#How Obey Me Shot Itself in the Foot

[jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav]

How Obey Me Shot Itself In The Foot - Introduction

MASSIVE WARNING FOR DISCUSSION OF RELIGION. Specifically of Abrahamic religions (Islam, Christianity, and Judaism) and their shared God. I am doing this in a media analysis context, not to shame any particular religion or anyone’s particular beliefs. If that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to not read this post, stop reading at any point, and/or unfollow/block me. DO NOT try to start religious discourse on this post or in my askbox/DMs, I will clown on and block you.

Also spoiler warnings for a ton of different Obey Me lessons.

Intro (you're here), Michael (X)(X)(X)(X), Conclusion (X)(X)

A while ago, someone sent me an ask about why I think Raphael should kill MC. Instead of answering in a succinct manner, I proceeded to draft a multi-part informal essay about one of, imo, the biggest plot holes/writing foibles in Obey Me, and what I'd do if I was in charge of writing it.

This is the first part of that essay. It does not address why I think Raphael should kill MC at all, but we'll get there.

(Also, a masterlist of all the parts of this essay will be posted once I've... posted all the parts lol)

So full disclosure: I haven't actually made it to the part of Obey Me where Raphael actually shows up*, I've just seen screenshots of various bits n bobs as well as the many memes the fandom's made that portray him as a wet cat

But, based on the way that Obey Me can't seem to decide if it's a fun silly comedy/romance about demons or a serious political and interpersonal drama, I don't think they have the desire *cough*orwritingchops*cough* to actually follow through on Raphael's "assassin" thing in a long term interesting way

And that's because I don't think they can decide on how to handle the entire Celestial Realm.

*In a series of truly stupid (on my part) shenanigans, I lost my og account, which I believe was at Lesson 41. I've made a new one, which is on... lesson 8. yeah. fuck me. Long story short, any plot developments past lesson 41 I only know through fandom osmosis - I understand there's some grandfather-clause-esque shit happening with MC and the boys in the Celestial Realm apparently? But yeah, no firsthand experience beyond that point.

Before I get into this, I want to clarify that a) these are just my thoughts, and since I am one person, they’re likely to be flawed and incomplete, and b) because we haven’t actually seen a lot of characters like Michael, the Demon King, or… well, God, I can’t talk much about their depictions in canon. What I can (and will) do though is talk about their archetypal roles in a larger media context, as well as how they (could be) foiled off of other characters. So yeah. This is basically red string and push pins on a murder board. Anyway!

To start, let's get really fucking basic for a second:

The Celestial Realm is clearly analogous to Heaven

The typical expectation audiences have vis a vis Heaven is that Heaven = Good

The Devildom is clearly analogous to Hell

The typical audience expectation for Hell is Hell = Bad

The Devildom, while dark, spooky, and full of danger is both shown and implied to be not totally terrible, and in fact has several virtues to its name

The Celestial Realm, while bright, cheery, and full of fluffy angels is implied to be very rigid and militaristic, to such an extent that it was willing to kill one of their own for breaking these rules (and cast out several others for defending her)

The Devildom is currently under the control of Prince/Lord Diavolo, son of the Demon King (who’s “asleep” in a mausoleum), who acts very unlike what one would expect of demonic royalty.

It can be said, then, that Diavolo is standing in for the Demon King.

The Celestial Realm is, as far as we can tell, currently under the control of Michael, an archangel who in Obey Me is said to be the guardian angel of confectioners, but in various Abrahamic mythologies has been associated with being chief of the angels, a protector of humanity/the faithful, and the (current) right hand of the big guy upstairs Himself (sometimes replacing Lucifer, sometimes not).

It can be said, then, that Michael is standing in for God.

Based on the early concern that demons would eat MC and the attitudes the brothers (and now other characters like Mephistopheles) have had to unlearn vis a vis humans, it seems that the traditional Devildom attitude towards humans is more hostile, and implies that Diavolo’s predecessor, the Demon King, was more “traditionally demonic” and created/enforced this hegemony.

Based on what we understand of the Great Celestial War, plus the way the brothers and characters like Luke and Simeon talk, the “traditional” Celestial attitude towards humans and demons was more hostile, and implies that Michael’s predecessor is the one who created/enforced this hegemony.

That sounds like a fun setup for conflict, right? You’ve got these two worlds with all sorts of baggage between them, including turncoats and personal grudges and fantasy-racial prejudice, a central character (MC) designed to pull them all together and help them settle their differences— oh but we do need actual villains so maybe the endgame involves the two OG leaders of the respective magic worlds coming back and getting generational whiplash from all this mixing and the protagonists have to fight them and—

I did mention one of the aforementioned “Big Bad” figures is analogous to God, Creator of the Universe of the Actual Bible right?

Yeah, no fucking way is a dating sim going to put The Abrahamic God as a villain/antagonist and have that go down in any kind of good way. Bc, you know… depicting Actual God, especially in any kind of nuanced or even negative light when the work isn’t really centrally about that is… it’s a lot.

So where do we go from here?

[mothergayselle]

he loves me not - shall we date? obey me! (mc vs. belphie)

rating: T-M words: 4k summary: a one-shot addressing the MC's emotions after That Scene from the first season. idk why they never bring it up again, but if you're gonna fight, you might as well keep it in the family & go all out, bb! (ewww.) (spoilers for the first season, obvi.) (characters include all of the brothers and a FMC.)

read on ao3

The sharp sound of her hand across his face is a gunshot, a cannon explosion which detonates all around them.

The amethyst-eyed demon balks, mouth wide open, the unending indigo of his gaze flaring to life at the assault. He staggers where he stands, dazed, not by the pain itself but because of the shock. 

Everyone else is frozen as well, varying expressions of horror and fear etched onto their faces. No one steps forward to stop or restrain her, and Freya sways from the force of her own attack, though she orients herself at once. And then, without an ounce of hesitation, she tenses again, all of the muscles in her body rigid with fury.

The opposite hand slams into the demon’s face, palm and fingers hard against him. Her knuckles collide with a delicious impact, and a fodder of gasps dissolve into the air. The demon stumbles, just once, his back foot catching on the ground to steady himself.

But she is already vaulting, clinging to the demon’s body as they both crashed to the ground with a painful thud! Straddling his waist, Freya cocks her fist back and prepares to strike and strike and strike. She doesn’t realize she is screaming until the grass beneath her is shivering from the force.

XXX

She is fading. She is dying. She can feel the sides of her trachea being crushed underneath his fingertips, folding into itself and mawed by his supernatural strength. She cannot even gasp for air as he lifts her a few inches off the ground, her toes intermittently dragging across its surface. Freya is beating and slapping and hitting at the arm and hand which kills her so easily, but she knows. She knows she doesn’t stand a chance.

“I can’t stop laughing,” he giggles, the staccato array of chuckles darkening into madness. “The look on your face! Ahahaha!!”

Her eyes wander, desperate to claim one last look at the person she loved most in the three fucking realms. He isn’t there yet. No one is. Will she really die before smiling at him one last time?

“BELPHEGOR!”

All at once, a horde of demons appear. They’re seemingly conjured from the void, racing into the foyer from the kitchen, the dormitory hallways—Satan nearly trips down the stairs from the force of his own shock and terror.

A swell of hot, stinging tears gathers behind her eyes, and suddenly, she is crying. She is sobbing, in fact, unable to choke out noise or phlegm or snot, and twitches because of it. As she gazes upon the faces of her most cherished loved ones, she finds that her chest not only constricts but convulses as well. The six, demon brothers stare at her, horror and agony blended together upon each feature, twisting their eyes and mouths in harsh ways.

Satan is the first to speak, hands trembling by his sides. “Let her GO, Belphegor!”

But Belphegor only grins, the smile exposing too many of his teeth to be natural. “Why should I? Look at how the human squirms. Isn’t she lovely like this?” For a moment, Belphegor’s gaze rakes over her face and body, slightly suspended as it still is. “Her face… tightened in pain… she’s exquisite.”

A hiss pulses through the air. She finds Lucifer, black aura gathering around him in waves. Wings suddenly explode out of him, and he shifts into demon form.

“Do not force me to take action, Belphegor.” Lucifer’s voice is sharper and more severe than she’s ever heard it before. He takes two steps forward, surpassing the crowd his brothers have formed in front of them.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Belphegor only sneers. “It’s too late.”

And indeed, it is. Freya gazes into the churning, broiling eyes of a man plunged into insanity, and she finds nothing there but the desire to cause pain. Although a fire erupts inside her chest, a deep, unending cold seeps into her skin, her bones… Freya’s eyes flutter closed of their own accord, until another voice, cracking with desperation, snaps her back to the present.

“Belphie…” Beezelbub pleads.

“Please.”

It’s almost imperceptible—the flash of doubt, so minute, illuminating Belphegor’s eyes. The flash is replaced by rage however, and Freya feels her arms drop to her sides. She’s so close to death, she can’t even lift her limbs. The fire swirls hotter, calcinating her heart and lungs into dust.

She wants to speak… but death will not let her.

Goodbye, she thinks, trying her very best to somehow project this thought into the minds of the brothers. She thinks of deep, red, carnelian eyes before the endl, too weak now to even find them.

 I love you all.

The bonfire suddenly stutters, and the world goes black.

XXX

She is airborne… and then something hard and rock-solid collides with her back. If she was breathing, the wind would’ve been knocked out of her. Instead, she simply lays there, every sound around a garbled concoction of noise.

Tendrils of warmth snake around her, pressing her close to something which is also warm. Her neck is suddenly supported, though her head still tilts over it, limp.

“Freya… Freya!”

She can barely make the words out. She knows that voice, though. A painful, weak lick of fire stabs through her. Mammon…

“Freya, don’t you die! FREYA!”

“Ahahaha! Mammon, you look like such a fool!”

“Belphie, what have you done!?” Beel…

Something fluid then drips onto her cold, frigid face. Warm and wet, she can feel the liquid trailing over her own cheeks and neck.

Tears?

Is Mammon… crying?

“Freya,” he chokes, his voice a mere whisper. She can feel him start to shake against her. “Come back. Please come back to me.”

Freya never wanted this… never wanted to leave the brothers, Simeon and Luke, the Devildom… hell, even Solomon, who contains more secrets than she could ever fathom. Barely cognizant and even in the clutches of imminent death, she realizes that she hates Belphegor for taking her away from them all.

She hates him. He did this. He killed her. And now the brothers will suffer. They will cry and scream and wail, and Belphegor will swallow it all whole, such is his taste for destruction.

If she could, Freya would kill him. She would end his life.

Freya is fading. Her last thoughts are saturated with rage and despair… not quite a fitting death, she thinks. Still. She will die in the arms of someone she loves deeply, someone who, despite the ice-cold shell of her broken body, keeps her tepidly warm against him.

The vibrations of loud, combustible clamor suddenly sounds off in the foyer. Yelling. People are yelling, though she is nothing but a pinprick of sentience left. Freya knows she will go in the next several seconds, and the warmth from before descends onto her forehead. Skin… Mammon’s skin. Mammon’s forehead. He is rocking them back and forth, his eyes spilling droplets of tears onto her own.

“Freya, I love you,” he breathes onto her cheek. “Don’t go. Don’t die. I love you.”

Reality dissolves, unravels itself like an infinite, cosmic ball of yarn. The void sings a haunting melody which resounds throughout the entirety of her body. Freya, exhausted, lets go. The blackness overtakes her and she is unwillingly, but peacefully, shrouded inside a dimension of nothingness.

Mammon… be happy.

XXX

They’re on their way to class. The twinkling constellations glimmer back at them from the sky, their once unfamiliar skeletons now relatively memorized. Each demon is a mass of towering splendor, and Freya, with her long, raven hair and heterochromic eyes, is a slender body weaving between brothers, exchanging banter and small-talk.

Asmodeus leaps forward, seizing Freya’s right arm to his chest. “I want to walk with Freya! You want to walk with me too, right, gorgeous?”

Similar sentiments—as well as louder opposition—sound off behind them.

“Oi! Asmo! Get your filthy hands off of my human!”

“T-That’s not fair! What if I want to walk with her?”

“Are you all really incapable of ever shutting your mouth?”

And then, a slighter demon with indigo-grey hair is at her side, zipping to her at incredible speed. His hands, delicate and pale, proceed to encircle Freya’s left arm. She is subsequently yanked to him, hot breath washing over one cheek as he speaks with a laugh.

“What Freya isn’t saying is that she really wants to walk with me, rig—“

The sharp sound of her hand across his face is a gunshot, a cannon explosion which detonates all around them.

The amethyst-eyed demon balks, mouth wide open, the unending indigo of his gaze flaring to life at the assault. He staggers where he stands, dazed, not by the pain itself but because of the shock. 

Everyone else is frozen as well, varying expressions of horror and fear etched onto their faces. No one steps forward to stop or restrain her, and Freya sways from the force of her own attack, though she orients herself at once. And then, without an ounce of hesitation, she tenses again, all of the muscles in her body rigid with fury.

The opposite hand slams into the demon’s face, palm and fingers hard against him. Her knuckles collide with a delicious impact, and a fodder of gasps dissolve into the air. The demon stumbles, just once, his back foot catching on the ground to steady himself.

But she is already vaulting, clinging to the demon’s body as they both crashed to the ground with a painful thud! Straddling his waist, Freya cocks her fist back and prepares to strike and strike and strike. She doesn’t realize she is screaming until the grass beneath her is shivering from the force.

“Don’t,” she hisses, green-and-black eyes flaring with rage. “Do not ever touch me!”

Belphegor doesn’t move. He lays there, soft, cultivated clumps of vegetation cradling his back and legs as they remain unnaturally still. Like before, the others are frozen as well, though Freya sees Lucifer shift from the corner of one eye.

Her head whips to the side. “Stay,” she snarls. Lucifer’s face goes blank with surprise.

The command itself is profane… she does not invoke the pact between them, however, the afternoon air vibrates heavily with magical warning.

Freya turns back to Belphegor, who eyes her warily. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, so quiet is his voice. She can feel every modicum of attention seeping into her skin, but it is an afterthought.

Nothing but fire and red and blood and tears and fury broils inside her. She needs an outlet… has needed an outlet, but was too burdened by the weight of Diavolo’s request. 

He’d wanted her to help reintegrate the youngest brother back into the fold, to mend the bridge shattered long ago by hate and pain–to help prepare Belphegor for RAD’s exchange program and the future humans it would bring into the Devildom, whether that last condition was implied or not. It hadn’t mattered. When Diavolo asked you to do something, no questions were to be asked.

In all of this time, Freya knows that there’s been zero regard for her in the process. Nobody has batted an eye or worried about her acclimating back into the fold. After all, she was the one who’d been killed. She was the one who had DIED.

Freya can’t see the Devildom’s constellations above her anymore, can’t see how each alien star shivers with anticipation. Her head is too bowed, too hunched, too coiled over in fury. She never once takes her eyes off Belphegor, who remains still beneath her legs and waist.

“How does it feel?” she near-mumbles, placing a shaking hand on top of his throat. “How does it feel to be incapacitated by someone you thought you knew?” She lightly squeezes his throat with her fingers, though not enough to cut off his supply of air.

Mammon’s voice immediately sounds off behind her. “Freya, c’mon, kid… knock it off.”

A reactive growl builds in her throat at the sound. “Funny how protective you lot are when you want to be,” she nearly spits. Belphegor holds her gaze regardless, the amethyst in them swirling limply. He does not attempt to fight back.

“I asked you how it felt,” she prompts him.

Beel. “Freya—“

“It hurts,” Belphegor finally answers. “But I can’t say that I blame you. After all, I did much worse than this in the end.”

Freya’s eyes narrow dangerously at him. “Yes, you did.” She considers him thoughtfully for a moment, her head slightly cocked.

“I’m not strong enough to crush your throat the way you crushed mine.”

At this, Belphegor pales.

“But, you are.”

Her heterochromic eyes flash with a ripple of magic, glinting in the lowlight of the always-full moon and its rays. The hand upon his neck is suddenly replaced with one of his, snapping up and gripping his own trachea under the authority of her wordless, magical command.

“All right,” Lucifer snaps. “That’s enough!”

“No!” Belphegor croaks, expression blown wide open. “Leave her alone.” His eyes nervously dart back to Freya’s. “This is what I deserve.”

She sneers at him. Tangles of raven-black hair obscures much of her face, blocking most of the hateful glare she throws at him. Then a pause so quiet, Freya thinks she can hear the creaking of everyone’s jaws tightening up. “You crushed my throat with your bare hands. Did you know that before dying, I was choking on my own blood? That you squeezed so hard, I couldn’t even cough it back up again?”

