#and now i feel like being with me is just shameful

[pucksandpower]

Malfunction

Franco Colapinto x physician!Reader

Summary: Franco’s concussion has come and gone, but his desire to see the angel of a physician who likely saved his life has only gotten stronger … it’s just a shame that he tends to lose any semblance of composure when you’re around

Note: this is the much requested second part to Malpractice … but even better than the first part if I do say so myself 🫣

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is a distant blur in Franco’s memory. The crash. The pain. The disorientation.

But there’s something else that lingers, too. Something soft that refuses to leave him alone.

It’s the image of you, kneeling in front of him, your hands steady even as his world spun. Your voice cutting through the haze, your gaze sharp and intense, demanding his attention. The way you pushed him to stay alert, to pay attention, to focus on something other than the chaos in his head.

Franco knows he owes his sanity, maybe even his life, to you.

It’s been a week since the crash, and he’s been cleared by the medical team to race again in Qatar, despite a lingering headache that’s been stubbornly hanging on. But it’s not the headache that’s bothering him. It’s the fact that you’re not here. You’re not at the track. Not in the garage. Not hovering over him like some kind of guardian angel.

He wants to see you again. Needs to.

He’s sitting in the Williams debrief room, surrounded by engineers who are talking a mile a minute about tire wear and lap times. But Franco is barely listening. He keeps checking his phone, hoping for some sort of miracle: a text, a call, anything that might tell him you’re here. That you’ve returned to the paddock.

But the screen stays empty.

“Franco, are you with us?” James Vowles’ voice cuts through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry,” Franco mutters, rubbing his eyes. “What were you saying about tire strategy?”

James raises an eyebrow. “It’s fine. Focus on your recovery. We’re just going over the data from today’s practice. You’ve got time. But-” He looks around, making sure no one else is listening, “-don’t be distracted during qualifying tomorrow. We need every bit of performance we can get from you this weekend.”

“Right.” Franco nods, but his mind drifts again, his gaze slipping back to his phone. It’s like the rhythm of the weekend has been broken without you here, without the sharpness of your voice telling him he’s being an idiot, without your soft, steady presence making everything feel a little more manageable.

A soft knock sounds at the door, and Alex steps in, his casual smile immediately making the room feel a little lighter. His eyes flicker over to Franco. “How’s it going, mate?”

Franco immediately perks up. “Alex! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He straightens up in his chair, suddenly interested in the conversation.

Alex raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that because you’ve missed me, or because I bring good news?”

“Both,” Franco grins. “But seriously, I’ve been thinking about something, and I need your help.”

Alex folds his arms, giving Franco a knowing look. “Uh oh. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

“It’s about Y/N,” Franco says, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t seem too surprised. He sighs, already knowing where this is headed. “Ah, I should’ve known.”

“No, listen,” Franco presses, his voice a little more serious. “I need her to come to Abu Dhabi. She has to be there. I-” He pauses, trying to put his feelings into words. “I’ve been thinking about her all week. I just … I need to see her again.”

Alex raises both hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. You want me to convince her to come to a race just so you can see her again?”

Franco shrugs, looking entirely unapologetic. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Alex shakes his head, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “You really have it bad, don’t you?”

Franco hesitates, his smile faltering just slightly, then nods. “I do.” His expression softens. “She helped me when I didn’t even know what was happening. I’ve never had someone take care of me like that.”

Alex takes a moment, studying Franco’s face, then lets out a long breath. “Look, I can’t make any promises. Y/N’s a resident physician. Her schedule is insane. She barely has time to breathe, let alone fly out to the Middle East for a race. But-” He hesitates, as if weighing his next words carefully. “But I’ll ask her. I’ll see what I can do. But no promises, okay?”

“Just ask,” Franco says urgently. “I don’t care if it’s a long shot. I need her there.”

Alex chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask. But you owe me a beer if this works.”

“You got it,” Franco grins, already feeling the relief of having put his request into motion. “Thanks.”

***

It’s late by the time you’re wrapping up your shift at the hospital. The weight of your scrubs feels heavier than usual tonight, your body aching after hours of rounds and consultations. You’ve barely slept all week, the demands of your residency taking up every last ounce of energy. All you want to do now is crash into bed and forget about the world for a few hours.

But then your phone buzzes in your pocket, and the familiar name on the screen makes you stop in your tracks.

Alex.

You sigh, glancing around the empty hallway before answering. “Hey, Alex. What’s up?”

“Hey,” Alex greets you, his tone casual but there’s a hint of something else in his voice. “How’s it going?”

You roll your eyes, leaning against the wall. “You know, same old. Patients, paperwork, more patients. I swear, I’m starting to see people’s illnesses in my dreams at this point. What’s up?”

“Well, funny you should mention that,” Alex says with a chuckle, “because I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask.”

You brace yourself. “What now?”

“I need you to come to Abu Dhabi.”

There’s a beat of silence. “What? No. I can’t just drop everything and fly to Abu Dhabi. You know how insane my schedule is right now.”

“I know, I know,” Alex says quickly. “But listen, it’s not for me. It’s for Franco.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “Franco? What does he have to do with this?”

“He, uh, well, he’s been asking about you. He really wants you to come. He … he kind of needs you there, Y/N.”

You frown. “Needs me? What, like for a medical emergency?”

“No, no,” Alex quickly reassures you. “It’s not like that. He’s just — he’s been a bit, you know, off since the crash. He keeps talking about how much you helped him, how much he needs to see you again. He’s … kinda, well, taken with you.”

You pause, processing the unexpected request. “Wait. You want me to go to Abu Dhabi just to … see Franco?”

Alex sighs. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I totally get it if you can’t make it. I just thought I’d put it out there, because he’s really … well, he’s really worried about seeing you again.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the floor. There’s a tug at your chest. Franco’s crash. The way he looked when he stumbled into the garage, his eyes unfocused, his voice thick with concussion. And how you couldn’t help but care, couldn’t help but feel something stir in your chest as you took care of him.

“I don’t know,” you say softly. “I don’t know if I can get time off. I’ve got a million things to do.”

“Please,” Alex pleads, his tone sincere. “Just think about it. I’ll take care of the rest. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just — just come for the weekend. For him.”

You hesitate for a long moment. Your exhaustion is overwhelming, but so is the pull to be there for Franco, to check in on him after everything that happened.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice quiet but firm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Alex lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to him.”

“I’ll talk to my supervisor tomorrow and see if I can get a couple of days off. I’ll let you know.”

“Great. I’ll keep you posted. Thanks again, really.”

As the call ends, you press the phone to your ear, staring at the blank hospital hallway. Something in your chest stirs, a mix of curiosity and something else you can’t quite name. You promised yourself you wouldn’t get involved with any of these drivers. But Franco … there’s something about him. Something you can’t shake.

You don’t know what’s going to happen in Abu Dhabi. But you know one thing for sure: you’re going to see him again.

***

Franco is buzzing with energy as he walks away from the Williams garage after FP2. The track is alive with its usual Friday hum: team radios squawking, mechanics wheeling equipment, fans pressing against barricades for a glimpse of the action. Normally, this is his favorite part of the weekend — the calm between sessions when he can breathe and think through what’s next.

But today, his thoughts are miles away.

You.

Alex told him you’d agreed to come. He’s spent all week mentally preparing for this moment, imagining what he’ll say when he sees you again. He’d told himself he’d play it cool. That he wouldn’t come off as desperate or weird. That he’d be charming and effortless.

And now, as he walks toward the Williams motorhome, he’s running through those lines in his head like a script. But then, through the glass doors of the motorhome, he spots you.

You’re sitting at a table with Lily, wine glasses between you. You’re mid-laugh, one hand lightly gesturing, the other wrapped around the stem of your glass. The sound of your laugh doesn’t reach him, but your expression — warm and animated — is enough to stop him in his tracks.

Franco stares, frozen. For a second, he’s not a professional driver or a smooth-talking twenty-one-year-old. He’s just a guy, floored by the sight of someone he’s been thinking about far too much.

And then, because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, he walks straight into the glass door.

The sound is embarrassingly loud — a deep, resonant thud that draws the attention of a couple of mechanics nearby. Franco stumbles back, clutching his forehead as the door wobbles slightly on its hinges.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters under his breath, blinking rapidly to clear the stars dancing in his vision.

Inside, Lily gasps, already half out of her chair. But you — you just press a hand to your mouth, visibly trying to suppress a laugh.

Franco pushes the door open this time (successfully, thank God) and steps into the motorhome, trying to salvage whatever remains of his dignity.

“Didn’t know the motorhome was defending itself today,” he says, flashing a crooked grin as he rubs his forehead.

You’re still smiling, but there’s a glint in your eyes as you take a sip of wine. “I see you’re still finding creative ways to injure yourself.”

Lily, standing now, gives him a once-over. “Are you okay? That sounded bad.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Franco says quickly, though he’s still holding his head. “Just testing the structural integrity of the door. Very solid. Great engineering.”

Lily rolls her eyes, muttering something about grabbing an ice pack before disappearing into the kitchen.

You lean back in your chair, tilting your head as you look at him. “You know, you really don’t have to keep hurting yourself just to get my attention. There are easier ways.”

