakin would fall asleep on your couch after a mission, and you'd wake him gently, whispering, "You know, I do have a bed." He'd mumble sleepily back, "too far. Come here," before tugging you down beside him.
Obi-Wan once remarked dryly, noticing Anakin absent again, "odd how Skywalker always manages to lose his comlink connection whenever he's planetside near the Senate apartments."
You frequently teased Anakin about his messy hair after he'd return from missions. He'd always grin, shrugging, "It's a war out there, angel—styling gel wasn't exactly on my mind."
Rex eventually started positioning himself subtly at the Senate apartment's entrance whenever Anakin visited, nodding politely whenever you opened the door. "Just checking security, Senator," he'd say with a perfectly straight face.
One evening, Anakin realized he'd accidentally left his Jedi cloak behind in your apartment. He spent an entire council briefing distracted, trying to invent excuses as to why he needed to return immediately. Obi-Wan sighed knowingly, "Anakin, I'm sure your cloak is perfectly safe wherever you've misplaced it."
Padmé couldn't help but smile when she noticed Anakin discreetly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before a Senate session. She leaned over, whispering softly, "I'm glad to see you're both being very subtle."
You once jokingly asked Anakin if he preferred the Jedi Temple accommodations to your apartment. He responded dramatically, "Well, the Jedi beds don't come with you in them, so..."
Obi-Wan eventually stopped asking why Anakin was so quick to volunteer for any missions involving the Senate. He'd just pinch the bridge of his nose, sigh, and mutter, "Of course you will."
Occasionally, you'd find yourself wearing Anakin's Jedi belt during sparring sessions. When Ahsoka raised an eyebrow suspiciously, you'd quickly stammer, "I... misplaced mine," as Anakin bit back a smirk.
One night, while quietly curled together in your apartment, you softly asked Anakin if he ever worried about being caught. He gently stroked your hair, whispering reassuringly, "there's no one I'd rather risk everything for."
Obi-Wan purposefully avoided questioning why Artoo always seemed more eager to accompany Anakin to the Senate apartments than to the Jedi Temple. "Well, Anakin, your droid has certainly developed refined political tastes."
18+
Anakin is of course obsessed with you. But what else is he obsessed with? Your pussy. Sometimes you swear he could spend hours in between your legs.
He likes to edge you and then finally—finally—let you come, only to then keep making you come with nothing more than his tongue and fingers.
"Stop squirming." His voice low, cocky. Your thighs trembling as his fingers moved in slow, maddening circles. "I said I'd let you come, angel. Didn’t say I’d stop after."
He never did. Not when he had you pinned under him in the dim light of your apartment, his tongue dragging slow, obscene strokes over your swollen clit while your hips bucked helplessly against his mouth. "Ani—Anakin, I—"
"Shhh. I’m not done." He licked his fingers clean like he was tasting wine. "Still shaking. That means you’ve got more in you."
Ahsoka walked past your quarters once and paused, squinting at the faint, rhythmic thudding. She tilted her head. Rex caught up behind her. "Don’t," he muttered.
"But—"
"Nope."
"Angel," he breathed, dragging you onto his lap in the pilot seat of his starfighter, parked in a shadowed hangar. "Just one more before I deploy."
“We’re in the hangar.” You hissed. “Anyone can see.”
"Let them," Anakin growled, voice thick, lips pressed to your neck as his fingers slipped under your robes, brushing the slick mess between your thighs. "You think I care if they see who you belong to?"
"You're insane," you breathed, back arching as he pushed two fingers inside you, slow and possessive.
"No," he smirked, licking a stripe up your throat. "I'm in love."
You clenched around his fingers and he groaned low, grinding you against his palm like he needed to memorize the way you pulsed for him.
"Five minutes," he muttered, thumb brushing your clit in cruel little circles. "Give me five minutes, and I’ll have you shaking in my lap."
"Anakin, we don't have—"
"Shhh," he whispered. "Just listen. That sound? That’s how wet you are for me. That’s mine, angel."
He pulled his pants down just enough for you to sink down onto him.
"Fuck," he hissed, head tipping back against the seat, fingers digging into your hips. "You feel so tight already."
You bit your lip, stifling a moan as your thighs trembled around him. "You said five minutes."
"Mmhm. And you’re wasting every second riding slow like this," he growled, slamming his hips up, forcing a yelp from your throat.
"You’re impossible," you gasped, nails dragging down his chest.
"And you're mine," he grunted, hands gripping under your thighs, bouncing you on his cock like the starfighter cockpit was just another room he owned. "Say it."
"Yours," you breathed, head falling forward onto his shoulder. "Kriff, Anakin—"
"Good girl," he whispered, tongue flicking against your ear. "Keep saying it."
His comm crackled to life behind you—static, a clone captain’s voice faintly audible. He didn’t even flinch. Just thrust up harder.
"Anakin," you whispered, eyes wide. "Your comm."
He grinned. "If they’re calling me, they’ll wait."
I know I said that Anakin is obsessed with your pussy, but I think I understated it. This man will not stop until you’re on the brink of a blackout.
In fact, he will continue slowly fucking his own come into you. At that point you can only manage a little shove that doesn’t even move him.
The expensive sheets on your bed were soaked with sweat and Maker knows what else. But that didn’t stop him. When he first went down on you the sun was out, and now it was dark, his cock still thrusting in and out of you.
"Anakin," you breathed, voice ragged, face buried in the crook of his neck, "it's dark out."
"Mhm." His teeth grazed your jaw. "And?"
"You haven't stopped."
He grunted, slow and deep. "You haven't told me to."
Your fingers dragged through the sweat-slick mess of his hair. "I'm trying."
He laughed, low and ruined. "No, you're not."
You didn’t even flinch when the bed creaked again under another rough thrust. Your thighs had long stopped shaking. You were beyond that. Just boneless now, mouth parted, skin flushed, brain soft and melting from hours of him.
"You know," he murmured, dragging his teeth along your collarbone, "I think I came three times."
"You think?"
He leaned back, looked at you—dazed, proud, eyes gleaming with that fucked-out blue edge. "You kinda scrambled me a little."
You snorted, but it dissolved into a gasp when he shifted again, still buried in you, cock dragging against hypersensitive spots. "Kriff, Ani—"
"Say it again."
You blinked. "Say what?"
"Ani." He smirked. "Say it like that."
You rolled your eyes. "You're ridiculous."
"Mhm. And you're mine." He gripped your hips, thrust up. Hard. "Say it."
"Kriff—you’re impossible—"
"Say it."
"Yours! Maker, Anakin—yours."
His head dropped to your chest, lips dragging across your skin. "Good girl."
You were halfway to sleep when he shifted again, groaning quietly. "Still hard," he murmured, almost apologetic.
"You’re kidding."
"I'm not." He kissed the underside of your breast. "Don’t worry. I’ll do all the work this time."
You slapped his arm weakly. "There's nothing left to work with."
He laughed against your skin. "Don't need much. Just a pretty little mess to ruin."
yeah... i might've gotten a tad bit carried away
#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin skywalker x you#anakin skywalker#anakin skywalker x female reader#anakin skywalker x y/n#anakin skywalker fanfiction#anakin skywalker fanfic#star wars#star wars fanfiction
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Hey could you please write mikaelsons x dom male reader? Maybe they are so used to protecting people that it’s weird at first?
Mikaelson with a Dom boyfriend