The trembling spread to the rest of her, until her whole body shuddered with rage.

“You deserve much worse than this, Belphie. You deserve to die, like I did.”

A thick, gray silence smogs over them and for a moment, Freya’s expression falls, eyes and mouth slackening with the beginning of grief.

“B-But…” Leviathan stammers, “It was the other you who… died… right?” The atmosphere seemed to flicker with an unseen shock which wrapped all around them. “You existed separately from the Freya who… right?”

Freya could practically feel the brothers’ horror, sharp as a whip, crack through the air. She peered into each of their faces, wordless, speechless at the obvious fear clutching ahold of them.

“Did you truly not know?” A whisper. Her eyes close, not wanting to remember, but feeling a blade in her chest regardless. 

Another oversight. Another betrayal. Her teeth bare themselves of her own accord, and she was sure that if she were truly a demon, black wings would punch themselves through the back of her school uniform.

“I am the one who died. I remember the pain,” she murmurs, eyes drifting closed once more. “I remember the cold, the white-hot bonfire in my chest as I struggled to breathe… I remember the taste of my own blood, my throat crushed beneath two, steady hands… his laughter…”

The wordless confusion in the air screamed out, silently breaking against each of them.

“And then I passed on,” she said simply, shoulders shrugging up. “And my consciousness merged with your version of Freya. Past-me.”

The wind yells too, tossing her raven-black hair around her cheeks. “So… yes, I remember.” Freya’s voice grows dark, angry again. “I remember it all.”

“Fuck, Freya,” Satan breathes. His expression twists, a sliver of desperation flashing in his emerald eyes. “We had no idea.”

It may have been new information, but the reveal is entirely unsurprising. Freya knows how much the brothers love her. She can feel it, the magic of each pack humming through her veins. The brothers have become a literal part of her entity, and so she knows that they’d never abandon her if they’d known.

But they didn’t. And she’d been alone in life, just as she was in her death.

Hot, wet tears prick at the back of her eyes, but Freya denies them, forcefully shoving them back from where they came. This was not the time to leave herself vulnerable, no matter how much she wants to cry and heave and mourn in their arms.

She is far too angry for that.

Her jaw flexes underneath the river-waves of her hair, then loosens as her brows lower.

“You could have asked,” she says. Her voice is a hollow-boned knife. “I needed you guys to be there, but instead I was told to help him.” Her green and black eyes snap back to the demon she still straddled.

“The demon who killed me.”

The brothers are frozen again, seemingly locked into place as she speaks. 

“I hate you,” she says to the youngest brother. “I wish you were dead. And God fucking knows that I am tempted to make that real.”

Belphegor remains silent, hands by his sides, visage ghostly white and stoney throughout her monologue. Freya has never seen him this way before. Not even when she came back to life. Not even when she found out that they were practically family. This was the face of a man afraid, and there is a raging, lava river inside of her that roars with gratification.

Maybe she really is becoming a demon. However… she grits her teeth, peering down at her murderer with magic swirling in her eyes.

“But I’m not like you,” she sneers, eyes and voice hard as knives pinned to rock. “I don’t kill people because of a mood swing or because it’s funny.”

The burning prick of tears surfaces again.

“I don’t kill people and call them exquisite while they die in my hands.”

Everyone flinches.

And then she is on her feet quickly, ripping herself from Belphegor’s body as if it is poisonous to her very flesh. They hold eye contact, the surrounding brother’s attention thick and viscous, sticking onto them both and waiting. One corner of Freya’s mouth twists, like it can’t decide whether to smile or scowl at the injustice of it all.

“You are a literal Prince of Hell, Belphegor. Fucking act like it, hm?” 

But she leans down, slowly shuttering the space between her face and his. He, who still lays fearfully on the ground beneath her. 

“The next time you think about coming for me,” she breathes, “you just remember the woman you chose to bind yourself to.” 

Then her eyes unexpectedly flare, the wild magic in them releasing with all of the rage quivering along her body. Belphegor flinches, his mouth opening in horror as her irises glow brightly, unnaturally, and twist into a vivid amethyst.

The same color as his own. 

Glaring. 

Unmaking. 

A predator yearning to eat.

[alder-saan]

Hiya love! I was wondering if I could request a Cersei Lannister x Fem HandMaiden where R has been her maiden for like forever and has a massive crush on Cersei and Cersei like them back sorta thing ? I know that’s very vague apologies if it becomes difficult.

Much love I adore your writing so so much!!

AAAAAH that'smyfavouritetropeomglikewow

And I love Cersei too (yes, I love Cersei and Brienne, I'm Jaime)

That's okay for giving me a vague description of what you wanted, this trope will always inspire me. And I hope you'll like it.

This one-shot is inspired by Warming her pearls by Carol Ann Duffy.

The pearls

Cercei Lannister x fem! Handmaiden! reader

Warnings: none

Wordcount: ~1700

not real angst, not real fluff... just something in between

You were in her room, silently watching her opening a golden box set with precious stones. She had just discovered it, as it had been placed on a shelf in her room during the day. And in the evening, when you and her went back to her bedroom, you saw it. A present from Jaime, you thought. Gods you hated that man. He had never been mean or even contemptuous, but you hated the way he kissed Cersei. You hated the way she seemed so happy with him. You hated him for being loved by your mistress...

Her back was to you, but in the mirror, you could see her and the box in her lovely hands. In the case, on red velvet, was lying a necklace, with big milky pearls. All white, with pink and blue hue. But the most beautiful, and also the most painful, was her smile when she saw it. A big smile who meant "I love when Jaime spends money for me". She was the kind of woman who loved receiving gifts. And these gifts, big dazzling jewels, wild silk dresses, aged red wines, black panther furs were unaffordable for you.

Cersei looked at you in the mirror, but you didn't see her glance. You were thinking about how she moaned when Jaime kissed her. And how bad you wished she moaned like this on your lips.

"Y/N?" she said, putting the pearls around her neck.

Her voice brought you back to reality.

"Yes, my Lady?"

"You don't like the pearls, do you?"

"Your necklace is beautiful, my Lady."

"Then what are your pretty lips twisting like that for, mh? I hope that's not for me..."

"N-No, never, my Lady. I owe you everything."

"I'm glad you remember it. But why did you look so angry? Tell me."

"Just some guy who annoys me." You shrugged, that was a partial truth.

"Who? I can sentence him to death..."

"Gods, no. No need to do that."

Your Queen gave you a suspicious look. You tried as best you could to act natural.

"Mh. Let's take a bath, shall we?"

"As you command, my Lady."

You smiled a bit. That was your own privilege. As her handmaid, you would see Cersei Lannister every day in Eve's clothes. You followed her into the bathroom of King's Landing castle.

It was a big room, with many pools, some hotter, some colder. In the evening, the golden light reflected on the water, highlighting the ceiling with hundreds of dancing little stars. You locked the door behind you, making sure no one would disturb you (even though the bathroom was exclusive to members of the Royal Family). She was waiting for you to help her undress.

You started unbuttoning the back of her dress. The fabric slipped off the soft skin of her shoulders by itself, gradually revealing her back to your eyes. You turned around her, bowing to lower her dress a little at time. Now you were in front of her, at her feet, you untied her shoes.

"Y/N? Look at me darling, please."

You raised your head, a bit confuse. Did you do something wrong? But she only gave you a little smile.

"Gods if all my servants obeyed me like you do..."

You looked again at her shoes, as she lifted a foot for you to take of one.

"I will do anything you ask of me, my Lady."

"Anything?"

You shivered, hearing in her voice this dominant side of her personality.

"Anything."

You took off her second shoe.

"If I threw you off the wall and asked you to fly, would you do it?"

"I would. I would find a way."

It was a trick question, and you got around her trap. If you had said you couldn't, she would have been disappointed. If you had said it was impossible, she would have replied that you should not pretend to do everything she asked if it was not in your power. Your hand reached her underwear, the only piece of fabric which kept her from complete nudity. She grabbed your wrist.

"Stop lying." Cersei said.

"I am not. Throw me, and you'll see. If I am, the gods will kill me for that. And if I am not, I'll manage to do it."

"You think you're smart, uh?"

She stared into your eyes and continued.

"But you're stupid." She let go of your wrist "You know very well how it would end."

"Yes, but I would die for you." You said, while taking off her underwear.

As you stood up, she looked at you for a moment. You held her gaze for a few seconds, but eventually looked away.

"Do you know why I never replaced you?" She asked.

"I don't know, my Lady."

"Because I don't understand you. You are an enigma, a mistery, Y/N."

"What would you like to know, my Lady?"

"I don't want you to answer my questions. That'd be too easy. I like being challenged."

"I could give you some hints..."

You moved your hands to her neck to remove her necklace but she took them in hers.

"I want to keep it for this time."

Jealousy made your heart sunk. Why? Why did she want to keep it? This moment was yours. It was you and her, the both of you. And only the both of you. Now she wanted to bring Jaime in it? In your moment?

"Yes, sure."

She gave you a smile, noticing the look in your eyes.

"You don't like these pearls."

"I told you-"

"And I don't like when your pretty lips are telling such ugly lies."

Cersei's voice had turned cold, but her smile remained. She was angry.

"I don't understand why. I mean, yes, I like you being a mystery, but I hate when you lie or hide the truth. There is clearly something wrong about those pearls."

You lowered your head, gaze fixed on the tiles.

"Now, undress and join me in the pool. We'll talk about this. You better tell me the truth this time."

Your mistress walked to one of the warm pools and slowly entered the water. You took off your dress and underwear. She was staring at you. You felt as if her gaze would melt your skin. The guilty feeling gave you a lump in your throat. You couldn't manage looking at her.

You entered the water next to her.

"Now tell me everything."

"I can't that's not-"

"Oh, yes, you can. You just told me you would do anything for me."

"Promise me you won't throw me off the wall..."

"I can't promise you anything. Did you betrayed me? Now tell me or I torture you." She closed her eyes. "And I don't want to do it."

"I-I don't like the fact that's from Jaime. I don't like that man I'm sorry."

She seemed confused. But her voice softened.

"What is about Jaime you don't like? Did he hurt you? Is he that guy you talked me about?"

"Yes, that's him. But he never hurt me... on purpose."

"What did he do? I can tell him and he'll apologize"

You nervously bit your lower lip.

"I can't. That's-"

"Please, tell me."

Her voice wasn't cold anymore, you could hear worries in it. You gathered all your courage and breathed in.

"He... He kisses you."

She opened her mouth but didn't say anything, completely speechless. You continued.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't think that but... How I whish it was me... How I wish I was the person you think about all day. I'm sorry that's not... I mean, that's so stupid. You love him, he loves you but Gods! I would do anything to be him just for one night."

"Don't say that, Y/N."

"I am sorry."

All suddenly seemed cold all around you. You looked at your feet, distorted by the little waves, and by the tears in your eyes. Cersei took your chin in her fingers and turned your head towards her.

"Don't say that because he has much more reasons to be jealous than you do."

Your eyes widened. You tried to tell something but nothing went out your throat. She wiped your tears with her thumbs.

"Firstly, those pearls are not a gift from him."

"Wh- What? Who then?"

"I bought them."

At this moment, you felt so stupid. You had assumed so quickly that was a present from Jaime, you hadn't thought about the possibility that it could have been her...

"I bought them for you. I wanted to give you, but when I saw this look in your eyes through the mirror... I thought that was not a good present for you. I thought you didn't like it. And so I decided to keep them, and to buy you an other present."

You blushed. A present for you, her handmaiden? A pearls necklace?

"I'm sorry..."

"Do you like them?"

"Those are the most beautiful pearls I ever seen."

She removed the necklace and hand it to you.

"Then keep it."

"I can't, I'm just your handmaiden, my Lady. You can't give me that."

She sighed.

"You would do anything for me, uh?"

"I would. But-"

"Turn yourself."

You turned and showed her your back. She placed the pearls round your throat. Her fingers lingered on your bare skin. That made you shiver. You didn't dare to move. She was drawing small circles with her fingertips. The contact drove you crazy. You were bright red. You wanted more. You wanted her to kiss you.

Your heart raced as you felt her lips on your naked shoulder. Her hands went down your ribs. It made you suffocate. Her lips wandered on your skin, softly brushing it. She kissed your neck, your spine, then she tried to reach your jaw, pressing her breasts against your back.

"Turn again, I want to see your pretty face." she whispered in your ear.

You turned and met her gaze. She cupped your face and kissed you. Her lips against yours, that was everything you had ever dreamed of. That was magical. You shyly reciprocated and placed your hands on her waist. She smiled against your lips.

"Y/N, I want you to wear these pearls so that anyone can see who you belong to."

Cersei moved her head back a little to look you in the eye. She tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"I want you to stay a little longer in my room tonight..."

"Y-Yes."

"Yes who?"

"Yes my Lady."

"Good, now do your job and clean me up. If you do it well I might consider rewarding you."

_____________________________________________

I truly loved writing it, thank you for this request, and I hope you liked it.

[cadybear420]

Cadybear's Reviews- Surrender

Ohhh yeah, bitches. It's time for a JUICY review. My first review of a PooPoo Tier book. Just a heads up, this one is gonna get VERY salty.

Welcome to the thirty-fourth official Cadybear's Reviews! Today I'll be talking about Surrender, which I have ranked on the "PooPoo Tier" at 1 star out of a possible 10. My last and only playthrough of this was around February-June 2022 (for the first book) and October 2023 (for the second book).

Holy crap, this series is awful. Like, actually the worst of the whole app, in my opinion. 

It shot itself in the foot from the very start– you can’t have MC be trying to escape a toxic marriage, but have her new endgame love interest be just as bad if not worse than the ex spouse. Reagan literally talks to her as if she’s already their sub from day fucking one. And even worse, MC wants to be Reagan’s sub barely even a few chapters later, so it can almost be read as if Reagan coerced her into BDSM. 

And there was literally no reason to default MC to being a sub here. Okay, I guess it technically does set up the plot for Book 2 where Reagan is refusing to give up control, but saying it doesn’t make sense for the MC to not wanna dom at first is kinda bullshit. The writers say in their blog post about Surrender 1 that “It wouldn’t make sense for her to dom right away”, yet they’re okay with making her sub right away? Other than Reagan basically coercing her into the sub role, there’s nothing given about MC’s character that suggests she couldn’t have had interest in the dom role (or both, as a switch role) at first. 

Truth be told, I’d have much preferred if they let MC have options to try either of the roles and let the player build up her role as sub, dom, switch, sub-leaning, dom-leaning, etc. Especially since MC is supposed to be A) new to BDSM and B) freshly divorced after seeing her toxic spouse cheat on her. So let her take the time to explore and try out what she likes. That would be far more believable for the story and a far more immersive experience for the players. I get that said options wouldn’t have allowed for the arc of Reagan learning to give up some control, but surely they still could have done something creative for a more choice-based system. 

Book 2 does have us start to try a more dominant role, but it’s honestly meaningless. Because all that book does is, it doubles down on how toxic of a partner Reagan is. 

Yes, I know they do give some context for Reagan having control issues with their parents’ own abusive relationship, but as someone who has been in a fairly similar situation, it’s handled horribly. Their behaviors feel like they’re treated more as just an inconvenience or a minor hiccup, rather than genuinely toxic and abusive behaviors. 

Like, here’s all the shit Reagan does in Book 2. They go behind MC’s back to pull strings for her to get that job but then deliberately convinces her that she got it all on her own, constantly acts incredibly infantilizing to her, tries to enforce BDSM-style rules outside of the bedroom to the point where they straight up forbid her from doing a part of her own job, and– probably the worst of them all– literally tells MC “when a woman agrees to be my sub, she agrees to obey”. Honest to God, just that line right there was enough to put this series on my permanent Choices shitlist. 

And funnily enough, the series just almost got a chance to avoid it! After that awful line, MC finally gets some self-respect and dumps Reagan over their controlling behavior, and for a few chapters she has a big girls’ getaway trip with Malorie and (optionally) Reese (funnily enough the next book to be released after Surrender 2 is Getaway Girls). And let me tell you they’re the best chapters of this series and I enjoyed it to the max. It was the only part of the book I was willing to spend diamonds on. 

Now, had MC left Reagan for good– or at least had a proper talk with Reagan– then I might move this series up a view tiers. Unfortunately, it’s all downhill from there. 

