#and manipulation with memory and feelings

[kyunniebuns]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 054 - Lovesick! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Isekaing to the world of your favourite protagonist, but nothing is ever a coincidence. ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[tw: Manipulation, Murder, Death, Yandere depictions, Implied assault but not executed, a darker Jinwoo overall. Also Kyunnie lowkey rambling ....]‼️

╰┈➤ ❝ [ He Would Find You No Matter How Long It Takes, And Once He Has You In His Arms— You're Never Leaving] ¡! ❞

You died from an accident in the streets, well, not really an accident. Some drunk bastard was stumbling across the desolate street you normally take to go home— But poor you as that faithful meeting lead to your murder.

The paramedics tried everything they could to save you, but alas, you were dead on arrival.

That's what you suspect atleast. After losing so much blood from the multiple stab wounds of course that would be your death.

Dying was such a cold, cold feeling. It felt terrible. But what were your last thoughts?

You only thought of a single person only: Sung Jinwoo, the protagonist that you were madly in love with.

That man died three times or more if you count regression as a form of death. You thought of what he must have felt in his first death was similar to yours. How his feeble body sprawled on the altar with his leg cut off and his arm mostly torn off— It must have been terrible for Jinwoo.

Back then, you can only speculate. But now? Now you knew what he felt as he dies.

The only regret you have was not finishing the manhwa for the fifth time of the week.

But then you suddenly shot up, and when you did, you were met with a kind smile from a nurse, telling you that you passed out while doing a raid in an E-ranked gate from overexhaustion.

E-rank? Gate? What?

You were livid, feeling absolutely dizzy as you tried to ask the nurse. So you feigned temporary memory loss and asked the nurse what happened and why you're here.

As she had said, you passed out from raiding an E-ranked gate because of fatigue. You yourself, are a hunter, an E-ranked one.

The laughable rank your beloved once had.

You tried to wrap your head around it, tried to make sense of it all that you must be in purgatory, that this was all an illusion after death and the gods just had mercy on you and granted you your truest wish.

You tried to sleep it off, tried to bang your head to get you out of this illusion. But everything was real. You did normal human activities, and every pinch of a needle pricked onto your skin hurt like the way it did when you were alive.

You are alive

You didn't know whether to cry or laugh, you were in a world similar to Jinwoo's.

Jinwoo?

"Hello, are you alright?" A kind voice asks you out of nowhere, pulling you out of your daze. "Ah, I thought you passed out while awake!"

A boyish almost childlike face, pretty and cute with unkept fluffy hair that has grown too much and has a weird sort of mushroom-like appearance. Wide, innocent, puppy-like grey eyes full of wonder and life.

You knew that color of grey, that lovely shade that has placed you in a complete rampage of obsession and love.

"I'm Jinwoo, nice to meet you" He stretches his hand out to you, offering a friendly shake.

You accept his hand, trembling as you do so but he doesn't seem to notice as he shakes your hand so kindly while you shakily state your name to him.

Calloused, his hands were calloused.

He then sits down on the empty spot beside you, chatting you up.

Your heart was pounding like crazy as you two talked, you were for sure about to pass out anytime from the overflowing euphoria filling you up.

You don't know how you survived the conversation. But somehow you did.

And Jinwoo himself even offered that you two should team up as E-ranked hunters.

Ecstatic, of course you were, you were so joyous you jumped in bed and rolled around like a madman.

Jinwoo was here. Your Jinwoo.

Your Jinwoo before his ascension as a monarch, your Jinwoo that is still childish and soft.

You loved teaming up with him.

But something was weird.

Already, he had exceptional knife skills, his expertise with using a dagger was too good. Too uncharacteristic of the Jinwoo you know in his earliest days. Is his puberty coming a bit too early?...

That's just it,

,... Right?

Surely it is.

It's not weird that Jinwoo is extremely flexible and fast, that he is sharp and seemingly has such an advanced spatial awareness, that he easily cuts through the hard skins of various monsters.

...Really.

It's not weird at all.

꒰ .... ꒱

It's another hunting day where you accompany Jinwoo yet again in a raid. But this time he seemed a bit more guarded against the raid team you both had signed in for just to experience a higher ranked gate.

"Stay close to me, yeah?" Jinwoo leans down, smiling gently at you that made you forget the chilling expression he had just a second ago.

"S-sure?" You smile awkwardly, growing bashful at his distance.

Why is he a bit antsy anyway? The team you both signed up for isn't the Hwang.... Hwang dong.... Who?

The team of Hwang Dongsoo's brother? That bald headed bastard's family? Ah... You can't really recall his name.

Dead men don't matter anyway.

The only thing you really remember was how hot he was when he ultimately lost his mind momentarily and became absolutely ruthless.

To this you mourn the lack of psychotic Jinwoo in the manhwa.

Do they not see the potential?

This man has the temper and charisma to pull off a serial killer vibe.

So why not?

Why the hell not?!

"!!!"

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted when Jinwoo suddenly placed him in between you and the approaching hunter who had a displeased look on his face after what he did.

"I'm only trying to check on the little miss" The hunter smiles wryly, but Jinwoo was unmoving.

"Really now?" He remarks, his tone sneering even. "Does that involve you luring us into this isolated part of the dungeon with your team surrounding the exits? Sure."

"Ah you're no fun buddy!~" The hunter laughs, patting his shoulder to try and get Jinwoo to relax. "It's just us here, why not have a little fun? She's a pretty one."

Oh right.

Being a hunter is dangerous.

But what had always been dangerous in the first place?

Being a woman.

Ever since society recovered from the shock of the gates arriving— There is a significant uptake in death counts, crime rates, and missing people mia after entering a gate.

And what is the gender of 70% of those missing people?

Women.

If one wanted to do a crime, the best way to do it is in a gate. Rumours spread that disgusting fiends would lure women with a promise of a hefty sum by a small hunting group.

After that? All the women seemingly disappear.

And with the lack of a body and evidence to imply malpractice in the dungeons— What can the law do?

Nothing.

Dead corpses dont talk.

And as the hand reached out over Jinwoo's shoulder towards you—

It suddenly flew off with a swish

The severed limb took it's sweet time floating on the air before plopping on the floor with a wet splotch.

"...."

Everyones gazes were locked on the motionless hand on the floor before a bloody scream rang out from the C-ranked hunter.

"Y-you!" He sobs, gripping his empty wrist as it sheds a copious amount of blood. "I was nice to you by hiring you useless E-rankers and this is how you repay me?!"

He then turns to the rest of the members who were left frozen, "What the fuck are you bastards doing standing there? GET HIS FUCKING HEAD."

"It's always bastards like you who pull this kind of bullshit off" Jinwoo sighs, as if the whole situation right now is troublesome for him as a dagger materializes into his hand.

It was gleaming a mad crimson, as if the blade itself was made of a bloody moon's fragments.

Kamish's Wrath.

Daggers gifted to him by Thomas Andre as an apology for the trouble Hwang Dongsoo and the overall situation they were on. A symbol of peace between them and a sign of friendship between them.

He isn't supposed to be having those until later.

Unless The Jinwoo in front of you isn't the E-ranked Jinwoo who is slteadily climbing the levels at a rapid fast.

Jinwoo's blade seems like it's merely flying with how fast he is moving. Everytime he moves he just tilts his body a little for them to miss him narrowly.

And while everyone else is screaming in frustration, Jinwoo just throws them a sly smile, as if he is reveling in messing with them.

It was obvious he was teasing them, making them overly frustrated where they want to hit him but can't quite reach him at the way he expertly dodges them narrowly.

And when he's already bored of them?

He slices their limbs one by one and letting them bleed to death on the floor.

By the end of it Jinwoo is standing atop a pool of blood with crimson splatters sliding enticingly down his handsome features.

Whoever said Jinwoo isn't charming even in his baby-faced era must be blind.

Because even in the lack of his significant height, even when his cheeks are a bit chubbier, even if his eyes are a bit rounder and that his build is nothing more than bone and flesh— He has this haunting beauty to him that makes him look like a mischievous fae about to drag you into the abyss he calls his home.

"Do you understand now?" Jinwoo asks, his blank and empty grey eyes looking down on you as he lefts you cheek with his calloused hand. "Why I told you to quit being a hunter before?"

"I-I..." You sputter, unable to find the words from the shock of seeing your beloved murder people live in front of you.

"I'll get a rank evaluation after a month as soon as I fix this blasted body" He said, pressing his forehead against yours. "You're scared, aren't you? If I wasn't here, what could've happen to you?"

"....."

He's right.

What would've happen if Jinwoo isn't here? What would've happen if Jinwoo lets that man's hand go over to you?

The vision of it makes you falter, tears prickling your face as it slowly sunk in— That the only thing awaited you was unspeakable horrors had he not step in.

"Sssh..." He comforts you sweetly, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head. "You must have been scared, hm? I know, I know. I took care of it, didn't I? Don't be scared anymore."

You don't have to know the fact that he orchestrated all of this.

That Jinwoo himself is the reason why you died and was brought to this cursed world.

That he was well aware of what the hunters have been pulling off whenever they sign contracts with women.

He just wanted to scare you a little, really.

What better method can he do to make you reliant on him?

To make you extremely dependent on him and paranoid of him not being there?

The world of hunters is a cruel and unforgiving world.

He knows that himself.

Jinwoo isn't blind to any of the darker side of this path you both choose to thread on.

Except that right now his intention is to make you too scared of ever stepping into a gate.

That the thought of ever stepping into one makes you shiver into cold sweats and becoming sick at the mere thought of it.

And if this plan doesn't shake you enough?

Then he'll just do it again.

Shake you to the core, make you have a glimpse of hell and then swoop in the second he sees you frightened enough.

You'll be in his arms, weeping and completely afraid.

And he would drill it himself in your head:

You only need Jinwoo.

Just like right now, where you're too shaken to even process the fact the timeline is all wrong. That somehow the Jinwoo in front of you right now already has two hearts with the beat of two organs in his chest. One heart belongs to him, the other belongs to the late Ashborn who chose him as his heir.

Nothing is making sense right now, but you're stuck sobbing in his arms and seeking for solace and safety.

"We'll have to pretend to be hurt when we go out, hm?" Jinwoo lifts your face up with the palms of his warm hands, his expression hauntingly saintly despite the muddled color of grey in his lovely eyes. "Can you do that for me?"

You nod, sniffling, earning yourself a kiss on the forehead as a reward for your obedience.

"Good girl."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: What better way to start off my 2025 with a Lovesick Sung Jinwoo fic? Hahah, my beloved<3. No matter who I put into my extensive list of sweethearts Jinwoo will always be on top of everybody else! I love him it's unhealthy. I might make a lads post after this or a wholesome sylus fic that has been brewing in my mind for a bit? I wanna branch out more when it comes to my fics wwww!!! So aside from Hsr there will be the lads boys. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[mykaelaaa]

quit it

✰se-mi x fem!reader / ~3k

✰deciding to pair up with se-mi unaware what you're getting into

✰warnings: blood, suggestive, +18

"do you trust that guy?"

leaning on the comically big bunk bed far enough from the loud crowd, you stared at the plastic pig hanging in the air. filled with money, presumably real money.

maybe if you get everybody to climb on each other and take that thing down you could get out of this shithole you regret agreeing to.

some guy went on rambling about how he's been here before and you're too caught up in your thoughts to hear what he has to say.

what's his number? 456?

maybe you should spare him a chance. judging by the way he helped out. but maybe he's also full of shit, just like the rest of people here. you saw the field full of bodies and blood. if anything, he's a good entertainer judging by the green and greedy crowd he gathered around for the second time.

too lost to hear, but not to feel someone giving you a punch in the shoulder. quite a strong one. here we go, you thought. bribes, violence, torment, bed and food exchange just like in those world ending movies. 

not having any partners in crime or knowing what any of these people are like you have to be wary. it's all about the money as the end goal for over 300 people here, which is a scary thought. 

with annoyance and half-baked comeback, you turned your attention to whatever smartass that spawned next to you.

let's just say they sure did not disappoint. looks wise, of course.

but it's not time or place for that right now. right? besides, you saw a couple of sparks early on between players but surely surfaced level ones. the type formed in the span of one day of being here is not that romantic. more like a good distraction. but you can't blame them, maybe the next game is their last one so why not go out with a good makeout or something?

"what?"

"i asked you something." the girl spoke confidently, holding a strong gaze over you for some reason. she had her arms crossed, mimicking your pose on the opposite frame while you were gripped by uncertainty, she seemed more carefree and unbothered. it was almost reassuring, somehow. 

you felt exposed and this time not by the debts unpaid and calls from the bank but whoever was in front of you.

with hard to miss piercings, silver rings that slipped passed the guards somehow and a discreet grin escaping her collected persona left the reply hanging in the air and led you to stare for longer than you should have.

you don't even know her but a recent memory surfaced. that thanos guy being rejected by her and making a fuss about it in front of everybody. you never even heard of him before. one hit wonder probably.

"oh, yeah. sorry, i was just thinking i guess," you muttered, rubbing your temple with a sigh.

"about?"

"nothing important," you replied flatly, regretting how it came off as.

"right, right. no biggie, thinking about if you'll be alive in the next 2 hours. a daily routine," she said in a sarcastic tone, causing you to roll your eyes. 

the presence next to you made you somehow feel smaller than the weight of bunk beds and entire room already did.

"do you need something?" you dragged the question out, looking down at the wrinkled fabric of the number trapped between her folded arms, "380?"

"se-mi," she tucked her head to the side and half smiled, still done in nonchalant manner. "and yeah, actually. wanna pair up?" 

you stared at her. if whatever this is goes right, and you're not being manipulated by a pretty figure facing you, although you don't mind at all, you must track down where this cocky confidence comes from. if it's normal and "i used to be in the army" story and not "i was a hitman" you will keep her close.

"aren't you with those guys?" you nodded your head towards the obvious purple hair guy and his crew amongst the mass. 

"that self proclaimed rapper? nah, i don't really swing that way," she played with her lip piercing before shifting her attention towards you once again.

"oh, you don't really swing that way? or did i get that wrong?"    she chuckled at your teasing tone and raised brows, "well, what can i say. it's kinda obvious. at least i hope so."

you squinted, amused and engaged. everything about her look screams the already mentioned but why not toy around more when there's nothing to lose. "obvious, huh? sure, whatever helps you sleep at night se-mi."

se-mi shrugged, took a quick glance as if someone's around. "i think i'm pretty clear about it. but since you're not convinced…" she leaned in slightly, dropping her voice just enough for only you to hear. 

"stick around and i'll prove it."

your stomach did the weird thing, the one you wouldn't let her—or anyone know about.

fixing your weight against the metal bed frame, you scoffed. "right. because this place is swarming with opportunities to show off."

grinning, she pushed off the frame and cut the distance between you to down to a cruel and agonizing one. strands of her hair naturally fell over her eyes but it did not do a good a job hiding the intimidating gaze. crowd blended into silence and you could not pick whether to blame yourself for being so weak in the matter of seconds or her for playing dumb games.

you're were not that easy to impress just a week ago.

so she spoke, lip ring somehow reflecting off the dim lighting this chamber has.

"i'm pretty good at getting what i want."

you bit back a nervous laugh, trying not to let her and this proximity overcome you. "and what is it that you want?"

your desperate attempt to sound civilized and composed was shitty, and se-mi read easily through it.

"say yes and you'll see."

her eyes flicked to yours, lingering just long enough to make you feel like you lost the high ground. then swiftly she stepped back, taking all the tension with her. finally you could let out a breath you held unaware.

but before you could respond, a voice tear through the room.

"players, prepare for the next game. you have 30 minutes."

the announcement sent a wave through the busy crowd. voices hushed, movements quickened and panic was apparent. your chest tightened, probably the worst thing about this is not knowing what's next. if you ever get out, announcement lady is on the top of the list.

se-mi looked at the speaker in the corner. you wanted to ask her what's on her mind but devil works faster.

"time's running out, sweetheart. hope you're skilled with decision making."

"and if i say no?" you knew damn well that's not an option.

se-mi slipped her hands into her pockets, cocked her head to the side with that damn grin. slow on her feet she walked backwards, leaving you more and more with each step and it stinged.

"loss for both of us. and my bed is that way, by the way."

you watched her disappear in the crowd that rushed on the steps and just as quickly you were surrounded too. maybe, just maybe this is more challenging than the money winning itself.

✰

the game already morphed into a hazy fever dream of adrenaline and blood. it was oddly silent, compared to just a few hours ago when the main floor was brimming with "life". or better, those alive. now everyone that came back scattered around the room.

you weren't sure who's blood was blending with your shoes or who's splatter stained your jacket.

and neither was se-mi. however, she didn't seem shaken up, as per usual.

she followed you close behind, making a beeline towards the bathroom. the air inside felt much colder than the outside and the contact with the freezing sink proved it. in the mirror you caught a sight of se-mi leaning against the tiles, bloodied but stoic.

top to bottom, covered in blood with a cut on her face that she smudged further. she ran her hand through the hair in attempt to fix it, stretching her neck in the process.

quiet whimpers escaped past her lips. she unzipped her jacket, looked at the mess made. floor. room. and back at you again. 

you admit you did look at her like a man starved. just blame it on the adrenaline. it's easier that way.

she clicked her tongue in fake disapproval, "no manners."

what a jerk.

"you're all bloody." you stated, hands working faster than your mind, already reaching for the paper.

"really?" she pretended to be puzzled. it made you sigh. "let's go in the stall."

"you don't—i can do it too, you know," now she felt slightly bad for making you more worried than you already are.  

she sat down on the toilet with a loud thump, no protests or fight. her muscles aching but you were no better. you closed the door behind you, this place making you more paranoid than ever. borrowing a second of your shared free time to look at the piece of work across you.

with each second passing you realized this silence, comfort and unspoken longing became a luxury here. se-mi took a note of it too.

deep inside she blames the gods for meeting a pretty girl in a state like this, desperate for money, careless about debts, bloody and tired in this awful bathroom. you're no better though. and it made her feel a bit better.    "what? do i look that bad?"

you snorted, shook your head no. slightly kneeled, you took the wet paper you gathered in one hand while holding the back of hear head with another. leaning in, you observed the cut on her face. a knife? no, unless someone smuggled it. you didn't see her in fight either.

a lack of self control let loose and your finger delicately ran across her cheek. blame it on just wanting to see how bad it hurts but she was no fool.

entire time she maintained eye contact. this is the closest she ever was. it's a funny thing to notice, she's not that hopeless. not in a outside world. actually, she doesn't wanna remember. 

your hand was cold but it felt right. the stall seemed to shrink with you in front of her. 

se-mi swore she could smell your perfume that still withstand these conditions. must be an expensive one. that's fine, 45.6 billion will cover it.

"you're shaking," her voice dropped and she teased. turning her head to the side, bemused.

"oh," you backed away lightly. "apologies. wasn't aware you graduated in body language." se-mi enjoyed this too much.

you took a deep breath and continued clearing her face. terrible at avoiding her gaze. "are you a hitman or something?" you started, truly curious.