Franco blinks, momentarily thrown off by the teasing edge in your voice. But then he recovers, his grin widening. “Oh, so you noticed me, huh? Mission accomplished.”

You arch an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Hard not to notice when someone face-plants into a door.”

“Ouch,” Franco says, clutching his chest dramatically. “First my head, now my ego. You’re ruthless.”

You laugh, setting your glass down. “I’m a doctor. I call it like I see it.”

“And what do you see?” He asks, leaning casually against the doorframe (or at least trying to — he slightly misjudges the angle and has to correct himself, which makes him look anything but casual).

“I see someone who might need another concussion test if they keep this up,” you say dryly, though there’s a hint of amusement in your tone.

Franco seizes the opening. “Oh, you’ll give me a test? What, right here? Should I sit down? Or maybe lie down? Whatever you need, angel, I’m ready.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch. “I’m off-duty, thank you very much. And stop calling me angel.”

“Why? It suits you,” Franco says without missing a beat. He steps closer, his grin turning just a bit sheepish. “You did save me, after all.”

“From driving with a concussion,” you reply, crossing your arms.

“Still counts,” he says, shrugging. “So … you’re really here. Thought maybe Alex was messing with me.”

You tilt your head, watching him carefully. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, for fun? He likes to mess with me,” Franco says, his grin turning rueful. “But I’m glad he wasn’t. It’s … it’s good to see you.”

Your expression softens, and you glance down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “It’s good to see you too.”

For a moment, there’s a silence between you. Not awkward, but charged. Franco shifts his weight, scratching the back of his neck. He’s been preparing for this moment all week, but now that you’re standing in front of him, he’s at a loss.

Lily reappears then, an ice pack in hand. She tosses it to Franco, who catches it against his chest. “Here,” she says. “For the door-shaped bruise you’re probably going to have.”

“Thanks,” Franco says, pressing the pack to his forehead. He winces slightly but keeps his gaze on you.

Lily looks between the two of you, her lips twitching as if she’s trying not to laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you two to … whatever this is,” she says, grabbing her glass and retreating toward the other end of the motorhome.

Franco watches her go, then looks back at you, his smile softening. “So … you’re here for the whole weekend?”

You nod. “Lily convinced me to stay. Said I needed a break.”

“You do,” Franco says quickly. “Definitely. Big time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because …” Franco hesitates, then decides to go for it. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Vegas.”

You blink, caught off guard by his honesty. “Franco-”

“I’m serious,” he interrupts, stepping closer. “I know I’m probably coming off like a total idiot right now, but I don’t care. You-” He gestures vaguely, as if struggling to find the right words. “You’re different. You’re not like anyone else here.”

“That’s because I’m not supposed to be here,” you say, your tone light but your eyes searching his. “I’m a doctor, Franco. Not meant for … whatever this world is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “You could be anything, and I’d still want to know you. You’re …” He trails off, then laughs at himself. “God, I’m bad at this.”

You laugh too, finally relaxing. “A little, yeah.”

“But I’m trying,” he says, his expression earnest now. “And I’ll keep trying, even if it means walking into more doors. Or walls. Or whatever else gets in my way.”

You shake your head, exasperated but undeniably charmed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you,” Franco counters, grinning.

You groan, but your smile betrays you. “Stop. That was awful.”

“Was it?” Hr teases, leaning just slightly closer.

“Yes,” you say firmly, though there’s a hint of laughter in your voice. “And I’m not letting you use your injuries as an excuse to flirt with me.”

“Then what excuse should I use?” He asks, tilting his head.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now. “How about none? Just be normal.”

“Normal,” Franco repeats, as if testing the word. “Okay. I can do that. Probably.”

“Somehow, I doubt it,” you say, but your tone is lighter now, your guard lowering just a fraction.

Franco grins, sensing the shift. He might not be smooth, but he’s persistent. And right now, that feels like enough.

***

The hospital hums with its usual rhythm: the sharp beeps of monitors, the steady shuffle of footsteps, and the occasional murmur of voices echoing down sterile hallways. You’re halfway through your shift, mentally cataloging a growing to-do list, when one of the nurses finds you near the break room.

She looks far too amused for your liking, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Hey, Doc,” she says, her tone conspiratorial. “You’ve got a patient in Room 43. Interesting case. File’s by the door.”

You glance up from your notes, immediately suspicious. “Interesting how?”

“Let’s just say … not your usual trauma,” she replies, her grin widening. “Go see for yourself.”

With a sigh, you grab your tablet and head down the hallway. You’re too tired to entertain the nurse’s cryptic humor, but curiosity tugs at you anyway. When you reach Room 43, you spot the chart hanging by the door. You pick it up and start skimming, your brain automatically processing the medical shorthand.

And then your eyes land on the complaint: penile fracture.

You freeze. Your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds.

Penile fracture. Seriously? You take a deep breath, fighting the urge to laugh or groan. It’s not unheard of, but it’s rare enough to make your day a little more … colorful.

Squaring your shoulders, you prepare yourself for what’s undoubtedly going to be an awkward encounter. Professionalism, you remind yourself. You’ve handled weirder cases.

But all of that resolve shatters the second you open the door and step into the room.

Because the patient isn’t some anonymous stranger.

It’s Franco.

Franco, lounging on the exam table like he doesn’t have a care in the world, scrolling through his phone with his free hand. Franco, the same man you’ve been dating for months, who absolutely should not be in this hospital room right now.

Your mouth opens, ready to deliver your standard introduction, but no words come out.

Franco looks up at the sound of the door, his face breaking into that familiar, devilish grin. “Hey, angel.”

“What the-” You stop yourself, gripping the edge of the clipboard like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. “Franco, what are you doing here?”

He sets his phone down, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m a patient. Clearly.”

You take a deep breath, setting the clipboard aside. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.” He leans back slightly, gesturing toward himself with both hands. “Broken dick. You saw the file.”

Your jaw tightens as you step closer, lowering your voice. “Franco, this is a hospital. You can’t just-”

“I didn’t just anything,” he cuts in, feigning indignation. “I’m here because you abandoned me this morning. And now I’m suffering.”

You blink at him, completely thrown. “Suffering?”

“Yes!” He says, sitting up straighter, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays any attempt at seriousness. “You left me. Alone. In bed. With …” He lowers his voice dramatically. “An issue.”

Your brain scrambles to keep up. “An issue?”

Franco sighs, as though the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “Blue balls. A raging, unresolved situation. You’re a doctor — you know how dangerous that can be.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice rises slightly before you catch yourself. “Franco, I left because I had to come to work. Like a normal person.”

“Right, but normal people don’t leave their boyfriends high and dry,” he argues, his tone edging into the realm of petulant. “Do you know how much it hurts? It’s practically a medical emergency.”

You close your eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So let me get this straight,” you say slowly. “You’re here because you have blue balls. And instead of — oh, I don’t know — handling it with your hand and some lotion like a grown adult, you decided to come to my workplace and waste everyone’s time?”

“I don’t see it as wasting time,” Franco says, crossing his arms. “I see it as seeking expert care. From a very qualified, very beautiful doctor.”

“Franco,” you say warningly, but he’s already grinning.

“Besides,” he continues, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt, “don’t you think it’s romantic? I’m literally willing to suffer for you.”

“Oh my God.” You press a hand to your forehead, feeling a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You are not suffering. And this is not romantic — it’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously sweet,” Franco counters, clearly enjoying himself.

You stare at him, torn between wanting to strangle him and laugh. “You know I could get in trouble for this, right? What if someone finds out I’m treating my boyfriend? Or worse, that you’re faking a medical emergency?”

“I’m not faking,” he says quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “The pain in my cock is very real.”

“Franco.” Your voice is flat, and you fix him with your best no-nonsense look.

He hesitates for a beat, then leans forward slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to confess something scandalous. “Okay, maybe it isn’t a fracture. But it is painful!”

You throw your hands up, resisting the urge to laugh despite yourself. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

Franco pouts, his lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated fashion. “Come on, angel. Don’t be mad. I just wanted to see you.”

“You couldn’t have waited until my shift was over?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m impatient. And in my defense, you looked very cute leaving this morning.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me,” he says, his grin widening.

“Don’t push your luck,” you warn, though there’s no real bite in your tone.

Franco leans back on the exam table, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who just disrupted your workday. “So … are you gonna examine me or what?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Do you want me to call security? Because that’s where this is headed.”

“You wouldn’t,” he says, his confidence unwavering.

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Franco holds your gaze for a moment, then sighs dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. No exam. But only because I value our relationship.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, not even trying to hide your sarcasm.

He grins again, the kind of grin that’s always been your undoing. “You can’t stay mad at me, angel. Admit it.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth despite your best efforts. “Franco, you’re lucky I like you. Otherwise, you’d be on your way out of here in handcuffs.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he smirks. “Kinky.”

“Oh, for the love of-” You don’t bother finishing the sentence, turning toward the door instead.

“Wait, wait!” Franco calls after you, sliding off the exam table. “I’m kidding! Don’t go!”

You pause, looking back at him. He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, his expression softer now. “Seriously,” he says. “I just … I missed you. And I thought maybe this would make you laugh. Or at least roll your eyes. Which it did, so … mission accomplished?”