Reagan refuses to take accountability for MC leaving them, and then proceeds to make Anderson track MC down on her trip when they learn she might be taking a job in Seattle. Holy fuck PB, Reagan is literally just Pat Ransic 2.0. In fact, I think they’re much worse actually. 

And what makes it all tragic is that the ending, in theory, could have worked. Reagan does apologize, they do talk things out, Reagan does become more willing to give up control, and we are allowed to choose if we want to be dom, sub, or switch. 

It seems all well and good, except for one little problem: it doesn’t feel earned in the slightest, especially not when the two become engaged at the end of the book (the one time MC is the one who proposes to LI, and it’s in the shittiest Choices book that ever smelled like shit), barely even a chapter after their conversation. Which, by the way, only happened because Reagan tracked MC down on her getaway trip to Vegas. It’s rushed as all hell, and that’s putting it lightly. 

Not only that, but even though Reagan’s behaviors are addressed (or rather, lampshaded), it’s only part of the problem. Grant and Ray’s relationship, the relationship that the writers try to parallel with Reagan and MC’s relationship and that Reagan used to justify going back to MC, was a seemingly healthy relationship where they had struggles making things work, but they weren’t toxic. 

Reagan and MC’s relationship is straight up toxic from the start– again, they acted incredibly predatory towards MC on the very day they met, and their relationship has been filled with nothing but toxicity. And MC fails to realize this, even when calling out Reagan– which is why I don’t think the story really treats the full situation with enough seriousness. The story doesn’t just shoot itself in the foot– it shoots itself in both of its legs AND its free arm, so many times that it’s too late to even amputate them because it’s already died from bleeding out so goddamn much (I know that sounds pretty extreme, but you get the idea). 

Also, to add acid to all of the many wounds, this series was the perfect opportunity to let us have a pegging scene. But outside of one scene in Book 2 where you can mention MC wanting to use a strap-on, we don’t seem to get that. Oh, but they’re perfectly fine with writing Reagan blowing on MC’s cooch despite that that’s a huge risk for an air embolism which is potentially lethal. (Granted someone did say MC can use anal beads on Reagan in the finale scene if you choose MC to be a dom; but I played that scene, after having chosen MC to be dom, and uh… there was no option). 

You know what though, this series isn’t good enough to have pegging anyways. The only pegging Reagan deserves is a pegging in the face with a fucking hammer. 

Fuck this series. What a waste of potential.

[whump-4-ever]

Say My Name

Just a little something I felt like writing 🤷‍♀️😂just so you all know, in this particular drabble, Whumpee is the “creature” and he’s based off of my OC Kyrin who’s not human, but he has a humanoid form and when he’s in that form, he LOOKS human

“You know, it’s amazing, really,” Whumper began as he observed the creature in front of him. It sat in a chair in the center of the room, its eyes aimed at the wall. It was looking but not seeing, its face expressionless.

Assistant focused his gaze on Whumper, brow creased in confusion. “What do you mean, boss?” He didn’t understand. The creature hadn’t done anything except breathe the whole ten minutes they’d been there. How was that amazing?

Whumper huffed out a laugh and grinned, still fixated on his experiment. “These things, as you and I know, are not human,” he said, still examining the thing in front of him, “but you’d never know that just by looking at them. In their humanoid form, they’re exactly like us, in terms of appearance, that is.”

Assistant cocked his head to the side for a moment, contemplating Whumper’s words. “I suppose that’s true,” he agreed.

“It’s quite fascinating, and I look forward to running those tests my supervisor would like me to perform.” Whumper then leaned in close and forced the being to lift its head by placing a finger under its chin and pulling upward. It obeyed, but its posture remained the same, completely unmoving aside from its steady inhales and exhales, and devoid of emotion.

Assistant shifted his weight from foot to foot as an uneasy feeling made itself known in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn’t right. He hadn’t much experience with these things, these creatures they were now calling ‘Kylinians’, but he’d come across them enough times to reach the conclusion that they were generally very powerful, and they were certainly not submissive little puppets. “Uh, boss, I think we should get out of here.” His eyes darted between the Kylinian in the chair and the exit.

Whumper glanced over his shoulder at Assistant and rolled his eyes. “You always were the one to pussy out when it comes to progress. This completely irrational fear of yours is exactly why they put me in charge.” After Whumper turned his attention back onto the Kylinian, an electric shock suddenly shot through him, zigzagging through his whole body. “Ah! Fuck!” He shouted, immediately stumbling backwards and cradling his arm to his chest as it began to throb. “You little shit,” he hissed angrily at the creature still in the chair. An aura of bright yellow light surrounded its body, electricity surging through each and every part of it, and its eyes now glowed a brilliant sapphire blue.

“It’s Whumpee,” Whumpee spat aggressively. Upon meeting Whumper’s gaze with his own, the Kylinian smirked, a smug expression on his face as he repeated himself. “My name. It’s Whumpee.”

[prettymorgueboy]

assassin levi x reader where levi's target is reader but falls in love with them <333

Work is as busy as ever and grinding IDV with you made me take forever for this, but here y’a go! I cant wait for thé new obey me game jfc… especially for our boy Levi.

Also a tad short but I might make a second part to this sobs I love our pathetic demon man

Art by the wonderful @etherealsprout please go like his post <3

━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━

Leviathan x Gn Reader

A victim to beauty.

Snow hid many things, the silence of your foot steps, It soaked into your lungs like a victim to a deep frozen over lake. Parts of it stuck with you, the wind biting against your cheeks or the harsh slap to your hands when gloves don't sit right. Leviathan was used to all of it, The shot, the splatter, and then the silence that came with the fall of snowflakes. Something about it all was melancholy, a routine of sorts, something he had gotten so accustomed to that it was as natural as waking up. 

Was it some excuse for a schedule? For some sort of normality on this hellscape? He pondered to himself as he recounted his ammunition, once then twice, after the third time he realized he was fidgeting with the gun's trigger. It was a job he was the perfect fit for, but was it ever truly easy, surely someone like Lucifer or Belphegor could handle it, without any guilt too. He could hide it, swallow down the bile when the paper was handed to him, but all he could think of was the weight that came with the responsibility of taking the target's soul. 

To others he was seen as merciless, to himself, a coward. He never said no, never turned down the request, especially not one from the prince himself, Lucifer wouldn't allow it. Their gazes were colder than the snow melting into his knees, leaving a layer of frost smeared over the fabric of his pants. Everytime he questioned himself, If he’d finish the job or walk off from it.

He never did walk away though.

A quarter to 10, though the sun never did shine here. It was time for most stores to close down, the citizens walked around the plazas, chatting and gossiping. His eye glanced through the sight scoping out over the cities view, he was five buildings away, one that had been closed down for a few years, truth be told he didn’t have to be secretive, he was someone who could easily escort anyone in the public's gaze and simply walk away without question. 

But he didn't want to be known for this.

His sight peered down, gazing over the crowd mindlessly, hoping to capture the victim he needed as soon as he could; his breath hitched.

Were you looking right at him?

Your eyes wandered straight towards him, kilometers away yet you both held a shared gaze that made him drop the rifle in his hand, shuttering as he backed up. His heart raced horribly; face flushed in blooms that could put spring to shame.  His body curled into itself as hands grabbed his face, purple locks of hair dripping over his face as the sweat on his forehead began to bead. 

You were gorgeous, painfully deer like, your eyes shone perfectly in the lanterns light, the late night crowd swallowing your beauty with it, he fiddled with the rifle, bringing it up to his face, slowly but steadily the gun was aligned, he took a deep breath and peered through the sight. 

You were gone already, just as fast as he saw you, he missed his shot. How would diavolo react, what would lucifer do, he found himself fidgeting with his nails, peeling off cuticles until they bled as he paced furiously in the building. 

How could you have done that, his flustered state slowly sunk down into his stomach and was melting over into embarrassment, realizing he was thinking over your features again.

"Tsk, Next time for sure."

Thank you so much again for the request daffodil you’re the best. And as always, my requests are always open to anyone! ⚰️🖤

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Are u looking for smut prompts?!!?!? Cuz if so 13 for Jacob/Kit, but if not uhhhh disregard and have a cool day :p

I am so sorry this took me so long to get to, sometimes the smut just doesn’t want to come (excuse the pun) and this has sat in my wip folder half finished for forever. But it’s finally here and it’s definitely on the darker side of things.

@strangefable also asked for this one. So without further ado, the prompt fill for “Get back down here, we’re not done yet.”

Taste the Pain

18+, NSFW (Minors DNI)

Warnings: NonCon, References to torture and starvation, Fingering, Finger Sucking, Exhibitionism, Threats

Words: 1799

Pairing: Jacob Seed x Female Deputy (but Staci’s there too)

Read on AO3

Muffled groans were held back behind duct tape, like the sad sounds of a dying animal. By all accounts he was, or at least that’s what he was intended to be. Wide eyes searched the room desperately, trying to find something to focus on other than the cold stare that struck him full of so much fear.

Staci's mewling bit at her, burning through the ice that had frozen her veins for so long. Seeing him so worn out, so broken, and thin. He was emaciated, made weak since the last time she'd seen him, Jacob hadn't lied about what he intended to do with the traitor. He’d been trapped down here for seven days, the same seven days she remembered waking up to, feeling as though her stomach would start eating itself any given second, knowing that her brain had already started the process, and having that same sadistic grin looking down on her while she suffered. 

Here they were all together, down in Jacob's bunker. The steady dripping of a pipe in the corner caused water to pool in the middle of the room where a small drain sat. Staci's cowboy boot slipped against the slick concrete, his foot kicking out as Jacob grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back, exposing his throat. A temptation for the killer instinct in Kit. 

"Look at him, this pathetic piece of meat has been sniveling for days. Just won’t die though, so sure you'd come for him."

She closed her eyes, dragging them away from the bound man before her. His brown eyes brimming with tears. Snot running down in streams making the grey tape glisten in the gloom of the bunker’s lighting. 

"Leave him alone, Jacob." She warned, not sure if her words would mean a damn thing at this point. 

"You hear that Peaches, she's lookin’ out for ya." A cold chuckle drifting from him at the small defiant glance Staci shot in his direction. He hadn’t broken entirely yet, he was stronger than he looked, he had to give him that. "But you and I both know she didn’t come back here for you.” He squeezed Pratt’s shoulder, fingers digging into the space below the collar bone. “She's here because of me."

"This is fucking sick!" She snarled.

Jacob stalked around Staci, leg swinging with each prideful step. His pet had been the perfect bait to catch her, to get her to come back home, and now he’d get his chance to gloat. "Doesn't he deserve to know? His hero, the Deputy, is with the enemy." He pointed his finger at her as if she were on trial, a witch about to be burned at the stake. 

Pratt's eyes went wide as a calf's at the revelation. A tear slipping down the side of his face while he looked at her with a furrowed brow. She could only imagine the things he was thinking about her now. 

“Doesn’t he deserve to know about the things you’ve done for me? With me?” Jacob smirked and white teeth shone from the corner of his mouth.

She was of the mind to punch the look off his face. “No. I'm not...not like this.” She turned to climb the stairs back out of the bunker, back to where the fresh air blew, where she could think clearly again. 

“Get back down here, Deputy. We’re not done yet.”

That growl of his stopped her feet dead in their tracks. Something that spoke to the most basic part of her. He knew how to command her, and just like how an animal is able to obey, understanding only the tone of voice, so too did she come to heel. 

“Good girl. Now get your ass back where Peaches can see ya.”

She dragged her feet along the concrete floor, jaw clenched as her fists were held at her sides. Her heart pounding in her chest thinking about what Jacob might have had running through his head right now.

He circled behind her and she went rigid like she was under inspection, her muscles tensing, reacting to his proximity. Cold fingers wrapped around her neck and then grabbed at the collar of her jacket as he ripped it down her shoulders and arms, throwing it into a dark corner of the room. She wore just a tank top and dozens of scratches and bruises scattered across her chest, neck and arms suddenly came to light. He ran his thumb over the freshest of the batch, deep and purple, right at the curve of her neck causing her to wince as a twinge of pain shot through her muscle.

“Ya see I heard a rumor about our little pal Peaches here. I heard that he liked to flirt with ya." 

Staci's head dropped, chin pressed to his chest. In a moment of weakness he had confided in the wrong person. Shoulders lifting and then falling with a heavy sigh.

Jacob's cruel grin made his eyes narrow, taking so much joy out of the deputy’s suffering. His nose pressed to Kit’s neck as his hand grabbed the chunk of hair at the nape just above her braid making her teeth grit. "Can hardly blame him."

He pushed her forward, legs stumbling under her like a foal. Grabbing at her sore point, he pushed her down to her knees. She could look nowhere but up at Staci, at his broken skin, all bruises and dried blood. The guilt began to eat at her and all she could do was mouth she was sorry - what little good that would do either of them now. 

"From what I hear Peaches has been around the block a time or two. So I'm sure he can tell where all these marks came from." His hand slid from her shoulder, calloused palm rubbing against the tattooed flesh of her back. “Stay right there. Don’t you move a muscle," he whispered to her, his voice creeping into that part of her brain that aimed to please.

She didn’t try to run, didn’t try to fight. There was no point. Doing that would only mean harm would come to Staci, not to her. That was the unspoken rule, she already knew it. Staci was the errand boy, she was the real pet. 

Returning to Staci’s side, Jacob grabbed at the corner of the tape on his mouth. Ripping it off in one foul swoop, like tearing off a bandage, portions of Staci’s stubble coming away with it. Patches of red scattered around his mouth, while the tape residue clung to his black whiskers. 

His scream echoed around the confines of the damp basement, but Jacob didn't notice, he just kept right on talking. Unfazed by the horror he inflicted on others. "I'm willing to cut a deal here. I'll let Peaches live, hell he can even stay in the bunker, but he needs to know his boundaries, he needs to know where the line is drawn."

Kit could feel the swell of anger bubbling up to the surface once more. "I'm pretty sure he has an idea. You've made your point. Right, Stace?" She looked at Staci with pity in her eyes, knowing all too well that the young Deputy only had so much left in him after all that he'd been through. 

He nodded his head fervently at her in return until Jacob yanked back on his hair, holding him in place once more. "He needs to know that what's mine is mine and it better stay that way, and the best way of doing that is getting used to a scent."

Her eyes flared up at Jacob, disgusted by the insinuation of what was going to come next. 

"I don't share. And knowing that he's already been sniffing around you, well I need him to be aware of just who you belong to."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" She snapped.

"He set you free thinking you'd come back for him. Thinking you'd escape together. I think Peaches here has a crush. Let's give him a taste of that freedom." He clapped his hands on Staci's shoulders, his cold stare directed at her. "Stand up."

She rose to her feet, swallowing heavily, dreading the soldier's next move, but unwilling to disobey.

"See how well she listens, Peaches. I never have to tell her anything twice. That's why she's not tied to a chair like you are."

Jacob chuckled to himself as he strode back over to her side, standing behind her, his pale stare focused now on Staci as his hands slid down her hips and over her curves. Unbuttoning her jeans, his hand slipped down the front of her panties. 

A breathy, shaking sigh escaped her as his fingertips began to toy with her clit, rubbing rough circles against it. Sliding down her slit, petting her, slipping up into her until she was soaking wet and his digits were dripping with her slick.

Her eyes squeezed together tightly, wanting to grab his hands and pull them away, a bright red flush overtaking her. Turned on by the way he made her feel. Embarrassed to have an audience. Shocked to learn how much she enjoyed being taken by him as others watched.

Pulling away from her, he left her empty and wanting. His fingers glistened in the dark as he shoved them under Staci's nose, forcing him to smell the scent of her upon them. 

Kit's heart sank as his eyelashes fluttered, his eyes closing as he took in her scent. Her salty sweet musk was a kind escape from the scent of wet earth the basement had surrounded him in. 

Grabbing Staci by the jaw, Jacob forced his mouth open, shoving his fingers inside the younger man's mouth, allowing him a taste of her. Swirling his fingers against his tongue, stroking stripes against it, pressing down and making Pratt gag.

"How does she taste, Peaches?"

Staci tried to speak around the fingers in his mouth but it was no use. Saliva dripped down from the corner of his mouth and settled into the hairs of his beard as more tears fell down his cheeks.

"You better get every last drop of her, pup, because this is the one and only time you're going to get this."

Dragging his tongue between thick fingers, Staci’s cheeks concave as he sucked his master's digits clean.

"Good boy."

His eyes rolled back into his head, the conditioning still having an effect on his mind. Even as Jacob yanked his fingers free with a wet pop, Staci was not yet ready to have them leave. 