"guessed it on the first try."    "sooo you're not? good."

"i'd definitely make everybody pay me big if i was and wouldn't end up here. why?" 

of course the smartass answer. 

"just wondering how the hell nothing about this seems to bother you. people dying, not knowing who's next, guards just headshoting everybody…" you carefully moved her face to the side, causing her to shudder shyly. 

"it was at first but there's a prize at the end. i think it's worth it. at least to get to the half of it. that was before i—whatever."

"yeah?" she watched you change positions and kneel down, all done with an innocent look boring through her. she doesn't know if it's on purpose or you're tired.

someone entered the bathroom and se-mi cursed them internally for distracting you but it also gave her spare time to stare. 

swallowing harshly, se-mi did not let her mind flatter now.

doors closed. losing the advantage she convinced herself she has, with a heavy sigh and a fuck it, she looked away and closed her eyes. "we're paired up now. so…yeah. i guess i kinda have things to lose."

feeling your movements halt, se-mi opened her eyes. maybe that was too far. 

"yeah, i-uh. same here." 

you felt her eyes boring holes as you sloppily cleaned up the papers and threw them away, feeling your body burning. 

everything about this was shitty. games, people, loneliness, food, voting. everything except this. yeah, she might look a little beat up with tired bags under her eyes but it was hopeful.

your shadow fell over her. the height difference meant nothing right now. neither of you moved. things unspoken seemed so, so obvious to both of you it was suffocating. she just hopes you don't treat this as a distraction.

"i—" se-mi did not let you finish. instead she got up with a newfound boldness, licked her lips and pondered. making you wonder what else is playing in her mind.

"thank you." it was sincere, raw. she took barely half a step closer in this cramped stall with dozen of obstacles around. you could feel the heat rising and hell if you weren't red yourself. 

"you know, you also got blood on your face." 

"do i?" not really, you checked yourself in the mirror. no?

"mhm," she confirmed and you almost missed it. again, se-mi closed the distance further. raised her hand to wipe the "blood" suspiciously close to your lips.

no, you definitely didn't have it.

"there." she barely smiled and your breath hitched. she picked up on it.

you felt drunk looking down at her lips. and you know what? you might die tomorrow for all you know.

"oh fuck you." 

it sounded and felt desperate, muffled by the four walls; the way you pulled her by the jacket and kissed her. metallic taste absorbing you whole and the chapped lips mixed with her metallic piercing. you're done for. 

se-mi smirked proudly against your lips, like her plan finally worked. too busy for good to answer her antics but enough to crush one of her plans which was her hungry grip around your waist. so she caged you with her arms around between the door and her body as you kept pulling her back in. no need because she already made up her mind she's not leaving anytime soon.

you traced your hands under her unzipped jacket that made her gasp. still feeling like she keeps her cool persona intact even now.

you took it as a chance to put your tongue to use. you weren't so experienced per se but it's natural talent. her on the other hand…

both of breaths blended into one and it felt hot, almost wrong. making you weak in your legs, forcing you to find a support behind her head. intertwining your fingers together, drawing her even further if possible clearly left no more gap present.

your bodies connected fully, se-mi was so lost yet too aware of everything you did. your touch was setting her on fire everywhere at once, teeth bumping in rush, small noises you made and she doesn't recall last time she took a full breath.

out of nowhere you felt a knee pressing between your legs, making you to throw your head back harshly and let out a moan that se-mi had to cut short. unfortunately.

there was too much going for the door to handle and keep it low-key.

"come here, you're too loud." se-mi whispered, catching up her breath as she sat back down again. 

"and that's my fault?" you regret saying that because you weren't sure if she even understood you.

gasping and impatient was the sight of se-mi, lazily sprawled and hair messy. a genuine thought of staying here until guards have to break down the doors sounded pleasing.

each leg on her side, her hands instantly wrapped around you and lips chased for more. she's just as hopeless as you in the end. your body flinched upon feeling her hands sneak under your shirt. making a tour, stopping at your waistband. it was attentive, studying your reactions carefully, less in rush now. she was in control.

se-mi left your lips for a while, kissing path down your jaw to focus on your neck. she's glad you can't read minds.

your hand found hers buried under your shirt, hinting at whatever she has in mind to make it true. "we might be in a bathroom stall but i'm still a gentleman." you felt her hot whisper hit your ear.

"w-what?"

"can i?" she looked at you with a darkened gaze, twisting a knot in your stomach. at this point you had no energy but to groan and nod yes, letting your head fall on her shoulder if it wasn't for her grabbing your jaw and making you lock eyes. 

what you said about her demeanor, you take it back.

"no, no. speak." briskly she nestled in the crook of your neck and licked a stripe there. 

"i…you're a tease." the answer was transparent.

chatter from the outside made you freeze vaguely, se-mi kept her pace on. "you gotta be quiet now."

her fingers slipped past the tight band, further and further. cold metal of her rings added to the feeling. you whined but se-mi shut you up with a kiss. she leaned her forehead against yours, a smug look on her face since she's leading the game.

her fingers made contact with your core, maybe if you just let out a scream right now you'd scare those women away.

"it's okay, you can do it." it did not help.

"please se-mi, i can't—" 

the second doors closed, she wasted no time slipping her fingers into you. you held onto her collar like a lifeline, head thrown back and air knocked out.

se-mi was mesmerized. wished it was a club rather than a place you have to get knocked out and drugged to be taken to. she will get you two outta here any means.

hitting all the right spots, distracting you with kisses and wandering hand you're about to collapse. "i'm-i'm close—"

"i know, i know," so she sped up, watching you fall apart, hitched breath in her ear so addicting, soft pleas she can't answer and oblige right now, hands gripping her hair. she'd take her time if she had one, hoping these cameras have decency so she can save you only for herself.

the least she can do in this short time is fix your shirt and jacket and pray you're coherent. "no worries, i don't leave a lady just like that but we gotta get out."

"hmm? sure, just give me a moment."

she chuckled, "not in that way. i'll tell you when we get back."

[cherienymphe]

Teenage Dirtbag XVI

JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, mentions of violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, blood, semi public sex,  jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

⭑

“Am I a joke to you? Huh?”

Despite how unserious Rafe’s words were, his attitude and tone were anything but. The past few months had been…okay—as okay as they could be considering the circumstances, you supposed—and while the look on Rafe’s face was far from unfamiliar, it was also a look you hadn’t seen in a while. Most notably the night of his birthday.

The memory of his hand around your throat was fresh, his voice in your ear as he threatened to kill you if you ever tried to leave him again. The violent memory immediately had you on edge, and you absentmindedly touched your neck, worriedly eyeing Rafe just as he strode over to you.

“You think I didn’t see that bullshit at The Wreck?”

His hand was digging into your arm, and you flinched at the painful grip, eyeing him in a mixture of confusion and fear. Rafe’s blue eyes were cold as he stared you down, a sneer on his lips as he leaned in.

“All it takes is a smile and you’re batting those lashes-.”

“...what are you talking about?” you finally spoke, noticing too late that you were knee deep in another fight without even realizing it.

“I’m talking about JJ, that’s what the fuck I’m talking about,” Rafr spat at you, fingers pressing into your skin even harder.

It took you too long to realize just who he was talking about, and when you did, your lips parted in disbelief. You thought to yourself that Rafe couldn’t be serious, there was just no way, but as you looked between his eyes, you slowly—and fearfully—realized that he was indeed very serious.

The food that you'd brought back from The Wreck was sitting on the counter, and you recalled the blond teenager who’d given it to you with a friendly smile, and you recalled that you’d smiled back. Not only was it just the polite thing to do, but it was second nature to you—harmless. Yet, here Rafe was treating it like the highest form of infidelity there was.

“Rafe…be serious.”

You were so in disbelief that you didn’t quite register the danger of the words you were whispering. You were that much in shock—that thrown—that Rafe was starting something over something as simple and harmless as a smile to the guy behind the counter. Your response only made him angrier, and you swore you felt your bones straining under his hold.

“Do I seem anything but serious, right now?”

You couldn’t hold in your pained gasp as your knees buckled, your free hand reaching up to try and make him let go.

“Do you even consider me and my feelings when you pull this shit? Huh?”

His nose brushed against your cheek as you fought to stand, pulling at his hand with tears in your eyes.

“If it’s not you ‘falling’ into Topper’s lap then it’s you trying to break up with me—and on my birthday, no less! Now you just expect me to stand by and watch you make googly eyes at any guy who looks your way? You be serious,” he bit out, shoving you so hard that your back hit the nearest wall.

Your arm was throbbing, now, the blood rushing back to where Rafe’s hand had just been. Your heart was going crazy in your chest, and when you looked up, you did so just in time to see the expensive vase coming your way. The scream that escaped your lips hurt your throat, and you slid to the floor just as the sound of breaking glass reached your ears. The shards went everywhere, and you briefly noted the faint sting on your feet.

You felt paralyzed as you looked up at Rafe.

“Is this…is this another attempt to leave me? Hmm?” he wondered, fingers grazing his chest as he frowned at you. “You think if you piss me off enough, I’ll just wash my hands of you? Is that it?”

You couldn’t stop shaking, and your voice caught in your throat, your brain unable to comprehend how you wound up in this position. Your silence seemed to only make him angrier, and when he took a step towards you, you were finally able to spring to your feet, completely unsure of what he was about to do next.

“Huh? Is that what you’re trying to pull?”

You frantically shook your head.

“N-no. Rafe, no, I don’t-”

“No?” he asked, almost incredulously. 

A bitter chuckle left his lips, and Rafe shook his head, blowing out a breath as he kept his eyes on you.

“You sure could’ve fooled me.”

You looked around, chest heaving as you ran different scenarios over in your mind. You went back and forth between trying to talk him down and just making a run for it. The last time Rafe had been this angry, he’d almost choked you to death while verbally promising to do just that if you ever drove him to it. Your perusal did not go unnoticed, and Rafe was suddenly moving closer. 

“Wh-where do you think you’re going?” he mockingly asked, holding your gaze, now. “You think we’re done?”

“Rafe…” you pleaded, holding your hands out.

“You think I’m done with you? You think-.”

Rafe cut himself off, reaching for you and cursing when you slipped from his grasp. His hand caught onto your shirt, twisting it, and you stumbled back when he yanked you closer. His other hand circled around your throat, and anything that you were going to say or do was immediately cut short by the feel of metal against your lips.

The scream that caught in your throat was accompanied by the feel of tears kissing your eyes, and your hands immediately wrapped around your boyfriend’s wrist. Rafe’s own eyes were glazed as he stared at you, and a sob bubbled within your chest.

“This is the only way you’re ever going to leave me. Do you understand?”

You were barely listening to a word he said, tears spilling over as you stumbled back with every step he took. The gun had been an 18th birthday gift from Ward, something you’d seen once or twice since you and Rafe started dating. You hadn’t ever given it much thought. After all, you were in North Carolina, and it was the kind of place where kids learned to shoot from the age of twelve.

You hadn’t thought about it when he’d slapped you and not even when he’d threatened your life. Yet here you were…faced with the real possibility that Rafe would use it to kill you. Your tears wouldn’t stop flowing, and your gaze was terrified and pleading. You didn’t even think you were pleading to Rafe—you were just pleading for something. A knock at the door, a car in the yard, the ring of his phone. You were pleading for anything to happen to stop this because in this moment…you weren’t so sure that Rafe would stop on his own.

The blond tilted his head at you, the light glinting off of his blue gaze.

“Hmm?”

You gave a shaky nod, your nails digging into his wrist, and Rafe stared at you for what felt like a long time. His hand was on the gun and your hand was on him and neither one of you were moving. The moment he finally pulled his hand back, you were shoving your hand against his face. Your sudden fight took him by surprise, and you didn’t spare him another glance as you bolted for the stairs.

You flinched when your name echoed off of the walls, Rafe’s footsteps in time with yours. Your tearful gaze made it hard to see, and your shoulder knocked into the corner of the wall as you stumbled straight towards the bathroom. Rafe’s voice was loud and angry as he yelled for you, and you didn’t hesitate to slam the bathroom door shut behind you, locking it just moments before Rafe’s hand met the knob.

Your uneven breathing was all you could hear as you fumbled around in your pocket for your phone, and your lashes fluttered from the feel of the door hitting your back from every kick Rafe dealt to it. You felt so disconnected from yourself as you dialed 911, the severity of Rafe’s actions fully washing over you. You couldn’t stop crying as a voice greeted you from the other line, mentally telling yourself that you couldn’t do this anymore.

You had to get out. 

You had to.

You couldn’t live like this, you wouldn’t survive it, and as terrifying as it would be to tell the world just who Rafe Cameron really was, the thought of enduring this forever was even scarier. 

“What’ya thinking about?”

Rafe’s lips brushed against your temple as he whispered the question, and you only shook your head before turning to look up at him with a small smile. 

“Nothing…”

Topper and Kelce were playing poker in the living room, Rafe long abandoning the game to snuggle beside you instead. Today was a good day, but then again, the past few weeks had been full of good days. The disastrous night that was Midsummers was weeks ago, and the morning after—when you’d been applying makeup to your discolored cheek—you had the realization that even if some small part of you had hope that you could get out of this relationship one day, you needed to survive to actually see that happen.

Sneaking around with JJ had brought just as much harm as it did good.

Sure, you were seeing someone who actually cared about you and who didn’t absolutely terrify you. You were reminded of what it was like to be touched by someone without flinching, but on the flip side…you were reminded of what it was like to be touched by someone without flinching. 

Your relationship with JJ—if you could even call it that—also served to put into perspective just how bad things had become with Rafe. There was a time when you’d gotten so used to the abuse, so accustomed to the way he talked to you and held you and treated you. The constant reminder of how much better things could be made you act out in ways that you hadn’t in a long time. 

Your behavior as of late had given Rafe the perfect excuse to show you just how awful he could really be.

Things were good when you were good, and being good entailed acting as the perfect girlfriend that Rafe wanted. Smiling when he looked at you, standing beside him and looking pretty when he was with his friends, placating him no matter how much in the wrong he was, and eagerly opening your legs for him whenever he wanted. After all, deep down, that’s what it was really about.

Rafe just wanted someone to always be in his corner and to be ever loyal to him.

It didn’t matter that he had to force it.

All Rafe wanted was for someone to kiss him on the cheek at the end of the day and choose him. You would find it sad if said behavior wasn’t actively ruining your life. Playing such a role had long driven you into depression, but it wasn’t so bad, now when you had something else to look forward to. As much as it pained you, you slipped back into that role of the agreeable and enabling girlfriend, content with the temporary relief from it that JJ brought to you.

“You’re always thinking about something,” Rafe murmured, a humorous lilt in his voice that didn’t fool you.

You knew that if Rafe could wish for anything, it would be to see inside of your head. The fact that he could control every aspect of your life except your thoughts was something that bothered him greatly. That was one thing he’d never have access to, and it absolutely ate him up inside.

He was right though.

As you looked at him, you were reminded of his face staring back at you from inside of that cop car. It seemed like so long ago—a lifetime—but nothing had hardly changed. You’d been so sure that day that things would be different. You’d been so scared, so tired, so…defeated. You remembered how determined you were to put a stop to this and start moving on from Rafe Cameron once and for all…but then Ward had gotten into your head and scared you even more with the reality of what would happen.

You wondered if Rafe thought about that day too, if he thought about how if it weren’t for Ward, then things would be very different right now. Rafe had a lot to thank Ward for, you supposed, but you didn’t say any of that. You didn’t dare.

“Just thinking that I’m going to miss you,” you quietly told him.

Ward was going away for the weekend to deal with some business, and Rafe was going with him. The trips had become more frequent over the past year, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before Rafe was fully brought into the family business…and once that was done, it wouldn’t be long before Rafe decided it was time to tie you to him forever. Rafe wanted to have it all, you’d always known that, and once his place by Ward was official, he would start checking things off the list one by one.

Rafe hummed at your response, reaching up and gently taking your chin between his fingers.

“You have been so good lately,” he murmured, leaning in. “I think you really will miss me.”

He pressed his lips to yours, and you kissed him back, closing your eyes and eagerly moving your mouth against his like you used to before JJ. While it was still second nature to you, you had never had to give it so much thought before. Behaving like Rafe’s dream girl was just something you did, something ingrained in you, but lately you had to remind yourself that you wanted things to be easy—smooth sailing. 

It didn’t hurt to remember that Rafe noticed the way JJ acted about you these days. Rafe thinking that JJ harbored a crush on you was one thing, but if he even suspected the opposite then you were as good as dead. He thought it was funny, something to laugh about—the thought of JJ Maybank thinking he had a chance with his girlfriend—but the thought that you might be soft on the other blond wasn’t as amusing. 

You recalled the way he looked at you as he threatened you that night, driving it into your head that he didn’t want you ever defending ‘that Pogue’ again. It didn’t matter how many times you told him you were just trying to be nice and mature, he didn’t want to hear it. You hadn’t missed the glint in his eyes, and it was then that you told yourself you needed to get it together. 

JJ Maynank was messing with your head, rubbing off on you, and sometimes that was good, but there were also times where it wasn’t. He was so headstrong, so impulsive, and while you liked that about him, he was always going to be on the receiving end of Rafe’s wrath if he kept it up, and that was what you told him later that night after Rafe had dropped you off at home with a gentle kiss.

The younger blond huffed, and you watched him run his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, I know,” he reluctantly agreed. “I just don’t think you understand how angry he makes me. Downright murderous if we’re being honest.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that, hating when JJ talked like that, but you knew that it was all talk. Rafe was home and packing to leave with his father in the morning, and JJ was sitting on the edge of your bed, reaching for you and pulling you closer by your waist. Moments like this made the farce with Rafe worth it, and you placed your hand on the other man’s shoulders.

“You’re used to this, used to him,” he sadly pointed out, gaze soft as he looked up at you. “I’m not, and I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

Your shoulders sagged at that, silently agreeing with him. It did seem a little unfair to expect JJ to fall in line so quickly with something that had taken you years to perfect. The two of you had only been seeing each other for some months.

“You’re right…but do you get how it makes me feel to see him just tear into you because you can’t keep your mouth shut?”

JJ’s lips quirked up at that, and you lightly hit his shoulder.

“It’s not funny,” you told him, letting out a light chuckle anyway. “Unlike you, I’m good at this. He’ll never suspect me, but he has no problem with punching you in the face for just looking at me too long, and I know how much you love fighting Rafe, but it gives me a mini heart attack every time.”

The blond didn’t respond right away at that, and he eventually sighed before leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. When he tilted his head back, he looked up at you from beneath his lashes.

“For the sake of your heart…I’ll be better. I promise.”

The tension in your body eased a bit, but it didn't last long as you watched JJ push the end of your shirt up your torso.

“Now enough about Rafe,” he whispered into your skin. “I have you all to myself this weekend.”

You shuddered at the feel of JJ’s tongue against your stomach, and his fingers wasted no time in searching for the waist of your skirt.