You sigh, feeling your resolve waver. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s looking at you like that — like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

“Franco,” you say, your voice quieter now. “You can’t just show up like this. I have a job to do.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer. “And I promise I won’t make a habit of it. But … can I take you to dinner after your shift? As an apology?”

You study him for a moment, weighing your options. Finally, you let out a small sigh. “Fine. But only if you promise to behave.”

“I promise,” he says quickly, holding a hand over his heart.

“And no more faking injuries,” you add, pointing a finger at him.

“Scout’s honor,” he says, though the mischievous glint in his eye suggests otherwise.

You shake your head, exasperated but smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” he says, grinning.

“For now,” you say, opening the door. “Now get out of here before someone sees you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franco says, saluting playfully as he follows you into the hallway.

As he walks away, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Ridiculous as he is, there’s no denying that life with Franco is never boring.

[defmaybe]

Shame

IVE’s An Yujin x Male Reader

0.9k words

Prequel to Safe

A/N: Dubious consent lol. Proceed with caution. Thanks for reading as always!

—

“Goddamn, that’s a whole fucking bakery you got, pretty boy.”

The deep voice sears right into your ear. Your breath hitches on the spot. Again, you’re under the predicament of being harassed by An Yujin.

“What’s the matter, baby? Why don’t you continue walking? I wanna see that tight ass bounce.”

“Y–Yujin, s–stop harassing me, please!” you shout, still don’t dare to look back at her in the eye. You’re afraid, but your cock hardening in your pants says otherwise.

She licks her lips, making a wet sound that echoes through the hallway. “Pretty, pretty boy, you got that ass and you decided to not be proud of it? Good thing it’s tight, baby, enough for me to forget how stupid you are.”

You hear the sound of her heels clicking on the floor. Sweat forms in your hands. You still don’t dare to look back. She’s stepping towards you, ready to claim that bitch boy standing in the hallway.

“Y–Yujin, p–please,” you stammer out.

Suddenly, you feel her hot breath against your ear. Her body warmth emanates to you. You can smell her strong perfume, it’s intoxicating.

“Just shut the fuck up and let me have you, alright, pretty boy?” She then puts her tongue inside your ear, making your body shriek in response. A wail escapes your pouty lips.

“That right, baby, moan for me like a bitch you are,” she whispers, before going back to nibbling with your earlobe. Your breaths come out in shallow pants, clearly enjoying the power Yujin is having over you.

Her hands start to grope your lithe body, starting from that firm chest down to your stomach. Your body writhes and shakes as she moves downwards with her fingers. You hear Yujin chuckling softly at your pliancy.

Inevitably, her hands move down to your raging bulge. She squeezes it softly, bringing out a high moan from you. Her left hand starts to snake under your waistband, while the other is busy playing with your hardness from the outside.

“Your juicy ass feels so good on my thighs, pretty boy,” Yujin says. Her left hand finds your cock under your pants now, before she starts pumping it up and down, slowly. You moan and moan in response to her groping. “I wish I could bury my face in there and eat you out until you moan like a bitch.”

“Nghn.”

“So big, so tight.”

The world around you disappears—the onlookers, the hallway. It’s just you and Yujin jerking you off from behind, and you’re going to cum in your pants. Her left hand adeptly slides up and down your hardness, as the right gropes your body like you’re her toy. You wish you can stop this, but you just can’t seem to say a thing except for the slutty whimpers.

“You’re so easy to break, you know,” says Yujin, quickening her strokes. “Just a few words and you’re already a mess.”

“Hhngn,” is what you manage to say under her spell. Her mouth presses on your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in its wake. Her right hand joins her left under the waistband on your rear, grabbing your ass like it’s hers (it’s hers), bringing out a moan from you. Her masterful pumps are bringing you closer to the edge. You can feel the wave building in your loins.

“Y–Yujin, I–I’m gonna–”

“Just fucking cum, pretty boy. Cum on my hands, I’ll make sure you have a taste of it.”

The promise of sucking An Yujin’s fingers is pushing you close. Your legs are trembling with pleasure. Your fist tightens. Her pumps become rapid. Her hot breath touches your neck. Her free hand is groping your fragile body all over. You’re so, so close.

“Too bad this ass is wasted on someone as prudish as you. I could’ve fucked you until your legs give out if you’re more of a slut,” Yujin says.

And you break. Your breath hitches. Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of cum inside your pants, making them damp from the inside. Her left hand grips onto your cock tightly, determined to milk you dry. You moan and moan in the hallway in ecstasy. You can hear gasps from the onlookers as they watch you lost in the pleasure.

“Mmm, that’s it, pretty boy, that’s fucking it,” says Yujin.

Your orgasm then dies down, your heartbeat decelerates. Yujin pulls out her cum-smeared hand to your mouth. And as if you know, your mouth dives onto fingers, nibbling, sucking the salty taste of your own cum. The taste isn’t the best, but you’re happy to taste it on the fingers of An Yujin.

After what feels like an eternity, Yujin pulls her finger out of your needy mouth, the string of cum forms between your mouth and her fingers. What a lewd sight.

“That’s enough for today, baby. I’ll make sure to bring my strap later.” She then gives your butt a smack, making you yelp.

“Because an ass like this needs to be fucked.”

“O–Okay, Yujin.”

She then walks away from you, leaving you surrounded by the giggling onlookers in shame, legs trembling, but not before she gives your ass another slap. Some people are chuckling at the sight.

“Tsk, freaky ass.”

—

[deathbxnny]

Loved your writing of arcane characters saying things they regret during an argument. Would you be willing to do a version with Jayce, Viktor and Silco? I apologize if you don't prefer to write about these characters, you can ignore this

Arcane men saying things they'll regret during an argument. | Viktor, Jayce, Silco x Gn!Reader

Oh, I absolutely am willing to do that, Anon!! These are going to be pretty irredeemable, though, so there is not going to be a part two to this... anyways, enjoy!!<3

Content: Season 2 spoilers!!, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, break ups, swearing, gaslighting, toxic behavior, sfw

Reader has no mentioned pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VIKTOR

"This... isn't you anymore, Viktor. A-And I refuse to keep lying to myself like this either!" You hissed out one night, unable to keep it in any longer. You were losing your mind in this compound of his, unable to understand how seemingly no one was able to recognize how wrong everything was. People who were "healed" by him weren't the same after. They turned into robotic and uncanny husks of their old selves.

A terrifying sight that unnerved you deeply. And only you here.

The nail in the coffin was perhaps the skeptical appearance of Councilor Salo. Never in your life had you ever seen him give a damn about anyone but himself. He lived a life of riches and materialism, far from the selfless and minimalistic lifestyle found here. But after your boyfriend healed him of his inability to walk, he suddenly preached the same ideals that everyone else did.

Peace, love, and community.

Those were the important pillars of this idyllic place Viktor had created, and yet you couldn't see past the clear red flags that weaved themselves in their white attire. You were never much of a genius like he was, but it didn't take much brainpower to understand that this was not a great place to be in. No matter how hard he attempted to convince you of that.

"... I'm sorry you feel that way. But I'm afraid I can not follow your reasoning for this claim. I am myself... just someone greater. More meaningful. Isn't that beautiful?" His voice was so gentle and patient in comparison to yours. Something that wasn't unusual to him. But the way he used that tone now made you sick. "Terrifying is a better word, actually... Why can't you see that this is just wrong? You're not healing anyone-" "-But I am. Look around you. Is that not enough for you to finally believe me, my love? I want to create a better world... one in which we can live freely together." Your mind spun, his words ringing in your head dangerously. And you hated every second of it.

This isn't the man you loved anymore. He must have died that fateful day when the sky fell from above, and he covered you with his body to save you. His last act of kindness as your boyfriend and lover before he perished and left behind whoever he was. And you'd be damned if the last good memory got tainted too.

"No. I will not let you play with my mind anymore. I've had enough." You pushed past him, wanting to finally escape this borderline cult. Originally, you had only followed after him because you couldn't bear being without him. Jayce was right, though. He really was different now.

"Hm... it seems like I was right about you after all." You stopped in your tracks yet didn't dare face him. "You truly are not worth saving... you can't grasp the beauty of what I have made. I suppose everyone's claims for your low intelligence were, unfortunately, right. What a shame." How could a devil have such a soothing, loving voice? Why did the monster that now lurked in your shadow have to have your lovers face? The cruelty was too much to bear.

Who would have thought that you'd finally leave him for good after all the years you've taken care of him? This moment felt so surreal and yet ironically freeing as well. The end was near. "Did you... ever even love me?" You asked aimlessly, but didn't wait to hear his answer.

Perhaps if you had, however, you would've seen that sudden spark of surprise in his eyes, as you slipped out of his fingers for good at last.

》JAYCE

You had looked everywhere for him. And after also asking everyone under the sun if they had seen your boyfriend, you had eventually determined that he must've somehow gone missing. Worried sick, it pained you knowing that there wasn't much you could do either, considering that everyone was too busy getting ready for a borderline war and Caitlyn became unreachable as a result. Yet just as you began to lose hope, your dear lover finally returned... but he wasn't the same.