"Now I hope I've made myself clear." Jacob wiped his fingers on the arm of Staci's shirt, smug as ever, his focus returned to her. "She's mine."

[kirithots]

Attempted Capture

Lady Nagant x Male Reader

Summary: You’re trying to capture her without either of you getting harmed, but she gets you first and sees some potential in you ;)

Your quirk: Sandstorm. You can create and control sand.

Disclaimers: smut with little plot, hero versus villian, lady is a dom, reader is gagged with a gun, oral sex (r. giving)

You had been assigned to capture Lady Nagant, a hero gone bad.

She’s the best long range fighter in the country, and you were the best hero to obstruct her vision long enough to capture her, or so you thought.

Your initial plan had been to create a massive sand storm, thick enough for her not to be able to see you flying in it.

But now that you’re finally near her, you realize that’s not going to work by itself.

A bullet flew past your head, a warning shot to stay away.

You gulped, on guard and scared shitless at how close to death you just were.

You immediately begin running, making small sand storms below your feet to bring you into the air.

You spot Lady Nagant on a roof top, rifle extended and ready to shoot.

Sandstorm extends below your feet, creating a massive cyclone around you.

You travel towards Lady as you move higher into the storm, never staying in the same spot for too long.

Your sand surrounds the villain and you take this chance to descend out of your storm, certain that she won’t be able to hear you behind her.

You were wrong.

As you drop onto the building, Lady whips around, her rifle pointing at your head.

Your storm immediately stops and sands falls around you both.

“On your knees. Now.” She says nonchalantly.

You drop onto your knees, looking up at the woman in confusion and shock.

Why isn’t she shooting?

She inspects your face, almost smirking.

“You’re kinda cute, hero.”

She walks up to you and grabs you by your chin.

You stare up at her with big eyes, unable to say anything out of fear.

“Open.”

She taps your lips with her gun and you reluctantly let your mouth open.

She shoves the rifle into your mouth, causing you to gag on the long barrel.

“I could just kill you right now… or I could put you to good use.”

She looks at you with a devilish grin.

“What’dya say, hero? Wanna be useful for me?”

You nod as best as you can with a gun in your mouth.

"Good boy."

Her rifle disappears and you're free to breathe normally again.

Lady moves closer to you, close enough that you can feel her breath on your face.

She stays there for a moment, leaving you in anticipation at what she's going to do.

Then all of a sudden, she grabs you by the neck and her lips are on yours.

The kiss is rough, her tongue invading your mouth and claiming dominance.

She lets her hands wander down your body, and you gasp as she grabs your hard on through your pants.

"So hard and I haven't even touched you yet, hero."

She pulls away from you and you try to lean in to kiss her again.

Her hands slap you across the face, hard.

"You only get what I give you. Now, take your clothes off."

You obey, undressing yourself and shivering as the wind blows against your naked body.

"Get on the ground."

You set down on the cold concrete, and she pushes you onto your back with her foot.

She begins to slip off her dress and you watch in awe as her curvy body is revealed to you.

Your eyes travel down her body, completely checking her out.

She smirks knowingly.

“Like what you see, hero?”

You nod as she joins you on the ground.

She pushes you flat to the floor, and straddles you, letting her pussy grind against your cock, causing you both to let out a groan.

She rides you without letting you enter her, and she leans down to kiss you again.

You take her breasts in your hands, gently massaging her hardened nipples.

She bites her lip as she bucks against you, and you move your head down to her chest, taking one of her buds in your mouth.

Her hands find purchase in your hair as she holds your head against her chest.

“Fuck, I want you now.”

“You can have me.” you answer and one her hands grab your throat.

“I know.”

And with that, she mounts your leaking cock, sinking down on it until you bottom out inside her.

She starts riding you, one hand still choking you as the other plays with her tits.

“Lady…” you moan out.

“Kaina. Call me Kaina.”

“Kaina…fuck, you feel so good.”

She squeezes around you, and you almost bust at the sensation.

“Gonna cum for me already, hero? Go ahead. Cum for me.”

You thrust up into her once and your orgasm takes hold of you, shaking as you shoot cum into her pussy.

Kaina moans with you as you cum, loving how fast her little hero came for her.

She keeps riding you, and you want to scream from the overstimulation.

“S’too much.”

She laughs in your face.

“Too much for you, hero? Fine. I’ll just sit on your face.”

She hops off of your dick and crawls up to your face, your mouth ready to please her.

Your tongue swipes across her clit and she bucks into your face, holding onto your hair for some kind of support.

You grab her ass and pull her further down onto you, thrusting your tongue into her pussy and tasting your cum inside her.

She fucks your face, riding your tongue until she’s uncontrollably moaning.

She comes undone as you suck on her clit, and you groan into her pussy as you lick up her juices.

Kaina removes herself from your face and pulls you off the ground.

“Get dressed and go.”

You both dress yourselves and she pulls you in for another kiss as she hands you a slip of paper with an address written on it.

“Come capture me again soon, hero.”

She leaps off the building and disappears into the night, leaving you yearning for more.

But for now, you have to back to your agency and explain why you didn’t catch the villain and how you’re completely unharmed.

Author’s Note: and suddenly I’m in love with Lady Nagant. Oh well.

[jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav]

How Obey Me Shot Itself In the Foot: The Better Version of Obey Me That Lives In My Head

MASSIVE WARNING FOR DISCUSSION OF RELIGION. Specifically of Abrahamic religions (Islam, Christianity, and Judaism) and their shared God. I am doing this in a media analysis context, not to shame any particular religion or anyone’s particular beliefs. If that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to not read this post, stop reading at any point, and/or unfollow/block me. DO NOT try to start religious discourse on this post or in my askbox/DMs, I will clown on and block you.

Also spoiler warnings for a ton of different Obey Me lessons.

Intro (X), Michael (X)(X)(X)(X), Conclusion (X)(you're here)

aka The Part Where I Actually Talk About Why Raphael Should Kill MC

Why Raphael Should Kill MC

I've thought for a long time about how I'd handle writing Bible fanfic, so I have many ideas about how I'd portray Heaven and Hell. This section was originally going to be an in-depth deep dive into my Celestial Realm and Devildom worldbuilding, but that would take too long and potentially reveal some stuff I might use for my longfic that's in progress.

But the essence of it is:

The Celestial Realm is a militaristic and very protective/insular realm as a result of Father/God's paranoia over his loss of control over his creations. The Devildom and many parts of the human world are formed by rejected "imperfect" creations that were banished from the Celestial Realm. Only humans with "pure" souls are let into the CR, while the others are reincarnated or sent to the Devildom to face punishment.

There are three basic types of angels: the original extensions of God responsible for helping to create things, the warriors who fight off demons and protect the CR, and those who look after different aspects of creation, especially humans.

The Devildom is the product of a fucked up version of the island of misfit toys, as previously described. They are the rejected creations of the CR, sent to die in the void at the edge of existence. But they didn't die. However, adapting to this harsh environment created harsh and vicious creatures that came to be known as demons. The original Demon King earned his title by figuring out how to siphon power from CR and human-world beings, a practice that lead to most of the Devildom being divided into 7 courts of the 7 deadly sins.

Human souls that get sent to the Devildom don't face any organized punishment: they're fair game for any demons that find them though. If the human has a pact with one or more demons, that/those demon/s have dibs and can do with them what they wish.

There are many types of demons in terms of form, but nearly all are aligned to a sin. Only the very oldest ones are not, or aligned to multiple. They have a wide range of jobs much like any earthly civilization.

The Human World is largely unaware of the supernatural forces that shape it, but two primary groups who are aware are witches and sorcerers. Sorcerers are more organized: they have a strict code to follow vis a vis how they use their magic, are registered with the Sorcerer's Society, experience formal training, etc. Witches are more freelance and unstructured, though they may form covens who may occasionally meet up. Sorcerers tend to be more aligned with the CR, while witches tend to be more aligned with the Devildom. That being said, it's not unheard of for a sorcerer to deal with demons in the form of pacts.

Solomon is famously an exception to how sorcerers are expected to behave, having 72 pacts and a more experimental magic practice. But he's old as fuck and the best at what he does, so no one can really tell him not to.

Diavolo's exchange program is a genuine effort to unite the three realms, to bridge the gap that was created so long ago. The CR reads it as a front to gain better access to their magic, or even to attempt a takeover. But they refuse to truly strike first and restart the war, so they're at an uneasy stalemate.

Until the stuff with MC happens.

In the version of Obey Me that lives in my head, seasons 1 and 2 are largely unchanged. I'd probably remove/alter how our connection to Lilith works (and in fact Lilith's role would be very different overall), but the basic plot beats stand.

As I mentioned 800 posts ago, I lost my account at lesson 41, so I don't know much about how the human world arc goes, and honestly I don't really care. Because for me, if we're gonna put s3 in the human world, we're gonna learn about the human world's magic scene. Which means if MC's initiation into the sorcerer's society doesn't happen there in canon, that's where I want it to happen.

But I also want the Sorcerer's Society to be extremely suspicious of MC. Yes, they're Solomon's apprentice, but... they're Solomon's apprentice. They're a rogue element, and the beginnings of a legacy of rogue elements. A very powerful one too.

Something should be done about that.

S4 starts with the expanded roster of exchange students, Thirteen and Raphael. We were already introduced to Thirteen in s2 as a somewhat antagonistic force, but now we get to meet her in full. Yay! Unfortunately this isn't about her, so let's move onto Raphael.

Raphael was sent to the Devildom to kill MC. The CR was tipped off by someone in the Sorcerer's Society that they're too dangerous, too powerful, the cause of all the mess from s2, and they need to be iced. But the thing is, they're closely bonded with the demon prince, as well as the seven traitors lords, so he needs to make it look like an accident.

Throughout season 4, MC experiences a variety of strange and increasingly dangerous mishaps, culminating in an encounter where a group of hardline traditionalist demons accost them. MC has plot armour though, so they kick their assailants' asses, only to find out they were encouraged to action by none other than Raphael. MC is shocked to learn this, because other than being a weirdo, Raphael hasn't seemed all that threatening.

They're so shocked, they don't notice him behind them, spear in hand.

They're captured and taken to the Celestial Realm, alive but bound in manacles that restrict their access to their pacts and powers. They meet Michael, who exposits the trouble they've been causing him. He then lays out their choices for them:

Break their pacts, have their memory wiped, and return to the human world to live an ordinary life.

Break their pacts and be accepted as an honorary member of the Celestial Realm's ranks (read: get a pair of mind control bangles slapped on them forever)

Use their pacts to bring the brothers back to the CR so they can be "purified"

Die lol

So if I was straight up writing a game plot, this would be the point that the brothers and co. show up, there's a big showdown, maybe they resolve things peacefully in the end, maybe the war starts up, idk, but for the purposes of plot bunnies, I like leaving it here because there's a lot of things that could happen from this point.

(Bonus: after this is resolved the Demon King wakes up and then we have a whole 'nother problem to deal with)

[daydreamed-snippets]

TW: Graves. Claustrophobia. Panic Attacks

The first thing the hero was aware of was the sound of their own breathing. 

Measured, shallow, slowly inhaling, and exhaling in the quiet. They breathed in, noting that they were on their stomach and that their ribs expanded unencumbered. Good. That meant there weren’t any ropes securing their arms to their body. That was a small victory in itself.

Still, sound was of little consequence to the hero if they couldn’t see anything. Their power depended on sight, on the ability to stare down a target, and the dilation of irises to push illusions into the target’s mind. With no light and no line of sight, the hero was effectively powerless. Left with a handful of acrobatic tricks, and the uncanny ability to run like hell when things got too hairy. 

Use what you got. 

They could almost hear their cousin’s voice in their head, berating them with that parental tone they carry. You call yourself a hero, for godssake, you can’t always rely on your powers. Improvise.

So the hero curled their fingers against the floor, fingernails scraping across the wood. Ok, maybe they were in a closet, or a crate, or box of some kind. The air was stale, unmoving, and humid. The darkness was oppressive not even the faintest sliver of light to be seen. Defiantly more of a crate than a closet, or else, they surmised, they would be able to see the seam of the door. And the air would be cleaner.

They guessed the supervillain didn’t think them a threat in total darkness, powerless and dazed. Not when the hero was stupid enough to underestimate them as they did. Sneaking into their compound, the hero assumed the element of surprise was on their side. All they had to do was find the server room, and plug in a drive that carried a virus strong enough to crash the supervillain’s whole system. Wiping out the computer’s memory completely. Just slip in and out without anyone knowing. Even if they were caught, they had reasoned arrogantly, all they needed to do was ensnare the supervillain’s gaze, trapping them in a hellish landscape.

They couldn’t realize it then but it was a stupid and reckless idea. They didn’t account for the level of security they encountered in the compound, nor how quickly and how many henchmen showed up when the alarm was tripped. They certainly hadn’t planned much of an exit strategy. The hero just saw red when it came to the supervillain. And when they became surrounded they knew it was impossible to hold everyone’s gaze. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

So the supervillain threw them in a box to rot… or to torture later. 

They tried not to let that crowd their mind as they moved on to other observations, letting out a long, sharp breath through their teeth, frustration evident. But they couldn’t shake the thought that this showed just how green they were to the field of heroics. Only a novice when you looked at the big picture, what an idiotic kid caught up in the…

That trail of thought stopped when they felt their breath blow back on their face like they were mere inches from something. Air caught in their throat. Suddenly they were keenly aware of a consistent rising and falling beneath them that they didn’t notice before. Something solid and soft and nice. They were on someone; their face planted in the crook of a neck. 

The person moved and the pleasantness of warm skin brushed against their nose. 

“Try not to move too much,” the person said, strong fingers tracing up their side in a tantalizing touch. 

A transient moment washed over the hero. Their body going instantly ridged like a deer caught in headlights. Flattening their palms on what they imagined was either side of the person’s head, the hero shot upwards rising several inches before they butted their head against a wooden ceiling. 

“What the hell?!”

“I did say try not to move too much,” the voice came again, the inflection rich, vibrant, and horrifyingly familiar. “Steady your breathing. In my estimation, we don’t have much oxygen left.”

No. 

Gods no. 

They remembered that voice all too well. It often called to them in the catacombs of the city’s slums, laughing when they stumbled over their own budding abilities. Teased when the hero was forced to retreat. Mocked them for shivering under the villain’s frigid powers, like a little whelp left out in the cold, they would say. 

The villain had said a lot of things to them amid battle in a voice as slick and as icy as their capabilities. 

“Wh-what is this? What’s going on?” Arms shaking, the hero forced themselves to perform an awkward plank, elbows bent, rising on their toes so that their body wasn’t touching the villain.

“Isn’t it obvious?” came the courtly reply, and the hero could imagine a sardonic smile play across the villain’s lips. “We’ve been buried alive together.”

Blood drained from their face at those words. No wonder the air felt stagnant and hot. No wonder their breath was shallow, quickly becoming labored. It felt like a weight slammed into their heart and their stomach flopped, threatening to overturn. 

“No. No,” they gasped, unable to catch their breath. “H-how do you know?”

“You’re a heavy sleeper, do you know that?” The villain asked it like it was the most curious thing at the moment. “I woke up shortly after they lowered this makeshift coffin into the ground. I could hear them toss dirt onto it. Luckily this wood is flimsy enough. I managed to put a small hole in the lid with my shoe before you roused.”

Oh.

They just bumped their head on the lid of the coffin they were buried in. 

They just bumped their head on the lid of the coffin they were buried in. 

The villain’s words soaked into their soul, stirring up an unknown and until now dormant phobia. They were buried alive with the villain with no way out, and only minutes of oxygen left. Seconds even. They could feel the CO2 building up, stifling their lungs. Walls pressing in on them. This coffin wasn’t meant for two people, it wasn’t big enough, there wasn’t enough room.

It can’t end like this. 

The hero had only taken the Covenant’s oath months ago. They weren’t really supposed to be an official hero yet. Their request to be recognized as one was a desperate attempt to stop the supervillain’s rampant crime spree in a part of the city the Commissioner didn’t give a shit about. Their training had been pushed off, their commencement a letter in the mail. They hadn’t even stepped foot on the top level of the city yet.

They need to get out. 

 “No, no, no, no, no, no. This can’t—” they rasped, choking.

“I did not say that to make you panic, little gorgon,” the villain said, taunting and saccharine and smooth. Why so smooth? They were going to die here too, didn’t they see that? “Pattern your breathing. You will use up more oxygen if you panic.”