With your parents just down the hall, you were hyper aware of every noise you made under JJ’s careful ministrations. Lying underneath him felt more like a real relationship than any moment you’d ever had with Rafe. JJ was gentle with every touch he gave to you, and you couldn’t stop your stomach from flipping every time he let himself lose control, frantically shaking your head whenever he asked if he was hurting you.

It was a good kind of hurt.

That was something you thought you’d never say. The blond was careful in leaving you blemish free for obvious reasons, but on the off chance that you woke up with a slight bruise or a mark on your chest, it didn’t feel like it did when you looked at Rafe’s marks in the mirror. You’d stare at them with the strangest desire for more, wanting JJ to keep marking you.

One of his hands massaged your breast while the other was being stroked by his tongue, shaky moans escaping your lips in your dark room. You’d grown addicted to the way his cock stretched you out, eagerly opening your legs for him every time he crawled between them. Sex with JJ was fun and good, and it never not ended with you begging him to come inside of you.

You absentmindedly talked with Sarah while you waited for your food. She was telling you about some trip they planned on going with the Twinkie, but you had to be honest with yourself in admitting that you were hardly listening. JJ and Pope were on the other side of the restaurant, and the blond kept catching your eye no matter how much you tried to pretend like you couldn’t feel the heat of his gaze.

It was only a few hours ago that he’d been climbing out of your bedroom with promises to see you tonight. Heat settled in the pit of your stomach at the memory of his fingers on you and in you, and you reminded yourself to savor this because Rafe would be returning in 24 hours and who knew how long it would be before you saw JJ again in the manner you preferred.

“...and believe it or not, JJ is claiming he can’t make it that weekend. What could he possibly have to do,” Sarah scoffed, and you finally looked at her again.

You suspected why in your head, but naturally you kept it to yourself.

“Hey, do you wanna come over tonight? With Rafe gone with our dad, I can actually invite my friends over without apologizing on behalf of him every thirty minutes.”

Her proposal came the same time Kiara brought your food out, and you struggled to turn her down.

“I wish I could, but I can’t,” you sadly told her, hating the way her face fell. “I have some things to take care of at my house.”

The blonde eyed you, and you took your food with a smile thrown Kie’s way.

“Is that for real? Or is this about Rafe? I swear this time it’ll just be us girls, and they miss hanging out with you. Right?”

She looked to the brunette behind the counter, and when you glanced at her too, Kie was sending you a small smile.

“Yeah, you should come.”

Her tone and gaze was welcome enough, but there was something about the way Kie looked at you that felt off. You sighed, hating to turn them down.

“I really have something to do,” you assured them. “I have no doubt that Rafe will be going out of town with Ward again, so next time. I promise.”

You gave Sarah a hug, squeezing her extra tight as an apology, and you waved Kie goodbye. You left without another glance at JJ no matter how much you wanted to, and you were almost to your car when you heard your name being called. The sound of Kie’s voice was surprising, but you turned to face her nonetheless. 

Like inside, you couldn't place the expression on her face.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Her tone was light, and nothing on her face contradicted that, but something about her question sparked worry in you. You blinked, a bit thrown—because what could Kiara possibly want to talk to you about—but you gave her a nod.

“Yeah, sure,” you said with a shrug.

She almost looked like she hadn’t expected you to say yes, and you understood it. You guys weren’t exactly close. Friendly, but not quite friends. You watched her tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear, lips parting as she seemed to be struggling with how to start.

“I…don’t even know if I should be doing this,” she breathed, and at that, you frowned.

She swiped her tongue between her lips.

“...but JJ is my best friend and…”

At that, your heart sank, doubly unsure and worried for what she was about to say. Kie swallowed, gaze soft as her eyes met yours.

“I don’t know what exactly is going on between you two…” you felt your blood run cold. “...and I don’t know exactly how long it’s been going on…but it’s not fair to him.”

At first, you thought the him in question was Rafe, but the longer you stared at each other, understanding filled you. Your chest felt tight as you looked away, softly exhaling.

“Look, there’s no need to freak out because I’m 100% positive I’m the only one who knows,” she assured you. “...and that’s only because I’m the only one JJ talks to about you.”

You knew that. She’d told you at Midsummers, after all.

“I see the look in his eyes when he talks about you,” she whispered. “I hear what he sounds like when he talks about you—I see the way he looks at you, and it’s only because of that that I see the way you look at him.”

You finally met her gaze again.

“...but you’re never going to leave Rafe.”

Her words felt like a punch to the gut…because they were true. Truer than she even knew.

“...and JJ’s so…” her words trailed off with a light scoff. “You took him by surprise. You’re sweet and polite and the complete opposite of Rafe, and I know what he’s thinking.”

Kie shrugged. 

“...because I’ve thought it myself. JJ would be so much better for you. He’d be really good for you…but you’re never going to leave him. Are you?” she asked after some time.

When you blinked, you were surprised to feel a few tears skip down your cheeks, and you avoided her gaze.

“Kie it’s…it’s complicated,” you finally choked out, wrapping your arm around yourself.

“I don’t doubt that,” she laughed. “Trust, I believe that a relationship with Rafe Cameron is every bit as complicated as you say it is, but that doesn’t make this any more fair for JJ.”

An uncharacteristic stab of anger tore through you, and you stared her down, jaw clenching.

“Why aren’t you having this conversation with JJ? Why me?”

She looked at you like it was supposed to be obvious, a frown between her brows.

“...because he’s never going to leave you.”

You sharply inhaled at that.

“Despite how unfair this is to him and despite the fact that he’s forever going to be some dirty little secret and despite the fact that Rafe would probably run him down if he found out, JJ’s not leaving you. We both know that,” she sadly told you.

You didn’t have anything to say to that, and you struggled to swallow. Everything that Kie was saying was right…and you absolutely hated it. Sneaking around with JJ was fun and dreaming of a future with him was fun, but realistically? The small sliver of hope that you had about getting out of this relationship with Rafe was dwindling by the minute. Suppose you did get out unscathed…it wouldn’t remain that way. 

The moment you even thought of stepping out with JJ would be the end of both you and him, and it suddenly hit you that you couldn’t even fathom making JJ go through that. The only way you’d ever be truly free of Rafe was if he were behind bars, and with daddy’s money, the only chance of that happening was if he ever killed someone.

…and that someone was likely to be you.

“Look, I’m not saying all of this to be a bitch, and you probably think I am a bitch, right now, but I like you, Y/N. I really do, and I like you for JJ…but this isn’t fair to him, and you know it.”

You turned away from her with a heaving chest, and more tears spilled over just as a familiar voice reached you both. JJ said something to her that you didn’t catch, too busy staring off into the distance as the gravity of her words hit you. When JJ called your name, you didn’t answer.

You only noticed that Kie was making her way back inside when he forced you to look at him. With one look at your face, his entire expression dropped.

“Hey,” JJ softly said to you. “What’s wrong? Is it Rafe?”

You could only shake your head.

When he reached for your face, you backed away from him, your back grazing your car. Your eyes kept roaming around, your throat and chest feeling so tight. When JJ reached for the keys in your hand, you tightened your hold.

“Let me drive you back home. I’m coming over anyway-.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you mumbled.

There was a brief pause.

“You can’t drive like this-.”

“No, I don’t think…I don’t think you should come over,” you forced out.

It was some time before you looked at JJ again, and when you did, he was only staring at you with a frown. His lips opened and closed, seemingly struggling to put his thoughts into words before his face went blank altogether. He stared at you for a few seconds before his gaze found The Wreck and back. When he spoke again, his voice was hard, tone icy.

“What did Kie say to you?”

You shook your head, silently crying.

“Nothing that wasn’t true.”

JJ grabbed your arms, and you pushed him away.

“Y/N-.”

“I have to go,” you choked out, hurrying to the driver’s side with JJ on your heels.

You ignored him every time he said your name, and when you slid into your car, he prevented you from closing the door.

“I’m going to call you. Alright? I know Kie probably said some things to you that you think you need to take seriously, but she doesn’t know the whole story, you have to remember that,” he firmly told you, his hand on your cheek.

JJ made you look at him, his thumb brushing over your lip.

“She doesn’t know the truth, she doesn’t understand. Do not listen to her. Okay…?”

JJ was pleading with you, his gaze crazed and desperate, and despite the nod you gave him, you knew in your heart that you already were.

[vacoomer]

The Bindings

Setting: Two old acquaintances - the winner of the games from 2019 and the man who all started it - meet again after five years. They both know their potential connection is an explosive mix of danger, tension and possibly passion. They meet again, one fateful day, when the recruiter reminded her of another possible life changing offer.

Characters: The salesman/The recruiter (squid game); [Name] (your inserted character)

Warnings: Manipulation, Tension, small descriptions of death/blood

The flickering neon sign of a ramen shop cast a sickly yellow glow on the rain-slicked streets of Seoul’s Itaewon district. Inside a cramped, dilapidated apartment, [Name] stared blankly at the peeling, dark wallpaper.

Forty-five billion won. A sum that should have bought her paradise, instead it had bought her a cage of crippling anxiety and loneliness. Five years ago, she’d won the brutal games, a twisted lottery where the poor risked their lives for unimaginable wealth. She’d won, but at what cost?

The memories clawed at her, cold and sharp. The screams, the blood, the hollow eyes of those who hadn’t survived. Six days filled with hollow prays, begging the higher being of the world to let this all just be a bad trip, caused by the illegal substances and sick thoughts manifested through the things some had to endure.

The last game had decided her future. She had to defend herself against the other remaining competitor. So who is to say she is at fault? At fault for his tearing scream, the sound of his ribs breaking, his last gasps for air as his lungs filled themselves with blood.

Self defense, the man clothed in black called it, yet she named it inhumanity.

The apartment stood as a testament to her deliberate seclusion, a physical embodiment of her choice to retreat from the world. Discarded ramen bowls were stacked haphazardly, their remnants a stark reminder of her solitary meals, while ashtrays brimmed with the remnants of countless cigarettes, each one a silent witness to her unraveling. The atmosphere was thick with the oppressive odor of old smoke, mingling with an undercurrent of hopelessness that seemed to seep into the very walls, creating a suffocating cocoon around her.

A sudden, forceful knock on her door broke the stillness that enveloped her home. [Name] recoiled slightly, her heart racing as if it were trying to escape the confines of her chest. Visitors had become a rarity in her life, a distant memory of a time long past. With a mix of trepidation and curiosity, she slowly pulled the door open just enough to peer outside. There, in the dim light of the hallway, stood a man she had not laid eyes on in five long years.

The sight of him sent a jolt through her, a rush of emotions flooding her mind. This was the same man who had approached her in the park on that unforgettable day, a moment etched in her memory like a photograph. His presence was both familiar and foreign, stirring up a whirlwind of feelings she thought she had buried. She could hardly believe he was standing there, as if time had folded in on itself, bringing the past crashing back into her present.

Back then, he had inquired about her well-being, his voice laced with concern. She had kept her head bowed, the weight of her sorrow evident in the way her shoulders slumped. Tears had already pooled in her eyes, a silent testament to the turmoil she felt long before he arrived. With a heavy sigh, she responded, the sound escaping her lips like a whisper of her pain. Time seemed to stretch as she remained lost in her thoughts, unaware of his lingering presence until curiosity nudged her to lift her gaze finally.

When she finally looked up, she was met with a warm, inviting smile radiating kindness. It was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within her. She attempted to brush off her tear-streaked face with a feeble laugh, a gesture that felt both awkward and desperate. The vulnerability of the moment hung in the air, yet his demeanour remained unfazed as if he understood the depths of her struggle. With a playful glint in his eyes, he proposed a game, a simple yet profound invitation that hinted at a distraction from her heartache.

That was what she believed at first.

Back then, she did not know that by accepting the card he offered her, her life would never be the same as it once was. She had only been twenty-three.

A steady knock pulls her out of her thoughts.

The man still stood in the dark hallway, waiting.

He was older now, [Name] noticed. The lines etched deeper into his face, but his eyes held the same chilling intensity.

“[Name],” he said, his voice a low rumble. “It’s been a while. ” His eyes flicked around the apartment, assessing the decay as if it was a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside without invitation, his movements fluid and deliberate. The air seemed to thicken with an unspoken menace. [Name] felt a cold dread wash over her, the memories of the games flooding back in a horrifying wave. She knew that he couldn't be here just to reminisce. This clandestine visit was a warning, a threat; or perhaps both?

“What do you want? ” The woman managed; Her voice barely a whisper.

"Such an ungracious reception," the man remarked, his eyes fixed intently on her. "Five years ago, you were given an opportunity that few are lucky enough to encounter." His fingers traced the contours of a timeworn oil painting, each stroke a reminder of the past. "Yet here we are, five years later, and you still refuse to accept it."

He offered no further explanation; it was unnecessary. The weight of his unspoken words lingered in the atmosphere, wrapping around her like a constricting serpent, instilling a deep-seated dread. The staggering sum of forty-five billion won was powerless to shield her from the clutches of an organization that wielded such formidable influence and control.

Her mind wandered to the players, the faces of those who had sacrificed everything. She recalled the man who had lost an eye yet possessed a heart so immense that it seemed to radiate warmth, a beacon of kindness in a world often shrouded in darkness. Then there was the woman, her tears a constant stream, her prayers rising to the heavens as she implored the deities for deliverance from her suffering. And the little boy, with his wide, innocent eyes filled with dreams and aspirations, who had looked up at her with unwavering hope, only to have that light extinguished in an instant by a single, devastating bullet.

Each memory struck her like a thunderclap, echoing the harsh reality of their fates. The vivid images of their struggles and aspirations haunted her, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life. The man’s resilience, the woman’s despair, and the boy’s fleeting joy painted a haunting tableau of loss and longing.

She could not shake those memories from her thoughts.

Suddenly, a loud rumbling jolted her out of her trance.

The rain pounded relentlessly against the windows of the ageing apartment. The impeccably dressed man remained still, his gaze fixed on her as she fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

In the dim light of the room, he meticulously studied her features, each line and curve illuminated by the flickering shadows. She stood just a few paces away, close enough for him to bridge the distance with a couple of quick strides. Her fingers drummed nervously against her thigh, betraying the tension that coiled within her. Her wide, apprehensive eyes reflected a deep-seated fear, one that had been nurtured over the years. He was acutely aware of the dread that enveloped her, for he was the architect of her unease—a man whose ominous reputation lingered in the air like a chilling breeze, a reminder of the power he wielded.

It was five years prior that he first laid eyes on her, a delicate silhouette perched on a park bench in his favourite spot. She seemed almost ethereal, her slight frame hunched over as if the weight of the world rested upon her shoulders. In mere moments, he scrutinized her, attempting to unravel the enigma that surrounded her. Unlike the countless individuals he had encountered and recruited over the past decade, she was a puzzle—immediately recognizable yet profoundly elusive. Despite the challenge she presented, he remained unfazed, his demeanour unwavering and calm as ever.

The memory of that day lingered vividly in his mind, a stark contrast to the bustling life around him. While others were easily categorized and understood, she defied all his expectations, leaving him with a sense of intrigue that was both unsettling and captivating. How was she able to win the games? Such a delicate individual experiencing death before her eyes, yet she did not cower from it.

He found himself drawn to her, yet, even as he observed her from a distance, he maintained his usual poise, a steady anchor amidst the swirling currents of curiosity and uncertainty that she inspired within him.

This evening, an unsettling change coursed through his determination, igniting a flicker of danger in his thoughts. Over the years, his intrigue had only intensified, drawing him deeper into the mystery that surrounded her. His thorough inquiries had unveiled a wealth of information about this captivating woman, yet she continued to elude his understanding. He learned that she spent her days in the local library, leading a life that was both serene and unremarkable. Her social circle was limited, each friend meticulously selected, as if she were guarding her heart against the world.

He ought to have respected her boundaries and refrained from delving into the intricacies of her personal life. His excessive curiosity about her was misplaced and intrusive. As a recruiter for the ruthless games, he was well aware that such involvement only invited peril, not just for her but for himself as well.

As he advanced deeper into the room, the sound of his footsteps made [Name] recoil slightly, a reflexive response to his presence. He raised a hand in a gesture intended to soothe, though it might have come across as intimidating in the dim light that surrounded them.

"[Name]," he murmured, his voice deep and resonant, reverberating in the stillness. The name felt foreign as it rolled off his lips, marking the first time he had spoken it aloud. She remained silent, her gaze locked onto him, wide with a blend of trepidation and something else—perhaps a hint of recognition or a distant memory stirring within her. The thought sent a thrill through him, igniting a spark of hope that there was more to their connection than mere chance.

“I… I remember you,” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible. He saw a flash of something – confusion, perhaps? Or a hint of something else, something far more intriguing. He leaned in, his shadow falling over her, and the room grew even colder.

He saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a fleeting connection, yet it was quickly suppressed by her fear. He realized then that her fear was not entirely directed at him, it was a fear of everything she had to endure, just because she took the card he had offered her.

He walked past her, his presence radiating a chill that seeped into her very bones. He spoke in soft tones, words crafted to soothe, to disarm. He spoke of books, of poetry, of things he knew she loved. The man walked through the room, taking in her living condition all the while she began to tremble.

“You are the man from the park…”, she interrupted him. Her eyes searching for something to ground her, avoiding his form by any means.

“The man who gave me the card.”, she continued.

“The man who gave you a chance to live a better life.”, he abruptly turned around.

A grin spreads across his features, unmistakable and bold. It lacks the warmth of kindness or the softness of modesty; instead, it resembles the sly smirk of a trickster, hinting at mischief and hidden intentions. The corners of his mouth curl upward in a way that suggests he knows more than he lets on.

His gaze roams over her face once more, as if he is cataloguing every detail with a predatory focus. Each contour and shadow is scrutinized, revealing a fascination that borders on obsession. There’s an intensity in his stare, a mix of curiosity and something darker as if he is trying to decipher a puzzle that only he can see.

She hadn't changed much in those five years. Her jawline, her eye shape, her cheekbones and her lips looked like they did five years ago. Her eyes are different though. They are dull; one could describe them as lifeless, yet he liked seeing her that miserable.

Her eyes reminded him of his.

“You have changed. ", he finally says. His smile fell and his eyebrows raised.

“We’ve all changed, but some changes are necessary. ”, her gaze hardened, her hands forming into fists.

He shifts in place, putting more distance between his feet and interlocking his hands. “Necessary?”

[Name] chuckles at his disbelief. “You made sure I stayed in the place where people like me belong. You label us as creatures who have no value. A waste you have to get rid of.”

The young woman shifts in place, her gaze never faltering.

“You’re a storm; You take pride in diminishing our light just because you deem it as irritating. You destroy anything in your path which had not yet taken roots into the ground. ”

“And you’re a shadow,” he shot back, unfazed by her words. “You mirror the movements of the person you admire, the person you aspire to be; Yet you remain distant, elusive. You hide your emotions, yet they hover just beneath the surface, ready to be seen when someone shows just a breeze of interest in you; But even then they retreat as quickly as they came because if the sun doesn’t continue to shine, shadows can not appear either.” He purses his lips, taking in her furrowed eyebrows and scrunched-up nose. Her fingers fiddle with her sleeves.