Klaus Mikaelson
Klaus's ego takes a severe beating. The first few times Y/N takes charge, Klaus is a snarling mess of defiance. He'll test boundaries, push back, and attempt to wrest control back with brute force and manipulative words. He’s not used to not getting exactly what he wants, when he wants it.
The biting remarks sharpen. Klaus’s wit becomes a weapon, aimed to dissect Y/N’s decisions, his character, anything to assert his superiority. It’s a defence mechanism, a veiled attempt to regain the upper hand by making Y/N question himself.
He secretly thrives on the chase. Beneath the bluster, Klaus finds a twisted form of pleasure in Y/N’s dominance. The power plays become a game, a high-stakes match where the reward is… well, Klaus is still figuring that out. He loves the chase, the challenge of trying to outwit someone stronger-willed than himself.
The possessiveness dials up to eleven. Klaus has always been possessive, but Y/N’s dominance ignites a protectiveness that borders on obsessive. Anyone who even looks at Y/N the wrong way risks triggering a rage that hasn't been seen in centuries.
He craves Y/N’s approval. Despite fighting it tooth and nail, Klaus becomes desperate for Y/N’s acknowledgement. A simple nod of approval, a fleeting compliment, sends a thrill through him that he desperately tries to hide. He likes being rewarded.
The vulnerability slips through the cracks. In moments of intimacy, the carefully constructed walls crumble. He'll cling to Y/N with a desperation that belies his immortal façade, revealing the scared, lonely boy he tries so hard to bury. He will never admit to this.
The first few times Y/N tries to give Klaus a command, or exert dominance in the bedroom, Klaus would push back. He'd smirk, raise an eyebrow, and deliberately do the opposite, all while gauging Y/N's reaction
Klaus’s ego is as fragile as it is massive. Y/N using praise to manipulate Klaus would work wonders. A well-placed compliment about his intelligence after a particularly difficult negotiation, or a whispered appreciation for his artistic talent during a shared moment alone, would soften him. It’s not that Klaus needs validation, but he likes his strengths to be recognized, admired.
In the bedroom, Klaus discovers a paradoxical enjoyment in Y/N's dominance. The controlled roughness, the explicit commands, the feeling of someone else dictating his pleasure—it's a new sensation that both unnerves and excites him. He'd never admit it openly, but he craves the intensity.
Elijah Mikaelson
Elijah is initially wary. Control is his shield, his carefully constructed world. dominant Y/N intrigues him, but also triggers a deep-seated instinct to protect himself. He tests the boundaries. Respect is paramount; any hint of cruelty is an immediate deal-breaker.
Conversation becomes a delicate dance. Elijah finds himself drawn to Y/N’s assertiveness, yet subtly guiding the narrative. The push and pull of intellectual sparring becomes foreplay in itself. He appreciates a mind as sharp as his own, even if that mind seeks to command him.
The bedroom is where Elijah truly begins to unravel. He discovers a surprising release in relinquishing control, in submitting to Y/N's assured touch and guidance. The weight of centuries, the burden of family, momentarily lifts as he allows himself to be led.
Elijah's submission is never absolute. He still retains a quiet power, a subtle influence that Y/N acknowledges and often finds alluring.
He has safe words, carefully chosen to reflect his personality. It’s a reminder that he's still in control of the situation.
Aftercare is essential. Elijah needs reassurance, a return to the equilibrium of their relationship. Pillow talk is a chance to reconnect
Elijah enjoys being praised, especially when it acknowledges his intelligence and restraint. Y/N's words of approval validate his decision to submit, confirming that it wasn't a weakness but a conscious choice.
He struggles with the idea that some might see his submission as unbecoming of an Original. This internal conflict leads to moments of withdrawal, periods where he reasserts his control in other areas of his life to compensate.
Elijah secretly craves the moments when Y/N calls him "good boy". It’s a chink in his armour, a vulnerability he allows only Y/N to see.
Kol mikaelson
Kol adores the chase but finds a different kind of thrill in a partner who isn't shy about taking the reins. He's used to everyone being a little afraid of him, so Y/N's confidence is a potent aphrodisiac.
He feigns annoyance when Y/N issues a command, rolling his eyes and muttering about micromanagement, but the smirk playing on his lips betrays his true feelings. He loves to be told what to do.
During sex, Kol is a whirlwind of teeth, sharp words, and impulsive movements. But with Y/N in charge, he yields, whimpering in pleasure as he's restrained, dominated, and brought to the edge.
Surrender doesn't come naturally. He'll test Y/N, pushing boundaries to see how far he can go before his lover asserts his dominance. It's a game, and Kol is fascinated by the rules.
He thrives on praise and validation. When Y/N acknowledges his compliance, Kol practically glows. The feeling of being both desired and controlled is intoxicating.
Aftercare is vital. Kol needs to be reminded that his submissive behaviour is a choice, that he's still powerful and valued. Cuddles, reassurance, and maybe a little light biting are all essential.
He's a brat. He'll deliberately disobey small orders just to provoke a reaction from Y/N. He loves seeing the fire in his eyes and then being promptly brought back in line.
Kol secretly enjoys being called "good boy," even though he'd never admit it. It's degrading in the best possible way, especially when Y/N says it with a possessiveness.
He gets off on Y/N's jealousy. Kol will flirt shamelessly with others, knowing it drives his boyfriend wild. Then he delights in being punished for his transgression.
In public, Kol is his usual flamboyant self. Only behind closed doors does he fully relinquish control, transforming into the eager submissive he keeps hidden from the world.
Kol has a pet name for Y/N, something wickedly endearing that he only uses when he's feeling particularly vulnerable and submissive.
#x male reader#lgbtq#vampire diaries x male reader#the originals x male reader#x male!reader#vampire diaries x reader#vampire diaries#klaus mikaelson x male reader#elijah mikaelson x male reader#kol x male reader#kol mikaelson x male reader#kol mikaelson x you#kol mikaelson x reader#elijah mikealson imagine#klaus mikaelson x y/n#klaus mikealson x reader#klaus mikaelson
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Some WHB AU ideas I thought about on a whim:
Daycare AU! The MC is now a proud owner of a daycare after their grandpa Solomon handed it off to them so he can retire with God. All the nobles are babies and the kings are the fathers of the kids (adopted or biological, that’s up to you). The dilfs kings end up falling in love with the MC n try everything to court them.
Bonus! The baby nobles also help their respective ‘dads’ when the MC’s favor b/c they want a step-parent.
Exchange Student AU! All the characters are in a school setting and the MC is the new human exchange student from Earth; there hasn’t been another human exchange student since Solomon. All the kings are the leaders of the student counsel and Juno/Ppyong is the one that gets sent to Earth (living with Minhyeok) Also all the angels go to a rival school.
Bonus! The kings are also club leaders/part of gangs, eg. Satan is the leader of a delinquent group, Levi is the club leader of the occult group, etc.
Dragon AU! (This is based on @r0-boat post, thank you for the idea!)
The MC is the new ruler of their kingdom after the death of their parents, and discovers an old, closed off room in the castle that harbors many worn-out notebooks and tapestries of dragons—something that their parents always told them stories about when they were little. The MC finds out the old king Solomon, their ancestor, wrote about actual dragons that he was friends with—and with this, the MC drags their knight, Minhyeok, to go on an adventure to find one of these dragons. Many weeks later, they enter a seemingly abandoned village, stopping at the mouth of a large cave. Minhyeok tries to get MC to turn around only to be stopped short by a large creature breathing down their neck. It growls lowly, angry (and also curious) at the humans entering his kingdom. They found one of the dragons King Solomon wrote about—Satan.
The MC eventually meets the other dragon kings and warms up to them, the kings acknowledging that they are the key to uniting the dragon species and humans together finally, so they can come together to stop the angels (and possibly becoming their little human spouse 👀)
Bonus! Whenever the MC feels like they’re being screwed over while trying to negotiate with neighboring human kingdoms—they bring their dragon friends to intimidate them a little bit :)
(Added: 03/05)
Trapped AU! After defeating all the angels, MC is finally ready to get back to their normal life! However, the devils were not. They hold up to their promise about not letting the MC go so easily and now the MC has to find a way out to get back to Earth.
Bonus! There are some devils who aren’t fully on board with kidnapping MC and can easily be manipulated into helping the MC out if they use their words carefully.
(Added: 03/07)
Self-Aware AU! The MC is just a regular otome player in the real world and all the characters are aware that they are in a mobile game on MC’s phone/Ipad. As MC progresses through the story, the characters slowly fall in love with them—as they could hear and see MC, and some are even bold enough to say things that are outside their programming to let them know that they’re aware low-key. (the MC is confused but brushes it off as Easter eggs in the game—like a 1 in a million chance to get those quips). Now the devils are desperate to find some way to bring the MC into their world or enter MC’s world.
Bonus! The kings, seraphim, and Minhyeok have special access to their Notes app, contact list, Spotify/Apple Music, and sometimes leave love notes/messages (or semi-threatening messages from the seraphim) by making albums, texting them, etc. However, instead of being flattered, MC is unnerved by this—thinking someone hacked their device—and doesn’t touch it for a several days (they stopped doing it again after that, deleting the messages—they also have to stop Beel from doing it b/c he would forget)
(Added: 03/14)
Hybrid AU! While stranded on one of a chain of islands, MC discovers that half-man, half-animal creatures live there; all of them living in 7 different environments. MC is treated almost like royalty on each of the islands, since they’re the only human that treated them with respect in a while, and not like a monster (and they consider MC to be their mate). The MC also agrees to help defend the hybrid’s island from a ‘research’ group called H.E.A.V.E.N., that has been terrorizing/killing the hybrids in the name of science.
Bonus! The types of animals I think the kings & some of their nobles would be: Satan—goat, Sitri—ram, Mammon—African lion, Bimet—African bat-eared fox, Leviathan—sea snake, Foras—glass squid, Beelzebub—Tsetse fly, Bael—Hoverfly, Lucifer—bat, Gamigin—leopard gecko, Belphegor—Japanese serow, Beleth—albino leopard cat, Asmodeus—black widow spider, Dantalian—jumping spider (?)
(Pls Note this is based on my redesigns of the kings and their lore—the animals are not picked based off the original characters)
CEO/Coffee Shop AU! MC owns a small, yet semi-popular, coffee shop in the city; everything is going great until they somehow managed to get the attention of 7 of the biggest CEOs in their country—all of them coming in one place for a business retreat. It doesn’t make it any better that they constantly try to fight for their attention, altering the cozy atmosphere in their coffee shop.