He didn't look the same, nor did he act the same, in fact. He looked so different that it even visibly startled you when you found him rummaging through his once shared laboratory. You had just returned from another wrap around the building in hopes of finding it, and whilst you'd consider yourself lucky this time around, all you now felt was genuine dread.

"Jayce...? What happened to you? I looked for you everywhere and-" You stilled at the intense look he gave you, his face flinching for a moment, as though his mind couldn't comprehend your image. Glancing over at his peculiar weapon of choice, you felt unnerved at how even that looked uncanny. The entire situation was unnerving you deeply, to say the least. "You... You shouldn't be here." He finally muttered, his voice deeper and colder than it ever was. Jayce always had such a fun and warm voice. If you didn't know any better, you would've questioned who he was a while ago.

"Hey... tell me where you were, okay?" You said, trying a more gentle approach as you neared him, eyes focused on his clearly injured leg. Had he been kidnapped? You doubted it. So what made him end up like this? Nothing you could come with explained his appearance. His hair and beard were way longer than they should have gotten in the short span of time he was gone, too.

Reaching down carefully, you tried to inspect his leg, but he seemed less receptive to the idea. Or so you assumed, after he shoved you away roughly and held the hammer to your face at impressive speed. His eyes were glossy, as though he wasn't entirely all there. He was reliving a terrifying moment in his mind, unaware of the horror you were going through. Never could you have ever thought of ending up in this position with him. "Jayce! What the hell are you doing-?" "-Get away! I know what you are... you've been sent by him too, weren't you?" You let out a shriek when he swung the hammer at you, only giving you a fraction of a second to jump out of the way.

Falling onto your behind, you quickly crawled backward and away from him, tears welling up in your eyes. Your scream seemed to at least wake him up, though, as he finally lowered his weapon and blinked at you in surprise. "Fucks sake! What is wrong with you?" You yelled out, yet as fast as his face softened, it hardened again. "... Sorry... I need to leave." Quickly making his way past you, he only barely escaped your presence before you grabbed onto the fabric of his pants. "Why? Where are you going? Why can't you tell me anything?"

The look in his eyes made you shrink away. This wasn't your Jayce anymore. "... The future of everyone in Piltover hinges on me being there on time. Now, make yourself useful for once and get out of my way." Shaking you off harshly, he left you crying on the cold floor of the once lively laboratory, not once looking back.

》SILCO

When you first met Silco, you were both still leading simple lives in the last drop with his brother and all of your other friends in Zaun. The lanes were harsh and, at times, cruel, yet you fought through the agony of it all together. Years down the line later, you find yourself still reminiscing on those heavenly days, particularly those of your lover who had turned for the worst in the time being. And the question of why you didn't listen to Vander's warnings came to mind again then. Perhaps you were just too used to excusing everything his brother did, especially after he had attempted to drown him so horrifically, which left him permanently injured.

But even so... why didn't you just listen? Why did it take so many years for you to finally throw the towel and leave for good? Finally realise that the man you loved was a monster? A disgusting and evil monster who was willing to use the plight of others for his own gain. And for what? Money? Fame? Power? It was all an ego trip you had far more than enough of. Zaun was his playground, and an escape was impossible. You'd be, however damned if you didn't at least try to anyways. Even if just in Vander's honor as a long-awaited apology.

Pushing past the crowd in the stuffy, full Last drop, you finally reached his office upstairs. Not caring about formalities anymore, you knocked and opened the door without awaiting a reply. If death met you behind it, then so be it. "Ah, darling, in a hurry today, aren't you?" "We need to talk. Alone." Short and straight to the point. Raising a brow, he shared a look with Jinx, who was just done giving him his daily "medicine". Oh, how you hated your lover's dearest creation. Shimmer. The exact thing that had ruined your lives for good. But you pushed away your disdain for the task at hand.

Giving Jinx a dismissive wave of his hand, you waited for her to be gone for good before taking a breath to speak. But Silco beat you to it. Always so painfully perceptive. "The answer is no, if you're here asking to leave. I refuse to let you go, dear. You have no one else but me after all. You wouldn't survive on your own." He always underestimated you, so this wasn't an all to surprising response. And if you were just a couple of months younger, you would have maybe agreed and backed off. But you were sick of his games.

"I didn't come here to ask for permission, Silco. I'm here to say goodbye." The slightest, softest crack at the last word gave you away horribly. You certainly didn't expect your feelings for the man to betray you, but even that won't stop you now. Said man just hummed in response as he stood up to face the window. His hands calmly lit a cigar, very much unbothered. But you knew that your sentence had gotten to him anyway with how his hand shook ever so slightly. Out of anger, most likely.

"So you think you can do whatever you want? Leave after you've spent so many years at my side? Your hands aren't as clean as you think they are, darling. Even yours are a bright violet." A reference to the shimmer vials on his desk. He knew how much you hated it, so this felt like a jab. A jab at the deep guilt you felt every day for enabling the death of all of your friends indirectly. If only you had stopped him from the start... then maybe you wouldn't have to feel the dread that ruined you from the inside anymore.

"I've accepted my flaws and sins a long time ago. I may not be better than you... but sometimes, in order to end the cycle, you have to walk away and leave some things behind." You suddenly felt so content, his cold and terrible words not reaching you anymore. You were so close to leaving. So close to leaving Zaun and Piltover like you've always dreamed. But Silco just scoffed in disbelief.

"Hah, don't give me that self-righteous shit... I've been there for you for so many years, dear. I've taken care of you, fed you, and loved you to my best ability for so long. The least you could do is be grateful for my kindness." "So you think I'm a burden?" The silence was deafening, but it was enough to confirm your long-standing suspicions. He had lost his love for you a long time ago. Perhaps the side that loved you so purely drowned in the river with him.

"... Goodbye. I hope one day you can walk away too." You turned and began walking out then, suddenly realising that it's finally over. Shoving your hands into the pocket of your coat, you felt the ticket for the skyship you had to take. "Don't you dare leave. Don't you dare it-" All bark and no bite as usual. There was no stopping you now, and he knew it. He was letting you go after all. You could just hope that one day he'd listen to your words and end the cycle, too.

What a shame that you won't be there at his side to see it, however... maybe in another life then.

[merakiui]

[1] 𝔴𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔥.

yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, brief nsfw, non-con, restraints, mentions of murder and adultery, religious imagery, choking, violence masterlist // prologue // one (you are here) // two

You wake to fingers in your throat. Not on your throat, as one might assume in association with asphyxiation, but in your throat.

Fingers with pointed nails that burrow into your esophagus, scrabbling for a handhold as if whatever’s inside is trying to climb out through the only passage it knows.

It begins with a simmering itch, hardly noticeable, but then it’s insistently scratching, choking you from within. With a dying wheeze, you jerk up out of bed like a corpse reanimated. You can only claw desperately at your neck, helpless like a dove with clipped wings. Bent over the mattress and shuddering with every dry heave, you force your own fingers into your mouth in a futile attempt to pull whatever’s inside free from its fleshy confines.

In a shocking struggle, you manage to brush something coarse just before you remove your fingers, now slick with saliva. Much like the rain falling in a steady curtain outside the little window, the hellish sensations from within persist just as incessantly. You scrape at the back of your throat, your eyes wide with manic terror. Miraculously, you manage to grab hold of it—the wicked offender!

In one rough tug, the lodged object comes spilling out of your mouth in dark tendrils. It’s magical like a trick from a hat.

You pull lengths and lengths of soil-clumped human hair from your throat, choking all the while. It forms a sizable lump on the bed.

What is this madness? you think in a blind panic. Before you can even register the wetness on your cheeks, you’ve already coughed up enough hair to fashion into an elaborate coiffure.

And just when you think you might lose yourself in this never-ending torment, a brilliant flash illuminates the dark. Someone places a hand on your shoulder, and it ends all at once. The hair vanishes in a blink. With it, the creature attempting to crawl out of you is banished to a forgotten sliver of shadow. 

Hasty in your movements, you perform a perfunctory pat-down. Nothing is amiss. It’s as if the previous ephialtes and its accompanying fright never occurred.

Surely an omen birthed by foul temperaments, you reason, turning to face the person.

The person.

Reacting on instinct, you feel around for your dagger and, seizing it, drive it towards the trespasser. They catch your fist in both hands. Their palms are unnaturally soft.

“You need not be afraid.”

Now faced with their pure countenance, so full of white light, you discern traces of humanity in their figure. Four pairs of grey eyes blink back at you. The rest of their face is obscured in dazzling luminosity. Wings unfurl from behind, stretching wide enough to encapsulate you in a feathery embrace.

“Do my eyes deceive me? It cannot be, yet it is! Right before me—an angel!”

The divine being hums in acknowledgment. 

Overcome with a fierce shame, you lower your blade and scramble off of the bed to bow before them. “Forgive my barbarity, angel. I acted on an impulse driven by baseless fear. I implore clemency.”

“Lift your head so that I may look upon you and know of your honesty.”

You do as instructed. Your heart pounds ruthlessly inside your ribs, fueled with newfound anxiety. “I thought you to be an intruder,” you confess. “Of this I am earnest, but I shan’t resist should you seek to punish me.”