“You mimic the sun’s every step, every gesture, twisting your own identity to match the light that shines before you. You bend and stretch, always following, always aligning yourself with the sun’s every move, whether it is to fit in or to conceal your own insecurities behind its blinding glow.”

The recruiter slides his tongue over his bottom lip, his eyes fixated on [Name]

“You blend into the background, slipping into the sun’s shape, as though your existence is nothing more than an extension of that light. Yet, when things go wrong, you deflect the blame into the sun, as if their missteps were only a reflection of the light you were so desperately trying to follow.”

He stepped into her personal space, challenging her. “You can't blame me for your own choices.“

[Name] froze at his remarks, her expression shifting between shock and deep thought. The atmosphere crackled with tension, like static electricity dancing between them, weaving their conflicting emotions into an invisible web.

She held his gaze with fierce determination, defiance blazing in her eyes. The world beyond them dissolved, leaving just two souls locked in their silent duel, each pulse of their hearts marking the wordless challenge between them.

"I placed my faith in you because you witnessed my darkest moments. You offered what seemed like salvation, a gift from heaven itself. I believed it was a reward for my suffering—not this twisted curse!" Her voice trembled with fury, each word cutting like a blade, her teeth clenched in raw resentment.

He arched an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his gaze. "A shadow cannot break free from its master's chains. You'll always trail behind me, bound by gratitude for the life I granted you. Your debt to me is eternal."

"I'd choose the raw truth of my struggles over the facade of a fabricated joy any day," she declared with a fierce intensity that caught him off guard. The passion radiating from her gaze was a spark of vitality he hadn't encountered in ages, illuminating the shadows of his own existence.

"I'd rather embrace my own despair, burdened by debt, than wear a mask of happiness while envying those who seem to glide through life with laughter and no regrets," [Name] exclaimed, her finger jabbing assertively against the recruiter’s solid chest. "I owe you nothing—neither my joy nor my life!"

He knew he couldn’t possess her. Not in the way he craved. The darkness that resided in him would consume her. It was a predator’s instinct, a need to control and dominate, something that he desperately fought against. He watched her carefully, captivated by her resilience, her ability to survive despite the horrors she'd endured.

“You live with regrets, fear and guilt.”, his eyes soften.

“You have emerged from the depths of your struggles, a testament to your resilience and strength. You navigated those treacherous waters all on your own, without a single soul to guide you or lend a hand. It was a solitary journey, one filled with challenges that tested your very limits. Now, as I stand before you, I offer my assistance. You may insist that you don’t require it, and perhaps you believe that to be true. However, that doesn’t diminish the fact that everyone deserves support, especially when the weight of the world feels too heavy to bear alone.”

“You assert that you owe me nothing, and while that may hold some truth, it doesn’t change the reality of your situation. Here you are, caught in a façade, striving to maintain an image that doesn’t reflect your true self. It is - as I have said before - as if you are a shadow, forever trailing the light, unable to break free from the constraints of your own making. The struggle to uphold this pretence only adds to your burden, and I see the toll it takes on you. It’s time to embrace authenticity and allow yourself the grace of vulnerability.”, The recruiter’s eyes darken.

“While you rot in this hole, I do know that you wish to forget all that has happened. Forget who you once were; disreputable, ignominious, cynical, embarrassing. I can assist you with that. I will help you become the person you always aspired to be; No longer a shadow in your own story.”

Those were his final words as he strode through the apartment towards the door.

Before he could walk out of the wooden door, he abruptly stood still, his head only tilting to the side for mere centimetres.

“The offer still stands.”

He watched as she processed his words, her eyes filled with a complex mixture of understanding and pity. He'd glimpsed something in her gaze, a recognition of the battle he fought within himself, a silent acknowledgement of his words.

As the rain finally subsided, and the first rays of dawn painted the sky, he left her standing in the cold apartment, a mere card slowly gliding to the floor.

Part 2

[aventurineswife]

could i request aventurine with a homesick g/n reader? in the sense that they are from a different planet and are either visiting/living in penacony. i think it’d be interesting considering how aventurine might relate to their situation.

Home is not a place, it’s a feeling

Summary: Aventurine finds himself drawn to you as you struggle with homesickness, feeling the weight of longing for your home planet while living in Penacony. As your sense of loss grows, Aventurine, who understands the pain of displacement and survivor’s guilt, offers a form of quiet support. Through small, thoughtful gestures and shared vulnerabilities, he helps guide you through your emotional struggle, while also confronting his own buried fears and regrets.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Homesickness, Emotional Support, Mutual Vulnerability, Internal Conflict, Subtle Romance, Hurt/Comfort.

Warnings: Themes of homesickness and isolation, Mentions of survivor’s guilt and trauma, Emotional angst, Mild manipulation (in terms of comfort, not malice), Subtle, slow-building romance.

The light of Penacony’s moon streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Aventurine’s lavish suite, casting fractured beams of light across the opulent room. You sat curled in a corner of the velvet chaise, knees drawn to your chest, staring out at the sprawling cityscape. Penacony was beautiful—its vibrant nightlife, radiant architecture, and bustling markets—but it wasn’t home.

A sigh escaped your lips as the glow of your home planet, so far away, weighed heavy on your heart. You missed the simple things: the scent of rain on your streets, the taste of your local delicacies, the way the sun dipped below familiar horizons. Being here, surrounded by decadence and strangers, only seemed to amplify your longing.

“You know,” Aventurine’s smooth, lilting voice broke the quiet, “I’ve seen a thousand starscapes, but there’s a certain sadness in how they all start to look the same.”

You glanced up to find him leaning casually against the doorway, his hair catching the moonlight. Dressed in his usual blend of ostentation and elegance, with his overcoat draped over his shoulders, Aventurine looked every bit the enigmatic gambler he was. But there was something in his expression tonight—something softer, quieter—that made you pause.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, strolling toward you. The faint scent of his cologne, something sharp yet sweet, lingered as he perched on the armrest of your chaise.

You shook your head. “Just… thinking.”

“Ah,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if reading between the lines. “Thinking about home, aren’t you?”

The knot in your chest tightened. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “I miss it. Everything here is so… different.”

Aventurine tilted his head, his smile faint but warm. ���Homesickness is a peculiar kind of ache, isn’t it? It’s not just missing a place—it’s missing a piece of yourself that only exists there.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “You get homesick?”

He chuckled, the sound low and wistful. “Sometimes. Though ‘home’ is a rather abstract concept for me. Sigonia wasn’t exactly a paradise.” His tone was light, almost dismissive, but his gaze drifted to the window, and you caught a flicker of something—pain, perhaps, or nostalgia.

“Still,” he continued, “there are moments I’d give anything to feel the desert wind on my face again. To hear my mother’s voice calling me in for supper or to watch my sister’s silly little dances under the sun. Even knowing I can’t go back, the memories… they stick with you, don’t they?”

You swallowed hard, the rawness of his words resonating deeply. “Yeah,” you murmured. “They do.”

Aventurine leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. “You know,” he said after a moment, “there’s a trick to homesickness.”

“Oh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, a flash of his usual bravado returning. “You carry it with you. All the things you miss—the smells, the tastes, the sounds—you find ways to recreate them. Here, there, anywhere. You make your own little pockets of home, no matter how far you’ve wandered.”

Your lips quirked into a small smile. “That’s… surprisingly practical advice for someone like you.”

Aventurine placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Darling, I’ll have you know I’m full of wisdom—when the occasion calls for it.” His playful tone softened as he added, “Besides, I know what it’s like to feel untethered. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

His sincerity caught you off guard, and for a moment, the ache in your chest eased. “Thanks, Aventurine,” you said quietly.

He waved a hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it. Now, let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” you echoed, narrowing your eyes.

He leaned closer, his grin widening. “I’ll help you make Penacony feel a little more like home—find the right food, music, scents, whatever you need. In return, you’ll owe me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course, there’s a catch.”

“There’s always a catch,” he teased, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “But trust me, darling—it’s worth the gamble.”

For the first time in days, the weight of homesickness didn’t feel quite so heavy. Maybe, just maybe, Aventurine’s gamble was one you were willing to take.

[possessedmen]

In the underbelly of a city that thrived under the cloak of night, there was a tale that would chill even the most hardened of souls. It began in the confines of a maximum-security prison, where a man named Vincent, known for his cunning and ruthlessness, orchestrated his escape. Vincent was no ordinary criminal; he was a master of manipulation, with a mind as sharp as a razor's edge.

After his daring escape, Vincent found himself a fugitive, hunted by law enforcement and desperate for a new identity. He turned to the digital world, where anonymity was king. Using a stolen phone and a vague profile on Grindr, he crafted an allure that was irresistible. His target? An unsuspecting man named Luke, who was drawn in by Vincent's charm and the promise of an unforgettable night.

They met at an abandoned warehouse, the perfect lair for Vincent's dark intentions. The place was a relic of the city's industrial past, now a silent witness to Vincent's twisted plans. The air was thick with dust and the scent of rust, but Luke, blinded by desire, saw only the shadows as romantic dimness.

The encounter began with the usual dance of seduction, but Vincent's intentions were far from ordinary. With every touch, he was not just seeking physical connection; he was seeking possession, a way to merge his essence with another to evade capture forever. The act was brutal, a display of raw power and dark magic. Vincent's goal was not just to dominate physically but to merge his spirit with Luke’s, to become one with him in a way that transcended the physical.

As the night deepened, the warehouse echoed with the sounds of their encounter, a mix of pleasure and pain, of dominance and submission. Vincent's eyes, usually cold and calculating, now burned with an unholy fire. He whispered ancient words, words that should never be spoken, as he sought to bind his soul with Luke’s.

The ritual reached its climax, and in a moment that defied reality, Vincent seemed to dissolve into Luke, his body merging with the other man's in a way that was both horrifying and mesmerizing. When the deed was done, Luke was no longer just himself; he was a vessel, a new identity for Vincent, who had successfully escaped not just the prison but his own body.

After the possession, Vincent, now within Luke’s body, stood in front of a dusty mirror in the warehouse, admiring the new form he had taken. Luke’s body was a canvas of perfection in Vincent's eyes, a stark contrast to his previous rugged appearance. He ran his hands over the smooth, unmarred skin, feeling the strength in the muscles, the vitality that coursed through veins untouched by the harshness of prison life. This body was a prize, a new beginning, and Vincent reveled in the sensation of being someone else, someone unburdened by his past.

Curiosity about his new identity led him to Luke’s phone, which lay discarded on the floor. Unlocking it with a face that now belonged to him, Vincent delved into the digital life of his host. The phone opened up like a book, revealing Luke’s world. There were messages from friends, work mails, plans for meetups, and photos that painted a picture of a life filled with joy, travel, spice and connections.

Vincent scrolled through Luke’s social media, absorbing the personality, the likes, the dislikes, the history. He found family photos, a testament to a loving home, something Vincent had never truly known. There were reminders of birthdays, anniversaries, and simple joys like coffee with friends or a new art exhibit. Each piece of information was a puzzle piece in understanding who Luke was, and by extension, who Vincent would now pretend to be.

The next morning, the warehouse was empty, save for the lingering echo of what had transpired. Luke, or what was left of him, walked out into the daylight, a new man with Vincent's mind and memories. The city would never know of the dark magic that had been performed within its boundaries, but the legend of Vincent, the man who escaped not just prison but his own skin, would become a whispered tale among those who dared to delve into the city's darkest secrets.

[literatureloverx]

Fyodor with a reader that is also russian?

Hello, my dear!♥️ I’m not sure what this turned out to be… I intended to write headcanons, but somehow it turned into something else (?).♥️

Fyodor x ideal type fem!reader, yandere tendencies.

Fyodor’s gaze often drifts to the quiet snowfalls of his homeland, the soft, endless white of his childhood that felt as if it held the world in perfect stillness.

It’s a color he often associates with purity—a concept that lingers somewhere between his complex moral code and his cold, calculating nature.

But when he looks at you, he doesn’t just see a woman, a delicate thing like a winter’s breath, he sees home.

The bond you share runs deeper than just being fellow Russians.

You speak in the same tongue, and each word that leaves your lips feels like a whisper of his past, a connection that ties him to something he once believed lost. Russian, to him, isn’t just a language—it’s a memory, a feeling of nostalgia that tugs at his heart, however cold it might be.

And hearing it from you, the way it dances from your lips, brings a certain peace, one that even he can’t fully explain.

You don’t need to speak often, nor do you need to fill the air with unnecessary words. It’s as if you understand the quiet language of the world around you, the same stillness that has shaped him.

And in that silence, in the way you are with him, Fyodor sees more than just beauty. He sees his homeland reflected in you—pale, fragile, and perfect, like something he could hold close without it ever breaking.

You remind him of the untouched snow of his home—the purity of it, the silence that speaks louder than any words ever could.

He’s always had a fascination with beauty, with things that seem almost unreal in their perfection, and you are the epitome of that.

You’re not the kind of woman to simply exist in the world, you’re the kind of woman who brings serenity, who quietly holds a place in a chaotic, troubled mind.

He loves that about you. The softness in your presence, the quietness in your heart.

It contrasts so beautifully with his own darkness.

Where he is calculating, you are instinctively nurturing. Where he finds power in silence, you find peace in it.

And it is in this balance, this delicate mix of fragility and strength, that he finds something he never expected—home.

Fyodor has never been one to trust people. He doesn’t need to, he doesn’t want to, and yet with you, it’s different.

He knows there’s something real in your affection, something pure, untainted by manipulation.

You see him in a way that no one else can—not for the mind games, not for the darkness, but for who he truly is underneath. And that’s what draws him to you the most.

It’s not that he loves you like the others. This isn’t some grand romantic declaration.

It’s something deeper, something quieter.

He appreciates you in a way he’s never appreciated anyone before—because, in you, he finds what’s missing.

You’re a piece of his homeland, the place he once longed for, and with you, he feels something he’s never quite known: a strange peace, a fleeting sense of belonging that comes only with someone who shares his roots.

You’re his, and that’s something he’ll never let go of.

A woman like you, so delicately intertwined with the very essence of his being, can never be allowed to slip away.

The game has changed, and he’s drawn to you in a way he never imagined possible.

[theannoyingurge]

Playing with the idea that none of the bg3 villains are fully honest with Durge. Everyone is hiding some piece of the puzzle and happy to abuse the amnesia situation to their advantage. 'Cept Kressa. She's psycho, but she's an honest psycho. In another life, we might have been friends.

Ketheric is the first, most obvious example of this. He doesn't even bother to inform the other Chosen you've reappeared. (Myrkul is the god of exhaustion, so this tracks.)

Balthazar also 100% recognizes you and also doesn't even bother. To him, your amnesia means no tedious reunions with annoying Bhaalspawn who are big mad that he stole their brother's name and rib bones.

The Emperor is sometimes overlooked when piecing together Durge's history, but he admits to knowing your past if you reject him in Act 3 (stating "I know everything about you" while threatening to turn you into a puppet like Duke Stelmane). Whether or not he's posturing, he should at least be aware of your past with Gortash, considering you helped kidnap him in the first place. For evidence, see Gortash's interrogation notes, which open with "When we captured you". (Sure, this could refer to Orin, but I simply do not see these two working as a highly functional team. More on this and the timeline below the cut.) Naturally, despite traveling together for months, The Emperor wouldn't want to fill any gaps in your memory that might cast doubt on his trustworthiness or help align you with his enemy.

The Absolute might be lying about respecting you/your plan and preferring you over your replacement. I am of two minds about this. If you were attacked immediately after crowning the brain, there should be no basis for a preferential relationship. In that case, the brain is just stroking your ego and need for approval. However, I have doubts about Durge being taken down during the initial raid.** I think some time must have passed after crowning the Absolute, giving it the chance to develop a working relationship with you that it lacked with the other Chosen, which caused everything to fall apart after you were tadpoled. This also buys us time to kidnap the Emperor and bring it under the Absolute's thrall as described in Gortash's interrogation notes.

**Some of Gortash's other notes claim Durge was lost during the first raid, but his journals are full of contradictions. He leaves the House of Hope out of his memoirs entirely. He seemingly retcons history to present himself in a more favorable light, which probably includes intentionally diminishing the work of his allies (or erasing the painful memory of his nearest and dearest). In any interpretation, the brain definitely hates Gortash the most, and that's good enough for me.

Orin and Gortash paint somewhat conflicting pictures of you pre-tadpole. The difference here might be genuine (the honest perspectives of a little sister vs a business partner or lover) or it could be a manipulative game of tug of war over your budding and impressionable self image.

Now, I like Durgetash - but I like every possible interpretation of these assholes, not just the mutually reciprocated and/or sexy ones. It's conceivable to me that Gortash may have discovered Durge's crush on him via the Prayer for Forgiveness and played up their history in Act 3 as a defensive measure. Maybe Gortash always knew of Durge's feelings and used them to his advantage (Orin outright tells you this, but again, nobody listens to Orin. Sorry sis).

It's also conceivable that he knew Durge was the first to be tadpoled, considering how close their pod was to his workbench. The brain was given orders to transform the party (that were resisted several times), so Gortash's surprise that Durge still lives makes sense, assuming he even knew Durge was with them (he doesn't seem to be checking the scrying eyes at all. What kind of loser tyrant ignores his own surveillance system? I digress). His general relief and preference for them over Orin is also still valid. (I imagine he feels something along the lines of Durge being the one who got away, you don't know what you've got until it's gone, etc etc. Cue hysterical bonding as the long lost love of his life waltzes into his coronation covered in blood to save him from their psychotic sister and the poorly housetrained Netherbrain they left him full custody of. Yes he wanted full custody, but still.)

Puppy eyes aside, Gortash is a blackhearted pragmatist (he will turn on Durge if they give him the stones) and progress is progress. The first True Soul was an incredible breakthrough, and the show must go on. So just imagine the bricks he's shitting in Act 3 if Durge comes back and remembers the Wrong Things from before the nautiloid. What if they want revenge on him? Nope, not good at all. Best to position himself as Durge's only friend and most trustworthy partner. Regardless of how well he treated them before, Durge was willing to piss off Bhaal to spare his life. That's an extremely useful vulnerability right now, because he's about to ask them to do it again!

Lastly, I have no proof, but I strongly suspect that Sceleritas is fibbing about Durge's past as well. Partly because the Slayer form is severely disappointing in-game and canonically excrutiatingly painful, despite Fel claiming you've always wanted it. It honestly sounds like a way to sell an unwanted used car back to it's amnesiac owner who failed to appreciate it before. Bhaal isn't a full deity any longer, so take what you're given (and you'd better damned well like it!) I also call bullshit on tossing a coin to a beggar being the "worst" crime Durge ever committed against Bhaal (*ahem* looking at you, Gortash). Some dialogue with the Oathbreaker Paladin suggests we've tried somewhat consistently to be good in the past, and Sceleritas has a vested interest in making Durge worse, not planting noble ideas in their freshly lobotomized murder-happy brain.