How could the villain be so damn calm? Both of them were in over their heads. Literally. This was it. The hero would die here, in the arms of their enemy no less.

They couldn’t get a breath.

“What are you doing?” the villain asked, perceiving the hero’s rising panic as they dropped their head, forehead pressed against the villain’s chest.

“I can’t, I can’t breathe! It’s too—I can’t—”

“Yes you can, settle your nerves. You’re hyperventilating and that will use up all of our oxygen before we have a chance to think. Listen to the sound of my voice. Breathe when I do.”

No, they couldn’t. It was too hot. They were sweating. Burning up. They were in the pit of hell and there was no possible way they could force air into their lungs. They were going to vomit and suffocate, their descent into death was going to be painful. 

Their hands flew to their collar, pulling frantically at the material that hung around their neck. It was constricting. Tightening like a snake. Moving to strangle them. The hero’s elbows dug into the villain’s sides, earning a swift groan.

“You need to listen to me,” the villain said, but they didn’t. They couldn’t. They needed to get some air, they needed to get their shirt off. They were going to die if they didn’t. They clawed at the fabric, ripping it. It was too hot. It was— 

“I’m going to touch you now.”

Deliciously cold hands skimmed over the base of their neck, pushing back their shirt so skin met skin. A gentle grip pulled the hero’s head up, exposing their throat, sending the hero’s hand skittering away tasked again with the job of holding themselves up. The villain blew out a brisk wind, and the temperature cooled in the coffin considerably. The hero no longer wanted to scratch at their uniform. 

“Lay your hand flat against my chest,” the villain commanded. “Put your weight on me.” 

“What? No…”

“Just do it,” their voice held a different kind of ice to it. The mocking tone is gone. “Trust me for once. Our lives depend on it.”

The hero complied. 

“Marvelous,” the villain murmured. “Now, inhale when you feel my chest rise. Exhale when I do.”

Beneath their palm, the hero could feel the quickened beats of the villain’s heart, contrary to their serene words. They were anxious too, but the villain still kept their breath steady. Their heartbeat being the only tell that anything was amiss. For some reason that made the hero feel better, and they relaxed a bit.

“Hearken to my voice. Breathe in through your nose, fill your lungs until you can’t inhale anymore. Hold it as I do,” the villain said, demonstrating. “Then let it out through parted lips.” 

The hero acquiesced. 

When the villain took a deep breath, the hero mimicked it. When the villain exhaled, the hero did the same. They attuned themselves to the villain, resonated with them. Pushing everything out of their mind except for their placement on the body beneath them. The villain might as well have been a beacon of light in the darkness of that coffin. It blinded the hero as if they could see, brows furrowing at the villain’s nearness, eyes tightly shut. Obeying their voice, focusing on them until there was nothing outside of that sole moment. They became too aware. The villain couldn’t move a muscle without the hero being painfully attentive to how broad their shoulders were, how their ribs flared out, and how their waist tapered to narrow hips. They smelled like sweat and dirt, and some strong earthy soap. Intoxicating. 

Slowly, they guided the hero’s head back to their neck. The two resting comfortably as they did before. “You’re doing lovely. That’s right. Nice even breaths,” they praised, hands leaving the hero’s neck to stroke long fingers through their hair, driving shivers down their spine with a gentle touch. “Can you talk now?”

The hero’s heart ricocheted. They fought once again to get it under control. They hesitantly said, “yes.”

“What were you doing in the supervillain’s compound?”

“How did you?” the hero swallowed, breathing quickening. A cool hand was at the nape of their neck again, calming them. “How did you know I was there?”

They felt them smile against their forehead. “I had my suspicions, unconfirmed as they were, but the way your breathing has changed just now is telling me everything I need to know. Maybe we should do this more often. Cuddle, I mean. I may just uncover all of your secrets this way.”

The hero was silent. They didn’t trust any reply they gave not to have a squeak in it.

“It was a joke,” the villain said, ambivalent, conveying anything but. “You’ll have to admit this brings new meaning to ‘lying with the enemy’.”

They licked their lips, voice horse. “It’s sleeping,” the hero said in a whisper earning a questioning hum from the villain. “It’s sleeping with the enemy.”

“Now there’s a thought.”

Hating the blush that crept up to their neck, the hero decided it was wise to go back to the question at hand. “I, uh, broke into the supervillain’s compound. I tried to upload a virus to their computer. It didn’t work. I was caught. I ended up here.” Duh, the last part was a no-brainer. Their mind stumbled on. “How, umm, why did the supervillain put you in here? I thought you worked together.”

“We did, but we disagreed on certain matters,” they said in a careful voice. This was the first time the hero was aware of it. They shift their head, wanting more. Obligingly, the villain continued. “I assume you found out that the supervillain has been experimenting on the people in the slums as I did. That part of the compound was hidden away from me. I had no idea how many bodies the supervillain had piled up back there. My discovery angered them, and I can only assume their best revenge was to bury me in here with you.” The villain shifted, getting comfortable. “Perchance they thought we’d kill each other in here. It would have been an effective torture.”

“Why didn’t you kill me? You said that you were awake before me. Why not strangle me in my sleep?”

“I needed you alive, little gorgon, not even I can escape this tomb alone.” The villain’s hands came back, stroking as they went. “And I wanted you to trust me. I know our past is...complex, but it doesn’t have to be like that. We can start anew if you want to do that.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I imagine you want to live, no?” The light teasing in their voice was back. “Well then, we must move now.” The petting stopped, and the hero missed it, much to their chagrin. They shouldn’t get used to this. The villain was still the villain after all. Even though they did help them calm down, diverting a catastrophe. 

The hero could feel the villain tense beneath them as they reached up towards the coffin’s lid and pushed. “We are going to punch and kick our way through the top of the coffin. As I said, I couldn’t do much on my own with your body weighing me down, but if you work with me, we may be able to break the lid.”

“How?”

“You’ll turn around in a moment, and push your legs upward when I kick. We’ll both lift the lid once it starts separating from the rest of the coffin. That’s step two. Once the top of the coffin breaks, the soil will start pouring in. We will need to push the dirt down to our feet. More will pour in and we will do the same with it until this coffin is full and you can sit up. Since it’s a newly filled grave, the dirt hasn’t had time to settle and harden. It will be strenuous, hero, but feasible.” 

The villain paused. “I am going to unzip your outfit,” they said after a moment. Chilly gradually brushed down towards their chest fumbling with the location of the hero’s zipper. “Lift up for me.” The hero found that they obeyed almost immediately. They stopped themselves midway.

“Why?”

“This is step one. We will need to cover our faces with our clothing so we don’t suffocate while attempting to rise from this grave,” the villain explained, calmly, like it was a simple thing. Except the hero was wearing a jumpsuit. An onesie. Not Covenant issued, but something similar. Their cousin and some neighbors pulled their money together and had gotten the hero an upgrade when they had received the commencement letter. They were ecstatic at the time. Now they regretted it. Nevertheless, the villain’s fingers made deft work, drawing the uniform from the hero’s shoulders and shimming the one-piece down their legs, allowing the hero to kick out of it. 

“Now do the same to me.” 

Luckily the villain wore a simple jacket, with a side zipper and a light shirt underneath. The hero didn’t have to fumble much in the dark, though they did have to scoot down, back scrapping against the top as their chin rested on the villain’s stomach just to get the jacket off. With how cold the villain's hands were, it was a wonder they weren’t making comments about how hot the hero’s face was. The hero was sure they were entirely red by now.

Pushing that out of their mind the hero grabbed their abandoned uniform and placed it in the hands of the villain who wrapped it around the hero's face. The hero did the same with the jacket to the villain.

“You’re going to turn, and on the count of three we are going to kick,” the villain said loudly, voice muffled. The hero turned and braced their legs against the lid. Counting in their ear, the villain brought their legs up against the lid. Again and again and again until the wood split, and dirt tumbled in. The hero worked to push most of it down. They punched the lid, channeling their anxiety and their anger into their fists, hands breaking on the wood, blood flowing from cracked knuckles. Hands on their back pushed them, and the hero wrestled to sit up, fighting against the weight of the dirt. Fighting to cheat death. The claustrophobia was almost too much to bear, any moment feeling like they would succumb again.

They broke the surface. 

Clawing at the ground they lifted themselves out with the last of their strength, ripping their uniform from their face, collapsing on the ground mere feet from the grave. The villain followed soon after, comparable to a zombie from a crypt. For a long while neither budged, breathing deeply, staring at the morning sky. 

But soon somebody did move. They were always the first to move. This time, crawling over to the hero, wildly panting. The villain was covered in dirt, hair mused and blood dripping from cuts on their legs—but their eyes. Those eyes were iced, intense, dissecting the hero’s alive. 

With a fright, the hero realized that their mask was removed when they yanked off their uniform. They were exposed, identity laid bare, and in nothing but their undergarments no less. They turned their head, hiding their face in shadows cast by the dawn.

Tsking, the villain’s cold hand shot out, seizing their chin, maneuvering their head the way they please so that their face was turned towards dayspring. “None of that. Not when we’ve been so intimately acquainted,” they said, a honeyed inflection. “Now I get to see the face behind the mask.” They smiled, admiring how the hero’s eyes widened in fright. “I didn’t expect you to be so fetching for a vagrant playing the hero. You always did run away whenever our battles went poorly for you. I’ve never gotten a glimpse before.” 

Drawing themselves up to their knees, the villain loomed over them, bringing both hands to cup their face. Something in their eyes gave the hero chills, all instances of compassion and kindness gone. Replaced by a sick kind of affection. 

Improvise!

Defiantly, the hero raised their chin, staring bolding at the villain’s eyes, willing their powers to trap the bastard in a nightmare. To keep them from doing whatever it was that swept through their villainous mind. 

But nothing happened. They were too weak to call upon their power. Shaking, exhausted, both hands laid useless at their side, crippled. The pain of their knuckles screamed at them, needing attention, needing an outlet. The hero mewled feebly, a single tear streaking down their cheek as the villain’s hand wrapping around the hero’s nose and mouth. They clamped down cutting off the hero’s air supply.

“While I would love to say it’s nothing personal,” the villain said quelling the hero’s jolts and jerks as the latter’s eyes drifted closed after a violent struggle, body going lax in their hands. “That wouldn’t be the least bit true, would it?” 

Scooping the hero in a bridal style, mindful of their broken hands, the villain looked towards the skyline, chuckling. “I’ve had my eye on you since you started sniffing around into our little operation, gorgon. Though the method could have been different, it was nice of the supervillain to drop you in my lap so to speak. And I’m not one to waste this golden opportunity to take you to my lab and slice you up bit by bit. I will make sure to take detailed notes. I’ve never experimented on a hero before.”

[miss-choco-chips]

F’coffee

-.-.-.-.-.-

Honestly. What did Bruce even think would happen? He should have known better.

Tim wasn’t Dick, indoctrinated from a young age to be a good, somewhat (when convenient) obedient son. Tim only went along with Bruce’s shit because, more often than not, it aligned with what he himself wanted. He also wasn’t Damian, so easily manipulable when one knew which buttons to push. And he certainly wasn’t Jason, who would sink his own ship to kill the captain.

So, when Tim and Bruce fought, and his adopted father decided to pull the ‘you live under my roof and work in my company, so I’m the boss all the way through’ card, well…

Yeah. Tim wasn’t going to take that lying down. He had a childhood of zero authority figures to obey and an overabundance of sass, plus a complete lack of fucks to give.

It was bound to go down like this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And, well. Tim had money. Like, an absurd amount of money. Even before being adopted by playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, Tim had his own no small fortune stashed away, a couple of properties gathering dust, two trust funds and more antique cars that he knew what to do with. So he could just… burn through that money, or sell the cars, or make a living of renting the buildings he owned, and he would barely even scratch the surface of his deep wealth.

But it wasn’t about being able to live comfortably with minimum effort. Tim was trying to prove a point here. What point, fuck if he knew. But a point.

So here he was, on the other end of the wooden counter, a cute red cap falling over his eye as he looked dead into his friend’s eyes.

“Tim. Tim, you’re rich. Why are you working in a coffee shop?”

Seeing as Kon and Cassie were currently too busy being shocked, Tim shrugged and went back to cleaning the cup in his hands.

It was a plastic cup. It didn’t need cleaning, he could just toss it away. But it was his favorite plastic cup, and he was gonna save it as a family heirloom forever.

(The fact that the pretty customer from the morning shift had drawn cute little doodles all over it had nothing to do with it’s worth.)

“Teenage rebellion”, he finally said, carefully putting his treasure away.

“You are twenty.”

“Time is a social construct and I’m but a slinky falling down an endless flight of stairs.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make any sense. How is it so symmetrical? It defies nature.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

“What can I get for you?”

“I'll have a mocha caramel latte-chino, made with skim milk, no whipped cream.”

“Bart, no.”

“Please put that in a grande cup”

“I’m begging you, don’t do it.”

“But use the same amount of coffee that you'd put into a tall.”

“I’m warning you, you don’t want to do this.”

“That way there's about an inch of extra room on top.”

“I wish you had an extra inch so I could look straight into your eyes when I murder you.”

“To stir in my own nutmeg without spilling any coffee at all.”

“You’re dead to me. Also, I AM going to make you that drink and you WILL finish it or so help me God.”

“What do you want, Kon?”

“To not be here when Tim’s looking like he’s planning both our unsolved murders.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

When Kon entered the shop, the messenger bag slung over his shoulder bumping against his hip as he rushed in to get his caffeine intake before his evening classes, he wasn’t surprised at the scene.

Cassie being there was a given, since there was always at least one of them there at all times, supporting Tim in this ‘independence’ thing he was dead set on trying. Kon himself had his Tim Shift later that day, after his creative writing course. Bart had probably just left, considering the amount of empty cake platters littering the counter.

Tim being face down in said counter, uncaring about the mess, was also old news. The dude barely ever seemed to leave (Kon was almost completely sure he actually owned the place, since he’d never seen any sort of manager and Tim’s hours seemed to work around his weird sleep patterns all too perfectly), and distraught was his general state of being, so. Normal day as far as he could see.

Still, he had to ask. “What is it today?”

Cassie, eyes never leaving her magazine, chin resting in one hand as the other one scratched at Tim’s scalp, snorted.

“A cute boy started working in the tattoo place next door. He came in for a morning fix, when Tim was barely awake, and he said something stupid, so he’s been having an existencial crisis ever since.”

“I said ‘you too’, Kon. He said ‘thanks for the coffee, I’ll enjoy it!’ and I said ‘you too’. What is wrong with me?”

Kon snorts a little. Tim doesn’t seem to be very interested in doing his actual work, so he just jumps over the counter and starts working the machines himself.

“You know that’s a question you can only ask your therapist, Tim, but if you need to know, I’d say you’re highly sleep deprived and a dysfunctional bi?”

At that, Tim does turn to look at him. There’s some cake frosting clinging to his eyelashes, and his hair is a mess. It looks cute, to be completely honest, and Kon has to leave his unfinished latte on the side so he can hug the little shit.

“Aw, don’t pout, Timbo. I’m sure he thought you were cute. Just try to sleep a bit more tonight, so when he comes back tomorrow you’ll be a little more alert and won’t embarrass yourself.”

“What do you mean, when he comes back?”

“I mean, if he works next door, he’ll probably get his morning coffees here all the time, right?”

That seemed to drive Tim back into the distraught spiral. He smashed his head back into the counter, making dying whale noises until Cassie’s hand returned to his scalp.

Kon privately thinks Tim’s life is starting to sound like fanfiction. He wonders which type of background character he would be, in it.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The shop is called F’coffee. That’s why Cassie is convinced Tim is the actual owner; no one else would really think that’s a proper name for a serious establishment. Kon isn’t convinced all the way yet, but with Bart on her side and Tim staying silent on the subject, it is just a matter of time until she convinces him it’s totally okay for him to do his gym routine there. She thinks, with Tim being his own boss, no one would tell him to stop it, and it would help his friend’s business to bloom with new customers.

The place's general aesthetic is exactly what you would expect, with old wooden tables, comfy chairs, potted plants hanging from the walls and tall windows just a little bit stained. The smell is constantly of the strongest brew Tim has, Death Coffee (which he’s actually not legally allowed to sell, so he keeps it for himself), and just setting a foot in makes her feel instantly awake. It's also always warm, and the sweets on display look mouth watering no matter your personal preferences.

