#and he has the power to do something about it so he will
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yeahwellyourface · 2 days ago
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You know who I do feel bad for in all this?
The person who turned Luigi in. I don't agree with what they did, but I get it. If they are working for McDonald's, they are probably at minimum wage. Full time (which they probably weren't, cause fuck McDonalds probably doesnt want to have to give benefits)yearly pay for min wage is $15,000. The rewards together were $60,000.
Can you imagine how much that would change their life? FOUR TIMES their yearly wage. I am so incredibly privileged in comparison, but four times my yearly wage would change so many things for me.
You think about your family, and how much that could help. You think about your living situation. You think about rent and food prices and a vehicle. All of that would be so much easier, even for a little bit of time.
And then to find out that you probably won't get the money on technicalities. And if you do, you definitely won't get all of it. And even then, it will take at least a year.
Being told that you would get something that would change your life, the life of your children, and it's bullshit. Yet another reason you can't trust the cops.
And it also shows another way that authorities are so fucking stupid about this whole thing. Any trust people had in them is being blown out of the water. It is so incredibly clear the difference in ways people are treated. Children are being killed in school and nothing, but one CEO gets shot and it's considered terrorism. A CEO who profited off the deaths of thousands. But that person is more important than all us regular people. And now this reward BS. Do they actually think ANYONE is gonna help them again after seeing how they are screwing this person over
And eric fucking adams being in that fucking perp walk. That bastard has spent the past several months talking "innocent until proven guilty" and "due process"...but only when it comes to committing his own crimes. Not someone else's where he can pretend that he is some sort of hero.
It is amazing how people who are in power and people who think thay they can gain power by protecting the rich are so out of touch.
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gay-dorito-dust · 2 days ago
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Jason will forever be my comfort character, forever and always
Jason knew from an early age that love was conditional. This was especially more so if you lived in Gotham, and if that was the case then love was more or less something that’s purely transactional. The moment you lose the ability to give anything to someone else, you’re more then likely left to die in an alleyway or in a far away abandoned warehouse that was rigged to blow up.
Love was a weapon utilised in every possible way then what it was meant to be used for, and so Jason didn’t grow up with a very good experience with love or what others claimed as love.
Yet he read books where love was pure, love was powerful and empowering to the people who had the chance to experience it, love was scary and brutal as it was beautiful and something everyone desires to have in their life; whether or not it was real for everyone will chase after it blindly and carelessly as though their self worth was dependent on such an emotion.
He’s read books where love could break someone so badly that they can’t get up, where love can cause more cuts and wounds than knives and other weapons could ever inflict. He’s read books where love has left people wonder their self worth and if anyone else could love them as deeply and truly as the person who had just walked out of the door.
However Jason wondered that if people did love that deeply, wouldn’t you want to stay with that person even through the toughest times of their lives? Help them pull through instead of abandoning them when they were in the most need of their life? To Jason that didn’t sound like love at all as he couldn’t help but see himself in these characters that only saw the worst in themselves, truly believing that love wasn’t for them nor ever will in how their entire lives was the biggest example of such.
However all that changed with time the moment you entered his life and for good.
Jason was on the defensive as his eyes wouldn’t leave you as all you did was simple things for him unprovoked, unwarranted, as though you wanted to do these things for him. You would care for his books as though they were irreplaceable while rearranging them in alphabetical order, clean his weaponry and armour before he could early in the morning, and even would him breakfast in the morning when you noticed that he didn’t eat nearly as much as he should to properly function.
Jason didn’t know how to feel, nor how he could repay you back in response and even when he did, you would just brush him off and tell him that you could handle it, telling him that he shouldn’t worry about doing anything for you purely because you did things for him one day.
‘I just wanted to do these things for you.’ You tell him with a smile. ‘You’re a busy man and you don’t have nearly enough time to catch up to everything and I merely wanted to help clear your schedule somewhat while you’ve got your hand full.’ You add and Jason could only stare at you.
‘You wanted to?’ He said with a raised brow. ‘Sweetheart, there’s no such thing as people doing things for others out of the kindness of their heart, everyone wants something in the end as nobody is above their own desires.’ He then crossed his arms over his chest as a look of unconvincing overcame his face at your words.
You frown at this but didn’t hold such views against him, Gotham wasn’t a city where love was genuine and not corrupt nor unhealthy to some extent, if anything your heart ached for him as you could only imagine a young Jason having to learn this cruel lesson in the worst possible way; one that left a permeant scar upon his heart that would ache painfully as a reminder that in a city of Gotham love didn’t exist unless it was for transactional or conventional purposes for even more corrupt figureheads.
‘Love shouldn’t be used to hurt people, it should be used to help people and allow them to gain the strength to let others into their heart and trusting that person to not stab them in the back, love should be used between friends, family and lovers and no one else who could corrupt an innocent emotion such as love.’ You stepped closer to him as you watched his eyes and the flickering of emotions within them as his jaw clench and he would straighten his posture as though he was trying to scare you off with his height, it wasn’t working.
‘Love should help you realise that the love you’ve been receiving is not love at all, Jason you deserve love much like everyone else, for someone will look at you and see a beautiful man with scars that tell stories that they can only hope you’ll be ready to share with one day at your own comfortability.’ You finished as you rested your hand upon his bicep, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, as your thumb caresses a faint scar of his. It wasn’t a touch tender as anything Jason had experienced before and it both frightened and intrigued him at how much he needed this.
Had he found the love that the books he’s read in the past promised? That child in him said yes with such an eagerness, but he was still uncertain but knew that he felt safer with you than he did anyone else, and that was certainly a start in his eyes.
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artstaeus3600 · 21 hours ago
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I've seen the concept of Kon either having a third parent in his DNA or instead of Lex Luthor it was someone else, so what if we replaced Lex's DNA with Danny's?
Danny's been the Ghost King for hundreds of years now his family has long since passed, Dan isn't around anymore since he's been helping Clockwork with Timeline screwups (something to do with flashes? He wasn't really paying attention) and well Dani's off exploring and discovering places, I mean she comes back occasionally but not as often as Danny would like, so Danny decided why not visit a human realm, and so he does, he explores the cities and stars, he doesn't really hide he's not human looking with his pointed ears, long fangs, and glowing eyes, and while he was there some lucky bastard got some of his DNA. This person also just so happens to be the person to switch Lex's DNA with a much stronger candidate (aka Danny)
Danny hadn't noticed at the moment cause it was a busy train ride, but he did immediately notice when a new life came to be, immediately claiming him as one of the parents, so of course he immediately went to go look and see what that was about cause he doesn't remember sleeping with someone? And he hasn't even been here that long for a baby to be born? And after some searcing he finds a lab and a baby in the tube and we'll, he went completely feral at the sight and destroyed the building, which caught some of the Justice League's attention and all they find is a destroyed building owned by Cadmus.
Danny is now back in the apartment he was renting while he was taking a vacation from being the Ghost King (he was lonely), with his brand new baby he'd guess around 3 months old but he's not an expert, and he just falls in love with him the same way he did with Dani but the thing is the baby isn't a Halfa like him even with his DNA he's more like Jazz with being extremely liminal (so mostly all the instincts of a ghost but none of the powers), and we'll Jazz couldn't ever really stay long in the zone before she'd end up a permanent resident, so taking this baby with him back to the zone was a no go, at least not for long periods of time.
So that's where he's been for the last two months with his baby who he named Conner Nightingale, Nightingale after his fake ID for this human life, and he's just adoring being a father and sure he wonders sometimes who the other parent is but he can't exactly take Conner to a normal hospital, cause of the ghost biology, except the few checkups with Frostbite telling him the other parent isn't human, Dani was also told about her new nephew and loves bringing him new toys to see if he'll like it whenever she comes around.
While Danny has been taking care of Conner the Justice League has been trying to figure out what happened with that Cadmus building was doing before it got destroyed, and found out it was a cloning lab, who they were trying to clone they haven't found yet cause of the scattered/destroyed files...
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honey-on-your-tongue · 2 days ago
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Hey, I wanna a a request from you.. about the worst wolverine!Logan (or the one in th x-men series) × mutant!fem!reader.
Reader may have powers like Wanda Maximoff or Jean Grey, but she's stronger. Anyway, there's my main plot; enemies to lovers, a HUGE breeding kink, possibly pregnancy(the a result of the kink hehe) Wade is the person who introduced them, and Reader's Wade' bestfriend. They saved the eart 10005 and they celebrated this at Wade's (and Blind Al's) house. Logan may be a complete jerk to the reader at first, and he may have attacked the reader in the scene in the Honda Odyssey, but then things change and so on. Can you write somethin' like that? If you do, thanks already!!! See ya, bub, take care of yourself.
I’VE HAD THIS IN NY DRAFTS FOREVER WHAT
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
I hope you enjoy this, babes ❤️
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Ever since Wade came looking for him and took him to earth 10005, Logan’s life has been easier. There’s less hate towards him (which is an understatement, really; he’s now adored and it never ceases to surprise him) and it feels like, maybe, he’s redeemed himself from what he did. Maybe, his luck has finally started looking up.
But then there’s you. You infuriate him. Every time he sees you, he just wants to put his claws through your ribs. Although he did that already, in the Void, in that stupid fucking Odyssey. But it wasn’t nearly enough. God, he can’t stand you. The way you talk, the way you walk, the way you handle yourself. Sharing an apartment with Wade and Blind Al doesn’t bother him, he even stands Mary Puppins and her hairlessness. But you? You who likes to walk around at night in an oversized shirt and sweatshirts, who leaves the apartment smelling of your perfumes and shampoo after you shower, who he can hear as you fuck yourself with your fingers night after night.
His room is next to yours, he’s heard the way you work yourself up, how you eventually manage to get your pussy soaked enough to stuff your fingers into yourself. It pisses him off. And what he hates most is that his body reacts to it. Having been so hated in his world means that the last time he had sex was…Well. It’s been a while.
So he uses that as an excuse. Of course he doesn’t want you, his body just needs the sex, that’s all. He wants the sex, the release. Nothing more.
Maybe that’s why he does what he does.
On one of those nights where Blind Al is probably too out of it with her cocaine and Wade is probably at Vanessa’s, he hears you. The sweet sounds of your little whimpers and your heavy breathing, the obscene, slick noises that leave your cunt as you fuck her with your fingers. And Logan can’t take it. He just cannot take it anymore.
He barges into your room and delights in the way you react. Your wide eyes, the way you scramble to pull your fingers out of yourself and cover your body with the bed sheets.
“Logan!” you yell, cheeks blushing furiously. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
“What are you doing, bub? Touching yourself like you think I can’t hear, or like you hope I will.”
“You didn’t even fucking knock,” you continue, mortified.
He closes the door after himself, locks it just in case. “You’ve been at it for hours, bub. Hours. Is something wrong?”
Still flushed, you refuse to reply. You just clutch the bed sheets tighter.
“Can the poor little girl not come on her own?” Logan insists, smiling. When you fail to answer again, he insists, “Hm? Do you need help, girl?”
The look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know. The scent of your arousal thickens and he’s lost.
He’s quick to crawl onto the bed, prowling over you. He leans down, lips nudging at your neck as he gently pushes the bed sheets aside. “Let me see you, baby,” he says lowly, his eyes hungrily taking you in.
You’re so beautiful, prettier than he ever thought you’d be.
His already hard cock twitches in his pants, demanding attention, but he ignores it. For now.
“So pretty,” he says, mouthing at your jaw as his hand slips between your thighs. He touches the slickness spread over your skin, how warm your pussy is. Your folds are swollen, your clit throbbing. You’re probably raw from how long you’ve been touching yourself, so he’ll make sure to not overdo it. He’d hate to hurt you.
He slips a finger into you, groaning as he finds little resistance. “God, you’ve got yourself all stretched out already. All open for me.”
He leans back onto his knees, pushing your legs up to your chest and spreading them apart. He eyes your cunt, all needy and spread wide.
Growling quietly, he reaches for his pants. He pushes them down to his thighs, his eyes on you. “Let me put my cock in you, bub,” he says, almost begging.
You’re so out of it, dazed with the need to come and the lust that’s overcome you, that you just nod in agreement. “Yeah, yes.”
He wastes no time. Slowly, he nudges into you and fills you to the brim, the breath leaving his lungs. “Fuck, Logan.”
“Yeah, I know.” He grins, pleased with himself. He starts out slow, thrusting into you with care as he tests the waters. When your pussy releases its grip on him some, he thrusts harder, deeper.
You squeal, hands gripping onto his forearms as they hold your legs to your chest, keeping you nice and spread for him. Your nails dig into his skin, your eyes squeeze shut. He’s fucking you too hard for you to even say much. You just whimper, gasp, mewl.
It helps that you’ve been touching yourself for so long. You come around him with so much force that your body falls limp against the bed, your pussy spasming around his cock.
And it’s not fair to him. He hasn’t had sex in so long, how is he even supposed to hold back.
“Oh, baby. Oh, baby. I’m gonna fill you up, bub. Gonna put my child in you.”
You gasp at the words, whining lowly.
“Yeah? You want me to make you a momma? You can make me a daddy, hm, bub? Yeah?”
Your body writhes underneath his, your eyes wide as they meet his. “P-please, yes. Please.”
That’s all he needs. Not only did you just give him permission, but you’re begging him for it.
“Baby. I’m gonna fill you up, ‘m gonna fill this pretty pussy with all my come and you’re gonna keep it in you. You’re gonna give me a child, maybe two if you behave, hon.”
And he does. When he comes, rope after rope of thick, sticky come spurt into you. He fills you up until it’s dripping out of you, until he’s spent and he can’t come anymore.
You two stay there a while, trying to regain your breaths and let the high wash away. He kisses your forehead softly and lays own next to you, knowing he’s gonna be ready to go soon.
For the next few weeks, it’s more of the same. He fucks you again and again, filling you with his cum to the brim every time.
That’s why it’s no surprise to you when you miss your period. No surprise at all. In fact, you have no doubt that Logan is going to be thrilled. Now there’s only the matter of telling him…
---
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chaosfish2775 · 8 hours ago
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I would never kill someone. But, I respect whoever killed that CEO for their bravery and strength. We are given a one way window to the world of the elites, we see their lives and what they do, but they don’t see us. To them, we’re just a mass group, an other. There’s the rich people like them, that get to experience all e wonders of the world, and the most opulent and ostentatious extremes of any category. Their wealth gives them an ability to affect our society in a way that is virtually unattainable for anyone who isn’t born into it.
This CEO used his power at his company to deny as many legitimate claims as possible, causing preventable deaths, all for the sake of making even more massive profits. They were not hurting for money, he was not strapped for cash, they just wanted even more excessive wealth, even more opulence, even more power and exclusivity. This is the problem nearly everyone who is the owner of a business, or has massive wealth, suffers from. As well, they’re ignorant to our reality, and how everyone who isn’t rich lives.
The elites live in a bubble, a separate world from ours. They don’t worry about food, or rent, or water. Their worries are mainly superficial, chasing more wealth, more power, more excess, ever increasing profits. They do insane things, like make a company solely so they can go to space, or get a fascist, nearly octogenarian, insurrectionist demagogue elected to the Presidency, so he could have even more insane levels of wealth. He doesn’t need it, it should not be celebrated, it’s money for money’s sake. It deprives everyone else of resources that they need to survive. It’s akin to taking the food of a poor, starving person, just so you have even more for your already massive banquet. The only thing worse than not giving when you have enough, is taking when others don’t.
My overall point is, I understand the rage and anger that the killer felt. This was not a terrorist attack, there is no threat to this nation. This was an act of vigilante justice, against a man whose actions as the CEO of a healthcare company caused the unnecessary deaths of thousands, and the suffering of even more. That’s not Osama Bin-Laden, that’s Deadpool. The action was justifiable, and whoever did it is a hero to the American people. We have suffered from the social murder of healthcare companies, the anti-healthcare politicians, and the demagoguing republicans who akin every socialistic system to the Soviets. As though including those elements would suddenly erase democracy in America, something that has a long foundation of over 2 centuries. You cannot shame people for acting out in rage against a system that is so weighted against them that there is virtually no upward mobility for hundreds of millions of people.
This was a sign to the politicians and the elites, from the people. We will not tolerate their oligarchy, they will be opposed.
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steveslevis · 5 hours ago
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can you see right through me?
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azriel x mate!reader
summary: after finding out you're mated to the Spymaster of the Night Court, you can't help but feel self-conscious, thanks to the jealous remarks made by patrons at your bookstore.
warnings: mentions of self-hatred and self-sabotage, angst!!!, body image issues, depression, mentions of death, azriel is an idiot but he figures it out ok, mentions of sex & the mating frenzy
word count: 9.5k (oops...)
Ever since finding out that you’re mated to none other than the High Lord’s Shadowsinger two months ago, everything in your life has flipped upside down.
You’re not just some ordinary bookstore owner anymore, you’re now part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle by default. Your status as a citizen in Velaris has completely changed, but you refused to quit working just because of your mate, much to his disappointment. He’d rather you just stay with him in the House of Wind, filling your days reading your favorite books instead of selling them, but you insisted. You wanted to get to know the male better before immediately accepting the bond, moving in and forgetting about your old life, especially after hearing all the things people say about you and your new mating bond when they’re in or around your shop. 
You have to deal with sidelong glances and whispers from almost everyone who comes into your tiny shop next to the Sidra, have to hear the spiteful unmated females who might kill to be in your position. 
“How do you think she got him? Do you think she slipped one of those banned love tonics into a drink or something?” 
“He could be mated to anyone, and the Cauldron picked her of all people?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already rejected the bond, I don’t ever see them together.”
“She’s definitely just using him for his money and power, she had to have manipulated him somehow.”
“I thought he was with the Morrigan, she’s much more fitting for a male like him, much prettier.”
Every snide remark hits you like a knife to the heart, but still, you keep your composure throughout every single day. It isn’t ever until you’re in the safety of your own apartment above the bookstore that you allow yourself to mull over the comments, to let yourself fall back into old self-loathing habits.
You quickly learn how to contain your sadness to your end of the bond, blocking Azriel from seeing the pain that you endure on a nightly basis. You’re convinced he would be so embarrassed to see you cry yourself to sleep, to see you poke and prod at your skin in front of the mirror, to see you skip over meals in order to appease that incessant hatred filling your mind, to see you become filled with so much disgust in yourself when you replay the remarks over and over and over again.
The comments never seem to die down as weeks pass, and you slowly convince yourself that they’re all right, that Azriel is going to reject the bond because you don’t deserve him. You don’t see him often anyways, as you’re both preoccupied with your jobs throughout the week, which doesn’t help the fact that you’re convinced that he doesn’t want to be around you. 
You’re stuck between trying to change yourself to fit what you think the Illyrian would like in a mate and rejecting the bond before he gets the chance to break your heart. You eventually decide it’s worth a shot to change yourself into the ideal, beautiful mate that you think he wants you to be before being stung with the inevitable heartbreak that comes with rejecting a bond. 
Sundays used to be your favorite day of the week because you get to close shop at mid-day and spend the rest of the day reading at the foot of the Sidra or walking around to the nearby shops. 
For the last few Sundays, you didn’t feel like doing anything aside from wallowing in self-pity in your bed. You never let yourself do just that, though. 