[animasola86]

F o r g e t f u l 🎀 4 / 4

After enduring a rather rough impact play scene, you find out that Mistress also has a soft side, and a soft body and other soft parts that you seemingly can't get enough of.

a dominant woman X a submissive girl with a memory problem

WARNINGS: F!Reader-insert! NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mistress/pet. Domme/sub. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Praise kink. Aftercare! Temperature play. Tribadism/scissoring. Cunnilingus. Squirting. Bondage. Impact play. Sex toys. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 5.4k

A/N: Here it is, the promised wlw smut, finally! But beware, it does end a little darker than I originally intended. Sometimes these things just happen. Oops.

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

You close your eyes, heaving a deep sigh of relief that rolls through your hurting body like a cold caress, and in the next moment, you feel hands on your wrists and ankles, removing the rigid leather cuffs that have surely cut into your skin with how much you've struggled against them.

The vertigo is still there, swirling through your head, but you only feel how bad it really is, when those hands pull you backwards and into a standing position. Not only do your legs feel like jello, boneless as you are, but as soon as your feet touch the cold concrete floor, you yelp and jump as a sharp pain crashes through you.

You stumble against something, someone, balancing on the balls of your feet to keep the contact of your hurting soles to the ground to a minimum. Blinking away tears, you look around, realizing you're clinging to Mistress, who watches you with her head tilted, one hand on your waist, the other in the air as she snaps her fingers at someone you can't see.

And suddenly you are being lifted when two strong hands grab your waist and fling you into someone's arms. It happens so fast, you can barely register the new position. Once you settle, your heart still pounding frantically and your breaths rattling out of your sore throat, you realize you're held by a large burly man. Heat flushes your face, your nostrils flaring as you try to breathe against the embarrassment.

The man doesn't really acknowledge you, his face a mask, no expression, eyes staring straight ahead. Somehow you get the impression he could be working as a bouncer or security guard. No matter the case, you feel tiny in his arms, and your nakedness really irks you now. It's one thing to be naked in front of Mistress or a bunch of random strangers whose faces you can't see, but being this close to a man, in your current state no less, makes you feel very uncomfortable.

You stare at your hands, trying to make yourself smaller, as he just holds you, one large hand on your lower back, the other under your knees, your body pliant enough to just rest against his broad chest. You hear Mistress' voice, giving hushed orders to her assistants, while you keep fidgeting with your fingers, your eyes glued to the long red welt on each palm and the irritated skin around your wrists. You poke at it to distract yourself, relishing in the cold shudder crashing through you as you do.

“Bring her here.” The words barely register when the man who holds you starts moving, and you grab onto the front of his black suit jacket instinctively, a gasp on your lips as you look up, finding him watching you. You blink and lower your eyes again, letting go of him, an awkward little cough stuck in your throat. You don't even know why you're blushing this badly.

Luckily you don't have to find out when he eventually sets you down again, onto a soft surface that feels surprisingly cool against the warm skin of your bruised rear. You still flinch when the cold leather comes in contact with it, but you fight through the sensations, biting the inside of your cheek, hoping that if you won't fuss about this, they will forget about you and this may all be over soon. Wishful thinking...

Mistress comes into view, ordering the man and other people away, telling them to clean the scene and bring her some water. You watch her silently, as you slump down onto the couch, balancing sideways on your hip instead of your butt, your legs pulled up, your hands hugging them tightly to your chest. The pain becomes this low thumping in the back of your mind, still there, very much so, but slowly bleeding into something you could tolerate, you're sure. You have to, after all.

Closing your eyes to focus on the warmth of your skin instead, you seemingly drift off a little, because when you open your eyes again, your head is lying on someone's lap, a soft hand caressing your arm, another tangled in your hair. You turn slightly and look up, blushing deeply when you see Mistress smiling down at you. She keeps stroking you gently, and you settle into the affectionate touch, your eyes never leaving her beautiful face. It's oddly calming, even when she starts speaking in a low voice.

“I'm very pleased with you tonight, pet,” she says. “Our guests really like you. The turnout is impressive, isn't it? I've already seen some regulars.”

You blink at her words. Regulars? You've had the suspicion before, but this settles it. It's not the first time you've had to endure this. You stare at her, frowning, but she only smiles.

“They didn't even mind the little change of plans your stunt caused,” she adds, her fingers drawing circles on your cheek. “What happened, hm? You're usually so good with the dildo gag. I was surprised to see your gag reflex coming back. I thought we'd trained that away for good...”

You swallow hard at the mention of the thing you don't want to ever experience again, but her words create images in your head, of distant memories, and a shudder goes through your body as you remember the many times she forced the toy down your throat while you gagged and spluttered until one day you didn't anymore.

“You're a little out of it tonight, aren't you?” she keeps going, not waiting for any response. “But you really don't have to worry. I told you, you've done this before. So many times, I mean, look at all the pictures we created, baby,” she adds, raising her hand to wave at the large prints surrounding you.

You don't follow her gaze, you don't want to see a close-up of your stuffed cunt right now. You keep focusing on her. Her calling you something other than 'pet' makes you feel all warm inside, it's almost as if she's a different person when she calls you 'baby', it feels so much more intimate. You lean into it, snuggling against her soft thighs, a weak smile on your dry lips.

She looks back at you, a soft expression on her perfect face. Her hand returns to your head, her fingertips giving you a gentle squeeze that makes you sigh contently. “How do you feel?” she then asks, genuine concern in her dark eyes.

You consider the question. You're hurting, badly, the worst pain sits between your ass cheeks, and every time you clench your hole by accident, it stings and throbs painfully. Your cunt feels bruised and sore, and your rear, especially the left cheek, feels uncomfortably warm and tight from the many strikes whoever had control over the paddle gave you. The other bruises and welts don't feel as bad anymore, but overall, yes, you are hurting, but...

You also felt really good for a while, when those orgasms crashed through you, so intense the sheer memory of it makes you shiver deeply. It's a strange thing. And with your mind going in and out of memories, when most of the time you wonder why you're here and what is happening, and you keep telling yourself that you don't want to do these things, you also realize, deep down, that you, for one, have no other choice, and two, agreed to this, at a point in your life that you can't remember, but you know you have.

Mistress wouldn't force you to do this, right? She seems so sincere in the moments when she's consoling you, that's not fake, there really is something between you that you wish you could remember more of. Though even when you can't see it clearly, you feel it's there, and that's a relief between all the rough things she does to you, makes you do. And you know: you want this, you want to please this woman, you'd do anything for her, it feels right.

“I...” you start, your voice still raw and hoarse. “I'm okay,” you tell her, and her smile widens, her hand cupping your cheek.

“I knew you'd be. My good girl,” she whispers, and the praise flows through your body, warm and comforting, settling deep in your gut, soothing the aches in your abused core. “You're stronger than you think, baby. You can do this. You make me so proud.”

You give her a jerky nod, pressing your other cheek into her leg as you close your eyes for a moment. She lets you rest, continuing to caress your hair and arm, her touches warm and gentle. When she speaks again, her voice is slightly different, more detached, harder. “Sit up, pet.”

And despite the aches of your body, you do, sitting up on your knees, eyes fluttering open, facing her with an obedient shine in your eyes. She holds a cup of water with a straw towards you, and you take it carefully as you bring it to your lips and start sucking on it, the cold liquid filling your mouth and running down your throat when you swallow eagerly.

She watches you as you drink, and you can't look away either. Once the cup is empty, she nods to someone behind you and a pair of hands takes it away from you. Feeling strangely refreshed, you inhale deeply. Mistress pats her lap, eyeing you with a slight smirk. Your cheeks heat up as you crawl over her legs and settle on her thighs, ass up, chest pressed into the couch cushions as you rest your head on your folded arms. Somehow you knew to assume this position, as if you've done this many times before. You probably have.

You feel her hands sliding over your bare curves, teasing down your spine, a gentle pressure on your bruised rear, causing you to breathe harder. Someone approaches you to your right, a strange clinking sound echoing in your ears. You close your eyes and ignore it, relaxing into Mistress' warmth. Until it isn't anything but warm.

Something cold and hard presses between your shoulder blades, causing you to flinch. It's leaving a wet film on your warm skin, melting its way lower. Oh. An ice cube. After the initial shock, the sensation feels almost heavenly, cooling you and your tense nerves and the irritated skin instantly. A deep sigh escapes you as you melt into Mistress' lap like the ice melts on your body.

She drags cube after cube over your back, moves them over your spine, around the curves of your rear before she gathers a handful and slips them right between your tender ass cheeks. The sudden cold on your bruised rim makes you wince and jerk against her, but she presses her other hand on the backs of your thighs to hold you down. Her hand is just as cold as she gathers the cubes from where they are resting against your puffy pussy lips, and you almost wish she'd let them there, it feels too nice, such a contrast to the harsh treatment you've endured earlier.

But she seems to have something else in mind. The clinking sounds again, and you assume it's a bowl full of ice cubes. You expect more little ice balls on your skin, but instead you feel something harder and bigger press between your cheeks. A whine slips from your mouth when she nudges your bruised sphincter, followed by a choked cough as she pushes whatever she's holding into your hole, just for a few seconds before she retrieves it again, but it's enough to make your skin tingle somewhat pleasantly.

She repeats the motion a few times, soothing the burning in your ass, and you could swear you can hear a quiet sizzling noise, at least that's how it feels when she moves the icey object over your hot skin. Eventually she pulls it away and grabs something else, before she does the same thing to your warm cunt, this object is even bigger but equally as cold and soothing, and she dips it in, a few inches at first, never long enough for the ice to do any damage, before she pushes the thing in all the way, causing you to groan as it nudges against your sore muscles, but the cold sensation is like nothing you've ever felt before, it chills you from within, feels too good to be true.

“Push,” she tells you quietly, and even though you're confused by her command, your body reacts nonetheless, and you clench your muscles to push the object out again. She catches it and removes it fully, leaving you wishing she'd put it back in. “Good girl,” she whispers, rubbing your heated ass cheeks with her cold hand. Despite feeling empty and still quite warm, her praise and her soothing touches do help calm you down more and more.

You're almost drifting off now, relaxed as you are, but when she moves her fingers between your thighs and pokes at your entrance, your attention is back on her. She probes your hole for a moment, and with how cold her fingers are, your muscles tense around them, pulling together so hard it borders on painful, but before you can protest, she pulls them out again, caressing your outer lips gently.

“Nice and tight again, hm?” she muses softly. You squirm a little in response, burying your heated face in your folded arms. She laughs quietly. “Your body is a marvel, pet. Whatever I do to you, you always bounce right back. That's why I chose you, that's why you are perfect...”

“Thank you, Mistress,” you mumble, the words falling from your lips without much thought. It just feels right to say them.

Her hands leave you for a moment, before you feel them on your shoulders, gently but firmly pulling you up. She then pushes you back towards the other side of the couch and crawls right over you, her hands tangling in your hair, her elbows next to your shoulders, as you lie beneath her, immobile, blinking up at her, and not even the pressure of your bruised skin against the cushions can distract you from the growing throbbing inside your core.

She shifts on top of you and nudges your legs apart before she lies down between them, the soft fabric of her dress pressing into your heated crotch. A strangled moan escapes you that makes her smile down at you. “Grab my ass, pet,” she whispers, holding your gaze, and your hands move, a tremble in them but you still do as you're told, fingers scraping over her hips before you curl them around her rear. “Good, now squeeze, show me how much you need me...”

Your mouth feels dry, your heart thundering in your chest, and your hands grab and squeeze, feeling her soft but firm flesh, and as you do her dress rides up more and more until you feel her skin against your fingertips. She grinds her pelvis into yours, pushing against your hands, and when your fingers wander, dipping between her ass cheeks, she throws her head back and moans loudly. Her reaction makes you gasp and you want to pull your hands back, but she suddenly cups your face and leans closer, her nose brushing against yours.

“Keep your hands on me,” she orders, and you do, firmly holding her glutes, fingertips teasing between them, as she keeps bucking against you, and the friction feels so good, your clit throbbing and pulsing against her dress, a new wave of arousal crashing through you so intensely, you can't help but moan too. Her full lips pull into a smirk, and a second later, she presses them to yours, kissing you deeply, swallowing the gasps and whines as you both continue to grind against the other.

In your frenzy to feel her closer to you, you lift your shaking legs and hook your feet around her thighs, pulling her closer. For a moment she lets you, too distracted by how your tongues move against each other, before she lets out a low groan and buries her face in the crook of your neck, her hot breath ghosting your skin. Your chest rises and falls rapidly against hers, the heat building up between the two of you making you wish she'd bring the ice dildo back.

She leans away eventually, propped on her arms, eyes hooded and dark as she stares down at you, while you just lie there, pushed into the couch, still holding her ass. Her fingers find your wrists as she pulls your hands back, only to put them on her chest. She doesn't have to say anything as you start groping her beautiful breasts through the fabric of her dress, firm and heavy in your grasp, while she hooks one hand under your leg and lifts it up until it rests on her shoulder. Shifting slightly, she turns your hip and pushes her dress up more (and you realize she's not wearing any panties). Now your crotches align perfectly, skin on warm skin, and she wastes no time to start rubbing them together.

Little moans escape you, your fingers digging deeper into her soft flesh, holding on for dear life, as she grinds against you, holding onto your leg for leverage, her full lips parted, her eyes never leaving yours. The sensation feels as foreign as it feels familiar, and hazy memories flood your mind, of endless hours of being entangled like this, of growing heat and deep trembles, of a passion you wish you'd remember more clearly.

You realize this is more than being her muse and guinea-pig, her pet and plaything, you feel it as warm as the tension settling in your stomach: you care about this woman. And despite her rough demeanor, her intimidating presence, she cares about you too. You see it on her pretty face as she watches you, with her lips parted and eyes trained on you, as she clings to your leg and grinds faster and harder, her moans melting into yours, and it's all that matters.

It's just the two of you, alone on that couch, and you forget about the large photographs on the walls around you, about the TVs still blaring echoes of past moans as she stuffs you full of various objects, about the people standing in the shadows, watching you. In the back of your mind, you are aware of all that, but you don't care anymore. It's you and her, grinding your slick slits together, riding the high that builds and builds, as you lose yourself in the other's touch and warmth.

Your eyes roll back, your hands falling limply to your sides, leaving her breasts untouched, as you drift into that sparkling void, where lights flicker like fireflies, a blissful experience among all the other things you had to endure. You buck against her and she jerks against you, one hand tight around your thigh while her other hand suddenly finds your throat. You gasp, eyes fluttering back open, black spots dancing at the edge of your vision as she pushes you into the couch, the collar tight beneath her palm, her grip unrelenting.

Choked wails escape you as she leans over you, her body undulating over yours, her pace unbroken, as she stares down at you, baring her teeth, her nostrils flaring as she chases that high you've been on for herself. Your hands move blindly until you find her bare thigh, and you rub it as best as you can, kneading her soft flesh, trying to meet her relentless rhythm.

She growls from behind her teeth, rubbing harder and faster, and the friction feels so good you can barely think, barely breathe. It's all a blur, and when it suddenly stops as she pushes back and away from you, you whine in frustration, but only for so long before gasps and yelps escape you as she rams her fingers into your pulsing pussy.

It only takes her a few hard plunges before you arch your back and hips off the couch, crying out loudly as you come around her fingers, your wetness leaving you in twitching squirts that coat the front of her dress – not that you would have noticed or minded in that moment as your eyes roll back for good and you collapse into the cushions, boneless again, satisfied, too blissed out to care about anything anymore.

You barely notice how she climbs off you, how you're being pulled further down the couch, until you do notice how she sits down on your chest, her wet crotch rubbing over your breasts before she scoots higher, and with a tight hand in your hair, she angles your head and presses your face right against her slick cunt, her clit throbbing against your nose. It's muscle memory at this point as you part your lips and give her slit a languid stroke of your tongue, her taste exploding in your mouth, further adding to the vertigo in your head.

She grinds her pelvis against your face, moaning above you, while you lap up her wetness, your tongue parting her labia before you press your mouth between them, sucking in a deep breath, her scent making you dizzy in the best way you've ever experienced. You keep licking, she keeps grinding, her noises growing louder, and as she rides your face, you fully lose yourself in the job she's given you. It's not a job though, it's a pleasure, your pleasure, and you feel your own pussy pulsing in response to eating hers.

Your tongue dips into her clenching hole then, her warmth overwhelming for a moment, the added weight of her body pushing her down further into your face leaving you breathless and lightheaded, but you lean into the sensation, licking and lapping and prodding and poking, tasting every inch of her that you can reach. Her hands dig into your hair, pulling roughly, her moans like a symphony in your ears. As she starts shaking on top of you, you move your lips slightly up, and when they close around her pulsing clit, you hear her howling while you suck and suck, pulling more of her soft flesh into your mouth, the tip of your tongue pressing against her sensitive bud without mercy.

It should feel like revenge, making her quake like that after she's done similar things to you for who knows how many times, but instead you feel pride, accomplishment, as you realize that it's your mouth that pushes her over the edge. And you keep at it, sucking and licking, kissing her lips as you'd kiss her mouth, sinking into the taste and scent of her, of your Mistress, and when she comes on top of you, she freezes, gripping your hair tightly, her pelvis pressed against your face, her body arching above you, her drawn-out moan causing deep shivers to crash through your own body.

She leans back a bit, breathing harder as she looks down at you, before she moves one hand to her clit and rubs herself, inches away from your drenched face, her eyes on you, and you stare back, mesmerized by the sight, even more so when she pushes two slender fingers into her winking hole, pumping hard and fast, and then she comes again, with another jerk that goes through her body, and this time she sprays you with jets of her sweet wetness. You close your eyes against the sensation, but keep your lips parted, letting her come all over your face.

“Look at me,” she breathes, voice rough and hoarse, her chest heaving, and you blink up at her, your eyelashes wet and clumped, but seeing her reddened face turning from hard and concentrated into a full-on smile that makes her eyes sparkle, you know that is all that matters. She wipes at your wet face, her thumb pressing into your mouth, and you suck on it instinctively, never looking away from her beautiful face. “Good girl,” she whispers.

Your cheeks heat up, first from the praise, then from the soft slap she gives you before she clambers off you, wiping her wet hands on your fluttering stomach. You watch her push her dress down over her round rear, her fingers tangling in her wild hair, as she goes back to being the dominating figure you know and fear, the business woman, the artist. Inhaling deeply, her chest rising enticingly, she turns away from you and faces the crowd that has gathers around the couch.

You try to focus on her, licking your lips, absentmindedly wiping at your face, not sure what to do with her slick (wondering if she'll be mad if you wipe it on the couch), but when she speaks, a familiar cold gathers in your guts that makes you pull your legs up as you curl into a ball on the soft cushions.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you enjoyed this little extra performance,” she says, her voice steady again. “This is a night of surprises, after all. But don't worry, we will return to our scheduled event shortly. I hope you still have the toys my assistants provided you with? Yes, you can also keep your impact play items. The next round will be whatever you want it to be. I will prepare my pet and she will be yours to use however you desire. Five more minutes,” she ends with a soft laugh, nodding her head to the faceless people waiting in the shadows.