“My child, you are a lamb full of faults. Even so, you are deserving of forgiveness. That is why I have come.”

The angel lowers to sit on the edge of the straw mattress. They gesture to the space beside them.

“You’ve…come for me? Surely you jest. I have been condemned to isolation for a crime I am wrongly accused. I am an innocent prisoner, angel. You must know this.”

They extend a wing in sympathy. Soft feathers kiss your cheek, drying tears you hadn’t realized were there.

“Be at rest. You need not scramble.”

“Am I saved? Will you free me from these vile stone walls? Truly?”

Before you can beg for revenge against Father Flamme, you clamp your mouth shut and remind yourself to uphold a pious disposition. The angel’s wing shudders and withdraws to fold against their back. You watch a loose feather float to the floor. It’s rendered ash before it can come into contact with the grime.

“Indeed, child. Come.” They offer their hand next. “There’s no need to bow in reverence. I am aware of the veracity of your faith. Rather, I shall deliver a message on behalf of Him.”

“Him…” You flounder with wide eyes. “Oh! Oh, can it be true? Has He recognized my efforts? Have my prayers been answered? Am I saved—forgiven?”

The angel nods. You almost cry from the relief. All of your doubts… They are meaningless in the presence of God’s heavenly messengers.

“Take my hand, child, and I shall free you from that which entraps.”

Your hand twitches towards them, but then it halts.

Wordless, the angel gazes at you.

“Aah, so that is the net you intend to cast.”

You rise from your position on the floor and, slipping your rosary off, you drape it around the angel’s neck. Before they can question your behavior, you shove them onto the bed. They fall in a startled flurry of feathers. Guided by suspicion, you move to sit atop them. They lie flat on their back, watching you carefully. It’s in that single second that you see something new flash in those unassuming greys. Something malevolent. You grab hold of your dagger and yank at the rosary to bring them closer. The iron blade is poised at their chest.

It is a threat and a warning—a sincerity. You will not hesitate to spill unholy blood.

Such a shameless mask of blasphemy! 

“My child—”

Your knuckles ache from the tight enclosure your fist forms around the beaded chain. Again, you drag them towards you when they resist.

“You dress yourself in flesh and feather so that I may be blinded by purity, but beneath such flimsy pageantry is the odious effluvium of the Devil!”

“My dear child, I come peacefully.”

“How dissonant a nightingale sings when its mouth is filled with treacherous filth. Foul beast, your tripe is of no value to me.”

Their eyes darken, and suddenly they’re looking through you rather than at you. The dreamy lilt falls away, and with it comes a churlish snarl. 

“And what of you, Sister?”

“There is no angel in this world who would spare me a glance.” The tip of your dagger pokes through the faux angel’s robes, almost piercing silvery skin. “No angel, no matter how authentic, would dare embrace these sinful, blood-bespattered hands of mine.”

The creature remains silent, studying you with all four of its beady eyes.

“You cannot fool me, demon. Reveal yourself! I shall look upon your monstrous countenance when I drive this blade deep into your heart, and it will bring me impeccable satisfaction to have triumphed over your temptation!”

Gradually, the light dims enough so you may espy a mouth twitching into an impish grin. And then a cloud of thick smoke envelops you. It stinks of rot and death, of dank cellars, of mildew and monstrosity. You stumble away in an effort to escape its clutches, swatting through the haze before it can choke you with its filth.

In the midst of the shroud, a pair of pointed teeth wink back at you. Blood leaks into the creature’s irises, and every soft, saintly feature twists into something rough and hard. A sickly pallor spreads over his body, coated in sticky obsidian that drips like drool from a cursed mutt’s mouth. You squint through the fog, searching for the monster.

“So you’ve come to test my faith, have you?” you demand, clutching the handle of your dagger with unfaltering tenacity. “You’ll find your attempt is in vain, for I shall never accept anything from a demon!”

“Oh, I’ve come for more than that, Sister.”

Clawed hands part the smoke. It disperses in seconds, allowing you the opportunity to observe the fiend in his flesh. Twisted horns sprout from a head of crimson hair, curling into a crooked crown. A leathery, spade-tipped tail flicks to and fro. The creature’s clothes are queenly in design, albeit torn with time, stained black with execrable blot. A dark band encircles his throat, and when he tilts his head stringy tissue snaps in place to prevent his decapitated head from rolling.

You inhale sharply and catch a new scent on your nostrils. This devil, with his inky Medici collar, each pointed tip a dagger itself, smells distinctly of dead flowers.

Large, black wings shred through mottled skin, unfurling in a grand, demonic display. A mysterious liquid drips from the thorns lining his wings, landing in scalding plip-plops on the floor. He stands on blackened hooves, not nearly as tall and intimidating as you once imagined, but he’s still a grotesque effigy all the same. 

Gingerly, the demon plucks the rosary from his neck and casts it at your feet. Just before the wounds are healed, you make note that the holy object has left his skin singed.

“You intend to kill me?” he taunts, laughing. “With such a feeble blade? Hah! Why, that would hardly leave a blemish. Human tools are no match for me.”

Ink drools from the exquisite tattoo on his face, and he gathers some on his thumb to paint his lips in the ghastly smear. 

“I should expect nothing less from a wrathful Sister such as yourself. You’d sooner drive a blade through me than allow yourself to bask in the forgiveness of an angel, an imitation though it may be.”

To make such a brazen mockery of a divine being… Rotten devils do not possess a glimmer of shame!

“You talk freely, but your every promise has a heavy price. There is no forgiveness to be had from a foul creature like you.” You swipe your rosary from the floor and fasten it around your neck. “Begone, or I shall pray you away.”

“I should like to see that valiant effort. Alas, you’ll find it rather wasteful.” He strides your way, his hooves clicking an ominous rhythm against the stone. “I’ve come to collect you, my wrathful Sister. There is no negotiation to be had, nor a debate of what and who is right or wrong. This is a fate as final as death.”

“You talk of nothing but rubbish!” You stumble away, brandishing your blade with halfhearted courage. “You… You cannot take me.”

“And yet I already have,” he answers simply, smiling wickedly. His tail traces a path from your stomach to your breast, lingering just above your heart. “Did you not wonder who might dwell in your shadow? Who accompanied you in your madness at a time when you were most vindictive?”

Utter tripe! It cannot be true. He intends to lead me astray. 

He’s quick on his hooves, sidling up to you from behind. His hands settle upon your shoulders, inky claws drumming calm rhythms. “I’ve watched over you, Sister. Longer than you could ever suspect. I know of your transgressions—every incident of wrath, each inscribed in permanence on your very soul. Which, as you might already know, is quite the potent delicacy for those of the same station as myself. So while I may don angelic trickery, you play a deception that has since become wholly unsuitable for your oh-so-virtuous character.”

“I’ve no inkling what you’re referring to. Not the slightest inkling!” you protest, shaking yourself free of his grasp. 

He chuckles and steps forward. His tail brushes your jaw, leaving a slick trail of sludge in its wake. In a furious shiver, you scrub at it, but it sullies your hands.

“It was you! You’re the fiend who has cursed me so. That trick—the hair. Your malevolence knows no bounds.”

His eyes crinkle in amusement. “I am the very sin you deny. The very sin you run from even though you once embraced me so tenderly.”

“You’re wrong… You’re wrong! I would never lower myself to your devious standards.”

“But you have, and you continue to flee, seeking shelter under a roof that cannot provide the solace you’re after. Not anymore.” He indicates the room—your prison cell—with a sweep of his tail. Moonflowers and roses curl around the bed, blooming beneath silver light. You can’t estimate when they may have appeared, but just as the light falls upon the demon you know it must have been his doing. “The flock you have vested so much trust in have abandoned you, left you for dead at the edge of the pasture, and just beyond beautiful safety is a world of wolves waiting to feast.”

Peace, you remind yourself, steeling your frazzled nerves. He provokes me intentionally. A weak heart is susceptible to minacious influences. I mustn’t succumb.

“Father Flamme would never do such a thing. This is merely a test of my abilities as a lady of the church.”

Alas, those words do not sound right in your mouth because Father Flamme has done such a thing, even though you’d rather not confront his lustful betrayal. 

The demon’s nose twitches, and his red eyes shimmer with irritation. “You wear on my patience, Sister. Denial and delusion are shrouds befitting fools, and you are no fool.”

“You are aware I would never content myself with the likes of you. Rather, it is you who is the fool for assuming I would accept you so blindly. My faith is sturdy as stone. You will never sway me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It is a fact.”

“Sister, you should know your confidence is pitiful and misplaced.” The demon lowers to sit proudly at the edge of the bed. He folds one leg over the other, and you watch the drip-drop of ink slip from his hoof. It puddles on the floor, burning through the grass now sprouting up through stone. “If not myself, the truth of tragedy will reveal all.”

Rigidly on your guard, you frown. “And that might be?”

“There is a beautiful woman lying slain and scattered amongst the hogs. A brutality of which your village has seldom seen. Might you know something?”

You hold his fiery stare with an unshakable determination. “I do. Everyone adores her.”

“Not everyone,” he corrects, his tail flicking from side to side, as if he’s entertained with this dissection of the obvious. “Not a certain Sister, perchance?”