You’d taken it upon yourself to change your lifestyle after thinking long and hard about the women that he’s surrounded by in the Inner Circle. All of them are tall and toned and so strong, more in shape than you’ve ever been in your life. All of them have natural beauty and grace that you could only wish to have. 
Every Sunday for the last month, you’d spent the afternoon running or doing some kind of training in order to “fix yourself”, to look an inkling more similar to those beautiful high fae of the Inner Circle. This Sunday was no different. 
You closed the bookstore around noon and headed up to your apartment, changing into training clothes before deciding to go for a long run after a day of extremely ruthless comments. You slip out the back door of the bookstore to begin your run, but are halted almost immediately when you walk straight into a wall of leather and warm skin, shadows skittering around your shoulders as you take a step back. 
Azriel peers down at you as you frown at him, concern lacing his features when he takes you in. His heart races as you stand in front of him, excited to finally see you after not seeing you for over a week. He swears you look different every time he’s seen you recently, your frame beginning to thin out in ways that concern him, but he knows better than to bring that up. 
“S–Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” you say meekly, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket while avoiding direct eye contact with the male. 
“It’s quite alright,” he says gently, watching you closely as his eagerness extends down the bond to you. “Where are you going?”
“Was just gonna go on a run,” you reply with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as the self-doubting thoughts swirl around in your mind even more in his presence. “Did–did you need something?”
“Am I not allowed to visit my mate whenever I please?” he teases, which makes your eyes widen in fear that he’s actually upset.
“I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean it like that!” you stammer, shaking your head at him apologetically as you take a step back, backing into the door behind you. 
“Hey, no it’s alright. I was only joking.” Azriel says quickly, one of his hands coming up to caress one of your arms. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise, I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure it was okay that I stopped by.”
You shake your head again, blinking before looking up at him with a frown. He wants more than anything to ask you what’s bothering you, but can see that you’re obviously already distraught about whatever it is, and doesn’t want to pry. Since he’s known you, you’ve always been closed off, like him, about your emotions. So, he opts to change the subject instead. 
“I did have a real reason for coming over here though,” he suggests and you nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Rhysand requests your presence at dinner tonight.” 
“T–The High Lord?” you question, and Azriel nods. “W–Why is he requesting my presence at dinner?”
“Well, we have family dinner once a week, and he claims it’s not a complete family affair if my mate isn’t present.” he explains, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I tried to tell him to fuck off, because I know you’re typically busy on Sunday nights, but he insists that you come this week, at least this once.”
There’s a pleading look in your mate’s eyes that makes you nearly melt at his feet, and you know you can’t say no to him at that moment. 
“I–I, yeah, I can come tonight.” you say finally, giving him a weak smile as he grins down at you triumphantly. 
“Perfect,” he retorts, his shadows dancing around you with equal excitement, “I’ll meet you here around five? It’s just over at the River House.” 
You nod quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek before bidding you goodbye. The small gesture makes your heart flutter, but you can’t help but wonder how forced it is, can’t help but wonder if inviting you to dinner is a ploy to bring you in and publicly reject your bond.
There’s no way in hell you’re going for a run now. 
You spend the next five hours pacing around, thinking about what you’re going to wear if you want to even come close to looking as good as the other females that will be there. The clothes in your closet are few and far between, but you finally decide on your nicest dress, one that's made of a gauzy navy fabric, adorned with silver embroidered stars littered over the bodice. It’s more revealing than most clothes you wear, but it’s the closest thing you have to the clothes that the Inner Circle wear. It takes you almost an hour to feel presentable in terms of makeup and hair, and by the time you’re done, you hear a knock on the back door of the store. 
You throw your shoes on quickly before making your way down the stairs, mentally preparing yourself for the evening as you do. 
Azriel’s eyes go wide when you open the door, something like amazement and confusion mixed in his gaze as he stares you down.
“I–I’ve never seen you wear anything like this, it’s beautiful,” he starts, unable to tear his gaze from the flowy dress, “You’re beautiful.”
Your chest aches at his compliment as your mind tries to convince you that he’s lying, but you smile up at him weakly nonetheless. He extends his arm for you to take, ready to lead you to the River House across the Sidra.
The two of you are greeted by more people than you’d expect when you enter the High Lord and Lady’s home, but you recognize them all before they get a chance to introduce themselves. You’ve only met Cassian and Nesta prior to this dinner, so the first hour was spent essentially introducing yourself to each of them one-by-one. Azriel stays by your side through each introduction, hand on the small of your back as his shadows swirl around your hands comfortingly. He can tell that something in you has changed since he met you a few months back, that the light and excitement in your eyes when you first found out he was your mate has since dissipated. There’s an unmistakable lump in his throat as he thinks too much into it, wondering if you’re having second thoughts about him. 
Dinner comes and goes as smoothly as you hoped it would. The nauseous feeling roiling in your gut keeps you from eating much, only pushing the food around on the plate while taking miniscule bites to fight off any comments that any of them might have about your hesitancy. You’re only roped into conversations every once in a while, so you’re able to sit back and explore the dynamic between the group a little more without much involvement. Azriel mainly stays silent, only making a few remarks here and there. 
With a snap of the High Lord’s fingers, dessert appears in front of everyone along with more wine in each of your glasses. 
“I propose a toast,” Rhysand suggests after getting everyone’s attention, eyes landing on you finally, “to Y/N, for bringing our Shadowsinger so much happiness.”
A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you force a smile, raising your glass as the others do too. ‘Cheers’ is mumbled by everyone before they all take a drink, and Azriel reaches over to squeeze your hand that’s sitting on the edge of the table. You turn to look at him, noting an unfamiliar look in his eyes that you nearly mistake for love, before your thoughts are interrupted by a loud laugh from Amren across the table.
“I, for one, am so grateful that Y/N finally came along after all this time.” she says with a sly grin, “because I think if she wouldn’t have, then the Spymaster would’ve continued to pine after Mor for the rest of eternity.”
There’s a collectively uncomfortable murmur from everyone at her words, and Nesta jabs her in the side with a warning glare as she notices the smile on your face falter for a split second. You could feel all color leave your face as your heart plummets to your stomach, the female’s words confirming all of your doubts about your current situation. Azriel shifts his eyes to you then, but you bring back the same composed mask to your face, the same one you’ve held for the last three months any time someone made snide remarks at you, while you try to avoid his burning gaze. You give the female a withering smile, ignoring the worried stare from the male at your side as you do. 
“Truly, I’m grateful the Cauldron deemed me worthy of being a welcome distraction to such a male like him,” you say in response with a laugh, hoping your voice comes out in a joking tone as you try to mask the disappointment in your wavering voice. 
The comment is enough to earn a few chuckles from around the table, pushing away any awkwardness that stemmed from Amren’s comment. You’re able to skate through the rest of the evening without any snide remarks from the Inner Circle, glad that you’re one step closer to getting the hell out of this house as the group finally starts to stand from the table. 
Azriel follows closely behind you as you bid everyone goodbye, exhaustion raking over your bones as you give one final wave to the High Lord and Lady before turning toward your mate.
There’s a look of worry shining in his eyes when you finally peer up at him, shadows skittering anxiously around your wrists in the meantime.
“Ready to go home?” he questions, forcing a smile onto his face as he guides you towards the front door when you nod. 
“You don’t have to walk me home, Azriel.” you start once you’re out of earshot of everyone else, stopping in your tracks to look at him again. The look on your face is almost unreadable, but his shadows whisper to him about your pain and embarrassment as the two of you stand on the outside of the front door to the River House. “I’m truly fine to go by myself, you don’t–don’t have to bother to go out of your way for me.” 
His brow furrows and a frown pulls his lips down at your words, finally seeing the slightest glimmer of sadness and disappointment shining in your eyes as you speak. He only shakes his head, taking a step towards you before he speaks. 
“I–You’re not a bother to me.” he says, unsure of what else to say to you, “If you’re upset about what Amren said, please know that she always says bullshit like that when she’s drunk, I have not thought about Mor in that way for centuries–”
“Truly, Azriel, it’s quite alright.” you interject with a pained smile. “You didn’t ask to be mated to me, I understand if you’re preoccupied with other love interests or if you just don’t want to be with me.” 
The Illyrian opens his mouth to speak, but is downright dumbfounded by your words to the point where he simply closes his mouth again. He very obviously had been reading the situation wrong this whole time, as he thought that giving you space was the right thing to do in order to let you process the very new bond from your end. He realizes then that you needed reassurance and not space, but it could very well be too late now. Before he can protest, you’re taking a step closer to him in order to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before stepping away.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I get it, I really do. And–And if you need to reject the bond and never want to see me again after tonight, I’ll understand.”
Oh, fuck. You think he wants to reject the bond. 
Hazel eyes meet yours then, and you swear you see a twinkle of regret and hurt shining somewhere between the bronzy flecks, but it’s almost undetectable. Such a miniscule expression that you tell yourself that you imagined it, that his face never changed and that he truly does not care about what you’re saying to him now. 
He shakes his head as you take another step away from him, as you turn on your toes to walk away from the townhouse, away from him. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in then, as the bond to his heart hums with a sadness he’s never felt before. He can feel the bond quivering in pain between your souls, threatening to wither away if either of you even thinks about truly rejecting the bond. 
But you don’t feel it because you’ve expertly blocked the bond out for the last month, because you truly believe that there’s no way Azriel could ever truly want you, because you’re convinced that he wants this.
There’s no hesitation in your step when you turn your back to the male, walking in swift strides towards the bridge to cross the Sidra to reach your little apartment on top of the bookstore. You refuse to let him see how much it kills you to freely offer up a rejected bond, you can’t let him see how you’re crumbling with each step you take. So you stay steady in your gait, hiding your shaking hands in front of you as you blink back the tears that threaten to spill. 
If you would’ve looked back in that moment, you would’ve seen the tears that spilled down the shadowsinger’s cheeks. If you wouldn’t have blocked out the bond in that moment, you would’ve felt the way you almost tore his heart out of his chest as you walked into the darkness. 
Azriel didn’t follow after you though, he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. He’d fucked up so badly by not showing you how much the bond truly meant to him, by simply assuming that you needed space. 
So, he simply sent a shadow to make sure you got home safely and sat down on the front step of the townhouse. 
He sat on that step for almost two hours, staring at the stars and cursing himself for all of the mistakes he’d made. 
You only get one mate in your eternal life, and he really fucked it up this badly already?
Memories of the first few times the two of you had met replayed in his mind as he sat there, remembering how your eyes glimmered with the most love he’d ever been shown in his life.
You were shy and quiet, something he wasn’t used to from being around the Inner Circle for so long. After living with the loud, boisterous crown for centuries, he was used to emotions being expressed outright. So, he’d mistaken your meek behavior for disinterest, mistaken your nervousness for distaste. He thought you’d needed space, needed time to get used to his brooding and intolerable presence, needed room to process the sudden bond. But, fuck, was he wrong. 
Everything becomes clearer to the male as as it nears midnight. The ache in his chest becomes more and more painful with each passing minute now, and he realizes that he has to get you back, he has to fight to make you understand how much you mean to him. 
_______________________________________
Nesta Archeron started her Sunday much earlier than usual this week, thanks to her mate’s early morning departure. Cassian woke her by rustling around their shared bedroom before dawn, seemingly flustered as he tried to gather his leathers and put them on in the dark. 
“You’re not very good at being quiet, General.” she remarks tiredly, sitting up in the bed to flick one of the bedside faelights on.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, shooting her a sympathetic smile as he nearly trips over the leathers he tries to step into. “Rhys said there’s an emergency in Windhaven, Az and I are leaving soon.” 
She only hums in response, watching him finish getting dressed in comfortable silence. Cassian stands over her at the edge of the bed after tugging on his boots, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek before heading out for the day. 
Nesta knows then that she won’t be able to fall back asleep, so she decides to reach for her latest read on her nightstand. Once she grabs the book, she realizes that she’d finished the night before and is completely out of books to read. She knows then that she’ll have to make her way into town, deciding to take a trip to your bookstore at the base of the Sidra for the first time. 
She took her time getting ready, slipping into a gray dress and her usual boots before heading downstairs to eat breakfast. It was a little after seven in the morning when she made her way towards your bookstore, basking in the chilly morning air as she walked along the river.
It took her all of thirty minutes to reach the store, where she was met with a locked door and a dark front window. It was well past opening time for the store and there were no other signs on the door to suggest otherwise, but your store was definitely closed. 
“I’m not surprised,” Nesta hears a female say from behind her, giggling to her friend as they pass the storefront, “I’m sure she’s been rotting away upstairs because the Shadowsinger broke their bond or something like that. The store’s been closed all week. A lesser fae store owner like her did not deserve a male as beautiful as him.” 
Nesta turns to see the culprits of the spiteful comments and laughs, and the two High Fae females’ eyes widen upon her whipping her head towards them. 
Their smirks fall immediately, the one who was speaking starts to open her mouth but Nesta only holds up a hand to shut her up.
“I don’t know either of you females–and I’m very glad I don’t–” the sharp-eyed female spat out, “but I do know the Shadowsinger and his mate. And all I have to say is that if I hear either of you coming around here to harass her or if I hear of you spewing more lies about her relationship, I will be sure to mention it to the High Lord and Shadowsinger. I’m sure neither of them would be very happy to hear the rumors flying around.”
The females nod feverishly as Nesta stares them down with that silver fire flickering lowly in her eyes, both mumbling apologies under their breaths as they scurry away.
Nesta lets out a huff, turning on her heels to make her way towards the other bookstore across town, where she only finds two new books for herself instead of the countless romance novels she knew she would’ve found at your carefully curated store. The remarks from the two females about you aren’t lost on her as she makes her way through the city, their spiteful words and evil giggles running through her mind as she replays the scenario. 
Instead of trekking all the way back to the House of Wind after gathering her books, she makes her way to the River House in order to spend the day with her favorite person–Nyx.
The day goes by quickly between reading and rolling around with the toddler and his mother, and it’s evening before she or Feyre even realize it. Three Illyrian warriors clad in leathers make their way into the drawing room where the two females lounge on the couch, looking exhausted from a day of crisis management at the camps. 
“Long day?” Nesta says as she raises her eyebrow at the three males, stroking Nyx’s hair as he sleeps silently on her chest. 
Her mate only grunts in agreement, coming over to press a kiss to the crown of her head in greeting. The High Lord is greeted by Feyre with a loving stroke of his cheek, smiling up at him sympathetically. Azriel only stands at the threshold, looking more brooding and closed off than usual.
“Well, good news is you can tell us all about it at dinner.” Feyre suggests, trying to lighten the sour mood of the three males as she reaches for Rhys’ hand to intertwine into her own. “Nuala and Cerridwen just finished making some delicious stew and I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”
Dinner seems to lighten the mood quite a bit for the group, quiet conversation carrying through the dining room after Cassian and Rhysand get their complaints out for the day. Azriel sits on the other side of Feyre, silent for the majority of the meal, only engaging when Cassian involves him. 
A burning question gnaws at Nesta as she takes in the sad, hazel-eyed male, she can almost feel the pain radiating off of him from across the table as he stares intently down at the barely touched food in front of him. It’s hard to read the male, so she’s not entirely sure what the sadness is about, but she has to know eventually.
“How was your day, Nes?” her thoughts are interrupted by Cassian’s words and his elbow nudging hers lightly.
“Great, for the most part. Got to spend it with my favorite nephew,” she jokes, grinning briefly over at the babbling toddler being fed by his mother. “But I did find something very interesting on my trip to get some new books this morning.”
She notes how Azriel’s eyes flicker towards her then, intrigued by the mention of going to a bookstore.
“Oh, did you go to Y/N’s store? I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to take a trip over there to get some new books.” Feyre asks while forking some food for her son. 
“Well, that was the original plan.” Nesta retorts, lips pulling into a half-frown before turning towards the shadowsinger, “Have you heard from your mate lately, Azriel?”
Azriel drops the spoon he was holding into the bowl of stew with a loud clatter, obviously taken aback by the question directed towards him. The room is silent as he finally looks up, seeing four expectant pairs of eyes staring back at him, Nesta’s gaze the harshest out of all of them. 
“No, I haven’t heard from her since Saturday.” he says, willing his voice to be strong as he feels as though he’s going to throw up.
“Hm, interesting.” Nesta hums, eyes sharpening even more, if that’s even possible, “I tried to stop by the store because I finished my last novel last night, but the door was locked and the lights were all off. Then I ran into the most interesting pair of females who I overheard say that the store had been closed all week.” 
“All week?” Feyre questions, a frown on her face now too.
“You haven’t heard from your mate for a week and you haven’t thought to try to contact her?” Rhys interjects, disappointment laced in his tone as he stares down Azriel from across the table, his honed gaze rivaling Nesta’s. 
“She–She hasn’t left her apartment since last Saturday.” Azriel grits out, stopping anyone else from their questioning. “She thinks I want to reject her, to reject the bond. And I’m starting to think I should.” 
Everyone goes silent then, even Nyx’s babbling is hushed as a thick air of tension fills the large dining room. Azriel’s hands are shaking as he stares at his untouched glass of wine, shadows slashing around his wings angrily now.
“Why do you think that?” Nesta’s the only one brave enough to question him, unafraid of facing the upset male. “What makes you think you should reject the bond?”
“I fucked up. I thought she needed space, thought she was overwhelmed by me, by all of this, by being part of the Inner Circle by default.” he says, a pained expression on his face as he finally looks up to Nesta. “I hurt her and I didn’t even realize it. She needed me and I wasn’t there for her. I can’t figure out how to make it better, I–I don’t know how to take away her pain. I’ve been her mate for less than six months and I’ve already lost her trust in me. I don’t deserve such a sweet creature like her.”
“Do you want to reject the bond?” Nesta persists, and he knows she means to ask if he loves you or not.
“I don’t. But–”
“There’s no but, Azriel.” Cassian interrupts firmly, “You either want to, or you don’t. And you don’t want to reject it, I know you don’t. You’ve never been happier than you were when you realized you had a mate and that it was her. You need to get your head out of your ass, stop pitying yourself and start showing her that you want to be with her. If not, you’re going to kill the poor female. You’re gonna fucking kill her from a broken heart.”
_______________________________________
In all honesty, you don’t know what day it is anymore. You’ve sat in the dark in your apartment above the bookstore all alone for Gods know how long, letting yourself wallow in the sorrow that fills your chest every time you breathe. 
You can’t remember the last time you ate, the last time you did anything aside from stare at the wall next to your bed, save for the times that you’ve gone to the bathroom. It truly feels like you’re dying, like you’re withering away into nothing, and you might as well be. You don’t know what day it is, but you do know that Azriel hasn’t tried to contact you since you left the River House on Saturday, you do know that he wants nothing to do with you.
You hadn’t realized how much you had grown to rely on the male’s visits and nervous glances, how much they’d excited you, until they were no more. 
The golden thread in your soul quivers every time you think about him, but you don’t let yourself think about missing him for too long. You always shut down before it gets too bad, and push yourself back into the thoughts of self-hatred, the thoughts of how you wish you’d just cease to exist already. There wasn’t anyone around anymore to check on you, anyone to make sure you made it through this bout of depression like there used to be. Your sister and mother have been gone for years, and now your mate, the one who gave you a sliver of hope for the shortest time, is gone too. 
When the first knock falls on the door to your apartment, you barely hear it over the incessant ringing in your ears. You choose to ignore it, thinking whoever it is will go away eventually if they stand out in the late evening cold for long enough. 