As she speaks, a new wave of dread crashes over you. As much as you enjoy being her personal plaything, making her come and coming with her, having strangers stuff you with various toys and being spanked again really doesn't sit right with you.

You're still staring at Mistress' back, when one of her assistants pulls you into a sitting position and wipes a wet cloth over your soiled face and chest. It's another girl with a vacant expression, and you wonder how she finds these people, how she found you, how she knew you were perfect for her schemes. In the end it doesn't matter, and you're being guided back to the x-shaped table.

Despite your aversion, you don't fight lying back down on it, you let them cuff your wrists and ankles again, staring up at the mirrored ceiling, letting it all happen. In your mind you go back to being close to Mistress, smelling and tasting her, feeling her skin against yours. It's enough to calm your nerves, at least a little, as she steps next to you with a smile that isn't as friendly or intimate, but calculating and dark.

Her hand finds your face, patting it gently, as she leans down a little. “Be a good girl now,” she tells you. “Let these people have their fun. Don't fight it. Remember, your body is a marvel, it can take whatever will be given to you. Do you understand?”

You nod. “Yes, Mistress,” you whisper back.

“No gag this time, baby,” she adds, brushing her thumb over your bottom lip. “I want to capture your beautiful voice. Will you scream for me, pet?”

You swallow hard, your chest rising and falling faster. “Yes...” you gasp out as she slaps your cheek. “Mistress,” you add, feeling your eyes water under the sting of her smack. She stares at you, then slaps you again. You cry out, trying to turn your head away, but she grabs your throat, pressing your collar against your windpipe. A gurgle makes it past your trembling lips.

“Yes, you'll scream for me, for all of us. I know you will, and you can. Use your pretty voice, my pretty girl,” she coos darkly. “You are mine to do whatever I want with, right? Are you, pet?”

You nod frantically, opening your mouth but no words come out. She's content with your reaction though. Smiling, she loosens her grip and leans back up, caressing your warm cheek with the back of her finger.

You're breathing harder as you watch her step away, grabbing her camera and motioning to one of her assistants who's holding a slightly larger camera that is already pointed at your face. “Capture every little whine and wail, will you?” The girl nods, a stoic face, no reaction whatsoever while you're starting to panic in your restraints.

Trying to calm yourself by forcing your rapid breaths through your nose, you dare to look around, noticing many men and women standing around the table you're tied to. They are holding various sex toys, dildos of all shapes and sizes, other phallic looking objects, mostly vibrators that are already buzzing in their hands, other turn ball shaped items between their fingers, small ones to fist-sized ones, and then there are those holding floggers and whips, paddles and canes, and a croaked whimper escapes you at the sight and memory of what those have done to you before.

You stare back up at the ceiling, knowing you can't escape, knowing you'll have to endure another round of this humiliation, but you also know you will be pushed into the blissful void again, if you just allow it, and you have the certainty that you've done this before, many times, that your body can handle it. You may not remember it, but the evidence is there, along with Mistress' words of reassurance, and that is enough to prepare yourself when the first flogger strike hits your thigh, the soft leather bands fanning out over your skin.

You cry out nonetheless, squeezing your eyes shut and struggling in your cuffs, but you tell yourself this is nothing, just a warm up, and as more blows hit your skin, warming it up, you force yourself to merely flinch. They hit your legs, your stomach, your mound and your chest, the blood rushing to the surface, throbbing slightly, but it is indeed nothing compared to the first cane hit to your left breast that leaves your head spinning and your lungs aching as a high-pitched scream rips from your throat.

There's another to your right breast, just inches away from your hard nipple, that forces a similar reaction out of you. The pain stings and pulses, shooting directly into your still swollen clit. When the canes are gone, you feel gloved hands rubbing over your skin, teasing your bruised breasts, others poking at your cunt, parting your puffy lips before they dip into your clenching hole, one finger, two, three, but before they can fist you again, you feel the first object pushing between your tense muscles.

You groan, thrashing your head back, kicking your legs helplessly as it pushes deep and deeper, poking your cervix with precision. You don't care what it is, it's long and girthy, and you know they are probably bigger things coming. It doesn't matter. It's only the beginning.

This is your fate, and as you give into it, you revel in the sensations growing inside your body, the tension, the heat building up, as you moan and whimper, wail and whine, every deep plunge causing you to cry out as a sharp pain makes your thighs twitch. They keep assaulting you with their toys and gadgets, and you let them, you tell yourself that you let them even though you don't have any other choice. It doesn't matter. You're doing this for her.

And she's right there, holding her camera to her eye as she clicks away, capturing your vulnerable moments, creating new memories you will find one day, like you did with the others, and you will wonder how those came to be. And as history repeats itself, you will end on the conclusion that this is what you do. You are her muse, her pet, the woman she chose to have by her side, to share with others, to portray. And you take pride in it.

No humiliation, no embarrassment. This is not to degrade you, it's to honor you. She said you're beautiful, she praised you, you're her good girl, her pretty girl, and you sink into those words as other things sink into you, as your screams pass your dry lips and as the pain shoots through your nerves. This stunning woman chose you, and you'd be a fool to deny her.

Because you'd do absolutely anything for her. Even sacrificing your own body.

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

End notes: This concludes my little adventure into the world of wlw smut (and even darker BDSM stuff, hm). As this was my first attempt, I hope I could somehow make it enjoyable despite the dark themes.

As of right now, I have yet another idea that includes Mistress, though this time, it'll feature a dominant man and a dominant woman, both taking care of a clueless Reader. I guess that one is for my bisexual readers out there! (I seem to keep inspiring myself with these stories...) Stay tuned!

Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought about this! See you soon with more depraved little smut stories that probably focus on some sort of BDSM again. Bye for now!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

[callmemonster68]

JUNGWON – God of Time ( smut )

He controls the flow of time and memories but finds himself drawn to the mortality of an intriguing human.

Pairing: Jungwon, a deity X FemReader

Genre: Obscenity

Warning: Contains explicit content, unprotected sex, suggestive, penetration, explicit language, climax, sex, swearing, loss of virginity, hickeys, messy make-out sessions, dirty talk, compliments, rough sex, touching bruises, handcuffs, chains, sadomasochism , masochism, brands

Note: I'm recently starting to write, and English is not my native language. I apologize for any mistakes and hope to improve my writing. Feedback is always welcome!

In a realm where time intertwines with the deepest desires, you find yourself before Jungwon, the God of Time—a being who controls moments and memories. His gaze is mesmerizing, and every word from his lips seems to shape the reality around you. The tension in the air is palpable, as if every second is charged with unspoken promises.

Y/N: "God of Time, why did you bring me here? What do you want from me?"

Jungwon: "Ah, my tempting Y/N, time is a game few know how to play. I brought you here to explore the limits of desire. What would you do if time was no longer a barrier?"

Y/N: "I... I would give myself to every moment, every touch. What do you offer me?"

Jungwon: "I offer you eternity in an instant. Feel how time dissolves when our bodies meet. Every touch, every breath—it’s an eternity in itself."

Y/N: "Then let’s savor every second. Let time stop while we are together."

Jungwon: "Yes, let us dance between moments, surrendering to burning passion. Let time bow to our desires."

---------- Small Time Skip ----------

Jungwon: "Y/N, I want to show you something."

S/N: "What is it, Jungwon, God of Time?"

Jungwon took her hand and led her to an isolated spot in the forest. He sat her down and began to caress her body, his fingers tracing the curves of her breasts and the softness of her thighs.

Jungwon: "Close your eyes, Y/N. Let me show you what it means to surrender to the power of time."

Y/N closed her eyes, and Jungwon began to manipulate time. He slowed it down, and Y/N felt every touch and every kiss as if they were happening in slow motion. Then he sped it up, and a wave of pleasure coursed through her as every sensation intensified.

Jungwon’s hands traveled down her body, and he began to kiss her neck, his tongue tracing the delicate curves of her skin. Y/N moaned, and Jungwon smiled, knowing he had her exactly where he wanted.

His hands moved lower, and he began to tease her breasts, his fingers playing with her nipples. Soon, his lips reached her hardened peak, and Jungwon began with soft kisses that quickly turned into messy licks and light bites. Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, and a wave of desire surged through her body.

Jungwon: "I’ll show you how thrilling it is to dance between moments."

Y/N’s mind was consumed by the sensations coursing through her. It felt as if time had stopped, leaving them as the only beings in existence.

Jungwon’s fingers found their way to Y/N’s core, and she moaned with pleasure, his face drawing closer to her intimacy. His lips hovered near her entrance, and a wave of pleasure surged through her as his tongue began to dance around her clit. Y/N let out a loud moan, quickly covering her blushing face with her hands in embarrassment.

Then, Jungwon penetrated her with two fingers, moving rapidly and skillfully, hitting her favorite spot and provoking spasms throughout her body. After just a few more thrusts, Y/N’s sticky walls clenched tightly around his fingers, and with a loud, intense moan, she came.

Jungwon looked into Y/N’s eyes, guiding his drenched fingers to his own mouth. He licked them clean, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. He delighted in provoking her and causing an overwhelming mix of sensations.

Jungwon: "Now you’re ready."

Jungwon smiled and leaned in to kiss her deeply. He could feel the heat between them, and he knew they were both ready for what would come next. He pulled her on top of him, caressing her soft skin with his hands. Y/N moaned at the sensation of his touch, instinctively grinding against him.

Jungwon’s arousal grew, and she could feel his erection pressing against his pants. Y/N noticed and pulled him closer, unzipping them. Once his cock was free, she took it in her hand, stroking it gently.

Jungwon let out a low groan, feeling the pressure build inside him. Y/N leaned in to kiss him again, whispering in his ear:

Y/N: "I want you to take me, God of Time. I want you to penetrate me and give me the pleasure only you can."

Jungwon needed no further encouragement. Hearing her call him “God of Time” ignited a fire within him like nothing else ever had. He slid his hand along her thigh, gently parting her legs. He positioned himself at her entrance and slowly pushed inside.

Y/N let out a loud gasp, clutching his shoulders. He began to move, and she moaned with every thrust.

Y/N: "Jungwon, yes, yes. Harder. I want you to take me."

Jungwon quickened his pace, his thrusts growing stronger and deeper. Y/N’s moans turned into cries as she was swept into an intense orgasm. Jungwon could no longer hold back, reaching his climax with a loud groan. Y/N collapsed onto Jungwon’s chest, the two of them entwined and exhausted.

Y/N: "That was incredible."

Jungwon smiled, gently kissing her forehead.

Jungwon: "I’m glad you enjoyed it, Y/N. I wish we could do this more often."

Y/N didn’t understand what he meant. He was a god—he could do and have anything he wanted, anytime he wanted. Why was he acting as if it weren’t so, she wondered.

Y/N: "But we have all the time in the world, just for us. We can do this as many times as we want."

Jungwon: "Perhaps in another life."

And with a snap of his fingers, Y/N was transported back to her room, lying in her bed in a deep sleep. Jungwon erased her memories. When she woke, Y/N wouldn’t remember ever meeting Jungwon, the God of Time, or how he had fucked her senseless, leaving her mind unable to function.

This story is part of the universe of ' Divine Sins: Immortal Fantasies with ENHYPEN ' created by me.Description:Seven sensual and mysterious tales that delve into the desires between mortals and immortals. Inspired by the members of ENHYPEN, these stories reimagine the group as powerful gods and a fallen angel, all wickedly alluring and irresistibly seductive. Each narrative immerses readers in a world of fantasy, unveiling forbidden passions, divine secrets, and the overwhelming intensity that sparks between celestial beings and an ordinary human. A universe brimming with lust, mystery, and the captivating allure of the forbidden, where every story is an invitation to desire. Contains mature content.

✿ If you don't reblog and comment, you can be sure I'll be showing up in your dreams tonight... and I won’t be as sweet as in the story ✿

[silver-cyn]

Hualian Kiss-Mas @here4hualian Read it on A03 here.

Day 14: Kissing in secret

“Mutants. It’s imperative that we remember they’re not like us.” Hua Cheng presses Xie Lian against the wall, their forms so close together not a breath of air can pass between them. They kiss with all the heat of lovers too long separated, and with the desperation of those who know they’ll soon be parted again.    

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says between kisses and caresses. He’s drunk on Hua Cheng and doesn’t want to stop, but there’s something important he has to say. 

Xie Lian pulls back, staring into Hua Cheng’s lone remaining eye that clearly gives him away for the mutant he is. Red, red so beautifully red, glowing like a flame in the night, enchanting and utterly irresistible.

“I understand it’s difficult. They can look like us, talk like us, even act like us. But it’s a lie. They’re not like us at all. They aren’t…human.” “Gege…” Hua Cheng urges gently and Xie Lian blushes at his own distraction.  Then he cups Hua Cheng's face tenderly between both hands and kisses him tenderly on the lips.  “I’m leaving with you and the others tonight,” Xie Lian says calmly.  Hua Cheng’s eye widens, his lips part just slightly and his face is an open display of everything he’s feeling. He swallows hard before swooping in for a fierce kiss that buckles Xie Lian’s knees and leaves Xie Lian clinging to him. “Gege, are you sure? Your entire future is –” “ – nothing without you in it.” Xie Lian says breathlessly, hugging Hua Cheng close. “All mutants are dangerous creatures that must be eliminated.”

“And I...I can’t be there any longer. The government is already doing horrible things: snatching people up and holding them prisoner just because they’re born with abilities that mark them differently.  And it’s only going to get worse if we don’t stop them. San Lang, you’ve heard about the weapons they’re building, haven’t you? They call them — ” 

“Sentinels,” Hua Cheng says quietly. Xie Lian nods, his arms unconsciously tightening around Hua Cheng. They can both easily picture the powerful giants of steel, metal and ruthless intent to come, but neither imagined that time would arrive…

…this very night.

“SURRENDER MUTANTS!!”  Hua Cheng instinctively pushes Xie Lian behind him as the ceiling is cleanly ripped off. Two giant metallic robots zero in on them with red soulless eyes and palms extended. “San Lang!” Xie Lian only has time to grab Hua Cheng’s arm before his vision turns red.

“We must remain vigilant. We must not be deceived or confused by the ties that bind us once we learn their true nature. For if we allow ourselves to be deceived, we will surely befall the same fate…”

A hand slaps Xie Lian’s picture on the whiteboard and all eyes are drawn to the bold red lettering stamped across his face: “DECEASED.” 

“...as our dear comrade Xie Lian.”

Jun Wu stares out at the small council of his country’s most powerful leaders and generals. Many had opposed Xie Lian’s ideas on mutant and human relations, but all had been touched by his genuine kindness and care. A collective flinch visibly ripples through the group at the sight of his photo. 

“He’s dead? How?” Feng Xin asks, body utterly still in his seat. 

Ling Wen’s face is unusually pale, but her hands are steady as she tacks another photo onto the whiteboard and recites the information from memory. “His mutant alias is Crimson Rain. Real name: unknown. Ability: able to convert potential energy to kinetic energy with explosive results. His current status: alive and on the run.”  “Xianle was unique in that he saw mutants as no different from us. He was the only one on this council who saw them as humans, and look what they did to him.” Jun Wu makes sure to catch everyone’s gaze as he points first at Xie Lian's and then at Crimson Rain's photo. “Crimson Rain manipulated and used him to fulfil his own plans and by the time Xianle realized what was happening, it was too late. After getting what he wanted, Crimson Rain murdered him outright and fled the area.”

“Crimson Rain? Isn’t he – ” 

“ – the one who’s been attacking government holding facilities and freeing those other mutant criminals?” “He’s killed many of our people.” “Doesn’t he have his own team of mutants?” Jun Wu holds up a hand and the room quiets immediately. “Xianle’s loss will be felt for a long time. We won’t do him the disservice of wallowing in our grief. Instead, we’ll find and eliminate Crimson Rain, and every mutant like him.” “How can we? Their abilities are as varied as they are powerful. Weather manipulation, super strength, mind-readers and shapeshifters.  How can we defeat enemies like that?” Ming Yi asks, crossing his arms.

“I think it's time we officially bring in the Sentinels,” Mu Qing says. He briefly holds up a manila folder before passing it to Shi Wudu, his fellow councilmember. “I know Xie Lian was against them, but we can’t be soft-hearted about this. If they can do this to him, think what they can do to us.” Mu Qing’s quiet words bring everyone’s worst fears to mind.  He turns back to Jun Wu. 

“It’s your program. Tell us everything about it, and exactly what we need to do to implement it as soon as possible.”

And on the inside, Jun Wu smiles. 

_________________

Ming Yi slides into the car and Yin Yu closes the door behind him. The soundproof car and tinted windows immediately do their wonders by easing his stress headache. “Sir,” Yin Yu states quietly from the front. It’s not a question, but Ming Yi hears it all the same as he leans back against the seat. “Crimson Rain really does have the devil’s luck,” Ming Yi says. He runs a hand through his hair, fluidly shifting forms from the government’s top trusted security personnel to He Xuan a.k.a. Blackwater, Crimson Rain’s second in command.  “Hope he can spare some for the rest of us with what the council’s planning to do. Otherwise, we’ll all end up dead like that Xie Lian guy.” Without warning, He Xuan lunges forward, hand swinging out in a deadly, blade tipped arc. He grunts, body crashing into what feels like a brick wall, before he’s guided gently, but firmly, back onto his seat.

“Easy there,” a familiar voice says. “What the fuck?! Xie Lian?” He fumbles on the light and immediately feels his headache return. Sitting across from him is Hua Cheng and very much alive former councilmember, Xie Lian, not quite sitting after having intercepted He Xuan's attack. He opens his palm to reveal He Xuan’s crushed weapon, blade and hilt melded together like some new modern work of art. “Sorry about that Ming Yi…ah, I mean He Xuan,” Xie Lian says, smiling sheepishly. He tries to hand it back to He Xuan, who doesn’t take it, just continues to stare, speechless, at Xie Lian. Xie Lian exchanges a look with Hua Cheng, who laughs, takes the crumpled blade and flicks it at He Xuan. It flies across the space between them, glowing red with deadly energy that explodes inches in front of He Xuan’s face who just barely manages to block it in time. “Asshole,” He Xuan mutters but it does the trick. “So let me guess? You –” He nods at Xie Lian. “ – have been working with this guy.”  He jerks his head at Hua Cheng. “The top military brass send their sentinels out to test run their new weapons and waste our fearless leader. Your powers manifest, saving him and the newly freed mutants that night. Did I miss anything?” “Just one thing,” Xie Lian says, scratching his nose. “What did I – oh.”  He Xuan stops. Everything clicks into place the moment Xie Lian sits back down.

On Hua Cheng’s lap.

He Xuan swears. “Are you fucking kidding me?! You two? Now? With everything that’s going on?!” He Xuan angles his head to look past the two lovebirds. “Yin Yu, did you know about this?” Yin Yu says nothing, but the partition rolling up quietly says it all. “Unbelievable?! Do you have any idea how stupid, how dangerous…” He Xuan trails off when both men look at him: Hua Cheng, arms curled protectively around Xie Lian. Xie Lian, holding onto Hua Cheng with a white-knuckled grip, eyes always straying back to him for reassurance that he was still present. Still alive.  “Fuck.” Unconsciously, He Xuan’s fingers rub the pearl ring on his left hand.  He remembers being in love. He remembers, too, the pain of having it snatched away by a government with too much fear and too much power. 