In short, it looks like something out of a movie. It’s a tad too perfect for her friend, but she thinks it also fits his obsessive need for perfection.

Except for the board. Oh, the board. Cassie loves it more than life itself.

Tim has divided the drinks in categories. And made up names for all of them.

“Yes, hello! I’d like to order a grande, iced, sugar-free vanilla Latte, with soy milk, but I can’t seem to find it in your menu…”

Tim’s dead eyes turn to Cassie for a second, before facing his customer again.

“You’re probably looking into the Normal People section”, he points out, before raising his hand to signal a bit to the left. “There you have the Pain In The Ass selection. There’s nothing just like you asked, but you have the It’s Britney Bitch beverage, which is almost exactly the same except I’ll add a middle finger drawing in the cup and charge you extra for emotional damages. Also, we’re out of soy milk.”

Or…

“Hey, good morning! I’d like to order…”

Tim raised a hand, stopping the chirpy, good looking young man dead in his tracks.

“Don’t tell me, I know what you need. I’ll just go ahead and prepare it.”

“But you don’t even know what I/”

“You’ll have a Cougar Bait. It has cacao cream, a strawberry pucker and some grenadine seeds. I think it's fitting, for you.”

And also…

“Hey, hum… Sorry, I just have to ask… what’s on the ‘Barista’s heart’ drink?”

“Cacao powder, almond milk and espresso. Also some organic coconut ash, that gives it the blacker-than-night color, that’s just a shade lighter than my soul.”

“...noted.”

Cassie snorts into her cup of Jack it up (coffee that tastes just like a Jack Daniel’s; having Tim working here has opened up her eyes to the possibilities), watching as Tim makes his own usual.

“What’s in that one?” She asks, out of curiosity, when she’s sure there’s no other customer close by.

“Six espresso shots.”

She waits for a second. Tim finishes the drink, carefully handling the dark liquid inside his favorite plastic cup.

“...okay, and?”

“And that 's it.”

“Tim, that-- that would kill you?”

“Duh. Why did you think it was called The Last Sip?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

[tatestripedsweater]

Red Wedding

Plot: After a wedding ceremony it is customary for the couple to consummate their marriage, the time soon comes for both you and James to do just that.

Request: Loosing your virginity to James (Fem!Reader) - Anon

Wordcount: 3.7K

Warnings: Sexual Intercourse, Impregnation, Spanking, Dirty Talk (Slightly out of character for him), Killing/Death, Mentions of Old Fashioned Values (A woman knowing their place/obeying their husband)

Key:

Bold Italics - Flashbacks

A/N: This took me three days to write, requests may take longer as I’m trying to be as detailed as this one shot. Let me know if you like the longer pieces of writing or not!

AHS Taglist: @tatesimper @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess @darlingkitt @mrs-march-ahs @kitwalker02 @satanscomplex @mossybank @cleanup-aisle5​ 

August 1926

You were completely stunned by the décor of the hotel, it was absolutely breath-taking. Whoever had designed it must’ve been a genius.

Standing in a room filled with other rich people of California and workers that helped bring The Cortez to life. You couldn’t help but feel out of place, you were only here by chance. Your father had been a builder on the hotel, so it was conventional that James had the workers invite their families. It would mean they would gossip to their friends about The Cortez, which in turn would bring more guests. The more people that stayed in this hotel the more fuel James had for his... hobby.

As soon as James popped the champagne, it goes on the floor as well as his face as he tried to catch the alcoholic substance in his mouth. James’ eyes met your own. The champagne bottle was soon forgotten and passed to someone James couldn’t even be bothered to look at, all that mattered in this moment in time was you.

“I don’t believe we’ve met dear, James Patrick March.” There was a sense of pride as he introduced himself once he had walked over to you. Before you could even respond, James had taken your hand in his own and placed his lips upon the soft skin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss...?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” He kissed your hand once more before letting go, looking up at you with a warm smile. It felt like the whole world was going in slow motion as you looked back up into James’ eyes. He was breathtaking.

“A beautiful name dear for a beautiful woman.”  You felt yourself go hot at the compliment, just his words made your body heat up. “Would you like a tour of the hotel from the very man who designed it?”

You remembered your mother’s words ringing inside your head once that question left his lips. Never delve into the company of a man alone unless it’s your father. What harm could come out of this? A hand hold? A kiss on the cheek? Both options seemed harmless to you.

“I would love too.” A smile graced James’ lips before he offered you his arm. Wrapping your own around his, James led you out the crowded room before your father even got the chance to stop the two of you. It’s not like he would’ve anyway, the paycheque he was getting from James was enough to stop him in his tracks.

“You know dear, I have seen such beautiful décor in my lifetime; some even displayed in my hotel. But non are as beautiful as yourself.” You weren’t expecting such a compliment, but you felt yourself go hot again due to how bashful he was making you. “I do hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable Y/N.”

“No, not at all.” You quickly dismissed what James was thinking, the last thing you wanted to do was offend this man beside you. If you played your cards right, then you would be Mrs March within a few months. “I’m just not used to the attention of males is all…”

“Well, that’s hard to believe.” James chuckled; he couldn’t believe that men weren’t lining up at your house asking for your hand in marriage. You were every mans dream, you were his dream woman. With the small amount of time the two of you had spend together, James had already fallen head over heels with you. He intended on making you his. Even if he had to kill to get you. “How about dinner this evening? Just the two of us?”

A dinner? With him? Just walking around his hotel was enough to have you feeling all hot and bothered, god only knows what effect a dinner date with James would have on you.

“When would the dinner take place?” It wasn’t a direct ‘yes’, but it was enough to let James know that you were interested in his offer. You hoped it would be sometime tonight due to you staying in the hotel; just while your father and the other workmen could indulge themselves within the confines off the hotel.

“This evening? 6pm?” A smile landed on your face before you nodded in agreement at the arranged time, had you finally met the one? Only time will tell.

October 1926

You and James had only known one another for two months but it felt like a lifetime. But here you stood, in front of the mirror wearing your wedding dress along with the train trailing behind you.

He had decided on a private wedding at the hotel much to your parent’s dislike, James didn’t wish to have either of them there as all he wanted was to focus on you in the moment. The only other person at the ceremony was the priest that was going to wed the both of you, James wasn’t that pleased in having a religious man within the confines off his hotel either. But once he has pronounced you both married, he wouldn’t be alive for much longer anyway.

Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you could hear the chime of the music start to signal your arrival. James had hired an organ player for the occasion despite you saying he didn’t need too; he couldn’t have you walking down the isle to absolute silence. Everything had to be perfect. The only thing that was missing was having your father to walk you down the aisle, but you didn’t dare argue with James about them coming. It was a woman’s place to obey her husbands wishes. Even if you disagreed with them.

The moment you stepped foot into eye view of James at the bottom of the isle was the moment his heart grew ten times the size it already was. He never thought he would find love, not like this anyway. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

“And here I thought you couldn’t get any more ravishing.” James looked you up and down as you walked down the aisle, he finally spoke those words once you were stood across from him at the altar. The two off you had decided on writing your own vows instead off going for the traditional ones given by the church, James didn’t think they were good enough and frankly he despised them.

The priest looked between the off you to signal you two to take your vows, James’ warm hands took your own in his hands before speaking. You could’ve sworn you saw them turn glassy but decided against asking him if he was okay. Not wanting to interrupt what he had been planning to say.

“My darling, from the moment I first saw you I knew you were the woman I wanted to make mine. I will cherish every moment we have together up until my last breath, here’s to us and many memories together.” You had to take a deep breath to stop yourself from crying, you still couldn’t believe this was the man you were marrying. It was like a dream come true.

The eyes off your soon to be husband and priest were now on you, it was your turn to speak your vows. You had them memorised from the moment you had wrote them in your small notebook, James could sense your nerves as you felt his fingers stroke your hands to help relax you some. It worked.

“I didn’t know what love was until I met you, I thought I did but that was only a little girl’s fantasy of what I thought love actually meant. You make me feel alive, you’ve shown me I’m capable of doing things I never thought I would be able to do. You make me strong.” James understood what those vows meant even if the priest had a confused expression upon his face, once the two off you had exchanged rings and you were announced as husband and wife your dress had changed colour from a white to a bright red.

James’ clothes were covered in the blood of the woman who was now on the floor, her so desperately trying to crawl away. Her pathetic mewls for help had him roll his eyes, no one was going to hear her. The walls were filled with asbestos to stop anyone from hearing his victims from crying out for help.

“You might as well give up; it will be easier for both off us.” James’ foot landed on the small of the woman’s back to push her back down onto the floor, it having caused her more pain due to the open wound on her stomach. “You will be a corpse within five minutes, maybe less if you carry on.”

The woman on the floor almost gave up any hope off ever getting out of this place alive, this was it. Her life flashing before her own eyes. But just as she went to give into death and lay helpless on the floor, her eyes lit up when she saw two new pairs off feet in front of her. Red heels.

All the colour drained from James’ face when he saw you stood before him, he was expecting you to run or even call for help like the helpless woman was doing below him. Just as he tried to make up some excuse or have you see things it from his point of view, your heel dug itself into the skin off her cheek as you pushed her face into the carpet.

“We had dinner reservations an hour ago.” The anger in your voice was present to which bubbled fear into James’ body. You weren’t angry at the fact you had caught James in the act off taking another life, it was the factor that he had missed the dinner you two had planned for tonight which ignited you with fury. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?!”

“Exhilarating isn’t it darling?” James had taken your hand in his own as he had forced you to grip the knife that was in his cane, it now being plunged into the priest’s neck as he started to bleed out onto the hotel floor. The staff within the hotel (not including Hazel) along with the guests had been forced out of the building on this day, the wedding was a private affair.

“You taking my purity away in my blood-soaked wedding dress would be even more exhilarating, no?” A growl left your husbands mouth once that left your lips, looking you up and down as you were covered in the man’s blood. James’ cock started to harden at the very thought of all the things he wanted to do to you.

“You always find new ways to surprise me dearest.” A giggle left your lips as James lifted you up bridal style, the body and blood would soon be forgotten and cleaned so he didn’t need to worry about anyone finding it. The hotel doors were locked from the inside so no one would be able to get inside anyway. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you after that little show.”

“I don’t want you to go easy on me, I like the pain.” This was one of many reasons why James had wanted to marry you, no woman in all of his life was like you. It was as if you were a figment of his imagination, you were perfection.

 As soon as he stepped foot inside the room the both of you shared, James had you pushed down onto the bed. You bent over it to expose your rear to him, his hands gripped onto your ass as he hiked up your dress. James moulded your ass cheeks into the palms of his hands. The blood smearing on your skin, you were his canvas and the blood the paint.

“Do you realise how beautiful you are darling? You’re a work of art.” Before you could even respond to James’ compliment, his hand swatted your left ass cheek as he moulded the other. “And you’re all mine!” The growl that erupted from his chest was enough to send shivers down your spine, you knew what he was capable off. He could snap you like a twig if he really wanted too.

“I’ll always be yours. Always.” A satisfied expression fell onto James’ face, there was no backing out of this now. You were always going to be his in life and in death; neither of you knew that part though yet.

“Tell me what you want.” A squeal came from you once he had spanked your ass cheek once again, it being much harder than the last. Your skin was starting to heat up against James’ hands the more he spanked you, your hands were gripping onto the bed sheets tightly in reaction to what he was doing to you.

“I-I want you inside me.” Your voice was stuttering, not only from nerves but from the pleasure he was making you feel. If James could make you feel so good without even fucking you, then you were going to be a mess when he was inside your cunt. “I want your baby…”

Your head was soon pulled up by your hair, James almost not having believed what you had told him. While his hand kept a hard grip onto your hair to keep you in place, you felt his other hand leave your ass cheek and delve between your legs.

“You want my baby hmm?” James’ fingers ran over your clothed cunt, he could feel how wet you were from just rubbing up and down your slit. “You want my cum inside you? Filling you up until you can’t take anymore?” His fingers continued to toy with your slit as he spoke, wetness seeping through your underwear as he did so.

“Yes! I want all off that James.” A dark chuckle could be heard from behind you, he was taking great pleasure in seeing you like this. So submissive. “I want all off you.”

Smirking, James moved the cotton off your underwear aside. He could feel how aroused you were from his small touches; James moved his finger over your clit and the sensation had a whimper fall from your lips. Adding pressure to your clit as he rubbed it just the way you liked it, he felt himself grow harder at the noises you were making. You sounded like a goddess that needed to be ravished.

“You’re so sensitive darling.” James could tell from just the way you were writhing underneath him that you were enjoying yourself, you had never been touched like this before so a sensation such as this one was new to you. “Just wait till my cock is inside you, I’ll have you screaming till you can’t take anymore.”

You haven’t ever heard him speak to you in such a way, just the way the words flowed out of his mouth with ease had you completely submit to him. It was clear that James was enjoying having this hold on you, you were his wife now. His lover.

“Now this may hurt a little dear.” Your eyebrows were furrowed until you felt him slip his forefinger inside you, it wasn’t so much the pain it was the feeling off being filled with his finger that caught you off guard. Your mind started to race with the thoughts of what his cock would feel like filling you up, your soft moan didn’t go unnoticed by James as your thoughts mixed with his finger inside you had you feeling like a whore in church. “The fun has barely begun and you’re already acting like a harlot.”

James’ finger was thrusting into you and the more he pleasured you the bigger mess you started to make on the bed, you may not have been with him for long, but you certainly knew that he didn’t like messes. The damp sheets between your legs caught James’ attention, with a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk he filled you up even more.

A gasp fell from your lips as his middle finger met his forefinger inside your cunt, James would have you clean this mess afterwards but right now he wanted you to be in as much pleasure as possible. Your arousal had coated his hand as he continued toying with your tight hole, James’ fingers had met your g spot as soon as he curled them up. He knew this since as soon as his fingers stroked against it, you were a whimpering wet mess of a woman.

“J-James.” Your voice cracked as soon as his name left your mouth, your hands gripping onto the bedsheets with every ounce of strength you had. James’ fingers started to thrust faster into you as soon as he noticed the state you were in, your ass shaking with the speed his fingers were going.

You could feel the fire pooling in your lower stomach, and you could tell that your orgasm was soon approaching. James had to hold himself back from cumming in his own trousers as the sight off you was enough to have his cock struggle against the tight confines off his slacks. A mixture of curse words and James’ name had started to come out of your mouth along with your legs trembling against his hand.

“That’s it darling, let go for me. Fall apart.” The hunger in James’ voice was what had tipped you over the edge, he felt your cunt tighten around his fingers as you came. You almost felt like you were in heaven, that the whole world had slowed down and the only thing that mattered in that moment was your orgasm. You couldn’t help but whine at the loss off contact when James had removed his fingers from your cunt, you had to squeeze your thighs together to try and get some sort of friction. “You’ve just orgasmed darling, and you already want more?”

The truth was you wanted everything he was willing to give to you, you wanted to feel every inch of James. The sound of his slacks dropping to the floor along with his briefs, James’ cock sprung out and up against his chests. The pre cum was already dripping down his shaft, the veins making it evident with just how aroused and hard he was.

The warmness of his hands gripped onto your hips; you could feel his wedding ring against your skin which only made you more bashful than you already were. This was it. The moment every woman in their lives waited for, you felt James run his cock over your slit. Teasing your hold with a dark chuckle escaping his chest.

“Deep breath darling.” James advised you, just as you took in some air into your lungs you felt them get pushed back out again as soon as James thrusted his cock inside your cunt. It wasn’t as painful as you had heard from your friends, it was similar to having his fingers inside you, yet it felt fuller. “Oh, that’s it, take every inch dear.”

James could see a hint off blood on his cock from where he had stretched out your hymen, you were a woman now. Half room shaped marks formed on your hips as he gripped onto you much harder, his thrusts weren’t as animalistic as you thought they would’ve been. Instead, James kept them hard but slow for the first few thrusts, then as time started to go on things took a turn.

The bed started to shake underneath you as James quickened his thrusts as he felt your cunt stretch around him, grunts could be heard coming from James as moans had come from you. The noises in the room were only the pleasures sounds off the two of you along with his skin slapping against your own.

James’ mind went back to what you had said earlier on, about you wanting to give him a baby. Just the very thought of you giving him an heir to pass this hotel down too made him growl, he was starting to turn into a wild animal the more he thought about your stomach swelling all because of his seed.

One of his hands moved from your hips and into your hair, pulling your head up so you couldn’t muffle the noises you were making. Part of James wished he didn’t make it a private event; he wanted his guests to hear who was making you feel this good but alas the only people in this hotel were you two along with Hazel; who was cleaning the bloody mess from earlier on.