But they don’t. 
They knock, and knock, and knock, and knock for what feels like thirty minutes, each knock getting louder and more insistent than the last. 
You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep to ignore the sound, but it doesn’t work. After what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, the knocking finally stops. 
What you don’t hear–or see–in that moment is the shadows that slip under the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly unlocking it for their master to slip inside, and the other shadows ahead of their master that report back to him about your state before he makes his way up the stairs. 
Moments later, you hear the creak of the stairs and your heart sinks, but you feel too weak to move, too weak to save yourself, and for a moment, you thank the Cauldron that some intruder has finally come to put you out of your misery in one way or another.
You don’t expect the weak, broken voice of a male at the top of the stairs as you’re laying with your back towards the threshold, the sadness in an all too familiar voice when you hear, “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” 
It takes every ounce of strength out of Azriel to walk over to the bed after taking in the sight of your studio apartment in complete disarray. The place is unkempt and needs plenty of repairs just from what he can see with a quick scan, but that’s not what hurts his heart the most in the moment. You facing the blank wall, staring mindlessly ahead as you’re curled up in a ball at the edge of your bed is what breaks him. He finally makes his way over to the wall that you’re facing, but you don’t look up at him, unable to take the energy to complete the small gesture.
Azriel falls to his knees in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke your hair. He takes you in fully then–your unkempt hair, chapped lips, red cheeks and heavy eyes–you truly were dying from a broken heart.
“Y/N,” he says gently, trying to keep his voice as strong as possible while choking back tears. You take a long moment to finally look up at him, a look of confusion and then delusion crossing over your face as you do–you had to be dreaming him, right?
“I’m–I’m so fucking sorry, love. Gods, how long have you been laying here?” he says, and you only blink up at him because you’re not even sure of the answer, numb to it all at this point. “Are–Do you want me to help you? Can I help you somehow, please? I–I wanna fix this, I wanna make you better.” 
A strange noise leaves your throat then as your brow furrows at his words, your delusions during depressive episodes have never said anything like this to you before, and that’s when it all feels too real. You slowly realize that this is very much the real Azriel kneeling in front of you with tears shimmering in his eyes, clasping your very clammy hand between his very warm ones. Tears brim in your own eyes now, the weight of the entire situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d ruined yourself before he’d even broken the bond, so now you’ve hurt him by somehow signaling to him of your suffering. 
“‘M sorry, A–Azriel,” you croak out, the first words to have left your lips in days. 
“S–You’re sorry?” he says, voice more stern than before, shaking his head persistently, “No–No, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about, love.” He squeezes your icy hand then, giving you a weak, bitter smile, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner, okay? I’m so sorry and I’ll apologize until the day I die for not being here for you when you needed me. I–I wanna help you now, if you’ll let me. Will you let me help you? Can I take you home with me to get you some help?” 
Despite the confusion and sadness swirling around in your deprived brain, you nod at the male, who jumps up almost immediately after you nod. He slowly peels the covers off your frail form, heart breaking at the sight of you. He pushes the ache in his chest down to be strong for you then, gently scooping you up into his arms. The two of you are engulfed in shadows seconds later as Azriel shadow-walks to the House of Wind as quickly as he can. 
You don’t remember much from your first moments at the House of Wind, other than the fact that there were a lot of people around you in a very short amount of time. You recognized some of them, the High Lord and Lady, along with Cassian and Nesta, but other faces were less familiar. One woman came into the room you laid in, tugging a warm blanket over your body before using what you could only assume was healing power on you. She’d mumbled something to Azriel on her way out before patting him on the shoulder, and that was the last thing you’d remembered before finally falling into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week.
Sunlight streaming in through the curtains woke you later on, you weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been out for but you’re sure it had been for more than a few hours at this point. You groaned lightly as you stretched your weak legs, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings fully for the first time. The room smelled of mahogany and amber, a familiar and inviting scent you knew too well to not understand whose room you were in. 
Though alone at the moment, you know he’s not far, as his shadows skitter excitedly around you as you attempt to sit up in the bed. 
The door opens not even two minutes later, the shadowsinger standing in the doorway with a tray of what looked to be steaming food, a glass of water, and some medications. He nearly drops the tray when he sees you sitting up in the middle of his bed, not expecting you to already be awake and so alert. Without a word, he strides over to the large bed, placing the tray on the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d positioned on the side where you laid.
“Hi,” he says with a sharp inhale, giving you a weak smile as he searches your eyes for any emotion he can find. 
“H–How long was I out for?” you ask meekly, the full weight of your actions crashing down on you all at once. “How long have I overstayed?”
“What?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down as his heart sinks. You truly think you’re burdening this male, when all he wants is for you to be safe and to feel loved. “You haven’t overstayed, I brought you here to heal, I wanted you to come here to get better.”
You shake your head then, blinking harshly at him as you refuse to believe what he’s telling you. “N–No, you only came to find me because I’m–I’m stupid and didn’t give you the opportunity to reject the bond before I mourned what we never had.” you insist, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this, please–please, you can reject it now, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”
The level of self destruction going on in your mind was on another level that Azriel couldn’t deign to comprehend in the moment, but he knew it wasn’t just by your own doing. He can see the internal turmoil you’re going through, can feel your peril down the bond that he now realizes you’ve been shrouding in your own shadows for months, can feel the way you’re tearing yourself apart from the inside out. He reaches for you then, hands coming up to cup your cheeks gently as his shadows rub soothing circles along your back to calm you down, though you continue to babble apologetically about how he should hate you and how you’re the one who should be apologizing for everything.
“Y/N, hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” he coos gently, thumbs stroking your cheekbones softly to bring you back to the moment as you finally lock eyes with him, “I don’t want to reject the bond, I never wanted to reject the bond.” 
You try to shake your head feverishly, but he doesn’t let you as his hands stay on either side of your face. “Nesta told me about some females she heard outside your store on Sunday, who said some pretty foul things about you.” he begins, having to reign his anger in as he speaks about the females, “Is that something that happened a lot at the store? Did females that come into the bookstore say things to you about us often?” 
You can’t even look at him now, dread and self-loathing gnawing at your chest as you think back to all the hateful comments thrown at you throughout the last few months. You shake your head slowly now, brow furrowing as you try to push down the bile rising in your throat. 
“No, it only happened a–a few times.” you lie bluntly, staring down into your lap as you try to pull away from his touch again and this time he lets you, watching closely as you attempt to stand from the bed. “I want to take a bath.” you say, attempting to change the subject to something less painful.
Azriel is there to catch you when you all but fall when trying to stand on your own two feet, hands landing on your waist to situate you back on the edge of the bed, “You’re not supposed to be getting up on your own yet. You didn’t eat for almost a whole week, you’re too weak to stand right now.” he says softly, hands firmly planted on your waist still, “Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? This food will still be warm when we return if you’d rather bathe now.”
You nod wordlessly, brow pinched in frustration at your current situation. Azriel easily picks you up, carrying you bridal style into the en suite bathroom and sitting you on the edge of the large tub as he draws a warm bath. He turns the tap off once it’s nearly full, turning on his heels to leave you alone in the bathroom for some privacy. 
“A–Azriel,” you call out before he shuts the door, making the male stop in his tracks to face you, heart nearly shattering when you look at him with wide, shameful eyes. “Can you help me bathe?”
The male is at the edge of the tub in an instant, nodding at you gently. He looks away as you strip out of the clothes that you’d been in for a week, tossing the dirty pajamas into a pile at your feet before stepping into the tub slowly. He helps you ease down onto the bottom, letting go of your hand he didn’t realize he’d grabbed once you tug out of his grasp to wrap the arm around your knees you pull into your chest. 
You settle into the water, letting the warmth engulf your cold limbs as you lean your head back to dip your hair, up to the scalp, into the water. Azriel gives you a few minutes to relax in the water, watching as your muscles finally relax slightly under the caress of the liquid. He reaches for the bottle of shampoo eventually, eyeing you closely as he pours some into his hands to lather it. You lean your head up as he does, giving him a small nod of invitation before he reaches for your scalp.
There’s nothing but love and tenderness behind his caress, fingers combing through your damp hair to thoroughly clean it. He’s careful with every movement, making sure to not make the wrong move and send you spiraling for one reason or another. 
It’s such a tender moment as he gently tilts you back to rinse your hair with a cup of water that it nearly makes you sob, but hold back for him to continue. 
“Can you promise me that you won’t ever let yourself get like this again?” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he runs conditioner through your hair. “I–I don’t know if I can handle seeing you so sad ever again. I won’t let you destroy yourself over my stupidity, not when I’m the one to blame for this whole situation.”
You tense at his words, chest tightening as you hear his voice crack when he chokes back tears. It takes you a moment, but you finally turn to face him, your own tears blurring your vision as you look up at the hazel-eyed male.
“It’s–It’s not your fault, Azriel.” you say, shaking your head insistently at him, “It’s my fault for making you feel obligated to be nice to me, I–I know you didn’t ask to be mated to a lowly, lesser fae bookshop owner when there’s plenty of beautiful high fae females out there ready to accept your hand in marriage at the drop of a hat. I shouldn’t have tried to pursue you after the bond snapped, I–I should’ve let you reject it then so you could go be happy with whoever you want to be with.”
“It’s you I want to be with, Y/N.” he insists, hands shaking as they fall from your head. He falls to his knees then, pivoting so he’s face-to-face with you when he continues, “I don’t care that you’re lesser fae, I fucking hate that you’re considered that anyways, it’s a disgusting term. I’m not even a high fae myself, I don’t care about title or status or whatever else, I only care that I’ve finally found my mate.” Azriel is trying his damndest to keep himself from falling apart as he speaks, “My mate, the love of my life, the one that I get to spend the rest of my days with. I know you feel like I pushed you away and I know I made you feel unwanted, but I thought you wanted space. I know now that you don’t, and I promise you that I’ll spend every waking moment, from now until we die, showing you that I am so fucking happy that you of all people are my mate. I love you.”
Whether he realizes it or not, Azriel projects his passion and love down the bond in the moment. Your deceitful brain would’ve told you he was lying had it not been for that tug and flow of warmth between your souls, if it had not been for the true, unadulterated ache you felt in your chest when he said that he was happy that you were his mate. 
Tears well up in your eyes once more as you stare at him, really taking him in, in full form, for the first time. He’s so beautiful, and though there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that still tells you that he’s lying, deep down you know that he’s all yours. Something blooms in your chest then, something stronger than you’ve ever felt, something so compelling that you can’t just sit and stare at him anymore. 
You don’t say anything as you continue to stare up at him, reaching your shaky hands out of the water to cup his cheeks. He almost flinches when you do, taken aback by you initiating the touch, but he doesn’t. With the strength gifted to you by the love confession of your mate, you’re able to maneuver onto your knees and tug him a little closer, crashing your lips into his in a gentle, watery kiss. 
“I love you, Azriel.” you murmur against his lips when you finally pull away from the kiss for a short moment. 
He smiles against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss as his hands grip your forearms to keep you from slipping in the tub. 
“We really need to get you cleaned up before we can finish this conversation, yeah?” he encourages in between kisses, smoothing down your wet hair as it drips on the side of the tub.
You breathe out a laugh, nodding at him before turning to let him continue washing your hair, and then moving on to your body. Each touch threatens to set you on fire, but there’s no sexual intention behind them, only loving caresses meant to wash you clean of the last week of pain. 
After getting you out of the shower, Azriel slowly dresses you in one of his large shirts, mumbling an apology about how he’ll be sure to bring some of your clothes over if you’d like him to. You only smile at him softly, knowing you’ll be bringing more than a few of your items over soon enough. 
He insists that you eat after your bath, bringing you back to the bed where the soup is still steaming hot, likely thanks to the House that Azriel explained was imbued with magic and would do anything you wished it to. You eat the stew after taking the handful of medications and strength tonic that the healer, Madja, had given him for you, relishing the feeling of the warm food settling in your stomach. 
The change in your energy level after the strength tonic is astonishing. You feel as though you can run for days, but know better than to try something like that in front of your terrified mate. But, there is one thing that you feel like you need to do at the moment, something that’s long overdue.
You’re laying in Azriel’s arms when you finally get your burst of energy, sitting up abruptly enough to make him sit up with you. There’s a look of wild concern on his face when he reaches for your hips, steadying you as you pull your legs to the side of the bed. 
“Are you alright?” he questions immediately, brow furrowing when you miraculously stand on your own two feet. “Do you need something? The House can get you whatever you need.”
You give him a small smile, leaning down to caress his cheek before kissing his forehead gently. 
“I wanna get this thing myself,” you state matter-of-factly as he raises a brow at you. “You stay right here, alright?” 
Before he can protest, you’re walking towards the door of the bedroom to swing it open. You shut the door behind you, leaving the male in the room without a word. 
The House is magic alright, you confirm that when you’re on your way down the stairs and it lights the way for you, only letting the fae lights on the direct path towards the kitchen light the way. It knew exactly what you were doing. 
You’re met with a cutting board, a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a bowl of grapes next to an empty plate when you enter the kitchen, a lone fae light above the counter lighting the area so you can prepare the plate. You make quick work of cutting the cheese and bread, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking incessantly as you saw into the sourdough. It only takes you a few minutes to lay everything out on the plate and the House takes care of the rest, then you’re on your way back upstairs, on your way to change your life forever. 
Azriel shifts quickly on the bed when you return, sitting up straight as he locks eyes with you. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when his eyes flicker down to the plate of food in your hand, realizing what you were up to when you left the room. 
You give him a nervous smile, gripping the plate with two hands as you make your way over to the bed, careful not to tip its contents onto the floor as you quiver. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating in the moment, as you feel like it’s about to beat through your ribcage with one more loud thump. 
“Y/N…” he trails as you shakily extend the plate to him when you perch on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with a look you can only describe as certainty. “Are you sure about this? You want to accept the bond right now?” 
“If you don’t eat this food right now, you might as well send me back to my little old apartment so I can try to die of a broken heart again.” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you give him a watery smile and push the plate closer to him.
He takes the plate from you then, but doesn’t grab any food at first, looking back up at you before he does. He leans over, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before taking a shuddering breath.
“I promise you that after this bond is accepted, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you are so much more than all of those evil things that those females said about you. I’ll spend every waking moment showing you how perfect you are and making up for the time that we didn’t get to spend together,” he begins, planting a kiss on your cheek, “I love you.”
“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, “now eat that food, please. I’m tired of waiting.” 
He smiles at you then, leaning back on the bed as he grabs for a piece of bread and cheese, ready to spend the rest of his eternal life with you, with his mate. 
_______________________________________
It takes almost a whole month for the mating frenzy to die down enough for the two of you to be able to integrate back into society. Rhys insisted on letting the two of you stay in the Cabin for your time away, but you opted to spend your time in Summer in a secluded bungalow for the four weeks instead. 
When you do return to Velaris after your time away, Azriel insists on taking another week off from spymaster duties to get your bookstore back on track and to help move your belongings to the House of Wind while the two of you look for your very own home, somewhere closer to the Rainbow where you can continue to run your bookstore. You don’t dare to protest your mate’s wishes, letting him alternate between packing the little amount of things you have upstairs and taking inventory in the store while you run the register. 
It’s a sunny Saturday when you open your doors for the first time after over a month of being closed, and you’re much busier than you’d expected to be in all honesty, though it seems many of the females coming in are just being nosy to see how true it is that you’re actually back in the flesh. 
There are less snide remarks thrown your way now, but still enough that they make you flinch every once in a while. They don’t bother you anymore, though. During your time away, Azriel showed you how much you meant to him and how beautiful he thought you were in many ways, with his mouth, with his hands, with his tongue, with his…
“Do you think she’s single again? Like…do you think he actually rejected the bond?” you hear a high fae female say on the far end of your busy shop, her eyes darting in your direction as she speaks to a friend.
“I hope so, there’s no way he actually–Oh my Gods.” her friend says, eyes wide when they fall on none other than the shadowsinger himself emerging from the back room of your store, a dozen books in hand. 
A satisfied smile spreads across your face as Azriel walks behind the checkout counter to press a kiss to your forehead before placing the books next to you. The sound of the females whispering hastily falls on deaf ears as your mate turns to you, grabbing a small piece of paper off the top of the pile of books he’d been holding. 
“Found six more copies of both of those romance novels you said you were out of, so no need to order more until those are gone.” he says while pointing at the books. “You really need a better inventory system.”
“Hmm, maybe I’ll just hire you to do it for me instead, since you’re so good at it.” you tease, shooting him a smirk.
“As long as I’m compensated fairly, I wouldn’t mind.” he jokes with a wink, pulling you in for an embrace to speak to you lowly. “On another note, you are officially fully moved into the House of Wind. So once you’re closed up for the day, we’ll be able to go home and officially christen the bedroom.” 
“We’ve already christened that bedroom,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at him, “it’s been thoroughly christened, multiple times at this point. And if I remember correctly, it’s the first place that was christened by us.”
“And?” he says, lips quirked up into a smirk, “I plan on christening it multiple times tonight, and the next night, and the night after that…”
“Okay, I get it,” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly as you pull out of his grip, “You’re insatiable.”
“And you’re beautiful and the love of my life.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.
It was safe to say that you’re getting nowhere past the mating frenzy phase of your relationship anytime soon.
And you’re okay with that.
taglist (add yourself here!): @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @Buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace
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acid-ixx · 1 day ago
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— masterlist !
every time i think about my series (again &. again), and the reader's fear towards the color green (or anything associated with damian, their half brother), i think about just how more painful it would be if you share the same features with him that he shares with bruce that amps up the angst element.
it doesn't have to be any major features, it could be small, but noticeable. something that has you reeling in yourself.
maybe it's the shape of your fingers or your brows, the plump of your cheeks, or maybe how your skin flushes the same way his does. maybe it's the way your eyebrows furrow like him, or the quirk of your lips whenever you smile a shadow of his smirk.
it doesn't matter because the more you look, the more you notice.
and the more you remember his glinting, green eyes standing by the arch of your doorway, menacingly watching over your shifting, paranoid body; ready to strike at you like you're prey, ready to eliminate your undeserving presence in the manor.
and of course, it's not a big deal, but for an overthinker like you, someone who's always trying to overcorrect, forcing yourself to not be associated by your family— cutting off every interest, or object, any damn thing that reminds you of them; sharing similarities with appearances, something so intimate, something that could've been just yours, with your youngest brother no less, your tormentor, just makes you want to rip that part of your body to seams.
it inadvertently makes you wish you were never bruce's child, too.
just so you could never see damian in yourself, just so your heart doesn't hasten every time you look in the mirror and find yourself staring at those features for hours. until the image of yourself twists into him, until you're the exact copy of the assassin, of the demon child, of the boy you have to unfortunately call your brother.
and every time you do so, there's a haze fogging inside your head, there's this sickening urge to hurt yourself, to change your appearance even if it's a part of your that cherishes the image of your mother too— if it means taking away the unwanted stems that remind yourself too much of him.
the truth is, you don't hate him, or rather you can't bring yourself to, out of pure, convoluted fear.
you despise the way he makes it feel like there's spiders crawling in the back of your throat, or how your body automatically locks up at the slight mention of his name.
even if you see him as just that, a young boy raised to be corrupted; his youth doesn't disregard the fact that he is the incarnate of danger, the same boy who threatened to end your life at first meeting. whose words cut sharper than blades, whose sword is perched on his back; an unspoken promise to cut more than the skin of your neck if you dare try to fight back.
that even though he's significantly younger, he still holds too much power, enough to destroy your life for something you couldn't even control— your inability to be like them.
you don't hate him, you can't.
but it's easier to hate yourself for it instead.
because if it's so hard to despise him, then it's better to blame yourself for your shortcomings. if you fear looking at yourself, the shadow of your features distorting into damian, then you deserve to feel it.
if your hands find themselves ripping at your hair (the strands, god, the ends of your hair reminds you of the spikes of his, you want to die), then let it hurt you, let it destroy your being until you're nothing but dim, sunken eyes and blood-soaked clothes. let the hatred fester to the point your body transforms into an alien-like appearance just to forget him.
it doesn't register within you just how much you're subjecting yourself to the same tortures you were forced upon in that putrid manor.
the same way you let the torment living in that cage repeat like a cycle, again and again, never truly moving on from your past; a sick narrative you're never escaping from.
after all, you can never run away from the past. it bites you back, with the same, or even stronger force, until all that controls you is fear.
fear that forces you to look in the mirror, stare at yourself, nitpicking every notable feature in your face, in your body, that reminds you of them. fear that's enough to turn you emotional in all your good days, that ruins a happiness you haven't felt for a decade, even more.
fear will always control.
damian will always have control over you, he'll always have the upper-hand.
sometimes, the innocent, young boy you try to find behind the exterior of hatred turns out to be a hideous monster all throughout.
unfortunately, you see that monster in you, too.