“I’ve no association with her.”

“How skillfully you dance on the tip of a needle.”

“That is the truth. I’ve no association with a woman like her.”

“Not anymore, for she’s good and gone. The living can never visit the dead just as the dead can never return to the living.” The demon brings his fingertips together to illustrate his next point. “In the moments between life and death, those worlds nearly touch.”

“As they might on All Hallows’ Eve. An erroneous argument.”

“Ah, but this instance is far more tangible than that.” He waves his hand in the air and from nothing comes something—a fistful of darkened hair torn right from a scalp. He holds it up to the light and hums, turning it over just as slop drips from the clump. “Well, Sister, what say you?”

You click your tongue. “Surely you’ve plucked your humor right from the filthy recesses of the hog pen.”

“Then you must have been there before me, otherwise our penchant for such morbid mischief would not align so celestially.”

He tosses the dark cluster at your feet. You nudge it hesitantly, as if it may spring up at any moment. 

“What is it you want?”

His tail flicks in your direction.

“You cannot have me.”

“Your approval is not a requirement. If I must, I shall take you by force.”

“You are nothing but a foul, empty dream. Come morning, I will be rid of your presence.”

His clawed hands curl into tight fists, and he inhales a long breath. “But not my influence. Never my influence.”

With a swish of your habit skirt, you turn your back on him. “Your voice wears on my ears. Begone with you and take your tricks whence you came.”

“Deceitful Sister, you cannot rid yourself of me so easily.” A shadow slithers over to you. From the floor, he rises to meet you. “You’ve exhausted my patience, and thus I shall resolve to scrape the truth from the corners of your very heart!”

You jerk away from him, but a vine snaps forward to wrap around your ankle. You’re pulled onto the grassy stone floor by accompanying vines, each one lined with thorns. They pinch at your clothes, threatening to tear fine fabrics and render them rags. 

“Then I must say farewell to our cordial conversation now that you’ve shown your true colors, impatient devil.”

He smiles down at you, fanged teeth shimmering in the light, and his red eyes look small and beady like an insect’s. “I shall tear you apart just as you desire. Perhaps I should use your method if I wish for effective results? Then the hogs will know the taste of human twice more.”

You bark out a bitter laugh. Any attempt of struggle is met with resistance from the plants. They’re curled around you like botanical shackles, tightening their coils every time you squirm. A thorny rose rests upon your breast, beautiful beneath the moon and dangerous in the dark. You know better than to give in to its scarlet temptations.

“You want me to confess to my crime when it is quite clear it never could have escaped your omniscient eyes! If you’ve known all along, your plot has been ineffective from the start. So I’ll say it now and spare myself the vexation: I put that woman there—in a grave amongst the hogs—and I’d do it again should she somehow return for vengeance. I’d do it a hundred times over if I must! However much it will take to prune her blight from the flowers in my world!”

For a beat and then a few breaths, no words are exchanged. The both of you watch the other closely. You school your scowl into something serene and soften your once thunderous intonation.

“I am not afraid to admit my terrible transgression here. You should know I feel no such remorse for that wicked woman and her lies. That witch.”

The demon towers over you, a curious lilt to his stern voice. “Do you expect to remain free now that you’ve met me?”

“I can’t be certain of that, but I do know I will fight you until my last breath.”

“Ah, is that so?” His tail curls around the handle of the dagger and he dangles it above your face, just out of reach. You grit your teeth and struggle against the vines, but they hold firm in their entrapment of your limbs. “There’s still one detail you’ve forsaken. You’re not yet absolved of your rage. Rather, it’s still festering within your heart.”

“Open your mouth wider and perhaps I’ll be willing to hear your nonsense.”

The demon grits his teeth. “I’d rather not cast pearls at ungrateful swine.”

“How your warped perception honors me so!” You tilt your head in mockery. “If you must know, foul beast, the sins of a hollow-hearted husband are unforgivable. It is only because he is my father that he knows the blessing of another day. Know that I’d sooner cut him down with just the same amount of rage if these familial ties were not so entangling.”

The vine that had once snaked around your throat falls still, its pressure lessened only by way of the demon’s piqued curiosity.

“It burned a hole through me every waking moment I remained shackled to this forbidden truth. Is marriage not an oath—to be forever fond even in sickness? And yet he would rather leave my mother to rot in her chamber than keep to the promise seared onto his heart! So I thought there was no demise more fitting than the execution to which I condemned the witch he adored so ardently. My mother has always sought to provide for me. It is only fair that I return her goodwill and guard her heart when she is unable to.”

He looks at you differently now, as if learning this forbidden knowledge has somehow excited him. Perhaps, rather than that, it is the feeling of having been proven correct that incites a delicious thrill from deep within.

“It is as I assumed,” he says after a beat of silence. “Your loyalty is certainly meritorious. There is nothing sweeter than wrath-fueled obsession mired in the candied glaze of a woman’s choler.”

“I am guilty and irredeemable, but I am no fool. You tread lightly, demon. Is there something on my person that requires prudence, perchance?”

His lip curls in a soundless snarl. The vines slither away from the beaded chain wrapped around your neck. Bearing the Holy Cross, it’s been carved from the finest rosewood and blessed by Father Flamme himself. If there’s anything that can shield you from a devil’s sinful tyranny, it’s your rosary.

But then a thorn-studded vine reclaims possession of your neck, curling roughly in threat. You choke on your surprise.

How can it be?! Impossible!

Steadily, still minding the religious hindrance, his vines explore the clothed expanse of your restrained body. Your rosary has minimal effect. When he reaches to touch you, he pulls away with smoldering flesh. And then, turning to look you in the eyes, he laughs. It’s loud and victorious, shot through with a cold, crazed strain.

“I see!” he exclaims, lifting his hand to the moonlight to inspect the damage. The wound closes up slowly, skin stitching together with gooey strands of blot. You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “You’re not so invincible now. I may not be able to lay a finger on you myself, but my precious flora certainly can. Whether it withers, shrivels, or burns away, it matters not.”

You struggle around a retort. Peace. Be at peace. I mustn’t let my anger control my actions. If I’m unable to fight with my body, then I shall battle with verbosity.

“Oh, I imagine this is quite disheartening for you. To have placed so much faith in this pitiable pendant… There, there.” Petals brush your cheek in faux comfort, catching invisible tears.

The moonlight spills across his face and you see him for what he really is: a contemptible creature of impiety.

A shiver bolts up your spine. You are helpless beneath the beast, but you refuse to act so and give him the satisfaction.

“What do you aim to achieve with your trickery?” you ask, contorting your expression into a sneer. “My faith is much too sturdy to crumble at your influence.”

“Ah, but even the sturdiest of foundations can be eroded with time, Sister.”

“Then I suggest you return at a date in which such a feat is sensibly plausible.” Glaring up at him, mummified in thick vines, you add, “I’ll have long departed the earth by then, so perhaps you’ll find the answer to that assumption in the mouths of worms.”

“Enough!” he snaps, seething so much blot spews from fangs bared. “I’ll hear no more of your impertinence!”

Just then, the vine around your throat constricts. Thorns burrow into your flesh. A choking noise gurgles from the depths of your esophagus, and you thrash wildly on the floor, eyes bulging and mouth opening in a silent scream. The tendrils curled around your knees part them in impatience, and perhaps if he was of a pious temperament he might have fallen to his. More vines slide beneath your habit skirt, prodding relentlessly like weeds in a flowering garden.

Again, you find yourself questioning your god. If He is so benevolent—if He is meant to embrace, love, and protect all as they tell you in the church—why is it that you are prepped for slaughter, shut away in a slice of shadow where salvation can never hope to reach? 

Leering at you, the demon seems pleased with his gruesome handiwork. A demented smile sharpens on a countenance most cacodemonic. 

“How tranquil and still the world is when insolence and disobedience are extinguished. You cannot fight against me. Although it’s risible you think you can, foolish Sister.”

As if slicing through skin, the thorns tear at your pantalettes, inching dangerously close to a sacred space—a space you vowed to keep virginal with an oath of chastity. This gives way to a fresh form of terror—one that is reminiscent of lechery, wearing the face of Father Flamme.

The breath that would have stuck in your windpipe is snuffed by the demon’s thorny stems and vines, all stabbing at you and drawing blood. It stains porcelain moonflowers in cutthroat claret until they resemble the prettiest of roses.

“K-Kill me,” you cough out, “and then you—you shall—you’ll never—never—know an h-hour of serenity.”

“Oh, I shall do more than that.”

This, you know, is a promise that can only foretell the worst.

Death is fair in mortal acumen, but wrath is not. And the foulest sort of death is the kind that chews through you after you have been hollowed by hellish hands.

When there is nothing left for wrath to chew through, how can you expect to remain whole?

Bracing yourself, you recite prayer after prayer in your head. Your vision dims and with it comes the release of all manner of feelings: regrets and triumphs, moments of misfortune, the inconsolable, mulish notion of survival.

You meet the tyrant’s crimson stare and refuse to shed tears for him, readying yourself for defilement as one might a beheading. The act itself shall be swift and painful, but it’s the time in the aftermath that shall stretch onwards and leave you searching for safety in your own body. Perhaps it will take the arbitrary forever to find that peace.