Bonus! The MC does low-key take advantage that the CEOs were willing to pay for their rent and bills (I mean why not? They’re offering 🤷🏾)
(Added: 06/05)
Android AU! MC is an aspiring inventor who wants to build little robots just like their late grandpa Solomon. The MC ends up stumbling upon one of their grandpa’s greatest robots—seven androids all deactivated and hidden away from the outside world, so the government won’t get their hands on them and use them as war machines. MC takes it upon themselves to take care of the androids in honor of their grandpa, without knowing that the androids have taken a great interest in their late creator’s grandkid. (Slight Yandere androids too)
Bonus! Minhyeok is MC’s human assistant who is understandably terrified and concerned of the android’s obsession towards MC. The angels and Seraphim are apart of the government assigned to hunt down the androids (they’re also androids themselves).
———
This is all I got for AU ideas, plus I’m not too good of a writer so it’s not something I can write full stories about n execute it well 😭, but hopefully when I get a chance I’ll post art for that after I post the second part of the full monster forms for the kings.
I’ll add more to the post if I got more AU ideas!
#whb#what in hell is bad#what in “hell” is bad?#whb kings#whb satan#whb mammon#whb leviathan#whb beelzebub#whb lucifer#whb belphegor#whb asmodeus#whb mc#whb au
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in another life
pairing: emperor caracalla x fem!reader
author's notes: so... i'm still in my brainrot era for caracalla and can't stop thinking about him, this is supposed to be a romeo and juliet based fanfic but i don't think that it's similar?? i tried, okay... also this is VERY occ for caracalla and there is probably some inconsistencies about ancient rome :)
warnings: character death
in the sprawling empire of rome, power was a fickle god, worshiped by many and feared by all. the twin emperors, caracalla and geta, ruled with an iron grip, their partnership fraught with rivalry and shadowed by whispers of rebellion. their reign was a delicate balance between ruthless control and the ever-looming threat of betrayal.
you arrived at the so-called capital of the world with your father, a king of a distant and prosperous kingdom that bordered this grandiose empire. rome had extended its hand in friendship to your land, offering an alliance that promised prosperity in exchange of the rich resources that they coveted. but beneath your father’s polished words and ceremonial offerings lay a darker purpose: he had aligned himself with the rebellious senators, promising aid in their scheme to assassinate the emperors.
as your father’s only child, you were raised to understand the intricacies of court politics. you were his crown jewel, the tool he wielded to charm, to negotiate, to manipulate. in the emperor’s court, you were not just his daughter—you were his weapon, his most valuable pawn in this dangerous game. raised to charm and manipulate, you knew your role well—to earn the emperors’ trust, particularly caracalla’s, and distract him long enough for your father’s plan to unfold.
your arrival was announced with all the pomp rome could muster. the imperial palace loomed above you, an oppressive monument to the power of the two brothers who sat on its throne. emperor caracalla and emperor geta greeted you in the grand atrium, their guards standing stiffly at attention.
geta spoke first, his smile cool and diplomatic. "we welcome you to rome. we hope this alliance will strengthen the bonds between our nations."
caracalla stood beside him, his gaze sharp and appraising as it rested on you. where geta greeted you and your father with the smooth diplomacy of a seasoned statesman, caracalla’s approach was raw, unfiltered.
"your daughter must be the jewel of your court," caracalla said, his eyes lingering on you. "tell me, princess, are you here to negotiate for your father or to keep us distracted with your beauty?"
his eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the noise of the palace faded into nothingness, a blush crept up your neck, but you met his gaze without flinching. "perhaps both, caesar. beauty has its uses, after all."
he smirked at your boldness, though something in his expression shifted—a flicker of interest, perhaps. it was the beginning of a dangerous dance, one you were unsure you could win.
your father laughed, the sound forced and hollow. "she is here to learn, caesar. to see the heart of the empire and to witness its greatness."
"and perhaps," geta interjected smoothly, "to see a future where our nations stand united."
the meeting was brief, a show for the gathered senators and nobles. but as you followed your father out of the hall, you felt caracalla’s gaze linger on you, heavy and unrelenting.
days turned to weeks, and you found yourself drawn into the web of roman politics and deeply intertwined with your father’s plan alongside the senate, your role in the plan was clear: earn caracalla’s trust, distract him, and keep him blind to the storm brewing around him. but the emperor was not an easy man to deceive.
caracalla was nothing like his brother. where geta was polished and calculating, but still easily manipulated by your father’s tactics and the promise of becoming more rich and powerful with the fake alliance, caracalla was unrestrained, he moved through the court like a lion in a cage waiting for an opening, a weakness to attack.
this was the man you had to win over.
but, despite your father’s warnings, you found yourself intrigued by him.
it all started the very next day.
the palace gardens were caracalla’s private sanctuary, a place rarely visited by anyone but the emperor himself. you had stumbled upon it by accident, your wandering taking you through a small, ivy-covered archway that led into the hidden oasis. the air smelled of blooming jasmine and freshly turned soil, and the sound of a trickling fountain filled the space.
you were admiring the garden when you heard a low voice behind you. “you’ve found my secret.”
startled, you turned to see caracalla standing just beyond the archway. he wasn’t wearing his usual armor or the heavy robes you saw him wearing the other day, but a simple tunic and sandals. the sight of him like this—relaxed, almost unguarded—caught you off guard.
“i didn’t mean to intrude,” you said quickly, scared of the outburst that you heard happening in the walls of the palace when emperor caracalla felt unease “i didn’t realize this was yours.”
he stepped forward, waving off your concern. “you don’t need to apologize.” his tone was light, but there was a faint amusement in his eyes.
you shifted awkwardly, unsure whether to leave or stay. “it’s… beautiful here. i wouldn’t have expected this from you.”
his lips curved into a small, sardonic smile. “because you think I’m incapable of appreciating beauty?”
“i think you spend so much time commanding armies, intimidating senators and watching fights in the colosseum that it’s hard to imagine you planting flowers,” you said boldly, surprising even yourself.
he chuckled—a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “fair. but even a tyrant needs a place to think.” he gestured for you to follow him deeper into the garden.
you hesitated, then complied, walking beside him as he led you to a stone bench beneath a towering olive tree. the fountain gurgled nearby, its water sparkling in the afternoon sun.
“you come here often?” you asked, glancing at him.
“when i can,” he admitted, sitting on the bench and gesturing for you to do the same. “this was my mother’s garden. she designed it herself.”
the mention of his mother softened his voice, and you sat down, intrigued by this side of him. “it’s lovely,” you said. “she must have been a remarkable woman.”
“she was,” he said quietly. for a moment, his usual bravado faded, leaving something raw and unguarded in its place. “she loved things that grew. said it was a reminder that life could flourish even in the harshest conditions.”
his words surprised you. this wasn’t the cruel emperor you had been warned about, the man whose name was spoken with fear and loathing in equal measure. this was someone else entirely—a son mourning his mother, a man seeking solace in a world that demanded so much from him, as a princess soon to be queen, you felt for him.
“i think she’d be proud of what you’ve done with it,” you said softly.
he glanced at you, his gaze searching. “and what about you, princess? what do you think?”
you hesitated, unsure if he was asking about the garden or himself. finally, you said, “i think there’s more to you than what people say.”
his expression shifted, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “and if i told you i don’t know how much of that man is left?”
you looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw not the monster your father had painted him to be but a man struggling beneath the weight of an empire. “then maybe you should spend more time here,” you said gently, gesturing to the garden. “it seems to bring out the best in you.”
he smiled then—a real smile, not the sardonic smirk or the calculated grin you had grown accustomed to. it was fleeting, but it made your heart skip all the same.
“perhaps you’re right,” he said, his voice soft.
the two of you sat there for a while, the silence between you warm and unspoken, the garden wrapping you in its quiet embrace. and for the first time, you wondered if you had misjudged him entirely.
as weeks turned into months, your encounters with caracalla became more frequent and intimate. he shared stories of his childhood, of the relentless pressure to prove himself, while you offered glimpses of your own struggles—carefully omitting your father’s true intentions.
one afternoon, during a rare moment of peace, caracalla pulled you aside, leading you to a hidden alcove in the palace. “i want to show you something,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.
he revealed a small pendant, its surface engraved with intricate patterns. “my mother gave this to me when i was a boy,” he explained. “she said it would protect me.”
“it’s beautiful,” you said, studying the craftsmanship.
he hesitated, then pressed the pendant into your palm. “i want you to have it.”
your breath caught. “i can’t take this. it’s yours.”
“i trust you with it,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “and… i trust you.”
the weight of his words left you speechless, and as he closed your fingers around the pendant, you realized that your heart had betrayed you entirely and you felt the first stirrings of guilt for the betrayal you were complicit in.
days passed and you hadn’t heard from either emperor caracalla or emperor geta, not even your father, who was starting to feel unease.
“what if they found out?” he would repeat to you pretty much every night after another day passed without hearing a word from the twins “did we underestimate them somehow? did the senate underestimate them?”
a part of you wanted that to be true, that both of the emperors discovered your father and the senate’s plans, even if that would mean your death, even if you would have to stare at caracalla’s eyes after you had betrayed him, you could do that as long as he didn’t die.
but then the gilded invitation arrived in the early hours of the day, you were already awake, anxious about your father’s anxiety, so you were the only one in the house to pick them up from the praetorian guard, after thanking the man and closing the door, you admired the letter’s ornate edges and wax seal marking it as a token of the imperial court. you turned it over in your hands, noting the unfamiliar handwriting on one of the envelopes. unlike the formal script of past correspondences, this handwriting was bold and deliberate, almost impatient.
breaking the seal, you unfolded the parchment and read:
“to honor the customs of your homeland, a ball will be held tonight in the imperial palace. wear your finest attire. i will be waiting. – c.”
your breath hitched at the signature. not geta, whose name was synonymous with the empire's carefully curated diplomacy. no, this was unmistakably from caracalla. the thought of his hand crafting those words sent a strange thrill through you, though you quickly shook it off.
that evening, the palace was aglow with light, torches and lanterns casting a golden hue over the sprawling marble corridors. the distant hum of music grew louder as you approached the grand ballroom, your gown—a rich fabric from your homeland—whispering against the polished floor.
inside, nobles twirled in an elaborate dance, their laughter mingling with the music. the scent of spiced wine and fresh flowers filled the air. yet, despite the overwhelming splendor, you felt his presence before you saw him.
caracalla stood near the far end of the ballroom, his dark attire contrasting starkly with the vibrant colors of the guests. his gaze swept the room until it found you, and once it did, it remained fixed, unwavering.
you hesitated, your heart racing. you could feel the weight of his attention as he made his way through the crowd, his movements deliberate and unhurried.
“princess,” he greeted when he finally reached you, his voice low and rich.
“caesar,” you replied, curtsying slightly.
“you wear the traditions of your homeland well,” he said, his eyes tracing the intricate embroidery of your gown before returning to meet your gaze. “the room pales in comparison.”
heat rose to your cheeks, and you struggled to maintain your composure. “flattery is unbecoming of an emperor.”
he smirked, leaning in slightly. “then perhaps i’ll save it for when we’re alone.”
before you could respond, he extended his hand. “dance with me.”
you glanced around, noting the curious stares of the other guests, but you knew refusing would only draw more attention. reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, and he led you to the center of the ballroom.
the music shifted to a slower tempo as he pulled you into the first steps of the dance. his hand settled firmly on your waist, his other holding yours with surprising gentleness.
“you look uneasy,” he observed, his tone teasing but not unkind.
“i’m dancing with the emperor,” you replied, forcing a small smile. “should i not be?”
“perhaps,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “but I’d prefer if you didn’t look so ready to flee.”
his words struck too close to the truth, and you averted your gaze, focusing instead on the rhythm of your steps. yet, even as you tried to maintain distance, his presence was overwhelming, his gaze drawing you back to him.
“you intrigue me,” he admitted softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.
“why?” the word escaped before you could stop it.
“because you’re different,” he said simply. “you don’t fawn or flatter. you look at me like…” he trailed off, searching for the right words. “like i’m human.”
for a moment, the mask he wore—the ruthless emperor, the conqueror—seemed to crack, revealing something more vulnerable beneath. it unsettled you, yet it also drew you in.
the music slowed, and the dancers around you began to disperse, but caracalla didn’t let go. instead, he guided you toward a quieter corner of the room, away from the prying eyes of the court.
“why do you do that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
“do what?”
“look at me like…” you faltered, unsure how to articulate the intensity of his gaze.
“like you’re the only one here?” he finished for you, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
you nodded, your breath catching as he took a step closer.
“because you are,” he said, his voice soft yet resolute.
before you could process his words, he leaned in, his hand rising to cup your cheek. the kiss was slow, deliberate, and completely disarming. for a moment, the world fell away, leaving only the warmth of his lips and the steady pressure of his hand on your back.
but as the reality of what was happening sank in, panic gripped you. you broke away abruptly, your breathing uneven as you stepped back.
“i… i can’t,” you stammered, your voice trembling.
his expression didn’t falter. instead, a faint smile tugged at his lips, as though he had expected your reaction. “it’s all right,” he said gently. “i’ll wait.”
his confidence unnerved you, and before you could say anything more, you turned and fled, your heart racing as you slipped into the shadows of the palace halls.
even as you disappeared into the night, even after you went to your room, changed clothes and tried your best to forget what happened his words lingered in your mind as well as his lips against yours.
unbeknownst to you and caracalla, the senators had finalized their plans the night of the ball. your father’s role was to provide soldiers to infiltrate the palace under the cover of night, but he himself also wanted to be present to see the emperors being eliminated in a swift, coordinated attack by his men.
later that night doubt began to creep into your mind. caracalla, for all his flaws, had shown you a side of himself that few others had seen. his ferocity masked a profound loneliness, a desire to be understood that resonated deeply with you, besides you couldn’t deny to yourself anymore you were actually falling in love with him.
after twisting and turning in your bed, feeling the pendant he gave you as a gift weighing more and more as the hours passed you decided to confront your father.
"are you sure this is the only way?" you asked, your voice trembling
he turned to you while putting his armor, his expression hard. "do not forget your duty, my daughter. rome is a beast that devours all in its path. if we don’t strike first, it will destroy us."
you wanted to believe him. you wanted to convince yourself that caracalla was nothing more than a tyrant, that his death would save your people. but the thought of his blood on your hands made your chest tighten with a pain you couldn’t explain.
so when your father turned around to leave the house and meet with his soldiers and the senate one last time before killing the man you so loved, you made a decision on the spot.
the halls of the palace were dark and eerily silent, save for the soft rustle of your hurried steps. the chill of the night bit at your skin as you clutched your cloak tightly, the pendant caracalla had given you swinging against your chest with every movement.
you shouldn’t have been here. you shouldn’t have left your chambers, defying your father’s orders and the pact he had made with the senate. but the thought of caracalla lying dead, betrayed by those closest to him, made it impossible to stay away.
when you reached his quarters, you hesitated for a moment before pushing the heavy doors open.
caracalla stood by the window, his figure outlined by the pale moonlight. he turned at the sound, his expression softening when he saw you. but his brow furrowed when he noticed the fear etched across your face.
“princess,” he said, his voice low, laced with concern. “what’s wrong?”
“they’re coming for you,” you said, your voice trembling. “my father… the senate… they’ve sent soldiers to kill you and your brother.”
he stared at you, his face unreadable. “you shouldn’t be here,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “if they find you with me—”
“i don’t care!” you interrupted, stepping closer. “i couldn’t let you die without warning you. without trying to save you.”
his jaw tightened, but before he could respond, the sound of boots echoed in the corridor outside. the soldiers had arrived.
caracalla moved to draw his sword, but you grabbed his arm. “no,” you said desperately. “you can’t fight them all. you’ll die.”
“and what would you have me do?” he asked, his voice heavy with resignation. “run? hide? i am caesar. if i must die, i will die standing.”
the doors burst open before you could respond, and a group of soldiers flooded into the room, their swords drawn. at their head stood a centurion, his gaze cold and unwavering as he pointed his blade at caracalla.
“step aside, princess,” the centurion commanded. “this is not your fight.”
you moved in front of caracalla, spreading your arms wide. “if you want to kill him,” you said, your voice steady despite the terror coursing through you, “you’ll have to kill me first.”
“don’t make this harder than it has to be,” the centurion said, his tone almost pleading. “step aside. this is justice.”
“justice?” you spat. “this is treachery. and i won’t be a part of it.”
the soldiers hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. but the centurion raised his blade, his resolve hardening.
caracalla’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and you turned to face him. his eyes, usually so fierce and calculating, were soft and full of something you hadn’t expected—peace.
“you didn’t have to do this,” he said, his voice low and full of emotion.
“yes, i did,” you replied, your voice breaking. “because i love you.”
the words tumbled out before you could stop them, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. “i love you,” you said again, tears streaming down your face. “i don’t know when it happened, or how, but you’re not the monster they said you were. you’re flawed and human and—”
caracalla silenced you with a smile, his hand lifting to cup your cheek. “i love you, too,” he said, his voice as soft as the breeze outside. “i think i have since the moment i met you.”
he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, as if you could somehow pour all the words you hadn’t spoken into that single moment.
when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice a whisper. “i wish we had more time.”
“in another life,” you said, your voice trembling, “the gods will grant us that wish.”
a shout from the soldiers brought you back to reality, and caracalla’s arms tightened around you.
the soldiers moved as one, their blades piercing through you and caracalla in unison. pain blossomed in your chest, but it was dulled by the warmth of his arms around you. you felt yourself falling, and he held you tightly, lowering you to the ground as his own strength faded.
your head rested against his chest, his heartbeat slowing beneath your ear. his lips pressed to your forehead one last time.
and as the darkness closed in, you clung to the hope that somewhere, in another life, you would find each other again.
in the years that followed, your story became legend. the foreign princess and the emperor who fell in love despite the odds, who died together in defiance of a world that sought to tear them apart.
the marble pillars of caracalla's room bore silent witness to your final act of defiance, and in the years to come, flowers were left there in quiet tribute to a love that defied the gods themselves.
rome remembered you not as a traitor, but as a symbol of love and loyalty—proof that even in the darkest times, light could be found in the unlikeliest of places.
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ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴠᴇʀ-ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇ ɴᴀᴋꜱʜᴀᴛʀᴀ 🗣️
(repost)
might make them great politicians if they cared enough.
Ashwini represents the head of Aries, and it is symbolized by the horse head. This indicates sharp thinking, mental speed and the impulse to take initiative. Active thoughts eventually lead to self-expression (an obvious 1H theme) and a possible confidence in speech, especially in the way that this nakshatra is related to celestial healers and the quickness to respond to the needs of others, this highlighting the potential skill to channel the right words at any given instant. The fast communication is also because this nakshatra falls in the merchant caste. So the potential excellency in persuasion, being impactful & emotionally insightful in speech, is indicative of them being good negotiators, traders and salespeople.