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a/n: we love complicated relationship dynamics!!! i just woke up and was like, "wait, i have an idea." LMAO. idk half of what i wrote, did i eat with this drabble? maybe. ignore my sudden disappearance sometimes, in another life i'm a hermit crab who hides in its shell probably.
— if i wrote damian here to be too "evil," it's because it's written in the perspective of the reader and their trauma. i don't want him to be this one-dimensional character, he's one of my favorites after all, but i need to establish the relationships and writing drabbles like these help a lot in portraying how they see each other. damian sees you in a different light (you make him weak), and you do too— but both see each other in some twisted perspective of loving each other because you're both still siblings at the end of the day (i'm gonna write more about this too).
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luiina · 5 hours ago
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I've had this headcanon that ended up developing into an AU.
The "normal" dimension exists, and it's the so called main one. Basically think of it as a copy of our own universe. Some DSMP characters come from there (like Wilbur, Schlatt, Quackity and some others. Also Sally, Fundy's mom.)
Then there's the "Minecraft" dimension, that has players instead of citizens that don't really belong anywhere and just fluctuate between servers. They have their own system, their magic, their gods and all that. But they get divided in different sections of the universe. Think of it like an onion, and the skins that it has. Each layer is a section where different servers exist. Traveling between the "layers" is harder but it can be done. You do need to have an elevated level of magic in you to do that. Most people stick to their own layer and travel between the servers that they offer. The reason why the sections of the Minecraft universe exist is because of all the deities and servers that exist. They need to be managed separately to be easier to keep track of.
I think that servers like SMPEarth, the DSMP, the QSMP, HermitCraft and the OSMP take place in the same layer of the universe. Don't ask me why.
The ones that have lived in the Minecraft dimension know about the "Normal" dimension, but they can never access it. Rips and "bridges" between the realites can be created, however. That is also why most characters know about different countries and can speak the languages that people from the normal dimension do, instead of them all speaking in villagerian or some shit. They don't know much about it though.
Some of the players that have always lived in the MC dimension (I think) are Bench Trio, Fundy, Techno and Phil (they are deities so it's different) , the Dream Team, Eret, etc.
So how does somebody from one dimension go to the other? I think it needs to be done in a significant way. Just like C! Wilbur needed for it to rain and thunder to get back to Utah, he would have needed something similar to get into the DSMP as well. A storm of some sort. Also, it needs to be some special date. Like a full moon for example. The breaches can be caused by paranormal activity too, like the Bermuda Triangle or some shit. Also, you need to desire to escape. You need to desire to get away. So that the universe can drag you alobg to the rip in the reality to the Minecraft Universe because you set the intention for it to happen.
That's it. I like to think Wilbur was a 20 year old that got stressed because of Sally's pregnancy and decided to take his tiny boat out in the sea for a bit. And then he crashes and ends up on the DSMP's shore. Sally, later on attempts to join him but fails at something and instead of coming out human on the Minecraft Universe she's a fish and passes the pregnancy to Wilbur so he's the one to give birth... somehow. I think that is canon. Wilbur did give birth to Fundy. Sally ends up figuring out how to go back to their original universe, and does so, leaving Wil and Fundy behind.
How exactly can Phil be Wilbur's bio father if they are from different universes? Phil is an angel, there has to be some way he can will it into existence. I'm not sure how. Wilbur gets giftted with very potent magic capabilities, as are some of the people that come from the other universe. As well as sleeper divine genes. He has them, and he is capable of bringing them to light. He just dosen't know how to. He does have an amazing intuition, sense of vision and smell and a very sharp space awareness. And pointy ears and fangs, for the fun of it. He also makes killer potions, because he charges them with magic, since he has more magic than the average player (aka Tommy).
This is also why he had a ghost. Because of his high level of magic. Ghosts are considered to be magical beings. Jschlatt also had a ghost, but it was less powerful than Wil's. Since Schlatt comes from the Normal Universe, he too has an affinity for magic, even if it isn't nearly as powerful as Wilbur's. Ranboo also had a ghost. He was half enderman. That is classified as a monster, just like the skeletons and the zombies. They are considered magical beings as well. The endermans more so, since they come from the End, one of the most magical places in the Minecraft Universe. That's why he had one too.
Anyway, I got carried away. I really love this AU of mine. Might update this if i add onto the lore.
the entirety of the dream smp gets so much funnier when you remember tftsmp the haunted mansion. where they basically imply the rest of the world is normal and calm and there are schools and infrastructure and that the dsmp area is just a group of extremely isolated weirdos
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specialgradefckr · 2 days ago
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tw: explicit content, incest, satoru/reader, satoru/suguru, shoko/reader, codependency, very twisted relationship dynamics, implied abusive/neglectful childhood
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suguru had never known what to make of the two of you.
satoru the six eyes and his twin sister. satoru who was his best friend, and you, the girl who looks just like him.
satoru who let suguru bend him over and fuck him until he cried, only to roll off the bed, pulling out his phone.
god. he knew satoru was a dick, but this?
it hurts more than it should. they'd never talked about it, never even called each other friends. he should have figured this wasn't anything special.
but what the fuck is satoru doing on his phone?
"satoru?" he says, trying to sound casual.
everything has to be casual with satoru. low-key. being with him feels like he's coaxing a wild animal. get too close, and he might just bolt.
bolt, only to hit him out of the blue days later with a picture of a candy and a smarmy comment about suguru's taste in food. or his hair. or his power as a sorcerer, or whatever was going through that malfunctioning brain of his.
god, why the fuck does he even like him again?
satoru turns back so suguru can see his smirking face.
god. that was why. the face of a fucking angel, a smile that made his heart skip. why did it have to be on this asshole?
"what, suguru? you feelin' lonely?" satoru drawls.
it's a question he knows the answer to. keep it chill. don't show your hand. don't get too close or he'll get scared.
it aches. "shut up," he says, "i'm just curious who you're texting right after i pulled my dick out of you."
he smirks back when satoru pauses, hesitates.
"who's this person you're thinking about right after you cum?" suguru drawls. he's proud of how distant he manages to sound.
satoru's eyes dart towards him, all ice blue and piercing.
"nobody," he says, setting his phone face down while he pulls on his pants.
he blinks. "what are you..."
satoru ignores his question, strolling out towards the door while waving goodbye. "later, su-gu-ru~"
"but this is -"
before his eyes can furrow, satoru closes the door behind him.
"...your room."
he'd thought that it meant something different this time. satoru always left right after they fucked, he never stayed.
but this is satoru's room. so he'd either kick suguru out, or let him stay.
he hadn't been prepared for him to just... leave. his own room.
what's wrong with him? seriously.
suguru glances at the downturned phone. flips it over.
nee-chan~ (2)
his sister? it beeps.
nee-chan~ (3)
no, don't. i'll ask shoko
you'll ask shoko to do what? satoru has a lock, so he can't see.
seriously, i mean it
after a moment, there's another message.
are you ignoring me, or just busy with him?
don't come over. slut
...what?
the message notification disappears along with the message.
suguru gets a strange feeling.
he looks around satoru's room. he finds some girl's clothes.
does satoru even like girls? they could be yours. he's seen you in his room before.
the strange feeling starts to get. stranger.
there's condoms in here, too, which is weird because satoru has never asked him to use them. or used them himself. he whined when suguru suggested it, actually. asked if he was scared of getting knocked up.
ugh. stupid, insufferable, endearing little shit. he wants to have him in his arms right now.
but it doesn't mater what suguru wants. satoru just left. like he always does, sooner or later.
picking up the phone, he makes his way out. down the hall, towards the girls' dorm.
shoko is already there when he gets there. holding out an arm to stop him.
he raises a brow.
"she's sleeping."
"how do you know i'm here for her?"
shoko shrugs. "why else would you be? saw gojo go in there. anyways, they're asleep now."
"can't be. i was with him just a few minutes ago."
the look she gives him is... strange. everything about this situation feels... off.
he pushes past her, and she sighs.
there's no noise inside, at least. he looses a curse to twist the lock on the door, turn it form the inside.
and it's surprising because - god, what was he expecting?
you're there, curled up beneath the blanket with satoru laying behind you, arms wrapped around you and holding you close.
it's romantic, sure. intimate.
but nothing weird. well, nothing too weird. satoru's always been weird, and you're just like him, so of course you're both weird together. you've always been close. you're his twin sister. what is he thinking?
with a toss, he lets satoru's phone fall onto the floor.
he avoids shoko's gaze as he closes the door and stalks off.
(he doesn't see her anxious glance at the door.)
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"he's gone," satoru whispers to you, brushing his thumb over your nipple as you bite your lip.
"shut up," you hiss, putting a hand over his. "i can't believe you did that. why did he follow you? what did you say to him?"
his other hand, threaded beneath your panties, wriggles playfully.
"whaaat? you said you wanted to go to bed. i didn't want to make you wait." he sighs dramatically, "i'm the strongest sorcerer, you know. i need my rest~"
and without you, there is no rest.
as soon as your body is against his, it's like all the tension leaves him. you're there, with him, and everything is all right.
all his worries fade away when he can wrap his arms around you and feel you embrace him in return. mind blank at the soothing sound of your voice. never mind the words you're saying.
"yeah, but do you need to do... this." you say fruitlessly. "you could have come later."
"didn't wanna come later," he kisses your shoulder, "wanted to see you now."
you wriggle in his arms, too wide and too strong to escape, even if you wanted to.
it's enraging. it's gratifying. you don't know what it is, and never have.
he must have been fucking suguru. and after he got his, he came to you.
should you laugh, or cry?
"i could have asked shoko." you mumble almost miserably.
but a sigh escapes you as he fondles your breast. satoru always knows how to make you feel good.
maybe not as good as shoko does, but you're still nice enough not to say that to his face.
"what? to sleep with you?" satoru scoffs, "you can't sleep without me, either."
neither of you have ever slept alone, not a single night in your life.
not even when you were deathly ill and the clan begged the precious six eyes to stay away and not catch your sickness.
satoru had stayed by your side the entire while. held your hand while your head pounded and your body ached. wiped your tears when you cried.
because you were very young, and very sick, in more pain than you'd ever felt before. you had honestly thought you were going to die.
there had been no servants, no mother or father or caretaker. only satoru holding you close, lifting you to drink some water and medicine. telling you that you couldn't die. he wouldn't allow it.
and to your child's mind, that had been reassuring. your brother never left you. your fever broke and you were okay, just like he said you would be.
now, you know better. now you know satoru would lay in bed with people who weren't you, even if he always came back (for now).
now you knew what it was like to have someone else by your side.
(but was it enough? could it ever be enough? could it ever be what you have with him?)
"i'll never know until i try." you turn in his arms to face him, and he allows it.
blue eyes. beautiful, beautiful blue. a pretty face. almost as pretty as shoko's.
you've been learning, lately. you used to think of the mole on her cheek as an imperfection, the cigarette smoke a bad habit.
now? you still think it's a bad habit, but the mole is charming. and you don't hate the smell as much because shoko took you out shopping for perfume.
she asked you which one you liked the most, and bought it for herself. she wears it every friday when you have your girls night out with utahime.
where you get drunk enough to make out with her until she brings you back to the dorm, kissing and fondling and touching.
she asks you if it's okay. asks you how you like it best. asks you to touch her this way, that way.
it's not like how it is with satoru. but she makes you feel good, makes you happy. she wants you to feel good. when you cry she kisses your tears away, like she knows better than to ask but wants to comfort you anyways.
when was the last time satoru tried to comfort you?
"hey," satoru breathes into your ear, pulling your panties down, "c'mon."
when you think of her, your heart flutters. when you think of satoru, your stomach flips, and your whole body aches.
you don't know what love is. you don't think satoru does, either.
otherwise, why would he ever leave geto's arms? when he's so obviously head over heels for him?
you clasp one arm against his chest as you reach down, stroking his cock to hardness. geto must have made him cum (satoru has never made you cum). must have fucked him.
satoru rolls you so you're on top of him.
his shirt is off, baring his lean, muscled chest. your brother, your strong, handsome, beautiful brother, looking up at you with wandering eyes and greedy hands.
your hands are equally greedy. running over his chest, ghosting over his nipples until he shivers. oversensitive. he always is after he's been with geto.
satoru's got a condom out already. he slips it on, leaning forward and pinning you down beneath him.
he doesn't have to use condoms with geto. he doesn't have to be the one on top all the time, either. geto can fuck him. he must like that.
geto's a special grade sorcerer. geto's a man. he's not his sister.
his cock is sliding up and down against your entrance, wetting the condom as he nips at your breast.
he always leaves marks like this, but never where anyone can see.
does he leave marks on geto?
"do you like him more?" you mumble, anxiety swirling in your gut. your lower half is a hot swirling pool of need, leaking for him.
and he inches in, making you whine, making you claw marks into his shoulder. you hope geto sees them.
satoru groans, low and throaty. it always feels like coming home when he's inside you. a perfectly matched lock and key.
his hand threads through your hair. you're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. he'll admit he's a vain bitch, but who wouldn't be? looking like the two of you do.
maybe one day he should get you to dress up like him. wear a strap and fuck him, that'd be fun.
for now, you're warm and soft and perfect for him. so comfortable. and you're rambling about stuff that isn't important.
"what," he murmurs, breathy from the warmth of you around him, "who?"
if the frustration shows on your face, he can just fuck it away.
"geto." the name is swallowed by a swift thrust, hands planted on your hips.
you wish he'd touch your clit more (you never ask). you wish he'd answer your question (you're afraid to push). but your brother just doesn't think about other people.
"c'mon," he whines, "don't talk about some other dude. you're with me."
"you were with him."
"so?" he thrusts in harder, stealing your breath, like that'll win him the argument, "you're fucking shoko."
satoru fucks you breathless, then. pumping in and out so quickly that the friction has you shuddering, shivering, close enough that you finally start to squeeze around him.
it's always like this with him. you feel like you're drowning, helpless. all you can do is cling to him.
"satoru," you hate how pitiful your voice sounds, "satoruuuu...."
he's hitting you, so deep and so hard it hurts, pierces through the breathless haze and leaves you clenching around him.
"please," your breath escapes you with his next thrust.
please don't leave me. don't abandon me for him. don't discard me now that you have someone better. don't leave me all by myself...
tears dot at your eyes, squeezing around him. satoru's own eyes are wide and wild, his hips shoving into you staggeringly fast.
"i got you," he says, close, so close, "i've got you."
another deep thrust, painful as it is pleasurable, bruising and fast like his fingertips on your hips. he swallows your moans with a kiss.
he thinks he can eat up all your complaints, all your anxiety. hide away from his own by nestling himself in your body.
you don't want anyone but him, right? he's the only one who touches you like this.
the way you squeeze around him, the way your body feels against his, no one else gets that from you. shoko couldn't do this for you. no one could.
you say his name again and he's ready to burst. you love him always. you're so good for him. you make him feel good just by being there.
a part of his life. a missing limb. his precious sister, his beating heart, right there against his chest.
"there," satoru pants, "fuck, there, cum for me, baby..."
it's tears you blink away when he gasps and cums, burying himself inside you with a wounded sort of whimper.
you never do, when it's him. to be fair, you've never done it to yourself, either.
you only ever came when shoko fucked you. but fucked is such an ugly word for how gently she touched you, how soft she smiled.
"satoru," you whine again, "do you like him more than me? i like you more than shoko..."
satoru doesn't answer you. his hands move from your bruised hips to wrap around you, pull you close, plant kisses on your head.
"you know," he mumbles out your name. "you know."
there's a flash of rage. irrational.
he won't say it. he won't even say it. satoru will fuck you, his own sister. cling to you like he needs you to survive, sleep with you every night of his life.
but he won't say he loves you more than geto. he won't even say he likes you.
and you know - because you know him like the back of your hand, you were born with him, you spent every waking moment of your life with him until you came to the school - you know satoru loves you.
but he loves you like he loves air. it's always there. always accessible. it's not like the air will suddenly leave.
you curl into satoru's muscled chest, let him embrace you closer, sink into the silence that's only comfortable for him.
maybe there's something you can do about this.
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darqx · 20 hours ago
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[It's going down] I'm yelling timber
Several doodles in this one!
❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ
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Everything is similar but she wears a dress version.
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Yes (after becoming a Royal) but it's more of a "formaility" as he hasn't had any reason to use it yet. There's a lot of gaps since he relies more on mobility than brute force, and he can also rapidly fill in any areas with harder ichor if need be.
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He used to work for the previous King as a Collector.
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I think it depends, since he's a Royal now they tend to use some variation of their demon signs as an official "signature" so it might look like the first pic. His prior signature might look something like the second (fancy cursive).
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Base: [x]
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Rire's ichor tentacles are directly controlled by his consciousness/sub-consciousness so yes technically they could do such things XD But that is something that would have happened more when he was a child/learning how to use the ichor powers - he has such fine control now that the likelihood of it happening anymore is negligible.
...you could kiss them if you want I suppose, he does have some feeling through them lol.
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I once described Rire's ichor as existing but not existing at the same time (ah, dichotomy haha). Basically if the ichor is not connected to the manifestation point on Rire's back all trace of it will eventually disappear. So that's handy in more ways then one :d
This post goes into more detail about the ichor consistencies:
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Rire was born 973 years ago and was primarily raised by his mother after both his father and then later his stepfather died when he was a child/teen.
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He would raise a child similarly to how he was raised. 🤔 YMMV whether this would be considered good parenting but he does have affection towards his own parents so there's that.
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Well i did draw the baby!BTD in that same picture so...however i drew them as lol XD; Thanks muchly and keep at it!
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Yes the years are the same. As stated in my BTD FAQ "I don’t know if you could classify what he feels as “love” in the same definition we are used to…" :d
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Short answer: no.