There is a lapse in action that stuns parasitic invasion just before it can spread petals previously untouched.

From the very bottom of the tower, a faint shout resounds. Louder, then, as if echoing a certain authority. You strain to place a name to the familiar tone, but your heart recognizes it well enough. The demon ceases his assault at once, his pointed ears pricking as he listens. And then the vines slither away and he retreats into the shadows of a now-bare room, lit only by the rays of the rising sun. Air rushes into your lungs. You take in gulps of it, ever-grateful to have survived.

You lift yourself up from the frigid floor next. Your heart thumps in time with the distant toll of church bells. Shakily, you clutch your rosary and stagger towards the tiny window. As you watch the sun cut across the horizon, every stroke of light banishing last night’s evils, you wrap your arms around yourself and mumble your appreciation in relieved repetition.

All that is left of your encounter with the demon is your dagger stuck into a crack in the stone, its elongated shadow warped against the wall.

You point at nothing when you whirl to face your nonexistent foe.

“Begone with you, demon dross, and never return! Your perfidy is naught but worthless under the divine shadow of the Lord!”

It is Father Flamme you heard. Surely! Yet even as you await his appearance it becomes impossible to fathom. 

There are no visitations granted for a seven-day sentence.

[allpiesforourown]

Tbh I feel like we need to be a bit more sympathetic to the younger generations because you do need to remember these kids are from a time of tiktok activism while we were suffering through terrible fanservice no one asked for

Like keep in mind this is what we had for women in fantasy games

Whereas this is what women in fantasy games look like now

Like I cannoooot tell you how many times I've seen people calling a totally normal story problematic and thought "these people would have a stroke watching the anime we had"

Obviously they're going to see something scandalous yet harmless and freak out, they're dumb as hell and their brains aren't fully grown. Instead of calling them puriteens and making fun of them we can just be like "things that are normalized for us are not normalized for them"

When I look back at being a teenager I can admit I had a LOT of opinions that were wrong and I have no shame admitting I've changed as a person. But older people making fun of me and telling me I'm stupid because I'm young definitely was not something that helped with that process

[zaine-m]

I like to think that Jayce and Viktor get a happy ending in the other universe too

Jayce feels awful that hextech took a life. Especially seeing powder (who is around the same age he was when him and his mom were saved by hextech) holding her dead sister's body

He says similar things as in the start of the trial but now fully meaning them and never mentions trying to create magic

Vander comes to Jayce's trial and stands up for him, saying he's just a stupid kid with a dream to help people who didn't know what he was doing

"Vi's with her mom now, let Jayce go home to his"

He does still sneak into his lab to attempt suicide but this time Viktor's "am I interrupting?" doesn't do anything, Jayce just turns back around and jumped, not being able to handle the guilt of accidentally taking a life while also realizing his life's work only caused harm

He survives the attempt and wakes up in a hospital bed, paralyzed from the waist down with his mother crying next to him

Viktor comes in a bit later while his mom is out making some food for him

His tone is completely too cold for the situation. Jayce is in complete despair and Viktor refuses to match the mood

He says most of the same stuff about how hextech can change people's lives but Jayce responds "yeah, well so far all it's done is a take the life of an innocent child"

"ehh, she was from the undercity. I grew up there, many children did not live to see adulthood"

"How does that make anything better?"

"Because this has the potential to change that. One explosion? There are toxic fumes and polluted waters slowly killing hundreds of children each year"

"Even if I wanted to I'm banned from the academy and ..." *waves at legs*

"pshh, you think trenchers are supposed to be at the academy and everything I did in my life I did while being disabled"

"Listen, I can't help you"

Viktor leaves Jayce's bracelet by his bed and heads towards the door. Jayce takes one look at it and throw it across the room in anger. "you probably shouldn't throw that", "GET OUT!"

A while later Vander comes to invite Jayce to Vi's memorial at the last drop

Jayce feels so guilty when he first comes into the last drop, everyone is staring at him

He sees Ekko, the kind little kid who had sold him such reasonably prices wares just days before his experiments accidentally killed his friend

Powder just starting going at him when she first sees him, her weak child-who-has-never-punched-before fists do very little damage especially because she's going so fast she doesn't fully pull her hands back

Jayce just lets her at it, crying and apologizing between the blows

Vander comes to pull Powder off of him, "it wasn't his fault, he didn't know how dangerous the materials were" she just looks back and screams at him before going back to her bedroom

Vander takes Jayce on a walk through the undercity to talk,

"Everyone in there knew what I did?"

"huh, no?"

"they were looking at me like I was a monster"

"yeah, that's cause you're dressed like a piltie"

"ohh, ha... I'm so sorry about what happened to Vi"

"It's a shame, but she's with her parents now"

*Jayce looks down, only feeling worse finding out the girl he killed was an orphan*

"You want to know how her parents died?" *they arrive at the bridge* "I thought I could help the undercity, create a better world by fighting for sovereignty. I led us across this bridge and lost so many people in the process, the undercity is still recovering"

"I'm so sorry"

"I was like you, I was young and ambitious and I wanted to help people. But you know what I learned. You don't need to make giant leaps to help the people around you"

On the way back Vander points out all the ways he's helped different people in the undercity, helping them make a business plan, caring for their kids when they were sick, helping them find a community at the last drop

He also points out all the things that could be helped like roofs with holes in them and cliffs that should have railings

"You don't need hextech to help the world, Jayce"

Jayce spends his time between his family's forge doing hammer work and around the undercity working as a handyman, building what he can to help people

Eventually he tracks down Viktor, hoping to find ways to make a more systemic change for things like the dirty water and polluted air

Viktor works on studies surveying the living conditions of those in the undercity and seeing what affects it has on expected lifespan and the likelihood of developing different diseases to present to the council

That along with the more pro-Zaun push that's been happening since Vi's death he gets quite a bit of work done

While he's doing this Jayce does what he can to start implementing changes by making water filters and distributing masks to those in the slump levels

After a few years Jayce petitions to be let back into the academy to help Viktor with his work on a formal level and with outstanding testimonials from many people in the undercity he's let back in

When their work making the undercity safer is done they move onto studying how to treat the various illnesses people in the undercity have suffered from living there

first starting with Viktor's various physical health issues and finding that a lot of his issues come from it never being studied how to use mobility aids and how improper use can put a strain on other parts of your body so he switched to a forearm crutch to help his back

I'm gonna say in this universe Viktor just has severe asthma which they're able to find medicines to treat so he still has issues breathing in a lot of the undercity, he just wears a mask most of the time and keeps his medication with him

Viktor and Jayce end up dating but it happens to slowly that it's hard to realize, they just spend all their time together working on their research and then they get an apartment together because they were both looking for roommates

Jayce stopped looking for people to date after the accident because he was going through a big life change and never got back in the game and Viktor always rejected anyone, saying he was too busy with his studies

Jayce is just physically affectionate in a way where hugging Viktor a lot turns into Viktor sitting on his lap whenever his leg is sore turns into Jayce playing with Viktor's hair when he's bored turns into them cuddling on the couch turns into them cuddling in bed turns into kisses on the forehead when one of them is sick turns into kisses when they're not sick

They're at the last drop one day and Viktor gets up off Jayce's lap to use with washroom and Vander asks Jayce, "so you think you'll propose soon" Jayce almost spits out his food, "what, what do you mean?"

"I mean you've been dating for like what 5 years now. You gotta pop the question sooner or later"

"umm... yeah" wait fuck are we dating, have we been dating for 5 years, what

In bed that night: "Viktor, I... I think I might like you... like romantically. I guess I never thought about it but I was talking to Vander and... and you've been the most important person in my life for the past like 6 years"

"Jayce, I thought we were dating? How are you only realizing this now"

"ohh"

"I called you my partner"

"I thought you meant like research partner"

"we kissed a lot"

"I thought those were like just for comfort... between friends"

*Viktor kisses him passionately but not the most passionately they've kissed before*

"Does that seem like it would be between friends?"

"heh, now that you mention it I guess not"

[onedollopofsourcream]

NOTHING, NO help for days literally not a cent. PLEASE IGNORE the amount of notes as we still need help. I grew up in poverty. Holidays were empty and just reminders of how cruel and unfair life was, we didn't celebrate thanksgiving we were never welcome we'd eat $1 meals and I'd go to bed crying cause i was hungry and depressed cause it didn't look like th thanksgiving we saw on tv

Well we're officially fucked to a whole new level today not only do we need enough food for the week Liu has off, forget thanksgiving we never have no fancy food for it, not in years. Sad but well probably just have ramen if lucky as a kid thanksgivings were hell on earth so I guess the kids feel the same but now we have it even worse as

My mom needs her meds which she takes for her lupus and her overactive thyroid and her narcolepsy. Without them she gets real bad and sick and cannot function she's needed them for 3 days she didn't want to tell me as she knows how stressed I am and she's so upset about how she can't provide for everyone what with her abuser constantly needling her.

Please keep d*nating especially for the kids wh should be spared all the humiliation, the shame of having been born, the guilt of having been born and being the catalyst of poverty. Please spare them, let them never worry over money and food.