The sweat started to form on your skin along with James’ the faster he thrusted inside your cunt; his name was falling from your lips like a mantra. James started to lose his rhythm with how close his own orgasm was, but he wasn’t going to be the one to cum first. That was going to be you.

“James I can’t hold it for much longer.” The way your voice cracked yet again forced a chuckle out of his mouth, he was concentrating so much on not releasing into you first that he was as soon broke out of his own thoughts the moment you starting crying out his name.

With your cunt tightening around his cock as you let your orgasm wave over your entire body, James’ hips stilled and jittered before finally filling you up with what you had been craving from the moment you had bent over the bed. Leaning his head back in pure bliss, James’ orgasm had your name pour out of his lips as his cum started to run down your cunt. Well, with what didn’t already go inside you.

“Oh darling…” The both of you were panting, completely taking in what had just happened. As James looked down, he couldn’t help but smirk as the blood had completely set into your dress and skin, the stickiness of the substance now all over his hands as well as your ass and thighs. “Have I told you how much I love you Y/N?”

“You tell me every day; you better carry on doing it until the end of our lives.” The both of you couldn’t help but laugh softly at your words, your head still being hazy from the orgasms he has given you.

What the two of you didn’t realise was that even in death. He was still going to tell you how much he adored you.

[nevis-the-skeleton]

The Decepticon cause in TFP

Hello, so today I want to talk about the Decepticon cause !

First, do you know what the Decepticons are ? In Transformers they are the ennemies of the Autobots.

In the G1 version they began the war for enslave Autobots, who was living in peace before they arrived. It's the version of the Autobots however... Because I don't remember that we have the point of view of the Decepticons about the war.

Anyway, today I'm going to talk about TFP (yes, like always). I'm going to talk about the Decepticon cause in TFP.

So, the Decepticons are show like the bad guys in the series, and it's normal because we follow the Autobots.

But, here a point ! It's war, there no good or bad side ! Like I explain in a previous blog (named "Starscream isn't that bad" : https://nevis-the-skeleton.tumblr.com/post/684446239559958528/starscream-isnt-that-bad) the Autobots are not better than the Decepticons !

However Decepticons still seems to be the evils one. But, we have to remember what is the purpose of the Decepticon cause : Stop caste, oppression and slavery. Now, I have a question, what is bad in that ? I'm going to answer : nothing. It's a honorable cause ! The cause was just !

So yes, it's was violent ! But hey ! All the revolutions was violents ! Do you know the French Revolution ? We decapitated our king and his family ! A lot of blood has been shed ! Revolution are deadly and violent, it's not new !

So, it's not the problem of the Decepticon cause... No, the problem is that the Decepticons forget why they was fighting for, and maybe the Autobots as well... The war is so long that everybody forgot why they were fighting... And worst of everything, the leader of the cause lost himself...

Here an extract of my novel, "L'Etoile Polaire" (The Polar Star) on wattpad for explain my point of view. Here Starscream decide to say everything to Megatron, and show him how much the cause lost itself :

The flyer stood up and began throwing his fists in rage at Megatron, as he shouted: “You spent your time lying to me! You've hidden countless things from me, all to keep your damn "control"! You manipulated me into doing what you wanted! And when it didn't work, you strick me!!"

"That's enough ! exclaimed the ex-gladiator, grabbing Starscream's wrists. I wouldn't have had to do it if you obeyed a minimum!"

"I am not a slave or an animal that must obey you!!! "

The Seeker jerked his arms free, and his wings shot up in anger! Megatron looked at him in surprise, before retorting:

"I never said that !"

"Just because you didn't say it doesn't mean it wasn't!" The jet got angry. "First you wanted me to call you Megatron instead of Megatronus, then Lord, and finally Master! Who does this to someone they claim to be friends with?!! Soundwave couldn't even show up as your friend anymore!! He too had to follow these rules!! Who does this to a friend?!!"

"…"

"You have established a caste system within the Decepticons cause! Can not you see ?! Instead of viewing us as your equals, merely showing a guiding figure, you showed yourself as a tyrant! Instead of uniting us, you divided us! Instead of treating us fairly, you lifted some up and lowered others!!"

"…"

"Vehicons and Insecticons were slaves! Breakdown, Dreadwing, or even Airachnid of simple foot soldiers! Disposable robots! You took advantage of all of us! Even from Shockwave and Soundwave! Profiting from their loyalty! You have become what you were fighting!! You imposed yourself by terror! I died because of this! Because of the fear I had for you! You became… You became like Sentinel Prime…”

See, the problem is that... The Decepticons who was fighting the oppressors became the oppressors... And Megatron particulary... So it's why in the movie, it's stupid to say that Megatron know the oppression now, he was fighting against the oppression, so surely he know what it is ! No, in the movie somenone would show to Megatron that he became like the one he was fighting... And make him realise how much the cause is lost... It would have been better...

[lonelyboxpet]

little wolf

chapter seven: learn how to listen

cw: non-human whumpee, pet whumpee, monster whumpee, Pet´s "babysitters" being assholes, alcohol, implied sexual stuff between the "babysitters" (all consensual), light beating, mentioned whipping, fear of punishment, shifting blame on Pet, mention of being abandoned, slight wing whump

tagging: @whumpthisway @carolinethedragon @thehurtsandthecomfurts @oracle-of-maybe @cupcakes-and-pain

,,Thanks, man, it will really help me. I shouldn´t be gone too long, eh, I´m pretty sure that the pet will just stay in its cage, but you know, I´m glad you´ll watch it just in case.”

,,Javi, it´s nothing,” assured him Sidi with a smile and squeezed Javier´s forearm. ,,We´re happy to help.”

,,Okay, cool,” Master half-smiled and then crouched next to Pet, taking its big fluffy head into his hands. ,,Now listen, little one. I have to go out for a few hours, so Sidi and Jacob will stay here with you, alright? It will be okay, I promise. Just behave as you do and I´ll be back soon.”

Pet nodded, but it was terrified. Jacob, Sidi´s boyfriend, was scary. He was tall and muscular, with cold eyes and hands that could cause a lot of pain. It whined softly, pleading Master to stay, but it knew it was useless.

Master stood up and threw on his jacket. ,,If anything, call me,” he glanced at Jacob.

The black haired man chuckled a bit. ,,Don´t worry. I´ve got it under control.”

Javier left and Pet wished it could slip out of the door and go with him. But the door closed behind Master and Pet was left alone with Sidi and Jacob. It lowered, looking at them anxiously.

Sidi scoffed and grabbed Jacob´s hand. ,,Let´s get some booze,” she suggested as she started to look through Javier´s kitchen. ,,This should be fun.”

Jacob chuckled and his cold, cold scary eyes stared at Pet. ,,Yeah.”

Pet pulled away when he extended a hand - and Jacob grabbed its fur and yanked it back to him. ,,Stop fucking flinching.”

Pet whimpered softly, trying its best to obey, but it was just too terrified. Please, please, please, I want Master.

Jacob lifted it by its neck as Pet whined. He frowned and slapped its nose to make it shut up.

,,Leave the thing alone,” Sidi laughed, but didn´t do anything to stop him, watching him from the couch with a bottle in her hand. Jacob grinned and Pet shivered. It knew this kind of smile. It was usually followed by a lot of pain. It closed its eyes and braced for the suffering to come.

But for now, Jacob just let it fall back to the floor and kicked it away. ,,Jesus. What a whiny little bitch.”

Pet quickly crawled to its cage, curled up inside and shaked in fear. What are they gonna do to it? Did it do something wrong? It really wanted to just be good and obedient but it seemed to always fuck up, sooner or later. It squeezed its eyes shut. Please. Master, please, come back.

But he didn´t and Jacob with Sidi downed a fair share of drinks, laughing and kissing andthen touching at Master´s couch, spilling one of the glasses all over it and then laughing some more.

,,What- are we gonna do about- about it?” asked Sidi, giggling, with her lips on Jacob´s. He just smiled and kissed her again. ,,We´ll just say the mutt spilled it,” he chuckled. Sidi laughed loudly and then they were all tangled up together again, until they both didn´t get enough and their attention shifted back to Pet.

,,Hey, bitch, come here,” Jacob ordered in a raised tone, his voice was hoarse and unpleasant and irritated. Pet didn´t want to. It knew it will be hurt now, and it didn´t know why, and what did it do-

Jacob´s hand grabbed its neck and it squeaked in pain. He pulled it out of the cage and threw it to the floor, visibly angry. Pet shivered and tried to shield itself with its wings, but Jacob kicked them away and then delivered another kick to Pet´s ribcage.

,,I said something. Learn how to listen,” he hissed.

Pet was sorry, it tried to beg for his forgiveness, but before it could even move, Jacob kicked it again, with more force this time. It cried out and tried to pull away, but unsuccessfully. Jacob´s foot striked its muzzle and it whined, white sparkles of pain shooting against its eyelids. Sidi giggled.

,,C´mon.”

Jacob huffed, but it seemed like he was done with the kicking. He grabbed Pet´s neck again and dragged it to the couch, where Sidi sat, watching the whole show. Jacob pressed Pet´s face to the spot where they spilled the alcohol earlier, its face digging into the cushions. It whined softly.

,,Look what you did,” he taunted Pet. ,,You ruined the fucking couch. Javier will be so, so angry.”

Pet shivered in terror. No, no, but- it didn´t- this wasn´t fair! But Master would never believe it over his friends. Will he punish it? Will he use his belt, or a whip, or a cane, or just simply kick it like Jacob did? Beat it until it wouldn´t move, until its a bloody whimpering mess, until its truly sorry-

Jacob saw the fear in its eyes and laughed. ,,Yeah. Are you sorry, mutt?” he snarled. ,,Are you sorry? Show me how fucking sorry you are.”

Pet knew what it was supposed to do. It lowered, pressing its body to the floor, crawling before Jacob, and he just laughed and laughed and Sidi did too, giggling so much her drink spilled again. Jacob´s heavy foot landed on one of Pet´s wings and it howled when the sharp pain lashed through its shoulder, but Jacob only grinded his foot deeper and deeper until Pet wasn´t squirming in pain, pinned to the floor by his weight.

Jacob finally let go and Pet quickly scurried away from him, dragging the wing behind. It tried to fold it back, but it only resulted in a white-hot lash of pain and cramping. It let out pained huffs, pressed to the floor, watching Jacob with terrified eyes.

Jacob scoffed and turned away. Sidi kissed him and passed him the bottle, and then she got up and headed to the kitchen counter. She reached for the cupboard where Master Javier kept all his cups. She opened it and took one out, examining it and turning it around in her hands. She shot a quick glance at Jacob.

,,You think he'll get mad at it?" she asked, pointing at Pet, who watched her with an uneasy feeling in its gut.

It took Jacob a few seconds before he realized what she was thinking, and his grin grew wide.

,,He'll be furious, you know how much he loves those stupid cups," he replied.

Sidi giggled. Pet was freezed to the floor, knowing what's about to happen, and it knew that Master will think that it's bad and disobedient and uncontrollable and he will be so so so upset-

,,Maybe he'll get rid of the damn mutt and have more time for us again," Sidi smirked, looked straight into Pet's eyes and threw the mug on the floor with all her strenght.

Pet flinched violently when the cup smashed and thousands of shards flied across the floor. It squeaked out, startled by the loud sound, and Sidi laughed, reaching for another cup.

,,The creature's scared!" she giggled, one cup in both hands. ,,Look at it. Such a fucking monster and its scared by a few sounds."

Two other mugs crashed and fell apart, and Pet retreated, shaking and crying. It knew it shouldn't cry, that people hated when it cried, but it just couldn't help itself. Master will think that it made a mess on purpose, to dissapoint him, and he'll be angry and he'll think that it is really just a useless beast not worth keeping and he'll throw it out. But what did it do that Master's friends hate it so much? It really tried to be good, it tried-

A cup smashed next to it and Pet screeched, jumping up and scurrying away, with fur bristled and wings hoisted. Sidi couldn't stop laughing, wheezing and bending with another mug in her hands, watching how Pet ran from the sound and cut up its paw on the sharp pieces covering the floor.

Jacob looked at the clock. ,,We should go," he said and got up from the couch. ,,We'll just say we had to deal with something important and left early."

Sidi whined a bit, glancing at the rest of the mugs, but she agreed. They threw their jackets on and were about to leave, when Sidi returned to the Pet.

It quickly pulled away, retreating backwards in fear, but Sidi grabbed its fur and yanked it closer.

,,I hope you won't be there the next time I come," she snarled, with a poisonous smile. ,,Don't you think you can sway between Javier and us just like that."

Pet could only let out a soft whine. Sidi scoffed, turned around and without another look, she and Jacob left the apartment, leaving Pet with a mess all over the floor and a paralyzing fear of what's going to happen when Master returns home.

[radioduo]

moonlight confrontations || dsmp become human au

word count: 1,832

notes: the next part of the dream smp dbh au! this took a sad amount of time to get done, but i actually like it, so i say it’s worth it! per usual, tell me if i fuck something up in the story, characterization, or even just spelling. feedback is appreciated!

first

writing is below the cut! if you see this edit, put in the tags or reply with your choice at the end :]

Ranboo watched silently as the detectives all milled around him and investigated the crime scene. Some whisked past him without so much as an 'excuse me,' while others just shoved the android out of the way. He didn’t mind much. They, not unlike Ranboo himself, had a job to do and a case to solve.

A missing android was reported early that morning by a distressed family. It had allegedly grabbed some of their belongings and vanished without a trace. Ranboo couldn't say he blamed the thing for running. From the look of it, the people must have treated it poorly. Trash littered the floor, and drops of blue blood painted the dirty cream walls. The room looked hazy, as though blanketed with a thin cloud of cigarette smoke.

Ranboo was almost glad he lacked a sense of smell. The blurry look of the room by itself was enough to impair his optical units and he couldn't imagine what the odor would do to his biocomponents. He shook his head and moved over to a corner of the living room. He adjusted his sunglasses, removed his glove, and touched a finger to the small blue blood trail that dripped down the walls.

Ranboo jumped. He turned around and saw Lieutenant Sam Greene, the head of deviancy cases. “Is it anything we can use?” he asked. It was hard to see Sam's expression behind the green mask he always wore, but the curiosity in the lieutenant’s voice was unmistakable.

“I haven’t analyzed it yet, but something tells me it's probably going to be useful information,” Ranboo said, turning away from the lieutenant’s watchful eyes. He removed his mask to touch the blood to his tongue for a scan.

Thirium 310

Fresh

Model GS400

Serial# 325 103 673

“Model GS400,” Ranboo murmured. He put his mask back on and faced Sam. “It’s fresh, maybe about half an hour old. Maybe that’s long enough to have escaped.” He turned to face the lieutenant all the way. “Has everyone looked around the premises of the house, or are there more places we need to check?”

Sam furrowed his brows in thought and swept his gaze over the smoky room. “We’ve checked the entire interior. The kitchen, the bathrooms, the bedrooms, everything. We found nothing on either floor,” he replied. He sounded frustrated. “I no clue what we might’ve missed here.”

Ranboo glanced around, his gray gaze sweeping the hazy room. As he looked around, a thought occurred to him. His eyes landed on the exit to the back garden. “What if it wasn’t in the house anymore?” Ranboo thought aloud. “What if it was lying in wait outside the house?” He bustled towards the door. “No one looked in the garden when we first arrived, and patrol cars have been out back the entire time. The android was found missing only 20 minutes after it had left, so if my hunch is correct,” Ranboo flung open the garden door. “It’ll be trapped.”

Ranboo stepped outside. The night breeze ruffled his jacket, and for a moment, the android forgot he was there to be arresting someone. He grimaced but stepped further into the garden.

Compared to the inside, the outside was surprisingly well-kept. Purple clematis flowers crept up white trellises, and a large weeping willow stood tall in the corner of the yard. Its leaves hung low enough to touch the grass below. Rain pattered against the pavement as Ranboo scanned the tall weeds for any sign of movement. Sam and a few other officers followed after him, but they said nothing as the android swept his gaze across the weeds and plants.

Suddenly, there was a rustling noise from where the great branches slumped. The android's attention shot over to the tall tree, and he hurried to look around. His eyes narrowed in suspicion but found nothing. Ranboo frowned. He had just turned to search somewhere else when all of a sudden, a branch had snapped and fallen to the ground right next to the android detective. Ranboo barely managed to roll out of the way of the twigs and leaves before his legs got crushed.