Long answer: if you consider real world biology it would be like this
SOME species of demons are close enough to humans that they could reproduce with them. If the offspring is viable it's usually infertile like a liger (cross between a lion and a tiger) or a mule, though sometimes/rarely it could result in fertile offspring.
This works similarly between different demon species (different ones are more compatible with certain species compared to others etc), though the likelihood of fertile offspring is greater. Also depending on the species some genes are way more dominant so a child might end up basically being more or less one species type.
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[An excerpt from a World War letter. Several similar letters have been documented from both Allies and Central/Axis Powers]
My dearest, I witnessed the most peculiar scene several days ago. Honestly I am not sure if it actually happened or if my mind was playing tricks on me. I was on my evening sentry duty over No Man's land when I saw him - a man, standing alone in the fog past the razor wire and amongst those poor souls neither side had managed to retrieve. Dearest, I swear that man had not been there a second ago! At first I thought this was enemy activity, but his uniform was clearly not German and neither was it one of ours - maybe the oddness is what stayed my tongue at the time. Out of a morbid curiosity I watched as he crouched near several bodies for a long moment - perhaps to pay his respects? - before walking off and disappearing out of sight. I am honestly surprised no one had shot at him! The next day there was a large shout as a grievously injured Johnson - whom was lost in No Man's Land after a failed trench raid - was suddenly within reaching distance just over our trench walls! It was a miracle! He was delirious and had no idea how he had made it back by himself, but mentioned a "General" who had offered help in his lowest moment. Clearly he was unwell as there were no Generals around...but dearest...I can't help but wonder --
[Johnson would survive his injuries and go on to become a well decorated soldier before returning home a hero. He would die 10 years later from "idiopathic anaphylaxis" with an odd look of fear on his face.]
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I'm not sure why some of you think this but to put it as clearly as I can (since this is not the first time I've been asked this):
Cain is not my character.
I would hope that you guys understand that just because someone doesnt seem to be on the internet anymore it doesnt mean their character is suddenly an adoptable/up for grabs???
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No - I have enough of my own characs I dont need to actually steal someone else's. (Also see above answer)
IMO in any universe Rire and Cain are like oil and water. So, i would say yes there is a way that they could get together but it would probably involve kidnapping and criminal confinement on one of their behalfs :d
I never read Warrior Cats so I have no particular thoughts about this lol.
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Demon!Strade is a Gatoverse creation XD; - meaning Gato created him and so it has no correlation with my demon types. He would probably be like a level 4 or 5 maybe (aside from being LARGE, idk about his other power sets lol) and a clear case of needing an exorcism :d
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Both of them are naturally charismatic (though, Demon!Rire can dial his up to noticeably unnatural levels). Human!Rire can be considered more manipulative and subtle than the demon version since in his 'verse "real world" consequences are actually things he has to consider. He is also a bit less interested in mind games than Demon!Rire.
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-...gestures at humans, which he prefers to mess with for the sheer variety of reactions-
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That is not part of his skill set, no :d Also much in the same way that animals with sharp teeth don't willy nilly bite their tongues off, demons with sharp teeth are like...used to having/biologically designed to have sharp teeth.
THANKING YOU \o/
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It wouldn't lol. Also if i saw Rire IRL i would immediately pretend to have NOT seen him because that would mean that I've somehow had a hand in creating a tulpa.
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revelboo · 1 day ago
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oh shockwave's snarl and antenna flat back in silent aggresiveness, hes so traumatized lmaoo
He wants nothing to do with this nonsense, even if he might be a tiny bit interested which is making him even angrier about it
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Everything Is Alright Pt 95
IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader
• “What is he doing here?” Voice tight with anxiety, Starscream cups his other hand protectively around you as he glares at Shockwave. Aware of Megatron stiffening at being questioned. Of Soundwave standing far too close to him, right behind him. A trap? Of course it is, he’s surrounded by enemies here. Wings flaring out, he tries to decide if there’s enough clearance over Soundwave’s head. If he can transform around you and just bolt. If he can get to Skywarp, he can ask to be warped far away. Can he trust his brother, though? Can he trust anyone except himself?
• Optics narrowing as Starscream tenses, Megatron flicks his servos at Shockwave. “I can’t trust Hook to not be… influenced at this point, but Shockwave is merely here to run some non-intrusive scans on the human,” he says, unable to make himself say bond mate. Not about a weak, little organic. Aware of how irritated the scientist is, his antenna back as he grumbles softly. “Soundwave, bring the human,” he says. Watching his communications officer come around the agitated Seeker and offer his cupped hands. Feeling strangely unsettled as you touch the Seeker’s hand, whispering something too soft to catch. The look of almost panic on Starscream’s face instead of his usual arrogant sneer as he moves his hand to let you go to Soundwave. Hooking a servo around your middle like he doesn’t want to release you, before his wings droop and he lets you go. Remembering against his will the sounds you’d made under Starscream as he rutted against you. Soft skin bathed in the light of a spark, so illicit.
• Cradling you close, Soundwave approaches Megatron only to have the warlord point at a console as if not wanting to touch you again. Giving in to impulse, he lifts you up to rub his masked cheek against your face and shoulder. Feeling you lay a hand on him as Megatron watches with a frown. But if the warlord still thinks of him as a friend at all, he needs to reinforce that you matter to him to keep you safe. And he wants to touch you, reassure you that you’re not being abandoned. That this is okay even if he’s not sure it really is. Reluctantly lowering you, his servos linger against you before he pulls away. Feeling your eyes on him and Starscream. All the things he can’t say out loud in front of Megatron and Shockwave hurting him.
• Wrapping your arms around yourself, you watch them go, catching Star’s optic when Soundwave tries to touch his shoulder and the Seeker bares his denta. And you offer him a smile, trying to pretend you’re not terrified, because it’s all out now. No more secrets. Skin prickling as the big, purple cyclops makes a noise and picks up a tool, you tense. There’s nowhere to run to. Flinching when he powers the thing up and harmless light plays over you from head to toe. When that single optic narrows and he makes a circling gesture with his cannon and momentarily gets distracted staring at it, you obediently turn so he can scan your back.
• “Well?” Megatron demands as Shockwave studies the screen. From the corner of his optic, he sees you turn back toward them, arms around yourself. “What is it doing to them?” Because there has to be a sane reason for this. For why two perfectly reasonable- well, one perfectly reasonable mech and Starscream are so obsessed with a human to the point of bonding it. “No signs of its pheromones being able to influence their reasoning,” Shockwave mutters, scrolling through the data. “No psychic outlier abilities. Elevated levels of nanites present suggest numerous couplings. Organic is entirely unremarkable otherwise.”
• Numerous couplings. He’d basically implied you’re a sex fiend. Can the ground just open up and swallow you whole at this point? And entirely unremarkable. Yep. Mortified and offended, you stare at them. “You thought I was mind controlling them?” And then the warlord is frowning at you. Because apparently he really just wanted you to be manipulating them, not wanting to believe that they like you. Care for you.
• “Perhaps a more tactile exploration to reach conclusive results?” Shockwave suggests and you stumble back, eyes widening in fear. And for some reason that bothers Megatron. That fear. “That won’t be necessary,” Megatron says, watching Shockwave glare down at you before walking out. Leaving him with you. Those wide eyes stare up at him as he walks over to retrieve you, feeling your little heart racing when he picks you up and carries you to set on the arm of his throne. Sitting down, he studies you. “You washed off the scent of the Seeker before coming to me?” When you redden and nod, he laughs softly. “Good. You won’t come to me scenting of him.” So it’s not pheromones or some strange ability corrupting his forces. Just the interfacing itself which is almost as bad. No, it’s actually worse. Optics sliding to you, he remembers the glimpse he’d gotten of your back arched, Starscream’s hips moving urgently against you. The wet sound of it. Venting, he presses a servo against his aching head. “How exactly did the Seeker find you?”
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prince-jjae · 2 days ago
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Flesh & Rind.
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Pairing; watermelon sorbet!yj × cherry jam!male reader
Genre; smut, pwp (porn w plot.) [nsfw, mdni.]
Synopsis; When moving to the quaint little region that was Strawberryland, Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun had one thing on his mind: relaxation. Enter Cherry Jam, the most devastatingly attractive boy that Yeonjun had been ever-so-blessed to lay eyes on. Cherry was decidedly not part of his relaxation plans, yet with the help of a little magic (and some incredibly well-placed scones), Cherry might just worm his way into Yeonjun’s heart (and while he's at it, his pants, too.)
Warnings; extremely dubious consent, this is on the darker side so please proceed with caution. Stalking, Maneater!reader, Yeonjun is whipped, Reader pretends to be innocent, Yeonjun literally eats a treat left on his windowsill (DO NOT DO THIS). Yeonjun is a bit of an airhead. Reader is manipulative as SHIT.
Smut Warnings; Again, Dubcon. Come eating. Coercion(?). Accidental exhibitionism. Masturbation. Aphrodisiacs in the form of flavoured bodily fluids. Intoxication play if you squint. Switch!yj, Switch!reader. Meandom!reader. Bondage. Anal sex (obviously). Oral (m!rec, anally ofc). Fingering. Riding. Power play. Degradation/praise kink. Comeshots/Coming untouched.
WC; ~7.5k (oof.)
Jjae's comments; holy shit. big shoutout to my moots and fellow creators in this event. This has been a wild ride for all of us and im so glad i got to share this experience with so many writers ive spent months looking up to. i hope this is as fun to read as it was to write. happy holidays!
[masterlist.] [event materlist.]
It was because you were new to town, as was he. That was clearly the reason, otherwise he had no method of explanation as to why his eyes kept being drawn to you. You, with your fluffy pink hair, tumbling about your temples in gentle curls. Yes, it was because you were both new, novel and fresh to the town you now shared with plenty others, that's why you caught his eye.
No other reason.
Surely not because of the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, nor was it because of the way your eyes would sparkle upon helping one of your shared neighbors. No, there was no other explanation.
At first, he didn't think much of it. It was easy to ignore. You were easy to ignore. Not that Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun thought himself rude. On the contrary, he considered himself to be quite nice. He was always described as a friend who would be there for you, someone who would bring warmth and safety to those he loved. Yet there was something about this pretty cherry boy, something about you, that sent alarm bells ringing in his head. A warning, loud and clear, to stay away. You didn't seem dangerous, not by any means. He figured you were such a gentle soul that you'd likely cry about the smallest things.
Oh, he could imagine that. Your bottom lip jutted out, trembling as fat tears gather along your lash line, threatening to spill down those bright pink ch- 
He shook the thoughts from his head violently. This whole town was full of innocent joys, fruit houses piled atop the rolling hills, filled with even sweeter tennants. That’s why he was here, to finally be somewhere quiet and nice, away from the unforgivingly loud Big Apple City. He was here to relax, maybe even make some money. He wasn’t here to get involved with someone as dangerously alluring as you. 
So he made a point to avoid you. Physically, anyway. He couldn’t deny himself the temptation of viewing you from across the room at gatherings, town meetings, seeing you across the stall from him at the weekly market. You always sat there so politely, cheeks a pretty pink as you gushed about your latest batch of jellies and jams. All variations of cherry, of course. And how cherry did suit you, Yeonjun thought. You were certainly just as pretty, and Yeonjun would wager you were just as sweet. 
He kept his distance, and it seemed to be working. You hadn’t said much beyond your cutesy greetings in passing, eyes shining bright with wonder and sparkling at him in a way that made his stomach twist. He would always nod, rather stiffly, before turning on his heel and making a quick exit whenever possible. He always missed the way you wilted, face hardening into something unrecognizable for a few small moments. Maybe if his eyes lingered on you for a second longer, if he had cast a glance over his shoulder as he left, he would have seen that facade drop.
– 
The first time he found one of your gifts was around two months after you two had moved into town. Two months of dancing around each other, with Yeonjun staring at you down the length of his nose whenever he thought you weren’t looking, two months of torture. It was a warm summer morning when he opened the shutters to his bedroom window only to find a scone, covered in the most delectable cherry jam he had ever seen. He hadn’t eaten yet, and although his mind screamed at him to not devour the treat, he inhaled it in the few seconds following his tongue darting out to wet his lips. If he had any better self-control, he might’ve tried to school his expression as he licked the sticky jam off of his plush lips, maybe even bite down the moan that bloomed in his chest upon savoring the taste on his tongue. 
Unfortunately, Yeonjun wasn't known for his self-control.
He understood now why you had the town wrapped around your finger, drawing crowds to your stall every week for your newest batches of sweet treats, jars decorated with ribbons and bows, just like their maker. He fully understood the draw to your business, especially if everything you made tasted this divine. 
The next time he found a gift was in much the same way, a still-warm scone dripping with jam, served neatly on a plate sat on his windowsill the very next day. And then the next day. And then the next. This continued for about a week, leading to Yeonjun waking up with a hunger he couldn’t describe every morning, drool pooling in his mouth long before he reached his window.
On the seventh day, the market finally rolled around. He needed more. Desperately. The sweet treats in the mornings weren’t enough to satiate his newfound sweet tooth. He needed one of your pretty jars. Hell, he would eat the sweet stickiness straight from the glass if need be. He was still wary of you, however, even as he approached your stall that morning after all was set up. There was still a decent amount of time before the earliest customers would wander through the market, perusing the many wares positioned along the street. 
You were already smiling up at him politely as he strolled up to your stall with practiced confidence. He missed the way your eyes raked over his form, and subsequently missed the tiny quirk of your lips as they tugged into the ghost of a smirk. The expression washed over with that same pretty smile he was familiar with, and you knew he was none the wiser when he opened his mouth. 
“Hi! Yeonjun, right?” You had beaten him to the punch, smooth voice ringing in his head like a melody of gentle bells, yet it did nothing to quell the violent churn in his stomach. His mouth paused, stuck doing gentle open and closed motions as he fumbled for his words. His brows furrowed as he promptly shut his mouth. This was most unlike him. Yeonjun was suave and collected, like a fox stalking through the world as if it was his runway. To be rendered speechless was something he was entirely unfamiliar with. You waited patiently, smile still easy and comforting as he gathered himself back together. 
“Yeah, that’s right..” He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, now that he really thought about it. He tilted his head, contemplating before finally opening his mouth again. Only a moment of hesitance was needed for you to interrupt him again.
“Here to snag a jar?” You queried, head tilted in the opposite way of his own, eyes twinkling in the same way that he had memorized, the visual long since burned into the back of his eyelids. He nodded, the movement stunted and jerky. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. He was never rendered this useless before in his life, and he was so thrown that he missed the way your eyes sharpened, hands reaching for something that lay at your feet behind your stall. “I have a special batch that I made just for you! Something new that only us newbies should share.”
Yeonjun’s brows furrowed, watching as you held up a jar much like your other ones, the only difference being the tiny watermelon and cherry charms attached to your decorative ribbons that wrapped around the glass. Something itched at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was your tone of voice, or maybe your choice in words that should have given him pause, yet he found it hard to focus. His eyes were locked on the jar, filled to the brim with the sweetness he had been craving for the past week. Like clockwork, drool pooled in his mouth embarrassingly fast, causing him to nearly choke on his own spit when he finally reached out and took the gift from you, muttering a hurried thanks as he fled back to the relative safety of his stall.
Yeonjun had never been one for sweets before, always more prone to craving savory or spicy meals. His old friends from the city used to poke fun at this little fact. Something about how his tasted contrasted so harshly to his fruity nature. Even the fruits (watermelon, naturally) he so lovingly tended to in his garden rarely tickled his fancy. Yeonjun wasn’t sure why this was all changing on a dime. He wasn’t sure how to explain the craving he had, a craving that was swallowing him whole and leaving him dizzy. Perhaps if he thought about it further, Yeonjun would find that the more he slathered that special jelly on his morning toast, scones, and muffins, the more intense his thirst grew. It bothered him greatly. He had never felt like this before. He found himself staring at you more often, now, not even trying to hide it. He was confused, yes, but he was equally hungry. A bone-deep kind of hunger that twisted around his brain and rendered his logical thoughts as useless as smoke in the wind. No longer did he reserve those glances for when you had your head turned. He was staring unabashedly now, sharp eyes boring into yours even when you met his gaze and gave him the most adorable eye-crinkling grin and excited wave. His newfound intensity didn’t seem to phase you in the slightest.
After weeks of this torture, this all-encompasing need swallowing him whole, it was you that finally did him in. He finally bent to those baser desires that he had shoved down when he first moved here, and now it was coming back to bite him. It was an innocent interaction by all accounts. You had scurried up to him while on the way to the newest town meeting, the breeze ruffling your curls to make them even more fluffy than usual. You seemed nearly out of breath, chest heaving with effort as if you had run a great distance to catch up to him. Perhaps you had, with how much longer his legs were than your own. You placed a steadying hand on his bicep, fingers curling into the muscle slightly. It was likely to give yourself a moment to catch your breath before greeting him, cheeks flushed and that smile pressing dimples into the blushing flesh. It was that visual, that touch, that look that ruined him. He ached, he felt the need deep in his soul, splintering his bones and ruining him from the inside like rot taking hold of sweet fruit flesh. He couldn't take it anymore. One final glance at those pretty pink cheeks and he had enough.
He found himself home far quicker than he usually would, the journey blurred and fuzzy in his mind. He didn’t care how he got home, anyway, he was more fussed about why he was home so early. It didn't take him long to stomp into his bedroom, jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached from the pressure, before he finally allowed that desire to consume him in the way he needed most. 
Legs splayed prettily, head thrown back, bright red hair framing an ethereal halo around his head atop the silk pillowcase. Yeonjun was the picture of sin, with his skin sparkling with sweat, a bead rolling down his temple and vanishing along his damp hairline. Not much could be heard in the watermelon house, other than his whines and groans, naturally. It wasn’t often that Yeonjun found himself in such a position, desperately canting his hips up into his waiting fist, the slide deliciously wet and noisy due to the way he was practically dribbling precome down his own length at the thoughts in his head. 
Oh, the thoughts in his head.. Filthy thoughts, really. Thoughts that should never see the light of day. Thoughts of claiming. Thoughts of animalistic, overwhelming claiming. Thoughts of pretty pink curls bouncing rhythmically, thoughts of those sparkling eyes swimming with tears of overstimulation, thoughts of those pretty lips singing his praises and begging, crying, pleading. 
His orgasm crushed through him embarrassingly fast. His head, stuffed with cotton, could think little else on anything aside from ruining that pretty cherry boy. That same cherry boy that smiled at him with such affection, that same cherry boy that gave him such sweet treats out of the kindness of his heart, that same cherry boy he was utterly defiling, entirely ruining in his head. 
He was blissfully unaware, as the sticky watermelon cream dripped over his fingertips and made a pool on his toned stomach, that he had forgotten to close his window. The opening left room for a gentle breeze that cooled his sweat-soaked skin, which he happily basked in. If he had opened his eyes, turned his head even a little, he would have caught it. 
A pair of sharp cherry eyes, grinning at him in devilish satisfaction.
It was the aftermath that Yeonjun wasn’t prepared for. He had allowed himself to fall into that temptation after he had spent so long denying himself. Now that the metaphorical dam had been broken, those foul thoughts plagued him constantly. As he watched you, they pressed into his mind entirely without his permission. 