The “slick talker” thing is just the manifestation of their ability to respond fast, to shift (by personality or language), and be able to read the emotions of others to know what to channel (this is mostly connected to their healing abilities which may be used for bad through deception). Mars drives strategy, so this deceptiveness ties to their ability to scheme as well.
I know Ketu nakshatras are generally connected to scammers but there's a specific way that Ashwini does it. I've noticed how good they are at being chameleon, and liesmiths.

Low-Key Lyesmith is literally played by Ashwini ASC native Jonathan Tucker in American Gods.
(comment under the scene)

Another form of the demigod in the series is Mr. World, played by Ashwini Sun native Crispin Glover.

He is also seen shapeshifting. As expected, he is a mischievous double agent.
While likely Ashwini Moon Tom Hiddleston plays the demigod in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Low-Key Lyesmith is his other alias in the series American Gods, where he is still the Norse trickster god. “Lyesmith”, liesmith, puts emphasis on the ability to create illusions through speech and communication — this being a merchant nakshatra co-ruled by the smokey, shadow planet.

In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, his uses of magical illusions were taught by his mother, Frigga, who is played by Magha Moon Rene Russo.

I already touched on Ketu's associations to magic, witches, shape-shifting, and illusions, especially through the character Morgan Le Fay. Although it's not the only planet that is illusory, of course.
I'd relate Ashwini to the Silvertongue archetype. If you've watched There Will Be Blood, you realize just how good Daniel Plainview is at talking. He's your classic scammy salesman. Very, very good at selling his business, and very manipulative using his son as the face of it, for advertisement, to convince everyone else that he's a family man, in order to bring in more clients. Spoiler alert: he is not a family guy. The character was intentionally portrayed as a conman.
youtube
(comment under the video)

He's played by Ashwini Moon Daniel Day Lewis.
Disney's Hades, voiced by Ashwini Sun James Woods, was portrayed to come off as a charismatic slimy car salesman. He talks so fast you don't know what he's saying at times but he's really charismatic and funny which makes the person he's manipulating question themselves.
With the second clip to this attached video, I intentionally added it to emphasize Ashwini's internal speedy nature. The active mind processes also relate to Hades' fast-talking, illusory nature. Idris Elba guessing Tom Hiddleston instead of Benedict Cumberbatch, and Andy Serkis implying they're pretty much the same was a cherry on top. And it's so interesting how Benedict Cumberbatch was up to play Hades, along with Tom Hiddleston, for a live-action movie.