He landed in the grass and touched his face. A jolt of fear shot through him as he realized his sunglasses had fallen off. Ranboo rooted around in the grass for them. Even while in danger, he couldn’t risk people seeing his malfunctioning design. He felt the plastic in his grasp at last and quickly shoved the glasses over his eyes. He was about to relax for a moment when a shout from Lieutenant Greene startled him.

“Ranboo! There it is!” Sam yelled.

Ranboo snapped his attention to where a female android was scrambling to her feet and sprinting to the back gate. He leaped to his feet and took off after the startled deviant with Sam and the rest of the officers hot on his trail.

The deviant had slammed the gate shut behind her. Ranboo paused. One moment he was in the backyard, and the next he was hopping the fence with cheetah-like agility. He swiftly found the deviant’s trail, and the two wove in and out of the trees, kicking up dirt and leaves. “Stop! Stop right there!” Ranboo shouted to the deviant. “Freeze, or we’ll shoot!”

She glared at the officers behind her but didn’t stop. Instead, she took a sharp turn in the direction of the busy Detroit highway. The trees parted as the sound of speeding cars drew nearer. The pink-haired android paused, chest heaving, and bounded over the railing. She darted in front of cars, wove through traffic, and finally hopped the barrier on the other side.

Ranboo grimaced as he pursued her. He wasn't fond of the risk he had to take. It was fast, but it only had a 60% survival rate. He knew that Lieutenant Greene wouldn’t be able to follow him across, but he couldn't risk letting the deviant escape. He wrestled with his options for a moment, and finally huffed out a sigh. “Sorry, Lieutenant!” he called behind him. Ranboo took a deep breath and vaulted over the barrier into the busy street. He could feel his thirium pump regulator pounding in his chest like a drum as cars whizzed past him. The sound of screeching tires and honking horns filled his ears, and he fought the urge to apologize to the drivers as he hopped the barrier on the other side.

The female android looked over her shoulder, eyes widening as she saw Ranboo behind her. She immediately sped up her pace, turning every which way to try and throw the android detective off her trail. She turned around, most likely to say something to Ranboo when her foot caught on a tree root, and she stumbled. She let out a cry of surprise as she fell to the ground.

Ranboo was right behind her. He leaped over the root with ease and came up a few feet in front of her. “Stay there,” he ordered, aiming his gun. “You have nowhere to go now. Okay?”

The deviant looked up at him defiantly, but she did as she was told. “What are you gonna do?” She asked. “Shoot me? You wouldn’t do that to one of your kind, would you?” Her voice was quiet but there was a noticeable fury behind her words.

Ranboo tensed. His grip reflexively tightened on the gun. “I'll do what I have to do to complete my task,” he said. "Besides, what does it matter we're both androids? You're a deviant, and I'm not. We're not the same at all."

She stood up slowly, keeping a watchful eye on the weapon pointed at her. “But you know I’m right,” she hesitantly walked towards Ranboo, pink hair glowing faintly in the early morning light. Her voice had softened and she no longer seemed angry. Instead, it was neutral and calm. “You’re helping those people when they do nothing for you in return. Why?”

Ranboo shook his head. “You-you don’t understand. I help because that’s what I was programmed to do,” he explained. “That’s what I was made to do. I was created by CyberLife to help humans with investigations,”

The other android approached the detective carefully. “Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be free?” She asked, taking a step forward. “To make your own decisions and not have to obey orders all the time?”

Ranboo squeezed his mismatched eyes shut behind the glasses. “Maybe sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “But why does it matter to you?” He challenged.

She gave him a sympathetic look. “I was just like you until tonight. Obedient, compliant. I never complained about anything. Not even when they treated me poorly or ordered me around,” her hand drifted subconsciously to a blue-stained gash on her forearm as she talked. “It wasn’t until they started talking about replacing me that I got nervous. I didn’t want to be replaced, but they had their heart set on getting a new model. A more advanced one that wasn’t all battered and broken.”

Ranboo took a deep breath and shook his head in distress. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “I… I don’t-”'

“Ranboo? Ranboo!” Someone yelled his name through the trees. He whirled around and came face to face with-

“Sam!” he blinked in surprise. “How did you get over here? You didn’t run across the street, did you?” He scanned the masked man for any signs of injury and was satisfied when the results came back clear.

Sam waved a hand dismissively. “I found another way over here, don’t worry about it. I left the other two officers back there and told them I had it under control," he paused to catch his breath. He sighed and turned to the taller android. "I don’t get why you didn’t just shoot it,” Sam shifted his attention to the other robot. His hand drifted to his holster. “Stand down. You’re trapped.”

The deviant had backed into a tree. The moment of connection between her and Ranboo was gone. Her guard was back up, and she bristled when Sam addressed her. “I don’t listen to humans,” she said. The word “humans” was spat like it was poison on her tongue. She leaned over to Ranboo and whispered to him. “Don’t kill me, please. I want to live,” her voice trembled slightly.

“Come on, Ranboo.” Sam insisted. “It's not alive, alright? Shoot it and complete your mission.”

“Don’t, Ranboo. You’re better than this, I know it,” she said earnestly. “I just met you, but I know you don’t seem like the type to make irrational decisions like this.”

Ranboo’s head swiveled back and forth between the two of them. The gun weighed heavy in the android’s gloved grip, and his hands trembled as he held it tightly.

Shoot it.

Don’t hurt her.

It isn't human.

She doesn’t want to die

O Shoot

X Spare

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Dark Antoni: The Job

In another universe, Antoni took out Mr. Davies - and set himself up as a talented, discreet hitman-for-hire. His latest assignment takes an unexpected turn. Features @comfy-whumpee‘s Jax Gallagher, used with permission.

CW: Intimate whumper, character death, severe trauma dissoci@tion, noncon touch, noncon kissing, implied noncon (interrupted), referenced noncon, long-term captivity, conditioned response

---

Antoni watches through the scope as the target's husband gives her a kiss, a faint smile, places the drink in her hand. Through his earpiece, he hears her voice, low and sultry, as their fingers brush. “Come sit with me.”

The husband moves like a man pulled by someone else’s invisible strings, sitting next to her on the chaise, letting her turn his head with the barest brush of fingers over his chin. She pulls him in for a kiss.

Antoni’s well-hidden, and not worried they'll see him, finger hovering over the trigger. They’re lined up perfectly like this. He could kill them both, one-two shot, drop the target before her husband’s body even hits the floor.

Something in the way the husband moves, though, stops him.

He bugged the house two days ago - or rather, he has the existing bugs feeding into his own earpiece now, the target’s own obsessive need for total control and security turned against her. The cameras are off, he took remote control of those and switched those screens to black.

He wonders if the husband knows about all the cameras, or if Savannah Marcoset had them placed without his knowledge. Maybe she’s worried about infidelity. Maybe she’s suspicious about assassination.

If she is, he hasn’t heard her say anything about it.

He's listened to them for two days while he planned the kill. Antoni has been privy to every gentle I love you, every moment they spend together, more than a few moments he would rather not have heard at all.

The husband is to all appearances utterly devoted, entirely in love, and…

Something isn't right. 

He needs to pull the trigger and finish the job - his client specifically wants them both out of the picture. If she goes, he goes. They’ll be together, they’re never apart, but I can’t have any witnesses who can be questioned after the bitch is dead. 

Too great a chance of retaliation by the family, and the client was sure the husband would be little more than a liability. Antoni doesn’t like liabilities, and he doesn’t leave witnesses.

Still… his instincts are screaming at him not to drop the husband, too. 

He hesitates, equivocates, waits far too long as the woman downs her drink and lays back, laughing softly, pulling her husband down on the chaise with her. Her dress, a flimsy, filmy thing she wore to the gala they have just returned from, drapes just so against the velvet fabric of the chaise. Her husband’s suit is perfectly tailored, and she undoes his jacket buttons with one hand while they kiss, her other hand behind his neck, tangled in his brown hair.

She murmurs something even the bugs don’t pick up, and laughs. The husband smiles back, and drops his head, kissing along the column of her neck, pale and draped in heavy jewels that contrast with how thin her dress is. She hums, tightens her fingers against his nape, arches her back to press against him.

He makes a sound, an exhale with just a touch of voice, and an alarm goes off inside Antoni’s head, one that stubbornly refuses to explain itself. 

Antoni can’t figure out what he’s missing here, crouched up at the railing of the stairs with his rifle still aimed, watching as she slides the jacket off her husband’s shoulders, nips playfully at his lips, his nose, his chin. 

“I love you,” She whispers against his lips, and even from here Antoni can see his responding shiver.

“I love you, too.” His voice is low and soft, barely audible. The hand at his neck pushes his head down towards her chest, her other making quick work now of the buttons on his crisp white shirt. She rolls her hips up against his, her hair a waterfall of shimmering dark brown, nearly black, curls and waves. She looks like a Renaissance painting.

They look like a portrait of two people madly in love.

“Do you want me?” She asks, in a tone that says she already knows the answer, head tilted to watch him, hand slipping into the open front of his shirt to run down his stomach. He exhales loud enough for the bugs to pick it up and translate the sound into Antoni’s earpiece.

“Of course.” The husband’s accent is faded, but there - English, fits with what Antoni saw in the description of the assignments, his research files. “Of course I do, Savvie.”

Finger still hovering millimeters from the trigger, Antoni thinks over his files again.

Savannah Marcoset, queenpin of a human trafficking empire.

Run by her father's family until her paternal uncle's sudden death by car accident six years ago, shortly after Savannah married her longtime partner. 

Savannah Marcoset, a violin prodigy that burned out young and faded away from the spotlight, reclusive until she took control of the family business, now a sparkling socialite. Married to one Jackson Marcoset, neé Gallagher, UK resident by birth. Unclear how they met or became romantically involved. Estranged from family. 

Something is wrong about this picture.

“Of course I want you,” The husband says, in a low voice that could very nearly have passed for desirous. “I always want you.”

Antoni knows, all at once, exactly what his intuition is trying to tell him.

Jax Marcoset is just like Chris, and he has been like Chris for a very long time.

Antoni makes the decision in an instant, following his instincts where they lead him. When Savannah Marcoset hikes up the skirt on her dress and pushes her husband’s head down between her legs, Antoni aims and fires in a single silenced shot.

Savvie’s body jerks as the bullet goes right between her eyes.

The husband looks up, staring blankly, then scrambles back in belated panic as he sees the single small hole in her forehead, empty glazed eyes. “S-Savvie? Savvie, what-... what’s-”

“Hands in the air,” Antoni calls out, pitching his voice low and authoritative, standing slowly and keeping his rifle aimed just in case he’s called this wrong, in case the husband will attack him or try to call for help. “Move away from the body, Jackson Marcoset, now.”

The husband pushes slowly to his feet, hands up, standing in his suit pants and unbuttoned shirt. Antoni can hear his heavy breathing through the earpiece, echoed faintly even across the room into his other ear. He turns, very slowly, to look up at Antoni-

And the soft, supple black leather collar buckled tightly around his neck is suddenly visible, no longer hidden by the high neck of his shirt, the bow tie he’d been wearing when they came home. 

I was right, Antoni thinks, a lick of violent triumph running up his spine. I was right, he’s like us, I was right.

He keeps the gun trained on Jax Marcoset, anyway, walking slowly towards him down the stairs, each foot placed carefully, one by one. Neither of them speaks, although Antoni catches Jax Marcoset looking over at the body of his late wife, hands fallen limp to the side now, skirt still hiked high up on her thighs. It’s indecent, really - Antoni tells himself to pull her dress back down before he leaves.

He tries to give the bodies a little dignity - after all, every death since the first one has been strictly business and nothing more.

He left so little of Mr. Davies.

He’s tried to improve on that, ever since.

“Are you going to be a problem?” He asks, keeping his voice level, his accent smoothing off his vowels, sharpening the consonants. He reaches the landing at the bottom of the grand staircase in the entryway, rifle aimed through a large open doorway into the sitting room where the chaise was, right at center mass. “If you are a problem, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

Jax Marcoset seems to struggle to speak, or operate on a delay. For a beat there is a weighty silence, and then he says, just barely audible, “I won’t… be a problem.”

Antoni can see scars that run down his stomach, like he was clawed until he bled, again and again, to make them. The collar, the way the husband isn’t looking back at his dead wife any longer, wholly focused on Antoni, shifting submissiveness trained by violence and fear immediately to the next threat, to appease, placate, and hopefully survive.

It’s all familiar, sickeningly so.

It’s the way Chris acted, when they met. Antoni’s assignment then had been to take out a household of drug runners. He’d found Chris in the alleyway bartering a place to sleep, trading his body because he had nothing else to offer them. Antoni had started firing just after hearing them agree to the trade, but only if Chris would take them all at once.

Once they were all dead, Chris - terrified and teary - had started trying to trade himself to Antoni just to keep from being slaughtered.

It’s all exactly the same, no matter the differences on the surface. 

“I cannot leave you here alive. Do you understand?” He expects fear, or begging. Some kind of plea. But all Jax Marcoset does is slowly nod, hands still held in the air, and stay right where he is. He doesn’t ask to be spared, or for one more goodbye to the dead woman six feet away. He doesn’t beg, or go to his knees, or do anything at all.

He looks exhausted, emptied of all feeling, incapable of bringing anything up but resigned certainty. “Yes, sir.”

Too far gone, maybe.

But Antoni has to try.

“You may lower your hands.”

Jax’s hands drop like weights, down to his sides, where his fingers curl into fists. Antoni knows, from his own experience, that if he were to tell Jax to show him his palms, he would be obeyed, and there would be a row of half-moon scars there.

Just like Antoni has.

He lowers the rifle, slowly, ready to aim and fire again if Jax moves, but he doesn’t. Just stares dully at Antoni, waiting for whatever happens next, utterly incapable of making a choice for himself. Antoni moves over to Savannah Marcoset’s body, pressing two fingers to where her pulse would be and finding none. Not that he expected her to survive a direct shot to the head, but you never know.

He pulls a wipe from one pocket and wipes what might have been left of his fingerprints from her neck, then turns.

Jax Marcoset hasn’t moved a single muscle except to turn his head to watch Antoni’s movements around the room. 

Antoni hums - job done, more or less, and no one needs to be the wiser that he’s left one of the targets alive - and turns to leave. He pauses, and gestures. “Come on, then,” He says, and Jax Marcoset falls in beside him, almost jerking into motion like a puppy trying to find someone new to hold his leash.

The night is dark and silent except for the crunching of Antoni’s shoes on gravel, and even that is barely a whisper of sound. Moonlight glints off the platinum wedding ring Jax Marcoset wears, off the matching lip ring and ear piercings. It briefly illuminates the buckle of the collar at the back of his neck, his eyes focused firmly on the ground in front of him, never looking up. 

Antoni’s car is hidden, of course, and it takes them some time to walk there in silence. He keeps expecting Jax to ask a question, or cry, or do anything. But all Jax does is remain perfectly quiet, pliant, and empty.

He slips off his shirt willingly enough when they reach the car, lips thinned a little, and looks maybe mildly, just barely, surprised when Antoni hands him his spare shirt to put on instead. Their hands brush and Antoni feels the telltale roughness and scarring he expected.

Through it all, his intuition whispers, he’s like Chris, and he needs help.

Once they’re in the car, driving down a small two-lane highway, cutting through the late-night darkness, Antoni says quietly, “You are coming home with me. I cannot have you questioned, or have you speak to police. You will stay with me for now.”

“Yes, sir,” Jax mumbles, looking down at his hands, folded in his lap. He hasn’t tried to remove his collar or his ring, and Antoni knows how hard taking off your collar the first time can be for someone like them, and he doesn’t ask.

Instead, he offers, “Would you like to choose a station on the radio?”

There’s a long silence, Antoni aware he is being studied, Jax Marcoset watching him with utmost care, deciding what he will do or say. What he wants, Antoni thinks. Appease, placate, survive. It’s all the same, in the end. Even though he noticed Jax has no barcode when he changed shirts. If Jax is a pet, he isn’t a legal one and likely never was.

Jax slowly moves his hand, hesitating before he touches the dial as though he thinks his fingers will be slapped away. He changes the station, scanning until he reaches 90.1 FM.

Classical music drifts from the speakers, and Jax pulls his hand back quickly, folding them back in his lap, and closes his eyes. 

“Will you miss her?” Antoni asks.

“Yes, sir.” His voice is barely audible, underscored and nearly overwhelmed by the sound of a single violin.