You raised your hand at meetings, fingers slightly limp and curled in the air, and suddenly he couldn't think of anything better than seeing those fingers curl around his length. Would they look just as pretty decorated in that sweet watermelon sorbet? Perhaps it would look even better on your face, dripping over those pink curls and eyelashes, over your cheeks, nose, lips-
He adjusted himself in his chair, averting his eyes from your still-raised hand. 
He missed the smirk on those very same lips. Perhaps if he had seen it, he wouldn’t have been so surprised when you approached him as the others were making to leave. He was doing much the same, running his fingers through that bright red fringe as he stood from his seat. His back twinged, perhaps he had been slouching too much in an effort to hide the issue between his thighs. 
“Yeonjunnie!” Came your chipper voice, sending his eyes into a wide-set panic. Oh. You’d never called him that, before. He-
“Did you like that? Your cheeks turned all red!” If he listened any closer, he might have said you sounded smug, pleased with yourself and how easy it was to fluster him. Yeonjun had more pressing matters to concern himself with, however. He pressed his thighs together. 
“Anyway! I wanted to ask you something. Is that okay? Is now a good time?” Yeonjun could only manage to nod his head. If he tried speaking, he knew he would say something incredibly stupid (read: incredibly horny). You paid no mind to his lack of audible response, bright smile dimpling your cheeks as you continued on. Yeonjun noticed the way you talked, something so endearing that he couldn’t help but give you his full focus whenever you opened your pretty mouth. You spoke animatedly, hands moving about to emphasise your points and certain words. Yeonjun found himself smiling slightly as he watched you speak.
“I was wanting to try a new recipe, but I need an extra set of hands to make it the way I want to.. Do you think you could help me?” Yeonjuns brain faltered, stuttering to a stop. The feeling only compounded when you followed your invitation with a belated, slightly whiny, “Please, Jjunie?”
When you put it like that, did he really have a choice? 
That's how he found himself following after you like a lost puppy, all the way up to your front door. Your front door. God, how many times had he imagined himself behind this door, defiling you in the most depraved ways he could think of. And here you were, smile still tugging at your lips as you beckoned him through the threshold. Perhaps, once he passed through, he would explode into a puff of pure sin, like something from a corny horror film. He took a steadying breath, and walked through.
He didn't explode. That was a pleasant surprise. What was even more of a pleasant surprise was the way you promptly shoved him against the door, kissing all sense from his head. His hands flexed at his sides, shaking as he had no clue what to do with them. He was flailing, breath stuttering in his throat as you continued your onslaught against his pliant mouth. He felt you smirk, this time. Heard you chuckle. 
“God, you're easier than I thought.” Your voice sounded raw, darker in a way that sent him into a tailspin. No, this wasn’t you. The you that was licking back into his mouth with urgency was a far cry from that cheerful, playful innocence he was familiar with. No, you had become something else entirely. The you in his head was so much closer to the way you acted in public, but in this moment, everything suddenly and finally fell into place. 
All of it was just that, an act, and he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.
Apparently growing bored of his lack of real reaction, you pulled back. You were panting, lips swollen and slick with spit, and the visual alone made him weak in the knees. Your mouth was set into a frown, something he had never seen on you. He found it intensely attractive. Just as you opened your mouth, complaint no doubt waiting on your tongue, he lunged forward. The kiss was desperate, messy, more tongue and teeth than any sweet press of lips. But this was you he was kissing. He now realised that there was nothing sweet about you. …Actually, that was a theory he most definitely wanted to test. 
He hiked you up with firm hands under your thighs, turning to press your back into the door instead. A chuckle bubbled past those swollen lips, head tossed back to make a gentle thunk against the wood.
“Oh, you poor thing. Did I not make it clear yet?” Yeonjun’s vision swam, his brows tenting to gaze at you in bleary confusion. Clear? What was there to make clear? Did you not want this? Was he going too-
A hand in his hair, tugging harshly at the blood-red strands. A yelp pulled from his chest, making him arch to follow the pressure. Lips near his ear, hot breath brushing down his neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.
“You aren’t in charge here.” Oh. 
Oh.
He didn’t even register that you had eased yourself back onto the floor, his head was too fuzzy with the thoughts you put into his head with those simple words. Months of daydreaming, fantasizing, and you tilted his world on its axis with one sentence. He wasn’t in charge. Oh, fuck. You were going to ruin him.
He vaguely heard your resounding giggle, sounding far too innocent given the context. Obviously you could see right through him, a thought that made him shiver down to his core. He wanted to tilt his head to follow the sound, but he found he couldn’t. Your hand was still in his hair, gripping at the roots with enough to make his scalp burn. You kept tugging him backwards, making him stumble after you down the hallway. His hands rushed to grab at your wrist, grasping blindly at your skin. He wasn’t even trying to pry you off, there wasn’t enough force in his hands to do that. No, the dawning realisation was starting to settle in his stomach like lava. He wanted this.
All too soon, your hands left their place in his hair, the drop in pressure pulling a desperate whine from him. You laughed at him. 
“Stay here.” You commanded. Your words left little room for argument, though he imagined he couldn’t have argued against you even if he wanted to. And he didn’t. He watched, eyebrows furrowed and a pout drawing at those pretty plush lips of his, as you sauntered into your own bedroom. You moved with all the lethal grace of a predator, all smooth lines and sharp promise in the aura around you. You exuded dominance, he didn’t know how he missed it before. It was all-encompassing, shrouding you in a thick layer of power that he couldn’t look away from. He was positively enraptured. 
You moved slowly, pulling at your clothes with all the leisure of someone who had all the time in the world. Perhaps you did. Perhaps you would make him wait forever, drool dripping down his chin at the very sight of you getting undressed and comfortable in the middle of your bed. You were a goddamn vision, sitting back prettily on your spread knees. His eyes followed a slow trail from your rosey knees, your flushed skin, the way the- Oh, fuck. Was that lace? Pretty white fabric decorated with little cherry patterns, innocent in a jarring juxtaposition against everything else about you. He swallowed thickly, eyes darting up to your face, his own pinched from restraint. You hadn’t invited him in yet.
As if reading his mind, your smirk grew sharper, cheshire. You slowly lifted your hand, watching in amusement as his eyes snapped to follow the action, and quirked a finger at him, beckoning him to the bed. 
And who was Yeonjun to say no to such a command? He moved to take a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side-
“No.” Your voice sliced through his thoughts. He froze in place, eyes snapping back up to meet yours in a panic. You laughed at him again, pointing your finger down to the ground. Your smirk dropped, expression schooled into bored indifference. “Crawl.”
Oh. Holy shit. Yeonjun dropped to his knees harshly, yet he barely registered the loud clack of the joints against the flooring. No, he was far too busy rushing to please you, crawling across the floor to your bed with such an eager expression that you giggled. There it was again, that innocence pulling at his mind, reminding him of all the times he imagined doing this to you, being in your position, and how wrong he was. He didn’t want that anymore, didn't want to be the one ruining you. Fuck, no, he wanted to be ruined. 
With that in mind, and his hands now resting on his thighs as he kneeled in front of your bed, he peered up at you with such a hopeful gaze. You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement dancing in your sharp cherry eyes for just a moment before you silently patted the bed beside you. The Watermelon Boy scrambled to obey, nearly stumbling over himself as he eased his way onto your sheets. The mattress felt so soft beneath him, akin to sinking into a vat of marshmallow fluff. He crawled closer to you, nearly whimpering when you finally reached out to touch him. 
Your fingers might as well have been scalding as you clutched his chin between your thumb and forefinger. You shifted his head around like that, smirking down the line of your nose at him. I did that before, he thought, but the image was too fuzzy to properly place. Focusing on you was much more important, especially with the way you used your thumb to wipe that trail of drool from the corner of his mouth, only to lick it off of your own finger. The subsequent shiver that wracked through Yeonjun was involuntary. He had never felt desire so strongly in his life. He wanted you so badly he could practically taste it. His tongue darted out to lick at his crimson lips, brushing against the pad of your thumb when you gripped at his chin again. 
“Poor melon. And here I thought you'd put up more of a fight.” You almost sounded disappointed, and Yeonjun couldn’t have that. He was far too high off of you to even try and push down the whine that your words drew from him. Not trusting his voice, he shook his head, vehemently disagreeing. He would never put up a fight with you. He knew it, the fact ringing deep within him, entwined with his watermelon DNA. He was yours. Yours to use, to play with, to claim. He wouldn't have it any other way. 
As if knowing this, as if expecting his answer, your smile returned. It was predatory again, and he watched as your eyes darkened when a particularly delicious thought entered your head. You nodded down to his clothes, then down to what little you still had on. Lace, his brain reminded him helpfully. He gulped, vision flicking down. Sure enough, said lace was struggling (and failing spectacularly) to keep your length contained. His jaw fell slack, body lurching into motion to pull his clothes from his body as if they scalded him. 
Only once the offending items had been sufficiently tossed to an unknown part of the room, did he finally go to complete the rest of your wordless command. He eased himself between your spread thighs, fingers digging experimentally into the plushness. He groaned, the feeling of your soft skin doing a number on his brain. He could hardly keep himself together, especially now that he had your crotch barely an inch in front of his nose. Fuck.
Lip caught between his teeth, Yeonjun positioned himself to nose against the patch of skin around your hip that peeked out over the delicate lace. His eyes flashed up to meet yours again, and he nearly melted into the bed once his gaze met your own. Hunger, power. That was how best to describe you at that moment. He felt small under your sharp eyes, which he supposed could be funny considering he was a decent bit taller than you, but he knew height wasn't the issue here. No, he was shockingly at home with this feeling of being lesser, of being below you, as if this was where he was supposed to be. Perhaps he was. 
With newfound confidence, he grasped the edge of the fabric between his teeth, letting his eyes flutter shut when you carded your fingers through his hair in approval. Then he tugged. 
If you had any issue with the sound of the lace ripping, you made no effort to show it. Perhaps you actually liked it, the way he ripped the remaining clothing off of you like an animal, like a-
“Good seedling.” Ah. It seems today was the day the Watermelon Boy found out a lot of new things about himself. The shiver that tugged down his spine should have been embarrassing, and he supposed it was, with the way his ears flushed red. And with the way you cooed down at him, he guessed it had also spread down his neck and over his collarbones, too. He stared up at you with bleary eyes, and that damn hand in his hair worked its magic again. Tugging his head roughly to the side, you sneered down at him. 
“Drop it.” Yeonjun’s jaw dropped open, allowing him to roll his tongue out of his mouth to make a show of releasing the torn fabric from the confines of his mouth. Your nails scratched at his scalp in reward. “That’s a good boy. Think you can put that mouth to good use for me?”
His breathing stuttered in his chest at the thought, but just when he swooped his head down to take you into his waiting mouth, you tugged his head back once again. “No, seedling. Not there.” 
Oh. You wanted him there? Fuck, yes, he could work with that. He hurried to reposition himself, wiggling further down on the bed to nose at your thigh, urging you to spread them apart more. You made no moves to comply with him, instead opting to continue scratching at his scalp with your nails. He huffed out a breath, but the sound came out a bit closer to a growl. He dug his fingers into the plush of your thighs again, dragging them apart himself to gain better access to do what you asked of him. He preened under your answering breathless laugh, squirming at your following words. 
“Eager little thing-- nng..”
You trailed off into a whimper when he finally pressed his tongue against your rim. You were right in your observation, he was eager from the get–go. Desperate to please. He could hardly believe this was happening, that after these months of denying himself, he eventually found himself between your thighs, splitting you open on his tongue. He wasted no time doing so, pushing the muscle into you with determined licks. Only when you were beginning to squirm did he dare to push further.
Your eyes flew open when a tinger tentatively pressed alongside the wet muscle, forcing you to choke on a moan in the process. Yeonjun had the nerve to grin against your entrance, feeling rather proud of himself for drawing such pretty noises from you. 
It didn’t take much longer for you to tug at his hair again, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. It seemed that using his was loosening yours, and filth spilled from your lips. 
“I wanted you like this for so fucking long, yknow..” You were practically purring the words down at him, and if he gathered up the courage to glance up at you, he would’ve seen the way your eyes darkened upon watching him fuck you with his tongue in earnest. He was trying so hard to please you, and you knew it. It made a thrill run through him in the most delicious way. Being used. Being useful. All for you. He hummed at you in response, prompting you to continue. The added vibration drew a beautiful moan from your parted mouth. You panted in between sentences, losing grasp on your words the longer his tongue and fingers worked into you, curling just right. 
“Thought about how long it would take to get you to cave to me. How much it would take to bring you to your knees– Ah!” With the way you tossed your head back, you were a goddamn vision. Not sin like Yeonjun had been, no. You were positively angelic. Pretty pink curls framing your face, which was slack from bliss. He found the right bundle of nerves, it seemed. He grinned against your entrance as he continued rubbing his fingers against that same spot, over and over and over– Until you pulled him away forcefully by his hair. He was sure he was going to be missing at least a few strands with the rough handling, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 
You caught your breath, propped up on your elbow as you stared down at him. You seemed to have many thoughts swimming around in that pretty pink head of yours, but with the way your eyes changed into something far darker, Yeonjun assumed one had won over all the rest. 
“Lay down.” The speed at which he bent to your will should be scientifically studied. He had his back pressed against the sheets in mere moments, effectively trading spots with you. You tilted your head as you straddled him, and his hands instinctively reached to find purchase on your hips. They were promptly slapped away. He whined high in his throat at the denial, though you just smiled down at him, perhaps mockingly. 
“I didn’t give you permission to touch me, seedling.” You warned, voice saccharine and dripping with an unspoken threat. Or what? His mind supplied, unhelpfully. Your expression shifted into something hard, eyes narrowed into slits at him. Oh, shit. Did he say that out loud?
 “Brat.” You spat down at him. He shivered at the sudden harshness to your voice. You reached beyond him into your nightstand, pulling something out that he couldn't quite focus on. No, you were so close to him, face so near to his own. He leaned toward you instinctively, akin to a moth and its flame. He couldn't be bothered trying to keep up with whatever you were doing, too lost in watching your pretty face settled into a focused expression, tongue poking just barely from your lips as you worked. He didn’t mind this, splayed under you as you worked, did something above him that carried no weight in his brain, until– Ah. He couldn’t move his hands. He glanced up, eyes catching on a familiar set of charms and ribbons. Cherry and watermelon. You had restrained him with the very ribbons you decorated his special jars with, adorned with your respective fruity charms. Fuck, the symbolism was not lost on Yeonjun. He gave an experimental tug, to which there was no give. His mouth ran dry. 
He was so enraptured by this change, that he was once again oblivious to whatever you were doing above him, tugging and tugging just to watch the way the ribbon dug into his wrists with fascination. That was, until he felt something decidedly too cold. His head snapped down to gaze at you, only to be rendered absolutely awestruck. You were still perched prettily on his lap, leaned back onto one hand with your other fingers working into yourself just like his were only moments ago. 
“Fuck.” Eloquent as always, yet he had nothing else to say. You looked stunning, brows pinched as you stretched yourself out for him, your own eyes, when not scrunched closed, set right on his length. You were gauging how deep it would fit in you, he figured. The thought made him shudder, the thrill settling in his stomach hot and heavy. Fuck, if he didn’t get inside you soon, he was sure he would blow his load just from watching you toy with yourself. He wasn't even aware of himself squirming on the bed, whimpering at the visage of such an angel in his lap, spreading himself open just for the Watermelon Boy to fill. His gaze flickered up to your face again, only to find you already looking at him. Oh, God.
The coldness he felt had apparently been stray drips of lube, and he followed the trail of it down the line of your wrist. God, if the visual wasn’t enough, surely the sounds were. The filthy squelching rang through the room, accompanied by your soft groans, your eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips down harder onto your own fingers. Yeonjun’s ears burned from the embarrassment of it all, but you were entirely unphased, enjoying your pleasure to the fullest with little restraint. The Watermelon Boy found himself canting his hips upward, regardless of how futile the movements were. He just wanted to be closer, wanted to touch, wanted you to finally put him out of his misery and sink down onto him– 
Perhaps you were psychic. That's the only explanation he had for tonight, especially with the way you seemed to respond to his every desire promptly without him even needing to open his mouth. Either that, or he was painfully predictable. Likely the latter. Yeonjun barely even had time to brace himself before you did exactly what he craved, and suddenly the feeling of hot, wet, too much burned through him like a brand through flesh. His senses felt like they were whiting out, nerves fraying along the edges as he pathetically writhed on the bed below you. He couldn’t move much, with his hands still tied prettily above his head and his hips held down by your hands. You were deceptively strong, he realised with a start. You kept him perfectly pinned underneath yourself, and he felt much like a butterfly with its wings pinned out. He was exposed, raw, and being forced to take–
“That’s it, seedling. Take it.” Gods above, you were answering his every prayer before he even knew to utter them. He keened, head tossed back as he struggled to even his breathing out. It wasn't until you had fully bottomed out, ass pressed to him firmly that he could do anything other than follow your command. You felt far too good, the warm temptation of your entrance proving too much to keep himself from. He rolled his hips in little circles up into you, as if he couldn’t help himself. And really, he couldn’t. You couldn’t possibly expect him to keep it together when you were sat atop his lap, looking like the perfect picture of innocence whilst speared so thoroughly on his cock that a bulge protruded from your stomach. He let his head fall back to the pillows again, forcing himself to look away from the cherry angel on his lap lest he fall off the edge too quickly. 
His ears were buzzing, unable to make out whatever filth you had leaned down to mumble in his ear. He caught bits and pieces. Praise, mainly. He caught good fucking boy and taking me so well, and fuck, you couldn’t say things like that while still expecting him to keep himself together. The second phrase made him flush a much darker red, as if he was the one getting fucked by you and not the other way around. He chanced a glance back to where you were now steadily rolling your own hips to meet his movements. No, you were entirely right. He was taking you so well, taking your teasing, your tight wet heat wrapped around him to the point he couldn’t quite tell where he ended and you began. 
He felt like he was floating, somewhere high up above himself, feeling everything you were giving to him but blissed from the rest of the world. It had narrowed to just the two of you, locked in a dance of your design. You had brought him to this, you had rendered him into this pathetic pet, made by you, for you. God, the idea was so hot. Then you picked yourself up on his lap, leaving only the tip inside of you as you hovered. You trailed a sharp nail down his chest, making his breath stutter as he looked up at you hazily. 
“You were so much easier than I expected. Just a few scones and you were a fucking goner. Pathetic, really.” Then you dropped yourself down, full weight on his lap. He cried out, the noise wet and broken. His fingernails dug into his palms, hands aching to be able to grab onto you. He desperately wanted to hold, to pin you in place on his lap as he chased his pleasure like a dog, but– Wait. What was that you said? Scones? Yeonjun blinked as the questions piled up in his brain. You continued dragging yourself up his length until only the tip remained once more.
“You didn’t think that I gave those out of the kindness of my heart, did you? God, are you that stupid? And here I thought you knew what you were asking for when you ate them like an animal.” Yeonjun’s brain swam. He wasn’t sure where you were going with this, but the dread he felt like he should be feeling just.. Wasn’t there. That fact should worry him, shouldn’t it? He should be concerned about your sinister words, but instead of making him whimper in fear, he whimpered for a whole different reason. You outright laughed at him when you felt him twitch. You slammed yourself down his length again, punching out a half-laugh-half-moan from yourself as you did so. 