Although I doubt the project is happening anymore.
In the above YouTube video, you'll see how Plainview has a particular way of articulating himself... when he's actually lying. He speaks this way in front of a target audience, but his actions reflect something else.

This reminds me of Patrick Bateman, from American Psycho, giving a social justice warrior speech when he is actually internally empty and detached from humanity as a whole. All a front.

He does this quite a lot in the movie. Very important to pay attention to his articulation and presentation. Ashwinis can be remarkable shape-shifters.
Loki, also known as the Prince of Lies, has also been voiced by Ashwini Moon Troy Baker in video games. Obviously portrayed to be very charismatic, known for having a silver tongue, he's expected to be several steps ahead of everyone. That's the Aries scheming right there rooted in strategy (Mars) and psychological warfare (Ketu, as its the psyche).


Morgan Pendragon, from Camelot (2011), also leans into this archetype, but with just a touch of seduction. She used her power through speech and manipulation to influence others. There are impactful scenes where she is speaking to large crowds of people where she incites a lot of emotions from them. Her motivation, besides the throne, was to be a strong political figure.

Besides magic — psychological warfare, language, and emotional insight were tools for her to control outcomes. Even in defeat, she's quickly thinking of the next strategy and scheme. Being Ashwini, she's a fantastic negotiator. She loves collecting psychological insight as well. In this post, I talked about Ketuvians playing master illusionists.
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I relate to and feel represented by Towa heavily in that he exhibits Schizoid Personality Disorder unlike any character I've seen before. It was in my head for a while but I couldn't get a hold of Slow Damage to find the evidence for it myself until now, I sort of just used to look at Towa, squint my eyes and mouth the words 'I'm onto you'.
This will be a long, indulgent post, I have not finished said game and will probably update when I do especially after Madarame and Fujieda's route. This is based on patterns I've seen so far in the game as well as some spoilers I came across. Read at your own... something or other.

SzPD's main characteristic is the lack of interest or ability to form relationships. Towa is on the side of a lack of interest rather than ability. One way I see SzPD in him is socially, he's indifferent and blunt or when he makes an attempt to spare feelings he's evasive, he maintains this distance with everyone around him. He doesn't chase after romance; sex and pain are stimuli that allow him to feel something beyond crippling apathy. It doesn't stop there though.
When he wants to, Towa knows how to adapt, negotiate and manipulate others. This can often come as second nature to many with SzPD, not out of malicious intent but through a way to protect themselves by setting the relationships they do make on their own terms. He interchanges between inarticulateness and eloquence according to Akhtar's Profile, selectively choosing what he gives away and what he keeps to himself.
Finally, Towa's art model in the moment, whoever it may be, can easily be considered his 'interest person'. Again referring to Akhtar's profile, those with SzPD can be capable of excitement with carefully selected people and likewise they tend to have a penchant towards typically darker and unconventional things as a form of coping. Combine those two and you have Towa's heightened interest in the selected few when he unravels their darkest desires.
A second way I see SzPD is through his feelings of unreality, schizoids tend to be seen as 'detached observers', there's a lack of motivation or drive beyond the few things they want to do. Towa doesn't hold any long-term ambitions and has no real sense of urgency over anything, he's often dragged outside by others around him or if he bar-hops and searches for hookups. He also holds a sense of grandiosity towards his indifferent observation, the line that stuck out to me the most was when he said to himself, 'All the more proof that life was easier when you didn't care about anything.' A view you will often see from Schizoids time and time again in response to other people's emotionally charged issues.
Towa sometimes dehumanizes himself, describing himself as a 'single minded robot' when painting, playing a role when granting his art model's wish like he did for Asakura or by referring to 'Human Beings' as though he isn't one of them. Obviously as a child Towa was horrifically abused and treated like a 'thing' instead of a person and a result of that he has a weak sense of self, he has a tendency to cave in around more dominant personalities. This can be another thing that goes hand in hand with SzPD, entering into a 'Master/Slave' type dynamic in social relationships (SchizoidVision has a post on this concept, here) As I've explored, Towa has the faculties to play the 'master' in these dynamics like with his art models but he takes a 'slave' role with the main leads that hold the potential to lead into even worse dehumanization in the bad endings.
Thirdly, a way I see Schizoid in him is through his emotions plain and simple, he hardly expresses strong emotions or reactions to anything and everyone sees him similarly, that he's aloof or uncaring. It shows even more in how he doesn't care for social validation, praise or criticism does virtually nothing. He sometimes feels accomplishment for finding his inspiration to paint but Rei ends up being the one posting it on Roost's blog. He isn't dependent on other people's opinions whatsoever. A huge part of SzPD traits.
Finally, the use of his internal fantasy and how it obsessively consumes his time. When he begins painting he becomes utterly immersed to the point he neglects food or sleep, you can't snap him out of it forget any sort of practical responsibilities. This reflects in SzPD in how daydreams tend to consume a lot of schizoid's lives, often preferring it over reality. It can interfere heavily with day to day tasks, I can say there's multiple times I haven't left my room, eaten or slept over a period of time when I get an urge to create something or lose myself in my own head.
Overall, there's so many boxes he ticks so far it's as if he's become the box himself. I connect with him a lot for these reasons and he can easily be considered a major comfort character and face for my page, plus somehow I find the time and dedication to write this essay when I have my abandoned assignments just begging me to make a start on them. (I won't until I feel like it.)
#ccbrainfix#slow damage#nitro+chiral#towa#towa slow damage#slow damage towa#szpd#schizoid#schizoid personality disorder#cluster a
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Yet Unnamed
Chapter 12
Masterlist
Warnings for Yet Unnamed: Kidnapping, cuffs, injuries, drugging by injection, mentions of needles, lots of swearing, kissing, fluff, angst, idiots in love all around.
Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest and thread.