He viciously shoves it all back down. 

It’s not his problem and it won’t be his pain to bear. “Alright. Okay. It is what it is,” He Xuan says, and takes one last deep breath. “So tell me star-crossed lovers. You got a plan? Or are we supposed to survive on your love and hope alone?” “Probably a little of all three,” Xie Lian says with a watery laugh. The partition slowly rolls back down. He Xuan catches Yin Yu’s gaze in the rearview mirror, then glances at Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, huddled close together, looking at once too strong and too weak with their obvious love for one another. He Xuan vehemently curses himself as he adds two more people (god, even Hua Cheng) to his very small list of “people to give a fuck about.” 

[fluffyficsanddreams]

Softening

A/N: AAA YAY POOLVERINE!! i absolutely adore these two and have wanted to write them for months now, just now getting around to it. i really want to get into writing consistently again, so i hope there'll be more soon (i really wanna write one with Logan and Laura, so we'll see if i get around to that) <3

Summary: Wade learns about the best way to comfort a Logan stuck in his mind, and also learns that Logan doesn't mind said comfort very much.

this is a sfw tickle fic and features implied romantic Wade/Logan, plus a decent amount of language. if you don't like it, don't read it. 🫶

also spoilers for the movie lol

Logan was tired.

Okay, tired was a very very large understatement. He was absolutely exhausted.

Now, granted, he wasn't nearly as exhausted as he had been before a certain merc showed up at the bar and dragged him on the weirdest journey of his entire 200-year-long existence. Wade was actually a good person at heart underneath his constant quips and innuendos, and was now someone that Logan considered a good friend (perhaps he felt something more, but he hadn't decided on that yet.)

But right now, he didn't feel like debating on his feelings about Wade. His mind was filled with memories that he'd tried so desperately to bury and forget, memories of those he had once cared for, those that had died because of his negligence.

He leaned back against the couch cushions in the living room of Wade's apartment, taking another swig of the alcohol from the bottle in his hand, trying to drink his feelings away as he had done since the incident.

Wade, however, was not going to allow that to happen.

The merc walked into the room in a Hello Kitty t-shirt and shorts, carrying his best-dog-buddy in his arms. He let out a slight huff at the sight of Logan chugging booze like there was no tomorrow, setting Dogpool down on her overly-large dog bed.

"Hey, peanut, put down the bottle for at least two seconds, would you?" He asked with an undertone of sarcasm, walking over and flopping down onto the couch next to him, just slightly too close as usual.

Logan, not exactly being in the mood to deal with Wade's jokes and nonstop rambling, ignored him for a second to take another sip. "I don't feel like puttin' up with you right now. Go away, I needa be alone." He grumbled, gazing down at nothing in particular, his expression contorted with irritation and suppressed emotion.

Wade, of course, didn't listen. He was able to read the other mutant very easily by now—it wasn't like Logan bothered to hide it very much, anyway, so it didn't take much to see that he was being weighed down by something. Despite his tendency to turn everything into a joke, he knew when something was important.

Although he knew that the grumpy man usually didn't allow Wade to touch him, he reached out and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, inwardly celebrating when Logan allowed it to stay there. "Hey, what's on your mind?"

Logan didn't answer at first, having a mental battle with himself within his head. He trusted Wade, genuinely, but sharing his thoughts and feelings was something he'd never been good at. Pushing people away was what he was good at.

But... look where that had gotten him last time.

Deciding that he would have to do this eventually anyway, he let out a sigh before speaking up in a grumble.

"I jus'... miss 'em. I wasn't there to protect 'em, and now..."

Logan's voice trailed off, his gaze troubled as he avoided looking at his roommate. He felt pathetic, talking about this—it was something he'd only shared with a couple people (one of which was manipulating him), but... for some reason, he found himself trusting Wade with it, despite the fact that he was the most annoying person he'd ever known.

Wade, on the other hand, didn't think it was pathetic in the slightest. He was absolutely thrilled that Logan was being so vulnerable with him, and he wasn't about to let it go to waste. Besides, he understood how he felt, in a way—not protecting the ones you love, and feeling the guilt destroy you from the inside out.

The merc leaned forward so that he was in Logan's line of vision, offering him a small smile.

"Thanks for telling me, peanut. Really. I'm sorry about all that."

Wade said, nodding his chin a little. He hadn't been this genuine or sincere with Logan since their talk before the whole creating-a-matter-antimatter-circuit extravaganza.

But, of course, he was still Deadpool, the Merc with the Mouth.

"Come on, bud, I gotta get you to cheer up a bit. Ya can't brood forever, as hot as you look doing it." He joked, giving Logan a light poke to the side, trying to get him to loosen up a little. He did not, however, expect the reaction that the poke got him.

Logan flinched at the unexpected poke, his eyes widening briefly, drawing in a quick breath at the sensation. He hadn't felt that in so many years, and... fuck.

Wade was definitely not going to let this go.

A shit-eating grin spread across the mischevious Deadpool's face, multiple thoughts popping into his mind, but one was able to be heard above all—Logan was ticklish.

"Actually, Wolvie, I think I have the perfect idea to help you cheer up..." Wade said slowly, leaning closer and closer to his now inwardly panicking friend-maybe-more.

Logan was definitely not about to let himself get tickled of all things by the most insane person he'd ever met, for he knew that Wade would take forever to drop it.

The man shifted uneasily toward the arm of the couch, scooting backward and keeping an eye on his roommate at all times. "Absolutely not, motherfucker. You better not touch me or I swear to god I'll—AHCK!"

Logan's threat (that he didn't really actually mean) was cut off as Wade tackled him down, pinning him to the couch and straddling his thighs so that he couldn't go anywhere. The merc grinned like a Cheshire cat, a few fantasies playing out in his head now that he had the Wolverine pinned underneath him—

Nope, we're not going there. Besides, Wade had different plans right now.

He placed his hands on Logan's abdomen, just resting them there for now, smiling broadly as he felt the mutant tense up underneath his touch.

"Ooh, I didn't peg you to be the sensitive type, but you learn something new every day, huh? Now, let's see here. Since Marvel Jesus is merciful, I'm gonna let you pick out a safeword! Whaddya think of that, peanut? What do you want it to be?"

Logan felt his sanity slowly deteriorating as Wade blabbered on and on, and frankly, he didn't really know what the fuck he was even talking about (although he'd gotten used to that by now.) He was currently clenching his fists at his sides, using every last ounce of self control he had to not stab Wade through his arms.

"The only reason I'm not cuttin' your fucking hands off right now is because Althea doesn't want blood gettin' everywhere. Get the fuck offa me and find someone else to bother." Logan snarled up at Wade, shooting him a glare sharper than a piece of shrapnel—but, of course, Deadpool was not deterred in the slightest. In fact, Logan's mild panic masked by anger only egged him on further.

"Well, that isn't a safeword, is it? I guess you're just gonna have to go without. Sorry not sorry!"

Wade declared with a joyous smile, curling his fingers and starting to scribble up and down both of Logan's sides over his shirt, his fingertips climbing up to his ribcage and digging into the muscles there. Being the dexterous mercenary he was, quick movements like this were a piece of cake for him—and came in handy when tickling, apparently.

However, it proved to be a death sentence for Logan.

The Wolverine was now squirming and bending away from Wade's hands as much as possible, although that didn't exactly prove helpful, considering his currently pinned position. His lips were stubbornly clamped shut, forcing back the laughs that he felt were quickly bubbling up in his chest.

"Fuckin' piece of—grrrgghh! Wilson! I'm gonna—" Logan began to threaten through clenched teeth, falling silent again when he realized he was growing closer and closer to breaking with every word. He hadn't been tickled in literal decades, and he found himself reacting to the feeling way more than he expected.

The thing was, he had long ago grown accustomed to violence and an otherwise lack of physical touch in his life. The only times he was touched was when he was fighting, in danger, things along those same lines of violence. To be touched in a gentle way at all felt incredibly foreign, and he frankly didn't know how to feel about it. The idea that he wasn't in danger, and that he could allow this to happen without any harm to anything aside from maybe his ego, was a surprisingly comforting thought.

That thought sort of helped (or hindered, depending on how you looked at it) Logan loosen up a little, and caused him to break a little sooner than he would normally have allowed himself to—especially when Wade's mischevious fingers crawled their way up to his upper ribs, near to his underarms.

"Pfffuhuhuhuck! Dahahamnit, you dihihick! Stahahap it!"

In that moment, Wade definitely fell in love. Whether it was with Logan himself or his laughter, he didn't know. What he did know was that he needed to do this more often.

"Aww, listen to those sweet little laughs! C'mon, Logie, I know you've got more in you! I think I've just gotta find the right spot, huh? Wanna tell me where that is?"

"Fuhuhuck yohou!"

"Now, while that does sound quite enticing, I'm afraid that's not what we're doing right now. If you're gonna be a stubborn little asshole, I guess I'm just gonna have to find that spot myself. How terrible..." Wade beamed, his expression filled with pure glee.

So, now, Wade went on a new mission: find Logan's worst spots and then proceed to exploit the shit out of them. The mischevious merc's fingers crawled up from Logan's upper ribs into his underarms, digging his wiggling digits deep into the soft muscle.

Logan let out a loud snort before dissolving into wheezy laughter, clamping his large arms to his sides reflexively while simultaneously punching and smacking at his roommate's arms in a feeble attempt to get him to stop.

"Wihihihilsohohon! Gehehet the fuhuhuhuck out of thehehere, ya mohohohoron!" He managed to snort out, hating himself for being unable to hold back the wide grin he knew was on his face at the moment.

Wade cocked his head to the side, his devilish grin widening even further. "Oh, not there, huh? That's okay, I've got plenty of other options here..."

After giving one last scribble to Logan's underarms for good measure, Wade brought his hands down to those stupidly attractive abs that he was hiding underneath that shirt, kneading them with both hands on either side while drilling his thumbs into the flesh around his navel.

Yet another snort was ripped from Logan's throat before he erupted into a fit of hearty laughter, the sound a little more wild and frantic than it was a second ago. Of course Wade had managed to find the spot that practically made him explode as soon as it was touched.

Except, as he writhed around underneath his roommate, another thought occurred to him amidst his persistent giggling. He didn't really mind this as much as he thought he would. In fact, he found himself secretly enjoying it, in a sense. It allowed him to let go, giving him a reason to laugh, which was something that Wade said he didn't do nearly enough. Perhaps he should take his advice, just this once.

However, Logan was forcibly ripped out of his thoughts when he felt Wade's hands sneaking their way underneath his shirt, pushing it up before he began scratching at his abdomen rather than kneading.

"Ooh, now I can really get in here. Look at those gorgeous abs, how could you possibly go around hiding these?" Wade beamed, admiring his muscles as he kept up his attack.

Logan, meanwhile, was laughing so hard he could barely form thoughts, pounding his heels against the couch cushions while he grasped desperately at Wade's wrists, trying to wrench his hands away from his stomach—but the mercenary was freakishly strong.

"WahahAHAhade! You're suhuhuch a—ahahEEK! Fuhuhuhuuuck, nohohot thehere!"

Logan had been about to threaten Wade with the usual decapitation (which he never meant), but it had been cut off by his own squeal when Wade's finger dug right into his navel. He was losing his mind by now, and he wasn’t sure how much more laughing he could muster. The answer was a lot, but he didn't know that.

He was probably about to find out, though, because Wade had yet another mischievous idea. It seemed he was never short of those, and Logan was often the person who ended up the victim... see the pattern?

The merc leaned forward to get a better look at Logan's smiling, red face, a smile of his own spreading across his features. It was devilish, but it had a bit of genuine warmth behind it—this was the first time he'd ever seen Logan smile so much, and he looked so relaxed, even if he was laughing his ass off. He definitely wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste.

And so, he set his idea in motion, even though he knew he probably would get stabbed for it. (It wasn't like he hadn't gotten stabbed by Logan a million times already, what was one more?)

"Y'know, Wolvie, I'm feeling a little hungry. Whaddya say I just take a big ol' bite of these sexy abs?"

Logan didn't even know what the hell Wade was talking about, but he barely had time to process his question before his insane roommate came forward and planted his mouth right above his navel, nibbling at his skin—not nearly hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to tickle the poor guy out of his mind.

Logan let out a shriek he didn't even know he was capable of producing, the wildest laughter ever exploding from his chest, snorts and squeals erupting from him in between—much to his own dismay. Wade, however, didn't think it was as bad as Logan did. In fact, he found it adorable more than anything else.

He wished he could hear Logan laugh like this more often—he was always so tense, never able to relax fully due to his own mind. If Wade was able to take his mind off of the thoughts that plagued him, even if for just a few minutes through something as silly as tickling, he would definitely do it.

...Which was why he continued to nibble at Logan's abs, making exaggerated eating noises as he did so, loud "OMNOMNOMNOM"s filling the space in the room that wasn't already filled with Logan's hysterical laughter.

"Ahahahahaa, Wahade, for fuck's sahahAHAke! Thahahahat's enoUGH! Seriously! Pleheheheheeeease!"

Wade blinked, pulling back for just a second to make a theatrical flabbergasted expression down at Logan.

"Do my ears decieve me? Was that... dare I say it... a 'please'?! You're begging? Oh, man, I must be dreaming. I'd ask you to pinch me, but seeing as you can't right now, I think I'll just pinch you instead."

Wade didn't give Logan time to process the blabbering that was coming out of his mouth before he started pinching at the mutant's ribs, going one at a time as he slowly made his way upward, leaning forward again to nibble at his abdomen simultaneously. Logan lost his shit, between the little pinches that tickled way more than he thought it would and the unbearable nibbling of his ridiculously ticklish stomach, he was going insane.

"Ehehehahahah—c'mohOHOhon! Stahahap it, no mohohohORE!" Logan managed through his hysterical laughter, slapping at Wade's arms, seemingly endless snorts being torn from his throat every few seconds due to how hard and how much he was laughing. His roommate simply smiled down at him and continued, expression filled with glee and pure delight.

"No can do, honey badger. This fic still isn't long enough, so I've gotta do a little more... unless I stop now and we hug it out for a few paragraphs..."

"Hehehell no, fuhuHUcker!"

"Well, then it seems like you're just gonna be stuck here for a while longer. Such a shame—y'know, I wonder how often I can do this without you stabbing me. Does daily sound good to you? I think that sounds wonderful, I wanna hear your cute little piggy snorts—"

Logan felt a burning warmth rising up his cheeks and at the tips of his ears at Wade's words, managing an annoyed (embarrassed) groan through his giggles, which were growing louder and more frantic as Wade made his way back up toward his armpits.

"Shuhuhut uhuhup! Gohod, I hahahahate you..." He retorted, letting out a squeak when Wade give a firm prod to his underarm in response.

"Now, now, my little honey pie, I know for a fact that's not true. People who hold hands while listening to Madonna can't hate each other. See, your problem is—AACK!"

Wade had been about to dive into a deeply comprehensive list about the reasons why Logan could never possibly hate him when he was promptly bucked off and onto the floor, rubbing at his head as he picked himself up. He was about to pounce on Logan and attack him with revenge tickles for throwing him off when the sight before him made his heart melt into mush.

The feral man was lying on back still, a smile still on his lips, a red color having bloomed across his cheeks, spreading up to his ears and down his neck. There was a sparkle in his tired eyes that hadn't been there previously, his hair all messed up from how much he'd been squirming.

Honestly, Wade thought it was adorable.

The merc sat down on the edge of the couch next to the still-panting Logan and gave him a little smile and tilt of his head, deciding to keep all his quips to himself for the moment.

"Feeling better, peanut?"

When Wade asked that question, Logan blinked and realized that yes, actually, he did feel better. A lot better, at that. He didn't think something so stupid could manage to take his mind completely off of what had been haunting him, but... he wasn't really complaining.

He sat up and tried to regain his bearings, pushing his shirt back down and running a hand through his hair, gazing down at his lap for a few moments before he looked over at Wade, not holding eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds.

"Uh... yeah. Um... thanks. For that. I didn't realize I needed it, but... you seem to know me better than I do." Logan said quietly, letting out a slight huff of air as a lopsided smirk made its way to his face.

Wade smiled at him, simply giving him a nod of acknowledgment for his thanks. Honestly, he didn't need to thank him—he would so tickle the shit out of him every day if Logan let him, which he wouldn't, but hey, a man can dream!

He wrapped one arm around Logan's shoulders, expecting the former X-Man to push him away, but found himself surprised when he didn't. He gave another internal celebration before he pulled him close to his side, giving friendly pats to his shoulder (this was probably about the non-gayest thing they'd ever done: the bro side-hug.)

"Anytime, peanut. Cures something in my soul to see ya smile, really, so I'd do it again."

Logan shivered a little at that idea, instead opting to just not think about it and instead relaxing into the gentle physical contact that Wade was slowly training him to become more used to. Hesitantly, after a few moments, he rested his head on his roommate's shoulder, expecting to be poked fun at for his action.

However, the silence that followed genuinely surprised him. Wade was too busy being completely enamored with Logan and how vulnerable he was allowing himself to be right now to say anything for once.

After a long while of silence, Logan was considering letting himself drift off here since the after effects of the tickle session Wade had put him through was hitting him, but the merc broke the silence before he could do so.

"...So we did end up hugging it out for a few paragraphs."

"Motherfucker—!"

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Have you ever thought what alternate versions of Killer would be like if they came from other AUs? I've seen an Underlust Killer flying around here and there and Underswap Papyrus being put in the role of Killer somewhat, but what about variants from Underfell, Outertale and elsewhere?

I made a Dancetale Killer once. Gotta redesign and rename him but the shape of his soul was supposed to be a musical note that gradually got more distorted as he switched from one Stage to the next.

I wonder how Color would react to these guys, but it's likely it would be the same treatment as every other Killer he rescues.

It would be fun to imagine though that every process of Color bonding with these guys would be vastly different from the last, and he probably can't dance so Dancetale!Killer would keep fucking tripping him out of misguided spite before any progress is made.

I personally think every Killer gets a different version of Color. It’s still the same Color, just Color trapped in his own special form of a time loop of failure. Again.

Sometimes Color is a lot more closed off and withdrawn, trying to maintain distance, not wanting to get attached again. Trying to maintain that emotional distance they had at the very beginning, wanting to help purely because Killer is someone that needs and wants Color’s help, not because Killer is also someone so important to Color. It wasn’t a good idea to get attached to someone in Killer’s situation at all, was it.

A Color fresh off the heels of a recent lost of his best friend, maybe the current Killer views him as too clingy and is exceedingly dismissive and manipulative of Color; and experiences with this Killer effects Color by the time the next one comes around, tensing up at every touch, as if torn between pulling or pushing away or leaning into the touch.