“Do you know where that yummy jam came from, seedling? Or are you too stupid to put that together, too?” Your words renewed that flame in his cheeks a thousand times over. Well, when you put it like that in this context, especially while bouncing on him like this, it didn’t take much to put it all together now. Fuck, how had he managed to be so stupid? All this time, you had been dosing his treats with yourself. Making him crave you, without ever even knowing it. Jesus, you were right. He was so fucking stupid. 
But maybe he liked it like that. 
He dug his heels into the mattress below him, using the leverage to fuck himself up into you. Hard. Your eyes went wide in surprise, moan catching in your throat and coming out choked and cracked around the edges. You were so surprised, in fact, that you made no move to stop him as he pounded up into you, desperately searching for release in your heat. With a few tiny adjustments, he found what he was looking for. With a loud, throaty cry, your back arched. A grin spread on Yeonjun’s face. You didn’t have to say it, but he thought it at the very same time the words tumbled from your lips, shaky and wrecked. 
There.
Now that he knew, now that he had all your dirty little tricks in context, he couldn’t help himself now. Yes, you may be in charge, you may own him now, but he wanted something in return. Something more than revenge. 
Something sweeter.
With renewed vigor, he continued slamming home, the sound of his pelvis meeting your ass nearly drowning out the moans that bubbled from your lips uncontrollably. He had the audacity to laugh, sounding breathless to his own ears. More, more, more– 
Snap.
Hands flew down to hold your hips in place before you could even register the sound of the Watermelon Boy’s restraints being broken. Fuck yes, this was exactly what he wanted. His fingers flexed, digging into the softness of your hips hard enough to leave behind marks in the shapes of his fingertips. 
“Want it, want it, want it–” He panted, drilling into you at a speed and force that had you tumbling. He felt your subsequent near-panic, your nails scratching down the hard lines of his chest and abdomen, searching for purchase. Your wails were music to his ears, but he couldn’t stop to cherish them any longer. No, he had a goal in mind. “Give it to me, give it to me.”
And give it to him, you did. With a cry of his name, sounding like sin incarnate, he finally got what he had been wanting all along. Sweet cherry jam, sticky and red, splattering all over his chest and stomach. He watched, enraptured as your orgasm took you, cock jerking pathetically in the space between you two as your back arched into a sweet curve. Yeonjun Licked his lips. His treat would have to wait a moment longer.
The way you clenched erratically around him as you came brought him right to the brink, but what did him in was the way you lifted your head to look at him through those messy pink cherry curls, digging your finger through the mess you made, and shoving those same fingers right into his mouth. The sweet-tart flavour he had spent ages craving exploded on his tongue, and he followed soon after. 
He didn’t know what kind of face he made, didn’t know what noises and filth tumbled from those red watermelon lips of his. He was far too busy with the way he pinned your hips down flush against his own, filling you up to the brim with his watermelon cream. He watched you tremble atop him, shuddering like a leaf at the feeling, that warmth spreading through your gut. And Oh, what a pretty picture you made, now you were not only stuffed full of his cock, but that sweet cream had distended your stomach even further, a pretty bulge resting in your lower stomach. He splayed a hand over it and pushed, relishing in the way you whimpered at the sudden pressure. He felt the way you leaked around him, his own watermelon cream making a mess of the sheets below.
When he finally had the mental presence to come back to himself, he found you once again already meeting his gaze. You had a habit of doing that, he noted, but the action only serves to make his chest warm with affection, the yearning he had built up after months of dancing around his favourite sweet cherry boy. He leaned into the touch when your hand cupped his cheek, wiping the seat from his hairline. You had such a fond, blissed out smile as your cherry eyes bored into his own, and he could only melt into it. 
If the nearby residents of Strawberryland heard the absolute filth that had taken place in Cherry Jam’s house that day, they didn’t say a word. Nor did they mention it when days later, There was a pretty jar of watermelon cherry jam, adorned with ribbons and charms, sitting innocently on the windowsill.
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covenofagatha · 7 hours ago
Text
A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 7)
Answers to your past are revealed
Word count: 5500
Warnings: oral, fingering, and of course, more murder
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You’re nine, almost ten, when your family moves to Salem, Massachusetts for your dad’s job. You don't quite know exactly what he does, but it doesn’t matter. 
What does matter is that you get to pick your own room in the four-bedroom colonial on the cul-de-sac three blocks from your new school. You choose the bigger of the two bedrooms upstairs and the long windows overlook the woods in your backyard. Your younger brother complains since he only gets the smaller room with a view of the neighbor’s house, but your mom laughs and tells him that since you’re older, you get first pick. 
Everything is perfect there. You like your new school, and like the new friends you made. You come home everyday and sing karaoke after dinner, putting on a show for your family, and they clap and cheer and tell you that they can’t wait to see you on Broadway someday. 
One day in fourth grade, you learn about witches in Social Studies. Women were burned at the stake right there in Salem because men feared them and what they were capable of. Your best friend leans over and whispers, “You know there’s still witches here, right? They live in the woods.” 
This piqued your interest more than you thought it would; there is something fascinating about a woman with power. While you don’t believe in witches or magic, you want to know what that is like, to be capable of doing something great, something more than just your boring life as a fourth grader. And while there obviously aren't witches in the woods, your curiosity gets the better of you.
So you pack a bag of snacks and capri-suns and set out into the woods behind your house. You know your parents would be mad if you told them, so you don’t. You’d be back before it was even dark out, and you had turned ten a few months ago at that point. Plenty grown up enough to go alone. 
It’s only about five minutes in when you start panicking. Snow is starting to fall, a light cover on the forest floor, and you are possibly a little lost. The trees seem to be getting thicker and a branch scratches your leg through your pants. It tears the fabric and there is a bloody gash. 
Your mom is going to be so mad that you ripped them.
You should probably get home now. 
The only problem is that you don’t know which way home is, having been disoriented by the scratch to your shin. And there isn’t enough snow to see your footprints yet. So you pick a random direction, hopefully the one you just came from, and start walking. 
It is not the right way, as you only seem to be going more into the thicket. 
You’re scared, starting to freak out, when you come across a frozen creek. You bend down and stare into your reflection, meeting your eyes while you take deep breaths to slow your racing heart. 
And then you hear a sound and you lurch back, falling onto the mud on the bank. It gets on your clothes and you know your mom is going to be even more mad now. Not only did you tear your pants, you now have wet dirt all over them and your jacket.
The sound comes back, only this time, you’re able to figure out what it is. 
Laughter. 
Someone is laughing in the woods. Who is it? 
Terror grips your heart. Are there really witches here? You know you should turn back around, go anywhere other than toward the sound, but you’ve come this far. 
You stand up and brush your messy hands on your jacket and you follow the noise through more trees, and you’re convinced you must be going the wrong way until you come into a clearing. It’s in the shape of a large circle and you wonder if there used to be more nature here. 
Stepping forward, you feel incredibly vulnerable without the protection of all the trees around you and snow crunches underneath your boots. The laughter has stopped, and you scan the tree line to look for where it may have been coming from. 
More snow starts to fall and you wrap your jacket tighter around you, shivering. You’re about to leave when you see what looks like the outline of a person tucked away between a few trees on the other side of the clearing. 
It’s like you’re being pulled towards them by an invisible line. As if in a trance, you start walking in their direction and a stick cracks under your foot, sending red birds fluttering from the branches. 
The person hears it too, and they turn around. It’s a woman with long dark hair and blue eyes that seem to glow, and she smiles at you, reaching a hand out to beckon you closer. 
Your mom’s warning of Don’t talk to strangers! echoes in your mind, but you push it away and keep moving forward. 
She’s with two other women, one with dark hair to her shoulders and brown eyes, and the other with gray hair and greenish-bluish eyes. The gray-haired lady looks mad and her face reminds you of a crow. She’s standing against a tree, her feet in the middle of a big pile of wood. 
“What’s a young girl like you doing out here in the forest?” The brunette with blue eyes asks, but you’re too busy peering at the older lady. Her hands are behind her back and seemingly wrapped around the tree. 
“Little girl, you need to run and get help,” the gray-haired lady barks and you flinch at the roughness in her voice. “They’re going to kill me!” 
Is she tied to the tree?
Your brows crinkle and the other woman, the one who hasn’t spoken yet, chuckles and waves her off. “Don’t listen to Evanora, doll. Why don’t you come walk with Agatha and I and we can help you figure out where you need to be right now.” 
The blue-eyed woman – Agatha – smiles in agreement and puts an arm around you to lead you away, deeper into the woods. You can still hear Evanora shouting faintly but you try to ignore it. 
“Why don’t you tell us your name, sweetheart?” Agatha asks and you tell them. They both nod. “Well I’m Agatha, and this is Rio.” 
“Are you guys witches?” You ask and they both give you amused looks. 
Rio kneels down so she’s eye-level with you. “Why would you think that, doll?” She’s studying your face curiously. 
You shrug. “My friend told me there were witches in the woods. And then I found you.” 
“Sorry to disappoint, honey, but we’re not witches,” Agatha laughs. “We were just camping.” 
It makes you frown. “Then who’s that woman?” 
Rio glances up at Agatha and then back to you. “Evanora is…not a very nice person. But you don’t have to worry about that at all. Do you live around here?” 
“Yeah, at the edge of the woods. I got a little lost, though,” you say sadly and they look very sympathetic. 
“Well, why don’t we help you get back? We know these woods very well, we can have you back before supper,” Agatha offers. 
But you’re not ready to go back just yet. “Why can’t I stay here a little longer with you guys? Can you show me the woods?” You look at them hopefully, sticking out your bottom lip and giving them the best puppy-dog eyes you can, and Rio chuckles before standing up and holding out a hand to you. 
“Why don’t I show you my favorite spot?” She says and you nod eagerly. You notice Agatha giving her a strange look but she follows the two of you. 
“So, Y/N, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” Agatha asks. 
You beam up at her, happy she’s coming along. “I’m in fourth grade. I have a younger brother who’s in first. We don’t have any pets, even though I’ve been begging my dad for a dog. And I’m going to be famous when I grow up!” 
They both gasp. “Famous!” Agatha exclaims. “I didn’t realize we were in the presence of a future celebrity. Rio, remind me to get our little superstar’s autograph before taking her back home.”  
You giggle at the name and they both smile fondly down at you before leading you on. It’s only a bit more before Rio stops and points. “See right there, doll?” 
A gasp leaves your throat. It’s absolutely beautiful. In the middle of the trees, there’s a field of the prettiest purple flowers you’ve ever seen. You drop Rio’s hand and go wander into it, breathing in the honeysuckle scent. 
“What kind of flowers are they?” You ask absentmindedly, brushing your hand over the stop of them. Even in the winter, they are still growing strong. 
“Azaleas,” Rio tells you and you repeat it. 
You pick two and walk back over to them, offering them each a flower. Then you ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind. “Are you going to kill Evanora?” 
Agatha does a double-take and Rio’s hand tightens around the flower stem. “Of course not, superstar,” Agatha assures you, but you’re not convinced. 
“She said you were going to,” you insist. “It looked like she was tied to the tree and she’s standing in a lot of wood. Are you going to burn her? That’s what they did to witches, you know. Is she a witch?” 
Rio snorts. “More like a bitch,” she mutters under her breath and Agatha shoots her a glare. 
“That’s a bad word,” you state matter-of-factly and she smirks. 
Agatha gets down so she can hold onto your shoulders. “Evanora is a very evil lady. She’s tried to hurt me many times.” 
You hold onto her gaze. “Maybe she deserves it then.” Agatha sharply inhales and Rio cackles like it’s the funniest thing ever. 
“What?” Agatha asks, regarding you cautiously, scanning your face like she’s looking for something. 
You shrug. It makes sense to you. “Have you ever killed someone before?” 
“I like you, doll,” Rio says, reaching over to pat you on the head. Agatha gives her a weary look. 
 “She’s a kid, Rio,” Agatha reminds her. “We should really be getting you back home. Come on.” 
You walk behind them as they follow your footsteps, winding you back through the woods until you’re back to where Evanora is. You can see her hands struggling with the rope around her wrist, struggling to get it off. 
Why can you not stop thinking about it? About what it would feel like to watch her die? 
You don’t know why, but you know you’re not ready to leave just yet. So you dig your heels into the snow and stop moving. Evanora starts wailing, trying to get your attention, but you fix your stare on the other women. 
Agatha and Rio keep walking a few more paces until they finally realize you’re not behind them. 
“Y/N, let’s go,” Agatha says sternly but you stay rooted. Rio whispers something to her and they begin a heated discussion about what they should do with you. 
But you drone them out, looking around their campsite. You can feel something calling to you almost, something in Agatha’s backpack. You bend down and pull out a matchbook. 
Your breath stutters in your lungs and you’re in a daze when you turn back around to see Evanora. 
“Little girl, put those down and help untie me,” she hisses. “We need to get away from my abomination of a daughter and her friend.” You don’t know why she says it like that, not sure if there’s an underlying meaning to her words, but nothing feels real when you take out a match. 
A hush falls over the woods and you glance back to find Agatha and Rio watching you with wide eyes, waiting for your next move. 
Time slows down when you strike it against the box and the heat from the flame, while small, warms your face. 
It's a morbid curiosity, you tell yourself, that’s filling your head right now. You just want to see what happens. 
Evanora isn’t making sense now, babbling on and pleading and blubbering, but there’s a vibration in your ears that drowns her out. 
Is this what it feels like, to have power? To be capable of something greater, for people to know it? 
Except you’re not the one about to be burned. 
Your arm reaches out and your fingers open and the match drops out, falling to the wood as if in slow motion, and a brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 
You gasp – what have you done? Why would you do that? 
She’s going to die. Panic fills your lungs – or is that smoke? – and you rush forward and try to help her but someone yanks you back by the shoulders. 
“You’ll get burned!” Agatha yells in your ear over Evanora’s horrific screams. You struggle against her, needing to break free, needing to do something. 
“Agatha, we need to go!” Rio shouts and you tear out of Agatha’s arms and start running in the other direction. Maybe if you go fast enough, you can run back in time and undo it. 
Why would you do that? 
You round a tree too fast and slip on the ice, tumbling down to the ground. Your head smashes against a rock with a loud crack and you instantly black out.
When you wake up, you’re in a hospital room with your mom and dad asleep in chairs next to your bed. You stir and attempt to sit up, but your entire body aches and machines start beeping as your heart starts to race. 
Your parents jump up and your mom breaks into a sob, your dad embracing her tightly. 
“What’s–” You try to ask what’s going on, what’s happening, where are you, but your throat is dry. 
Your dad calls for a doctor and two men in white lab coats rush in. 
“Y/N, do you remember what happened?” One of them asks and you strain your brain but a sharp pain bolts through your head and you clap your hand to it. 
All you can do is shake your head no. 
The doctors look grimly at your parents. “We knew this was a possibility. A traumatic brain injury like this can cause amnesia, especially regarding the events right before the accident. She might never remember, and it might take a few days for her memory to get back to normal. There’s a chance she might not even know she was in the hospital. Don’t be surprised if there’s a bit of a personality change too.” 
A fresh wave of tears fall from your mom’s eyes but she clasps your cheeks and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Our baby is okay, though. That’s all that matters.” 
 And there were no indistinguishable differences in your personality from before the accident to after, except for one thing. 
You now want, more than anything, to understand how murderers’ minds work.
~~~
Agatha and Rio had thought you were dead up until three years ago. 
They had followed you after you had lit the match and watched as you fell and hit your head, quickly rushing over to you. 
Your breaths were faint and they had grunted as they carried you almost all the way out of the woods, positioning you on the ground next to the bloody rock on the edge. Surely it wouldn’t be too long before someone saw you, even if you had already died. 
And then they booked it out of Salem, into Westview, New Jersey, where they set up their new life, getting married a year later. 
The topic of you killing Agatha’s mother quickly became something the two of them stopped talking about, and it was like it had never happened. 
Agatha became a detective and Rio became a therapist, and all was well. 
Until one morning, about twelve years later, when Agatha is reading the newspaper in the kitchen and sees an article about a serial killer getting caught down in Miami, Florida. 
She hums and Rio looks up from her coffee. “What?” 
Agatha flips the paper and points. “Have you heard of the Scarlet Killer?” 
“A little bit,” Rio shrugs, leaning forward. “Apparently she was kidnapping kids and killing the parents or something. One of my patients with triplets was so paranoid that she was the next victim, despite living a thousand miles away. Convinced the killer was going to come all the way up here just for her.” 
Agatha snorts. “She was just caught. But look at the part about the profiler who caught her. And the picture.” 
Rio’s eyes drop and scan the part toward the bottom. Her brows furrow and she looks up and meets Agatha’s gaze. “This can’t be her, can it?” 
But the name is the same, the face, albeit older, is the same. 
Agatha uses her resources at the police station to look you up and they find the story of your life, everything that’s happened since that fateful day in the clearing. Her and Rio pour over it and Agatha can’t help but feel proud of everything you’ve done. 
The medical record from the hospital they get a hold of from Salem is hard to get, it takes Agatha calling in many favors, but it’s worth it because now they know that you don’t remember. 
A year and a half passes and they follow all your cases. Rio is fascinated by the way your brain works, putting things together and figuring things out. You have a knack for the female serial killers it seems, and a question lingers in both their minds. 
It isn’t until they’re laying in bed one right that Rio dares to ask it. “Do you think it’s because of us?” 
Agatha shrugs. “Maybe there was something else.” 
“You think she came across two other people planning on killing a woman in the woods and then she stole their thunder?” Rio says and Agatha laughs. 
“She stole our thunder?” Agatha teases and Rio lightly jabs her in the stomach. 
Rio softly strokes the skin on Agatha’s hand. “Yeah, I kind of wanted to be the one to do it after everything she put you through.” 
Agatha softens. Death had been a part of her life ever since she was a girl and her mom had found out that she liked girls. Evanora was the town’s pastor, and that simply would not do. The girls Agatha had a fling with always turned up missing or dead, and there were far too many times Agatha had almost been accidentally killed for it to be a coincidence. 
Everyone stayed away from her except for Rio. Rio wasn’t afraid, Rio was willing to kill for her. 
Had the two of them killed people before? Yes. They can still remember you asking them that. They liked the thrill, got off on it even, but they hadn’t done it since they’d met you. 
“Well, I’m very sorry I don’t have another mother for you to kill,” Agatha jokes and Rio leans in to kiss her. 
“I would, you know,” Rio says seriously and Agatha laughs at the ridiculousness of the conversation. 
And then she thinks back to the photos of you in your FBI jacket and how much you’ve matured. Your mind is brilliant, but you’ve become ever the attractive thing. “She’s grown into quite the young woman,” Agatha muses and Rio pulls back, a glint in her eyes. 
“She certainly has,” Rio agrees, going in for another kiss, a deeper kiss. Agatha moans when her wife bites her lip. “What if we…“ 
Agatha raises an eyebrow when Rio trails off. “What?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, already knowing what she’s going to suggest. 
It’s crazy. 
It’s a spur of the moment, impulsive thing to say. 
“Female serial killers are her thing,” Rio begins, her fingers trailing down Agatha’s stomach. She skates under the oversized tee she’s wearing and Agatha shivers. “One of the best in the FBI. If there were to be, say, two female serial killers here in Westview, don’t you think they’d send her?” 