The ride home together was awkward and silent. You couldn't help but fidget. The others obviously were not happy about being married to you. Maybe they didn't want to have such a permanent connection. Some soul groups aren't even romantic or affectionate, let alone married to each other. Maybe they wanted to keep it more casual.
You could null the marriages, but it would be risky. They may find out what JYP did and leak it, ruining all the hard work you had all put in to keep it hidden. You would need to be very careful.
To kill the time and distract yourself from the awkward air in the car you started to look up laws on nulling soul marriages. They were different here than what you grew up learning. Actually, a bit more complicated in logistics, but faster once you jump through the flaming hoops to get the null approved.
There was also the risk of this damaging the soul bond permanently, or depending on the severity, severing it completely.
That thought made your breath freeze in your chest even as it felt like it was caving in on you. What would you do if the bond was broken? There was no way you could go back to your old life. No way would you survive after knowing how absolutely complete and content you could feel. How full and warm and safe your soulmates made you feel every single day. How would you live without that feeling? Survive when it just disappears and leaves a gaping hole where the bond used to be?
You swallowed the sharp rock that seemed to lodge itself in your throat and lagged behind as you all made your way silently up to the apartment. You did not want to have this conversation. Ever. You weren't ready for it all to end. You dreaded it with your entire existence.
“JYP did what!” Bin nearly exploded as soon as the door locked behind you. As soon as you were behind safe, closed doors.
You couldn't help the full body flinch at the sudden outburst after so long of having tense silence.
“He drugged her, you already knew that. But he made her sign soul marriage certificates and the original contract with him while she was under the effects.” Chan was trying to soothe the room by reminding everyone that you had negotiated a new, much better contract.
“What else did he do while you were drugged?” Bin was glaring at you directly now, making your very bones start to shake.
You shrug, trying hard to keep it together and not let your emotions get the better of you. They had every right to be angry at you and you didn't want to manipulate them on accident by crying. “Nothing that I know of. I don't remember much. There was yelling. And I remember my hand being moved, someone touched my face and released me from the handcuffs, blindfold, and gag. But they were all blurry figures and words I couldn't make out. It was really hard to focus for too long.”
“As disgusting as JYP is, I'm sure he wouldn't go as far as to sexually assault her or anything. I'm more concerned with the soul marriages that you didn't tell us about.” Lino cut in.
You held yourself and rubbed your upper arms to try and bring yourself comfort. “We can null it, if you don't want to be married to me. It's risky. They may find out what JYP did. Or the bond could be harmed. But it's your choice.” You couldn't look up from the floor, fighting back the shaking in your voice as the tears pushed at your eyes.
“I don't want the marriage nulled, Y/n!”
You blinked up at him, shocked. One that he didn't want the null like they were all hinting at. And two that he had shouted at you like that. He hadn't done that since your first full day here, and even then, it was more at the situation than you. This felt more aimed at you specifically. And it hurt.
Felix stepped closer to you, offering support. “It's not her fault, Lino.”
Lino took a step back and deflated with a sigh. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you.” He rubbed his face in frustration. “It's just. You deserve more!”
“More what?” You ask, confused by the turn.
Lino gestured around you. “More everything! You should have gotten romanced first! There should have been celebrations and ceremonies! Gifts and spoiling you! This should have been done right! You deserve the best, but you got shit instead!”
“Most of us haven't even got a chance to take you on our dates yet.” Ayen pointed out.
Even as cute and adorable as the sentiment was, you were frustrated. You ticked off on your fingers as you spoke. “I have a job, food, a roof over my head. And I have all of you. I don't need a storybook romance!”
“It's not just about what you want, you know! Maybe we want the storybook romance!” Seungmin snapped. “Between finding out you speak Korean and now this, is there anything else you are lying to us about? Any other secrets you conveniently forgot to share with the group?”
“Seungmin, that's enough.” Chan warned darkly as you stepped away from all of them, body going cold with hurt.
“Is it? Am I not allowed to be pissed about being lied to now?”
He was apparently very angry about you not telling them about understanding them in the beginning. About knowing Korean. Chan had said he was only kidding that day, but apparently, he wasn't. And instead of talking it out with him you just ignored it. Let it fester unknowingly. And if he is mad about it, then likely the rest are as well. Your fun little fib had set the foundation crooked on this soul bond group. You had messed it all up and now it was crumbling around you as another lie came to light. Even if you didn't mean to omit the marriages, it was still your fault. Still a betrayal to your soulmates you could never make up to them.
“Seungmin.” Han spoke quietly, but the younger ignored him.
“Have you been honest about anything since you got here?” He pushed eyes sharp and words cutting into you with every syllable.
The tears you had tried so hard to hold back burst their way through, and you looked away so they wouldn't see them.
But he still wasn't done. He had more to get off his chest and it seemed like he was going to make sure it was all out there.
“You don't do anything like our last media person – maybe that was a lie too. You are a fraud. Its just another one of your lies! Makes sense. Clears - “
“Enough Seungmin!” Chan barked loudly, cutting him off.
“No, it's not! I'm sick of being lied to!”
Your entire body shook as you tried to hold back the tidal wave of emotions pouring out of you and coming at you from your soul mates. It was all crashing against you, and you didn't know which way was up anymore. Your chest swirled and your head buzzed as you spun out of control.
Taking a deep breath and cursing yourself when it shook you looked up. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-” Your voice cracked, thin and quiet and you couldn't continue. “I'm sorry.” You said again before fleeing the room as quickly as you could and closing your bedroom door with a soft click.
As soon as it was shut you could hear muffled voices through the door as your soulmates started arguing with each other. Shouting back and forth. And you had done that to them. You had made them mad and hurt. Made them argue and shout at each other. Made them fight.
You were brought here to complete the soul bond, but instead you were making it crack and break. You weren't helping anyone by being here. And you were dragging them down in the process with work that wasn't up to their standards.
With a quiet sob you turn to your room and start to move mechanically. You had to get away. You had to remove yourself and let them get back to being a strong bond by themselves. You need to leave.
You move around the room, grabbing a bag to throw clothes in and getting anything you would need to work for the next couple weeks.
You were going to go to a hotel for a while. Let everyone cool off and come back to a neutral point before coming back and talking this out with them. Figuring out where to go from here. If there was still a chance to be a completed group, or if it was best for you to just quietly disappear forever and leave them be.
As much as you just wanted to avoid that conversation and disappear forever, run away from what you caused, you were an adult. And you made commitments. You had work to do, even if they didn't like it. It still had to be done until you were relieved of your duties.
You used your phone to book a hotel room and slipped quietly from the room. The others were still arguing - in the living room now - so you were able to sneak out the door silently, unnoticed. As your car took you to the hotel you booked, you sent a message to the group chat, explaining what you were doing. Then you promptly silenced the group chat and turned dnd on, needing some time to adjust to the damage you have caused.
The hotel room was exceptionally nice. Cream walls, beautiful pictures to decorate the room. Clean. Not at all what you were expecting for the low price it was. As you look around you let your bag slip from your shoulder and fall to the floor.
You were still whirling with emotions, so you busied yourself by setting up your workspace for the next couple weeks. Then you unpacked your clothes and neatly put them in the provided dresser and closet, taking extra care with them to keep your mind busy.
Then, when there was nothing else to do you slipped into bed to stare at the wall and let yourself sob. Let your mind cruelly replay the entire incident and feel all the hurt and betrayal you had caused again, feeling just as fresh as it did back at the apartment.
When you were cried out, stuffy, and puffy, you rolled over and grabbed your phone, immediately swiping away the notifications. You spent the rest of the evening switching between bursting into tears and playing the rarely opened games on your phone.
The spot where your soul bond lived panged rhythmically in pain and sorrow the entire time. And you blinked away more tears as you imagined the cracks in it you had caused.
Early the next morning, after a fitful night's sleep, you got to work. You started with the boys' social posts and comments. You were a bit behind on those, letting them pile up so you could record the dance practice yesterday. Speaking of, you would be skipping day 2 of the practice. There was enough footage to piece together a good video anyway. And separation was more important right now. The boys would probably be grateful to have a day without cameras all in their faces the entire time.
As predicted, now that the world knew about you the boys wanted to post everything about you. All the pictures that they had been taking with and without your knowledge. Group pictures. Selfies with them. One where you are working at your computer at home, entirely focused on the screen and pink cat eared headphones lighting up to the beat of whatever song you were listening to. These were your less professional headphones that you used when you didn't have meetings and video calls.