Being ignored or overlooked or dismissed could send Color reeling from the amount of pain and hurt and anger he feels. Especially with Nightmare whispering in his mind that Killer would never be happy with him anyway, and he should just let himself become nothing more than a faint stain on Killer memory he’ll soon forget, like everyone has.

I think everything with Killer and Nightmare and Color deeply traumatizes Color and the souls. He just refuses to give up on Killer, filled with Perseverance, even if it kills him. Even if Killer kills him. Even if Color kills himself. Much to the souls and Color’s distress and fear and anger.

By the time he manages to convince a Killer to leave, and actually manages to keep this one alive and safe, everything starts coming and rushing forward in memories and emotions and sensations in the form of the souls. Once it finally clicks that he and killer are actually safe now, and that constant ball of worry and stress in colors chest starts to unravel.

Everything Color was able to dissociate from, everything he couldn’t handle that the souls took on, everything comes rushing back at some point. And Color is torn between past and the present, what he desperately wants to have with Killer, and the memories and pain it took to even get here.

And the feeling that none of it should matter anymore, it was years ago, with a different Killer. They’re gone now, he should focus on the one in front of him. The one who seems to want and need him, actually sees him.

All is to say, Color and Dancetale!Killer have definitely had a dance battle and it was very..homoerotic and yet very spiteful.

[aventurineswife]

Aventurine, Sunday and Ratio w/ a Memokeeper...? 👀

“Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us”

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Memokeeper!Reader, Character Study, Existential Themes, Introspection, Emotional Growth, Intellectual Tension, Mysticism, Loss, Haunted Past, Unresolved Regret, Journey of Self-Discovery, Temporal Manipulation

Warnings: Existential Crisis, Trauma, Philosophical Discomfort, Emotional Weight Vulnerability in Characters, Mature Themes (regret, guilt, and self-worth).

Ratio, with his signature plaster sculpture concealing his face and his wavy hair cascading just past his shoulders, was a figure both revered and feared within the Intelligentsia Guild. His sharp eyes, the color of fading twilight with a ring of yellow at their core, saw everything and everyone, evaluating, analyzing, dissecting.

It was here that you, a Memokeeper from the Garden of Recollection, first encountered him.

You had come to this world, as you did with every other, to preserve memories, to seek out moments that spoke of the lives lived, the forgotten faces, and the stars that fell into oblivion. In the endless cycle of existence, you had learned that the only thing that truly mattered was memory. To think, to feel, to exist—those were not just ephemeral things, but imprints on the fabric of reality itself.

But when you met Ratio, it was as if all the weight of time had been condensed into a single moment. He, too, had an unyielding belief in the importance of knowledge, in the idea that ideas, too, were immortal. He understood the power of remembrance, but to him, it was intellect, not memory, that was the truest form of immortality. A fascinating paradox.

"You're a Memokeeper, aren't you?" His voice was smooth, like velvet over steel, his eyes locking onto yours, seeing straight through to your very essence.

You nodded, concealing your true form beneath your disguise, as was customary for those like you. In this world, you were just another scholar, another wanderer with a collection of knowledge to trade. But unlike the others, your knowledge wasn’t of facts or figures. It was of memories, of moments suspended in time, of people long gone and forgotten.

"You believe that memory is everything, don’t you?" Ratio's gaze never wavered, as if he was testing you. "You think that by preserving memory, you preserve the soul of a person. But memories are subjective, fleeting. They are not absolute. Ideas, facts, theories—these are what endure. These are what define existence."

His words were confident, dismissive even. But you knew there was more behind them, a deeper yearning to understand what lay beyond the limits of mortal comprehension. You could see it in the way his hands gestured as he spoke, the sharpness of his thoughts revealing a man who, despite all his brilliance, was searching for something more.

"You misunderstand," you said, your voice calm but full of a quiet intensity. "Memories are the only things that cannot be erased, not by time, not by entropy. They are the proof of existence. Without them, what are we but ghosts, vanishing without a trace?"

Ratio's eyes glinted with something unreadable—was it interest? Curiosity? You couldn’t tell, but it was enough to pique his attention. "And how do you preserve them? What makes your memories so… important?"

You smiled faintly, an ethereal expression. "I don’t just remember, Dr. Ratio. I preserve. Through the Garden of Recollection, I collect and store memories, not just from the world I come from, but from all worlds. I can live through them, feel what they felt, see what they saw. I can carry the memories of thousands, and in doing so, they live on."

For a moment, there was silence. Ratio’s gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. "And what of your own memories?" he asked, his voice softer now, though still brimming with intensity. "Do you ever remember yourself? Or are you too lost in the memories of others to even recall your own?"

It was a question that struck deeper than you had anticipated. You, who had shed your mortal form long ago to live as a memetic entity, could not remember the life you once lived. The body you had was but a vessel, an illusion of the past. Yet you held the memories of countless lives, each one a thread in the grand tapestry of existence.

"I remember," you said quietly, your voice distant, as if recalling a long-forgotten dream. "But only fragments. I carry the memories of all those I've encountered, of all the lives I've touched. And in that, I live."

Ratio stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a momentary crack in his armor. "Fascinating," he murmured, as if the concept of your existence challenged everything he had ever known. "You are a paradox, then. A being of memory, yet unable to fully grasp your own existence. How… tragic."

You tilted your head slightly. "Perhaps. But in some ways, it’s beautiful. Every life I encounter becomes a part of me, and in that, I become part of them. A perpetual exchange, a never-ending cycle of remembrance."

Ratio’s lips quirked upward slightly, a rare and almost imperceptible smile. "Perhaps," he echoed, his voice tinged with something akin to admiration. "You might be right, after all. Memory is the only true form of immortality. But don’t forget, my Memokeeper, that intellect and knowledge are what shape the universe. Without them, memory would be meaningless."

You met his gaze, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "And without memory, even the greatest intellects would fade into obscurity, leaving nothing behind."

For a moment, you both stood there, two beings of immense knowledge and power, staring at one another in the midst of a universe that seemed both infinite and fleeting. In that fleeting moment, there was no need for words. You understood each other, in a way that few could.

As you turned to leave, your final words lingered in the air, like a soft melody, echoing across time itself.

"Remember me, Dr. Ratio. After all, that is the only way I can truly exist."

He watched you disappear into the endless flow of time, his mind racing with questions, with curiosity. The Memokeeper had left an impression, a memory etched into his mind. And though Ratio would continue his work, seeking to change the world through intellect and knowledge, something had shifted within him.

Perhaps, in the end, the preservation of memory and the pursuit of knowledge were not so different after all.

The Astral Express hummed with the faint rhythm of its journey through the stars, its steady pulse a stark contrast to the turbulent thoughts that swirled within Sunday’s mind. He stood by the window, watching the unending expanse of the cosmos pass by, his eyes reflecting distant stars. His thoughts were as fractured as ever—an unyielding dissonance between his ideals and the weight of his past. Yet, there was something different now, something new stirring in him, as if the winds of change were gently sweeping through his world.

You, the Memokeeper, stood just a few steps away from him, an enigmatic presence, yet somehow, your existence felt more real than anything else. Your presence was like an anchor in a sea of uncertainty, a testament to a truth he had not yet fully grasped.

To think is to exist.

He had never truly questioned his existence in this way before. For all his lofty ideals about dreams, suffering, and the balance between them, there was something about you—your quiet, eternal purpose—that made him reconsider his place in the universe.

You had explained, on occasion, the nature of your kind. A Memokeeper’s task was to collect memories, to preserve them as proof of existence in a world where everything, even stars, would eventually fade. Unlike most, who viewed reality and imagination as distinct, Memokeepers saw them as one. It was a perspective that intrigued Sunday deeply, yet he struggled to fully comprehend it. Perhaps because, in the end, he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

"How do you hold on to something so... fleeting?" he asked softly, his voice carrying a weight that betrayed the many layers of his thoughts.

You turned toward him, your expression serene, but there was a flicker of something deeper in your eyes, an understanding of the burden he carried. "We don't hold on to it. We let it flow through us, and in doing so, we become it."

Sunday looked at you, his gaze lingering on the delicate curve of your cheek, the ethereal quality of your being, and how it seemed as though you were made of light itself. "Do you ever feel... trapped by your memories?" His voice faltered at the question, as though he were reaching for something he couldn’t quite touch.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the distant hum of the train and the occasional flicker of stars outside. You took a step closer, your fingers brushing lightly against the air as you spoke, your voice gentle and calm.

"Trapped?" you mused. "No. We are the keepers, not the prisoners. Memories are not chains. They are bridges."

His brow furrowed slightly. "But what if the memories are of things you can never change? Things that haunt you?" His words were quieter now, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. The weight of his past—of the choices he had made, of the lives he had shaped, for better or worse—pressed down on him once more.

You studied him with a knowing gaze, as though seeing through the veil of his facade. "Hauntings are but echoes of what was, Sunday. The question is not whether the memories are painful, but whether we let them define us." You paused, letting your words settle. "What you choose to do with them—that is what matters."

Sunday’s eyes flickered as if a distant thought had just emerged, one that had been buried beneath layers of rationality and philosophy. He had spent so long trying to change the world, trying to create a place free of suffering, that he had neglected the simplest truth: he could not change the past. He could only move forward.

"But how?" he asked, his voice filled with quiet desperation. "How can I move forward, when the past keeps whispering in my ears?"

You smiled softly, a knowing, almost maternal expression on your face. "You are already moving forward, Sunday. Your journey on the Astral Express is proof of that. The question is not if you will move forward, but how you will choose to remember."

There it was again: remember. It was a word he had often associated with pain, with the weight of regret and guilt, but somehow, in your presence, it felt lighter. It felt like a possibility, a way to reclaim something precious without being bound to it.

For the first time in a long while, Sunday allowed himself to truly look at you. Not just as a fellow traveler aboard the Express, but as someone who embodied a truth he had yet to accept.

"I... I think I understand," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Memories are not the end of us. They can be... a part of something greater."

You nodded, your eyes fluttering slightly as you gazed at him with an expression of quiet encouragement. "Exactly. And sometimes, the greatest gift you can give to the past is to let it go, while still carrying it with you."

Sunday fell silent, his mind now processing your words, considering their implications. Perhaps this was the true path to redemption—not the erasure of pain, but the acceptance of it, and the ability to carry it without letting it define him.

As the train continued its journey through the stars, Sunday found himself standing a little taller. He wasn’t sure where this journey would take him, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he might finally be on the right path.

In the labyrinthine corridors of the IPC, where deals and schemes wove through the very fabric of power, Aventurine stood as an enigma, a master of manipulation with a heart haunted by the ghosts of his past. His smile, enigmatic and ever-present, was a mask that concealed the fractured man beneath. The ‘Aventurine of Stratagems,’ a name he wore with pride, was a title earned through unrelenting gambles and sacrifices, yet it was the one thing that kept him from truly losing himself.

But on this particular day, something—or rather, someone—was pulling at the threads of his carefully constructed world. Someone who didn’t need to gamble to see through the veil.

You. The Memokeeper.

A fleeting figure, a whisper of another existence, you moved through worlds unrestrained by physical boundaries. Memokeepers were creatures of memories—preservers of the immortal, the eternal. You had no flesh, no true form. Only the shifting remnants of memories you carried with you, the fragments of countless lives you had touched and stolen.

When Aventurine first encountered you, he had been intrigued. Memokeepers were not common, and your mysterious nature had piqued his interest. But it was your ability to navigate through time and space, your unflinching grasp of memory as a permanent artifact, that truly captivated him.

"You never forget, do you?" Aventurine's voice was smooth, laced with his signature mix of challenge and curiosity as you stood across from him in a darkened room, a flicker of memory flashing in your eyes.

You tilted your head slightly, a soft, almost imperceptible smile gracing your lips. "For a moment, I thought you would say 'never forgive.'" You said it with an air of knowing, your voice gentle yet profound. "But no... you are too familiar with your own regrets to seek forgiveness."

Aventurine’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. The hint of vulnerability did not go unnoticed. The last surviving member of a lost clan, haunted by survivor's guilt—those wounds ran deep. His facade was usually flawless, but before you, it felt fragile, a thin layer barely holding back a flood of emotions he hadn’t let surface in years.

"You speak as though you understand me," he remarked, his voice regaining its usual confidence. "But I’ve played this game for too long to be an open book."

"Yet, here you are," you countered, stepping closer, the air thick with the power of your words. "A man who wagers lives as easily as others breathe. Do you think I can't see the stakes you're playing for? The past you can never escape?"

There was a moment of silence, one where Aventurine’s usual bravado seemed to crack slightly, revealing the ever-present tension in his posture, the subtle guarding of his left hand behind his back. He wasn't ready to expose his fragility, not yet.

"You play with the illusion of luck," you continued, your voice almost hypnotic. "But I know what you really seek. You gamble because you fear being forgotten, because you fear that if you stop playing, your existence will cease to matter."

Aventurine’s eyes narrowed, gleaming with a mixture of challenge and intrigue. He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating your words, but his tone remained steady. "And what of you, Memokeeper? Are you truly immortal, or just a collector of lies?"

You didn’t flinch. "Memory is the only true immortality. Everything fades—worlds, stars, even gods. But memories... memories last longer than anything else. They are what make us real. What make us matter."

He chuckled softly, his lips curling into that all-too-familiar grin. "I suppose you would say that. After all, you're in the business of making things last forever."

Aventurine’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, and for a brief instant, he wondered what it would be like to have his memory preserved—not his reputation or his empire, but his very essence. Would someone like you, a Memokeeper, truly see him for who he was beneath the layers of strategy and artifice?

"I’ve seen countless memories," you said, your voice soft but heavy with meaning. "But there's something about you... You're not a mere gambler, not just someone who risks it all. There's something darker in you, a longing for connection, yet a fear of it."

He looked at you with raised eyebrows, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. "You really think you can see all that from just a glance?"

"You show more than you think," you said, your gaze steady, your words unshaken. "And it's those little things—the way you hide your left hand, the pauses in your speech, the smile that never reaches your eyes—that tell me you are more than the games you play."

The silence stretched, an unspoken challenge between you. He couldn’t deny it. He had always thought of himself as untouchable, an orchestrator of every move. But you? You had no need for power or control. You simply existed, transcendent and free.

And yet, despite all that, Aventurine felt something strange stirring within him—a desire to be remembered, not just for his gambles, but for the man he truly was.

"Perhaps you're right," he finally said, his voice quieter, more contemplative. "Perhaps there is more to me than even I realize."

You smiled, a soft, knowing expression, and for the first time, Aventurine’s smile seemed a little less rehearsed, a little more genuine. The idea of someone, a Memokeeper no less, understanding the depths of his soul was an uncomfortable yet fascinating thought.

"I don’t need to gamble to know your worth, Aventurine," you said, your eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible warmth. "But perhaps, just once, you might stop playing and let someone else remember you. For who you really are."

For the first time in a long while, Aventurine didn’t immediately respond with a quip or a strategy. He simply watched you, his mind turning, calculating the possibilities. What would it mean to be remembered? To be seen beyond the mask of the gambler, the strategist, the survivor?

In that moment, Aventurine felt the first stirrings of a gamble he had never before considered: the gamble of letting someone in.

Oh damn, this was long af... 🫣😨

Also I couldn't come up with a better title so yeah...🧍‍♀️

[redlancey]

I hate people slandering Caitlyn for this because your telling me if someone killed your mother (breaking your family apart bc now ur dad is depressed and resentful and distant) (oh and now you have to carry the burden of being the face of your family’s house) (oh and ur only like 20) (OH and that someone was the deranged sister of your situation-ship who kidnapped you [and did god only knows what else while she had you tied up for hours] and you watched her shoot the missile) you WOULDN’T turmoil into rage and hurt and ache (because remember, you’re the new face of your family house, so you have to be strong in the face of this terrorist attack, and the only person who you feel comfortable enough with is the sister of the woman who KILLED YOUR MOTHER) and want revenge?! (Which, and I can’t stress this enough, it feels like you’ve been the victim of this deranged Zaunite for so long because you saw her steal one of the crystals, you almost got stranded in Zaun surrounded by shimmer addicts and almost kidnapped by Silco, finally found the criminal, lost her, then got returned to the bridge only for the sherif to hold you at gun point, then the criminal attacks AGAIN, then your situationship leaves you, THEN you get fucking KIDNAPPED from your shower by the woman, tied up for hours, gun held to your head, watched the woman kill Silco, tell your situationship to kill YOU, finally get a shot on the woman but you don’t take it, get knocked out, and when you finally wake up it’s to the image of the tower where your mother is getting a missile launched into it. THEN, while your still grieving and hurting, the memorial for your mother is attacked by more zaunites [even if it’s not the same woman, it still pushes the knife even deeper])

Idk. I don’t have a good relationship with my mother. But if I did, I’d probably go fucking crazy too.

But also, the same people who hate Caitlyn with a passion for her crimes are the same to launch into debates defending everything Jinx has done.

The whole point of the show is no one is right. Technically you can justify every characters actions. Morality is grey throughout the show, and it really illustrates how classism and poverty and privilege impacts everyone.

I love Ekko. I think he was within his right to be wary of Caitlyn. However, Caitlyn’s swat team specifically targeted Chem Barons (who, we see in one of the first sequences of the show started a gang war over trying to rise to the same power that Silco had, and these gang wars ravaged the undercity to the point of children [Isha, for example] living in fear and constantly in the run bc of the risk of being killed by these gangs) and Jinx. That’s it.

I will say, she does show her own dark side when she risks shooting Isha to kill Jinx, but I know that had she had killed Isha, she would’ve felt so much grief once her adrenaline had calmed down.

I saw people talking about this and one of my favourite arguments that someone (I forget who) made was something along the lines of: “Caitlyn assembled a small team of enforcers who were close to her and she trusted to follow her instructions, and perused the underground in a private investigation to find Jinx, shut down Shimmer (and any other chems, we can presume) and to “neutralize any agents still loyal to Silco” (the chem barons who are vying for the power gap Silco left). Meanwhile Ambessa was planning on declaring full on martial law (most likely what we see in act 2 and 3 after Caitlyn’s swat team failed and Ambessa manipulated her) which would’ve been devastating for the undercity, especially all of the innocents.

Caitlyn just wanted justice, but Ambessa wanted to conquer.”

While Ekkos argument makes sense, from his perspective, I will always defend Caitlyn till the day I die 🗣️🗣️💆🏻‍♀️💆🏻‍♀️

Thinking about how ekko is probably going to hate vi and caitlyn to the point he may never forgive them when he finds out what they did when looking for jinx

Because

Yeah

She proved him right

And vi did exactly what he was afraid of and helped.

[lenievi]

I finished R.U.R. and now I kind of want to watch The Requiem for Methuselah to see if there’s anything in Rayna that can be traced to R.U.R. She is, after all, named after Capek = Rayna Kapec.

I mean the whole android who discovered love is already there (but it’s not like it’s uncommon, even though idk how common it was 50+ years ago).

The thing is, though, that I feel like I, Mudd would be a better episode to reference Capek/R.U.R., but I guess it would turn a bit dark if that was the case. But instead of Norman we could have Karl lol