Agatha gasps when Rio cups her over her underwear. Her wife moves her fingers roughly, rubbing her clit through the fabric, and Agatha can feel herself growing wet. 
“You want her to catch us?” Agatha asks, voice breaking off into a groan. Rio snickers as she pushes her panties to the side and draws lazy circles over her pussy. 
She shakes her head. “Not catch us. We know her, know what she’s capable of. We can bring that out in her again.” 
Agatha moans when Rio pushes a finger inside her. Her hips roll slowly, matching Rio’s thrusts. “You want to make her into a murderer?” 
“Like you don’t want to corrupt her? Look at her, how delicious she is. She’s our own case study. We’ve never met anyone like her,” Rio says, entranced and speech unburdened, like she didn’t just slip a second finger into her wife. 
“You’re such a therapist. And so horny,” Agatha huffs out, her own hand reaching down to rub her clit while Rio speeds up her thrusts. Her walls are clenching and she feels a building low in her gut, tingles spreading through her body. 
Rio ducks down to suck on Agatha’s neck and the older woman keens underneath her. “Think about it, Aggs. We draw her here. We get a little taste of our superstar, both mentally and physically. She’s fucking brilliant, and so fucking hot.” 
Agatha’s mind betrays her and she pictures you on your knees for her, holding your hair back in a ponytail so she can get a clearer look at you. You’re twenty-two years old now, half Rio’s age and over half Agatha’s age, too young, but there’s something about the darkness that she knows is inside you that calls to her, entices her. 
“She’d be such a good pet for us,” Agatha gasps, giving into the fantasy. Rio curls her fingers and scissors them and twists them and Agatha is reduced to a panting mess on the bed, hips furiously grinding up. She’s so close. “Rio.” 
And her wife always knows what she needs. “Just picture her, Aggie. Picture the three of us in bed, her fucking you and me fucking her and then vice versa. Her tongue inside your pussy and then your fingers inside hers. God, I bet she tastes so good.” 
Agatha’s back arches off the bed at the image and she cums all over Rio’s fingers, frantically rubbing her own clit to draw out the pleasure. 
When she comes down from an intense high, the two of them start planning. 
It becomes apparent quickly that they’re rusty in the whole murder game. But they just need some practice. 
Agatha and Rio can’t do it in Westview though, can’t bring you here too soon before they’re ready. 
So they drive to different states. Staying in New Jersey is still a bit of a risk. But it doesn’t take them that long to find their groove. 
It can’t just be a regular, basic crime scene with a gunshot or a knife or something. It needs to be art, a performance, something that gets you here. 
So they figure out their M.O.. Rio was always excellent with a knife, and Agatha, whose father was a chemist, is able to whip up some mixtures that create exactly the look they’re going for. 
It’s gruesome and unnecessary and perhaps over the top, but they’re going to desperate measures to make sure they get what they want. 
And oh god, do they want you now. You’ve become an obsession to them, sinking your claws into their minds and leaving them to think of little else. 
They won’t make it easy for you, no. They’ll confuse the witnesses and Rio will wear a mask and there will be no trace left behind, but they’re confident that you will crack it. 
Plus, they’re more than willing to give you a guiding hand. 
The first time they strike, it goes almost too perfectly. They choose a random person, a woman who lives alone. The poison achieves exactly the desired effect and the bleach and hydrogen peroxide completely gets rid of all the blood after Rio cuts out her heart. 
The purple azalea was Rio’s idea, a small thing meant to jog your memory. They both didn’t have a clue if it would work, but they wanted to see. 
“What should I do with this?” Rio asks, holding up the organ, and there is something about her disheveled hair, rolled up sleeves, and bloody hands that just really gets to Agatha. 
She has her wife pushed against the wall and Agatha sinks down to her knees, quickly unbuttoning her pants and shoving them down before Rio can say anything else. She mouths at her through her underwear and moans at the musky scent and how she can suck the wetness out of the fabric because of how soaked Rio is. Agatha can already feel her throbbing. 
Their plan is going to do wonders for their sex life. 
Agatha nips at Rio’s pale skin, bites her hip, and drags her panties off with her teeth and Rio’s head falls back at the sight. 
“Agatha, fuck,” Rio breathes, the hand not holding the heart coming down to tangle into her hair. She wildly looks around for somewhere to put it and decides to place it gently on the bookshelf. 
The older woman’s tongue delves through her folds and Rio makes a strangled sound, widening her stance so Agatha can get better access. Her nose bumps against Rio’s clit and continues to move against her as Agatha shoves her tongue inside her entrance and devours her, licking up and curling it only the way she can. Her nails dig into Rio’s thighs, knowing the younger woman likes a little bit of pain, and Rio’s fingers tighten in Agatha’s long hair, holding her there. 
It’s a bit hard for Rio to ride her face, so she settles for rutting her hips against Agatha, each bump from her nose and each stroke from her tongue only making her closer. 
Rio moans her wife’s name again and Agatha rubs her glistening face against her inner thighs, spreading Rio’s wetness all over her skin before sucking her clit into her mouth and scraping her teeth against it. 
That’s all it takes and Rio cums faster than she ever has, all over Agatha’s face. 
The sex becomes part of the process. Who knew murder would be such an aphrodisiac? But it’s more than the killing, it’s the thought that they’re one step closer to getting you. 
Their prize. 
Chief Jones brings in profilers from around the area but the bodies keep piling up and there’s no other choice but to call the FBI and Agatha gets wind that they’re sending in a profiler from the Miami branch, one who specializes in female serial killers. 
Their plan works perfectly. 
And you killing people in your sleep is just a pleasant surprise. 
~~~
“What happens now?” You ask when Rio and Agatha finally break the hug that you’ve been standing in for what seems like hours. You immediately miss their warmth. 
The two of them look at each other. “We leave,” Rio says. “We pack up all our stuff and hit the road and never look back.” 
The plan makes you pause. “I can’t do that though, I’m in the FBI, I can’t just disappear off the grid.” 
“Why not?” Agatha asks seriously. She raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re perfect for us, superstar.” 
You’ve fucked up. You’ve fucked up big time. While you have the answers you’ve been searching for, you now wish you didn’t. 
It was you. Somewhere, subconsciously, in your brain, you had wanted to understand why you had dropped the match that day and killed Evanora. A random woman, for no reason other than because you wanted to. 
Is the answer because you’re just a killer? 
No. That can’t be it. You refuse to accept it, because you’ve helped people, you’ve solved cases, you’ve caught the bad guys. You’re good. You can be good. 
But Agatha and Rio are standing here like you’re everything you’ve ever wanted, murder and all. 
It’s tempting. 
You can’t. But you want to. But you can’t. 
And then you remember that Tony should be getting into Westview right about now. Fuck. What are you supposed to do about him? 
You can’t go back to Miami right now, so what other choice do you have? You nod your head slowly. “Okay. I just need to pack up my stuff.” 
“You mean the stuff that we gave you?” Rio asks wolfishly. “Let’s go. We’ll drive.” 
“I stole your car and it’s parked out front next to Agatha’s,” you remember and they chuckle. 
Rio invades your space and reaches into your pockets, fishing around in them, and her proximity makes heat flood through you again. She winks at you when she grabs her keys and you blush. 
“Let’s go then,” Agatha says, pulling you out the door and leading you to her car while Rio gets into hers. 
The drive is quiet and you play with the lock until Agatha swats your elbow. It’s an uncomfortable silence to say the least, but you’re not sure exactly what to say. 
She apparently doesn’t either. 
Thankfully, it’s a short drive. 
They follow you into your room and you kick aside the azaleas so you can walk back and forth easier between the bedroom and the living room to throw all your stuff into your suitcase. They go through the room like they haven’t already been in here multiple times. 
“Thanks for her, by the way,” you say sarcastically, pointing to the dead body that’s still on your bed. 
Rio snorts. “Agatha has a wicked jealous streak,” she says and Agatha throws a flower at her. 
You’re almost completely packed and ready to go, feeling confident about your decision for the first time, when there’s a knock on the door. You freeze and Agatha and Rio look at you. 
“Y/N, open up! It’s Tony,” he calls from outside and you think your heart is going to explode. The air in the room has changed and you can feel their suspicions. 
You look around for anywhere to hide them and then hiss at them to get in the bedroom. You had hoped you’d have more time before he got here. They squint at you, trying to figure out your game, but go in anyway.
The second the bedroom door closes, you let him in and his jaw drops. 
“What happened in here?” He asks, taking in your suitcase and the flowers. What are you supposed to say? I’m skipping town with the serial killers and I just had sex with them and also I killed someone when I was ten years old and I’ve been murdering people in my sleep? 
You don’t think that would go over well. So you decide to tell him a version of the truth. “The killers were here,” you say, your mouth suddenly so dry. “They’ve been taunting me, messing with my head.” All not a lie. 
“I don’t care. We’re leaving. Get your stuff,” he orders and it’s clear you don’t have a choice. 
You wonder if they’re listening to you. “Tony, please,” you say. “I can’t leave yet.” 
He throws his hands up in the air. “And why the fuck not?” 
“Because I know who they are,” you tell him, your voice dropping to a whisper in hopes that Agatha and Rio won’t be able to hear you. “I can get them. Please, just give me more time.” 
He paces around, hands over his forehead like he can’t even stand to look at you. “You’re certain you can get them?” 
“Yes!” You insist, leaving out the part about them being in the room next to you. You chant It’s not real in your head over and over again, like they’ll be able to read your mind. You just need him out of here and then you’ll go with them. 
But then you hear a crash, the sound of glass breaking, coming from your bedroom and your heart drops. Tony rushes past you and throws open the door and –
“What the fuck!” He shouts and you dart after to explain why you have two women, two serial killers, in your bedroom, but they’re not there. Tony is talking about the dead woman on your bed. 
Your head starts to spin as you take in the window that has been smashed with the chair and you look out it, desperate for a sign of them. 
But there’s nothing. 
Agatha and Rio are gone. 
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litrary-nath · 3 days ago
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Okay, so as a twisted wonderland fan I believe you need to keep three things in mind or you won't be able to understand the characters properly. Or only understand certain characters at a time. (Or don't do that who am I to tell you how to interact with the game lol.)
They are-
1) The characters are often wrong about themselves and each other.
We can easily see it in Lilia's speech to Leona in book 2 (because apparently Mal is as childish as Leo about ruling! He isn't a perfect prince either!) and Leona's accusations about Trey and Cater in Book 7 (Because everyone that's read book 1 knows that Riddle was not being manipulated like that.) These characters often don't talk to each other. They don't understand each other at all. So it's easy to throw out information that fans think of as fact till its proven wrong. If your pookie says something about another character there is 50-50 chance that they're totally wrong.
2) These character are mentally unwell and it affects their behavior but twst won't actually say it so figure it out.
Riddle has trauma related to rules and behavior that manifests in anger issues. Leona has depression and chronic fatigue. Azul has control issues as well along with self image issues and some sort of ED atleast. Jamil also has control issues as well as a general fear of failure. And trauma. Vil has self image issues and intrusive thoughts. Idia is... survivors guilt, social anxiety, depression, anxiety in general and I bet if Ortho asked him to just jump down into the underworld he'd do it. Malleus has abandonment issues a mile wide, the hyperfixation hints at alot and his general existence as a powerful fae has fucked up his sense of time and consent beyond help.
None of this is canon. All of this is generally accepted as true by the fandom. And this is just about the overblots omg.
3) These boys are twisted from VILLAINS
While the above point is true that isn't the only reason for their behavior. In general these characters were based around villains and as such have fucked up morals and what not. They'll gaslight, gatekeep and girl boss their way through life and not think anything of it. And you as fans should know this.
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firestarter91 · 2 days ago
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I love the way he tenderly strokes his finger down the sword hilt, it's like one final touch of being close to Arthur before he says goodbye and it always makes me want to cry every time. Colin is so good here and the music is stunning, I love the crescendo when he throws the sword, it’s so emotive and powerful. Music link here to this moment about 14.00.
This is such a painful moment, probably the most heartbreaking on the show, even more so than Arthur's death scene because of what this action symbolises.
Merlin has been here before but this is for the last time, he’s saying goodbye to Arthur and having to literally throw everything he’s worked so hard for and sacrified into the lake and walk away.
Also, to make matters even more tragic, he’s still just a servant and the only people who do know what he truly did at Camlann are Gaius and probably Gwen. He’s lost Arthur, he’s lost most of his friends (at least the ones closest to him like Lancelot, Will and Gwaine) and he’s not even been able to show his true self to the world and magic is still not accepted in Camelot. He's failed in just about every conceivable way, I usually dislike using the word gutwrenching to describe something but it really is... poor poor Merlin.
I wish they had ended the show before we get to Camlann because seeing Merlin here like this doesn’t feel right, the last few seasons felt a waste of time and sullied in part what had gone before because you end up thinking what a waste!
The show became increasingly dark and serious, a far cry from the upbeat and joyous start, they gave us time jumps of all the good stuff, fast forwarded through what I presume was Arthur's golden years, served up one note villains and as a final insult refused to reveal Merlin's magic until the last moment.
I agree with a fan who suggested that we should have ended it with Arthur taking the sword out of the stone, this was one moment I will give a salute to the writers for because they really did this beautifully and once again the music is wonderful and really makes the moment. It's a HUGE DEAL one of the the pivotal moments most people remember when they think about these tales.
They should have left it with Arthur being proclamed king in season 4 and then this finale is the FINAL one with Arthur returning to reclaim his crown and Gwen is finally crowned Queen of Camelot because this was the journey we were promised, "the before they were famous" "idea which they took from Smallville.
If they were going to end it at the lake like this, then this moment with Merlin should have been when they rolled the credits and not stuck that wretched modern day scene in which simply poured a whole bucket of salt into an already gaping wound for the fans. Merlin not only left alone at the lake but lonely and depressed in the modern day too. Thank you writers! 😤
Although one good thing that came out of this awfulness was that the Merlin fandom took up the cudgels, determined to write a better ending for our two beloved boys and it’s been a feast of creativity ever since which has powered the Merthur ship and the fandom since that awful Christmas Day. Praise be!
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xenteaart · 14 hours ago
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the hard way
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pairing: vampire!chris x to be vampire!reader genre/warnings: dark romance, mean chris, angst? kinda dead dove, mentions of death, blood and a lil gore (not too graphic tho imo), it's okay in the end??? and they're in love plot: reader is getting turned into a vampire and it's not as cool as she imagined author’s note: obvsly heavily inspired by railway and that SPITTING SCENE. idk it's prolly gonna flop but i wanted to picture that process and a not so hot side of it
“no.” “why not?!” “because i told you so a million times already. we’re not discussing this.” chris spits out and furrows, growing more agitated with each passing second.
“what, you don’t want me to be equal to you?” you ponder desperately while your mind searches for any, any reason at all as to why chris won’t turn you. it’s been getting to you for the last couple of months, and you’re sure you’ve gone through every possible explanation your troubled brain could come up with: he doesn’t love you. he doesn’t wanna spend eternity with you. or maybe it’s a power thing. or, or, or...? this endless cycle of worry and uncertainty has been keeping you on edge for way too long to think clearly now. “gosh, it has nothing to do with equality,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “what is it then?” “drop it.” you snap. “we’ll have to find out the hard way, then.”
you grab the nearest kitchen knife, and it turns out to be the one you use for cutting meat, a chef’s knife as they call it. how fitting. chris barely has enough time to catch up with your madness infused impulse, and when he turns his gaze back to you, the knife is already deep in your guts.
you thought it was gonna be romantic or somewhat dramatic at least. something from the movies where he sinks his vampire teeth into your neck, and just like magic — your eyes flash bright red, announcing the beginning of a new life.
“you dumb bitch,” he exhales shakily and somehow manages to catch you in time because the sharp pain in your stomach makes you lose your balance instantly. you’re still bitter and angry in the heat of the argument and you expect him to be the same way, but when you glance up, chris looks nothing but panicked. “that’s a new look on him,” you think, and it confuses you.
chris growls and sinks to his knees, carefully holding you and trying to move as fast as possible. what you don’t know is that turning can only be done in around thirty seconds since fatal injury. that might explain the rushing and chris’s pure bambi eyes panic but your consciousness is already starting to drift away to hold onto that train of thought.
chris bites into his wrist with unmasked fury, tearing and ripping his own veins even though using a knife would have been much cleaner. probably less painful, too. “swallow. now! come on, don’t you fall asleep on me now, focus!” he grabs your face and presses hard on the jaw joints, making you open your mouth like a puppet doll.
the sickly metallic taste of your own blood at the back of your throat from the internal bleeding mixes up with chris’s thick blood that he generously spits into your mouth, and you want to throw up. your head feels dizzy as your eyelids are getting heavier, your hearing suddenly fails completely as if someone turned the volume down from ten to zero. limbs are falling weak, and the pins and needles in them are so, so far from pleasant.
the thing about turning is... you actually have to die first. be fully, completely gone to be able to come back changed and corrupted, turned to the extent of your DNA having been violently rewritten. that you did not think through enough. the muscles in your throat contract almost on reflex, swallowing and gagging on the gooey salty substance, making your chest heave while coughing strangles you further. the tingles and nausea are so overwhelming and all consuming you actually catch yourself thinking dying would be a relief now. and then it follows as you wished.
you doze off for god knows how long but, by the looks of it, it can’t have been more than a few minutes because as you regain consciousness, chris is still looming over you, his own blood fresh on his lips. he’s blurry, though, everything is.
“come on, suck on me. c’mon, baby, there we go,” he coos as he brings his wrist to your lips, forcefully pressing it into your mouth and leaving you with little to no choice. the phrasing, unlike usual, doesn’t sound dirty or hot now, more like a life-saving command while you’re still so out it. it feels good, though, chris’s blood.
it doesn’t taste so metallic and gross anymore, and the texture feels almost soothing on your dry throat, like hot honey milk on a friday evening. suck, gulp, suck, gulp, suck, it almost lulls you back into serenity, some primal instinct of being attached to your only life line, finding comfort in someone’s warmth and touch and taste.
you wonder how much you’ve drunk already and whether chris will have anything left but you’re so, so thirsty you can’t even bring yourself to care.
what finally makes you stop is the sudden sharp ache in your gums. it feels so piercing the aftershocks are almost reaching your brain and eye sockets, and as you feel your old teeth fall out, a pair of longer fangs cuts through and settles into the upper teeth row. hot tears are stinging your eyes and you whine like a wounded deer, still unable to speak properly. it’s all too much, and you start to regret what you’ve done, and maybe, just maybe that’s why chris so passionately refused to put you through it. this kind of hunger and the animalistic, blood thirst driven rage were never something he wanted to inflict upon you.
your entire body is shaking but it’s not really a fearful tremor, more like restlessness, a new sort of “itch” somewhere deep, deep inside that you’ve never experienced before, the feeling so intense and soul wrenching you simply can’t disobey it. it makes you want to jump up and run.
“don’t worry, i’ll teach you how to handle it.” chris cups your face after taking off his leather gloves so you can feel the comfort of his actual skin. the touch is calming, but barely enough compared to that growing desire and need to satisfy the itch. “you stupid crazy cunt, why do you never listen,” he whispers into your forehead, his lips lightly brushing over your cold sweat covered skin, as he holds you closer, squeezing you against his chest in a protective manner, though the real danger to yourself is now planted within you.
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