That one was Linos's post. His caption naming you as another one of his cats – which made sense with the headphones. You pushed the post through and moved on, trying not to let yourself focus on one post for too long. Trying not to let it hurt more.
There were more hate posts and comments. Ones you tried to let wash over you. The hate was predicted from them. You knew STAY would be shocked by the final member of Stay Kids soul group being a female. They would feel betrayed by it. Jealous even. It seems that they were right about you not being good enough for the group.
You didn't need to speak to anyone until midmorning, when your first meeting started. Chan would be in the meeting, but you were sure you could avoid speaking to him too much, keeping to just the business at hand. And it’s not like you could avoid them entirely. Not all the time.
As soon as the meeting was over you ended your end of it, before Chan could try and talk to you. You weren't ready for the conversation. You need more time. And so did they.
Throughout the day, anytime you needed to use your phone you immediately swept the notifications away without reading them. And the dnd ensured that all calls from the boys went straight to voicemail without even ringing.
Your soul bond panged like a never-ending thunderstorm through it all. Sometimes, the pain was mild, and sometimes, it took your breath away with its intensity. But it was always there. An underlying ache with the promise of more pain to come just at the edge of it, rolling in like the roll of thunder after a flash of lightning.
You worked non-stop to keep your brain occupied – only stopping for bathroom breaks, to make more coffee, or get more water. There was no room for thoughts on anything else.
It was sometime after 2am when you finally collapsed into bed, exhausted enough to actually sleep this time.
JYPE was close enough to the hotel that the next day you made an effort to disguise yourself and walk over there. You were still unaccustomed to this new life of people knowing who you were, and you felt strange calling a company car when you weren't with one of the boys. When you were with them you could pretend it was all for them. But now you were alone. Again.
You had to go in to see to some upcoming sets that needed attention. There was only so much that could be done by phone, and even then, you couldn't guarantee it would come together like you envisioned in the end. It was just better to do it in person.
And since you hadn't added your schedule to the boys’ calendar, they had no idea you would be in the company today. It would be easy enough to avoid running into them. Get in, do what you need to do, get out.
The next three days staying away from home and the boys went exactly the same. You avoided them as much as you could and made sure to work from the hotel at every opportunity so you wouldn't run into them accidentally. Besides the occasional meeting with one or two of them present, you didn't see or hear them. You spent as little time at the company as possible, and when you were there you went out of your way to stay away from both your usual spots and theirs.
The constant pain in your soul bond and general depression – randomly bursting into tears at the smallest of inconveniences, getting irrationally irritated and angry when something went wrong – were just becoming something you would most likely have to live with the rest of your life. The pain sometimes made you dizzy, lightheaded with how bad it was. You would have to get used to it eventually.
You would have to get used to a lot of things now.
➡️⬅️➡️⬅️➡️⬅️➡️⬅️➡️⬅️➡️⬅️➡️⬅️➡️⬅️➡️⬅️
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#stray kids#skz stay#skz smau#stray kids smau#skz fanfic#skz#bangchan stray kids#chris bang stray kids#lee know stray kids#minho stray kids#changbin stray kids#hyunjin stray kids#han stray kids#jisung stray kids#felix stray kids#seungmin stray kids#yongbok stray kids#i.n stray kids#jeongin stray kids#soulmates#soulbond#soul marks#stray kids soulmate au#stray kids x y/n#stray kids x you#stray kids x reader
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╰┈➤ miscellaneous flags headcanons ✧.*
-ˋˏ LIPPMANN ˎˊ-
this guy is multilingual and can speak all of the romance languages.
his singing voice is just chef’s kiss~
hopeless romantic and makes sure everyone knows it.
surprisingly good at fighting, but no one expects it (some even think he’s a pacifist) because he’s known to be the negotiator and would rather solve things with words/deals.
watching him fight is almost like watching a dance. he’s very elegant even when killing people and takes very good care not to get blood on his clothes.
manipulative as fuck. he will sell you out if it means he gets what he wants.
-ˋˏ CHUUYA ˎˊ-
he gets doted on/teased because he’s the baby of the group but, ironically, he’s also the most “mother hen” of all of them.
his ability has made him really good at multitasking.
-ˋˏ ALBATROSS ˎˊ-
he has really good instincts and a sixth sense for danger.
amazing sense of direction. this guy never gets lost — it’s like having a human GPS. he’s also good at pathing, figuring out the best routes, and reading/understanding maps and transportation networks.
he has green eyes and is really good-looking underneath the glasses.
his real name was something super ordinary and he hated it, so he picked out the name “albatross” because he thought it sounded cool.
-ˋˏ ICEMAN ˎˊ-
has better fighting technique than chuuya, though he’s not as physically strong or as fast as the redhead. they enjoy sparring each other (after which, an exasperated doc has to fix them up).
keeps little trinkets, candy, and snacks in his deep pockets in case of emergency (read: the other flags having a temper tantrum or being in a bad/irritable mood).
the tallest and broadest (in build) of the group. he would also be the strongest if it weren’t for chuuya (who is freakishly strong).
-ˋˏ DOC ˎˊ-
his sickness leaves him in pain a lot of the time. he wouldn’t have the mobility that he does if it weren’t for his iv drip. because of this, the others are really protective of him.
he hates it when the others take care of him not because he’s ungrateful, but because a) he’s a doctor, he’s the one that should be taking care of them, and b) he’s the second oldest in the group, he shouldn’t be getting babied!
really fucking smart in the conventional, traditional way. he knows his craft well — call him a miracle worker and you wouldn’t be wrong.
-ˋˏ PIANO MAN ˎˊ-
the definition of a perfectionist. he’s good at making supernotes because he’s really good at observing and noticing even the smallest details.
(related to the above) he can be really bratty. he hates it when something doesn’t go his way or exactly as he planned.
a sadistic psycho. knows a lot of torture methods and likes learning new ones. he uses torture as a way to get information, but he also just really enjoys tormenting people. there isn’t a single person who he hasn’t made squeal.
good at playing pretty much any instrument. his music calms the others.
really fucking smart in the scheme-y way.
comes from an affluent family.
#bsd#bsd stormbringer#the flags#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#albatross#lippmann#chuuya nakahara#doc#iceman#piano man#headcanons#these may or may not be related to a fic I want to write#part 1??
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Reread Sansa's sample TWOW chapter today after very long, and I enjoyed it so much! I had totally forgotten how much I like book!Sansa. Especially her Alayne chapters are so good, where she is teasing knights, gossiping with Lady Myranda, and having fun in general.
I see fans often claiming that Sansa is going to be Queen eventually because she has a leadership/ruler arc. This is flat-out wrong. She does not have a ruler arc, in the Vale, Sansa is learning two things:
Being a Lady of the House. She is doing all the household management, organization, image politicking, handling the guests and house members in the appropriate manners etc. She is also playing at being the proper Westerosi maiden, flirting with Harry and other knights, and acting the scared damsel in distress when needed. And what's more, she is good at it and loving it.
Scheming. That's what she is learning from Littlefinger. To be a political schemer, playing the game of thrones and manipulating things behind the scenes. Littlefinger is no leader by himself, he's a player.
In other words, she is following in Catelyn's footsteps of being a lady with political acumen. Fitting the mold of the society but also exceeding it. Only, Sansa has the advantage of a teacher like Littlefinger (I'm only talking about his scheming skill which he is teaching), so eventually she will get to succeed where Catelyn had failed.
This is why I don't see any chance of her being a ruler in her own name, because till now, Sansa's arc has never been about ruling. In the Eyrie, her role and thoughts are myopically focused on the household, the guests they must entertain, coaxing Sweetrobin, the schemes to play, the right image to project, which servants are suited to which task and such. It's never about how winter impact will impact the kingdom how much food is in their granaries, how the smallfolk are faring, how well she thinks the existing governing systems are functioning, how well justice is being done, how to benefit the kingdom as a whole.
This is big picture stuff, elements of ruling a kingdom or an institution, not just a household. These are all elements very strongly present from the beginning in the arcs of the leaders: Dany, Cersei, Jon, Tyrion. The difference is noticeable especially in the case of the main budding leaders of the story: Dany and Jon, where such qualities had existed in them even before actually becoming leaders. For example, Jon spends AGOT gaining a leadership position among the new recruits of the Night's Watch inspiring them, he assesses the existing institution and framework of the Night's Watch and finds it lacking when someone like Sam is not utilized, negotiates with Maester Aemon based on his argument that every tool has its place, gets himself into a position where he's groomed for leadership. Dany spends AGOT learning to command, first by rightly assessing Viserys and ordering him punished, then proactively taking the Lhazareen women under her protection against Drogo's wish, then inspiring the rest of her khalasar and Ser Jorah to become hers, her men. Those traits had to be planted very early for both Dany and Jon to become such competent leaders at their young age. In each book, they encountered leadership challenges, they led people, negotiated deals, showed military prowess, administrative actions, had clear visions of what they wanted to change.
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