[myceliacrochet]

Reblog if answer tysm!!

Eleven Urgent Campaigns

Hey guys, I know several people are waiting on me right now to make posts for you, and I apologize🩷🩷🩷 I am struggling to get everything done on my to-do list, especially since it is hard for me to get as much done due to disabilities, but rest assured that most of the items on my to-do list are for Palestinians🩷🇵🇸🍉 I made a lot of progress tonight on flyers to distribute in person for several families -- @manal-ghorab3, @sham-moner, Hala, Ayat, and Fatima. I also worked on job applications and my application for government assistance so that I can keep doing this work and so I can have a small amount to donate.

For now, I want to draw attention to several campaigns, each of which are urgent:

🇵🇸 Contact the WHO to ask them to evacuate nine-year-old Mohammed Alchear now for EMERGENCY LIFESAVING TREATMENT instead of in less than two weeks, when the child would be dead. The WHO has the permission of Israel, they just need to move quickly before the child passes.

🇵🇸 Hala and her daughters are starving to death in north Gaza, where all life is being exterminated at an even higher rate than the rest of Gaza. Hala said they are praying that an angel will save them. Hala's campaign is dangerously stagnant and needs extra support because applying for vetting will be a challenge for her due to loss of hope.

🇵🇸 Ayat (26) and her one- and two-year-olds are also starving to death and in serious danger in north Gaza. Like everyone on this list, they desperately need emergency food, provisions, and evacuation.

🇵🇸 Moneer (19) just got out of major surgery, and his family -- who just lost two extended members to a raid -- is struggling to find most of the basic necessities, even clean water.

🇵🇸 Mariam, her little girl, and her baby are stranded in a refugee camp in Syria so dangerous that the organization that ran it, the World Food Programme, no longer brings food. She is trying to keep her head up. Like every Palestinian family I am advocating for, Mariam's family is freezing cold. She has enough food for the end of the month, but not enough cooking fuel, and she needs power.

🇵🇸 Sameer al-Kilani's (21) campaign is dangerously stagnant and he is starving. He needs community support.

🇵🇸 Neveen and her four children feel abandoned and overlooked by the world, and they are getting flooded with icy cold rains.

🇵🇸 Manal and her family of five need medical attention and emergency food, and their campaign needs more consistent support.

*Edit: Her GoFundMe campaign keeps getting shut down, and she just lost all her campaign money for technical reasons. Please help this family gain back the donated money they keep losing!!

🇵🇸 Shorouq, Sameer, and their three kids need the same, and they fear for the coming winter of even worse flooding, freezing, and famine.

I might need to post using this kind of format in the future for time's sake so I can get to everyone... Let's see how this one goes

@erectiledisfigurement @vague-humanoid @plomegranate @rainbowywitch @chronicsheepdeprivation @danielladadasworld @win-rrar @shizukateal @sweetsweethate @hexxeh @heydreamchild @knavewoods @katherinefh @variouscontent @blvvdyindustries @morelinesandscribbles @monstermashpotato @wellsbering @tolbachik @akajustmerry @comrademango @superdragonjpeg-thing @afropiscesism @ihavenotfallenyet @fly-sky-high-09 @remindertoclick @slowbrobutch @insanitysmiles @wirehairwiredstare @everypores @pregnantseinfeld @seeyouguyslater @innovatorbunny @ohlorde @imjustheretotrytohelp @awetistic-things @theinconvenientlifestyle @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @sea-shame @faacethefacts @craigthetourguide @blomstermjuk @mythiedew @operationladybug @fifthnormani @disinfobot @beserkerjewel @hellootoodlesxoxo

[tyrantisterror]

Say TT, what would be your top 10 T-rexes from media?

Ooo, tough one. I don't know if I can even rank them - I think I'll just share ten I love.

We'll start with the queen, the goddess, my inspiration, the T.rex(es) from Jurassic Park (and its sequels). An elegant design with so many iconic features, from the angry eyebrows to the overbite and of course the iconic roar. The franchise itself stops treating the T.rex with respect from the third movie on, but that doesn't stop it from being its flagship creature.

As villainous rexes go, I don't think any have surpassed that bastard Sharp Tooth, who channels the raw horror of the most fearsome fighting animal in the fossil record.

Every single moment of the T.rexes in Prehistoric Planet filled me with delight and childlike wonder - yes, even when one got chased away my quetzalcoatluses. It was just nice to see a dino documentary where T.rex doesn't die for once, and seeing rexes be tender and social was also something I deeply crave but rarely get to see in dinosaur media.

For dino documentaries that break my heart, the Walking With Dinosaurs rex reigns supreme. I know it's not a particularly accurate reconstruction (and in fact kind of mind bogglingly weird if you look at the details closely - what is going on with the area where her skull meets her neck?), but the story they tell with the rexes here is so tragic that it's burned into my mind. There's the one scene of a rex howling alone in the forest in search of a mate, where the narration notes that it's unlikely anyone will answer the call, that's just lodged into my memory as the ultimate illustration of romance-based loneliness. I feel that rex, man. I feel that howl into the empty woods.

I know it's not a "good" movie, but fuck it, I love The Last Dinosaur. I love the suitamation, I love how the T.rex is presented as this borderline supernatural threat in the vein of Moby Dick, I love that it actually gives us a T.rex vs. Triceratops fight (an odd rarity in dinosaur media despite it being a matchup that 1. happened a LOT in reality and 2. pits two of the most popular and fearsome dinosaurs against each other - "T.rex vs. Triceratops" is, like, someone who's so hot that no one ever asks them out because they think they have no chance).

There's a Japanese kid's movie about a girl who's trying to reconnect with her estranged paleontologist mother and ends up adopting a baby T.rex, and it's very cute and deeply emotional and has scenes of a baby T.rex in a Christmas cape and Santa hat evading the Feds because that's just what you have to do when you're a weird animal companion to a child. It love it. It's called Rex: A Dinosaur Story and I watch it illegally every year because there's no US release of it.

You Are Umasou is another Japanese piece of paleomedia aimed at children with a deeply emotional story about strained parent-child relationships that involves a T.rex - several T.rexes, actual, one of which invents the art of kickboxing to style over his opponents - and l also used to watch it illegally, but luckily Discotek Media released a blu-ray collection of it and its sequels (called "The Heart and Yummie Collection" in an atttempt to translate the pun of the original title that only kinda works), so now I can just watch it whenever, to my delight.

Fang from Primal is one of the most well-rounded T.rex characters in media and I love her so much, even if I can't watch the first episode of that show ever again. It's a shame that show never got a second season, I would have loved to see more of Fang's adventures in a prehistoric world full of dinosaurs and monsters. A damn shame that they didn't continue it - they certainly wouldn't have made the show be about ancient human civilizations with almost no monsters and a weird scene where a woman sleeps with a caveman covered in third degree burns.

Speaking of tyrannosaurs who get a great deal of characterization and team up with cavemen to fight dinosaurs and monsters in a fantastical prehistoric world, none have ever done it better than the original Devil Dinosaur. He lost all of that characterization and, like, any agency at all really when Jack Kirby stopped writing him, sadly, but at least he had a fun team up with Godzilla before he was reduced to a mindless brute and/or glorified pet in subsequent Marvel stories.

Finally we end with Gon, the star of the manga of the same name, a tiny little T.rex (well, arguments could be made he's more of a generic theropod, but he's been called a T.rex enough for me to count him here) whose anthology series tells some of the most dramatic, emotional stories about animals surviving in the harshness of nature without a single line of dialogue. Gon's stories range from the humorous to the downright tragic, and you can always tell what this little dinosaurs is thinking and feeling without him saying a goddamn word. Also he personally beat the shit out of every single fighter in Tekken, which basically makes him as powerful as twenty Gokus.

[defmaybe]

Safe

IVE’s An Yujin x Male Reader

2.4k words

Sequel to Shame

A/N: Again, dubious consent. Please proceed with caution. Thanks for reading! Also, I've started my ko-fi page too! If you'd like any commissions, ask ahead! Or you can also simply donate! Thanks!

—

“Keep shaking that ass, pretty boy. I’ll make you spread it wide and moan like a slut.”

Shivers run down your spine. Once again, Yujin’s voice tears through your heart like a jelly. She always has a way with her words. You’re left shaken, alone in the hallway. Your friends are nowhere to be seen. It’s just the murmuring, unhelpful onlookers surrounding the show of you two.

“Y–Yujin, please, seriously, stop h–harassing me,” you cry out—helpless, alone.

The growing length inside your pants tells a different story.

You hear Yujin scoff, before she clicks her heels against the tile floor. She’s walking towards you with purpose. Every step towards her frozen prey excites her. A small, evil laugh leaves her mouth.

“Bloody hell, you’re a stubborn one, aren't you?” she playfully asks, before landing a slap on your firm ass. You yelp.

“Th–This isn’t r–right, Yujin. You can’t just–ah!”

She delivers a loud smack on your supple rear again—grabbing, squeezing, kneading. She loves this. She loves to see you surrendering to her fully. You feel her undeniable heat on your back.

“You just can’t stop getting off in public, don’t you?” She then takes a swipe of her tongue off your ear, and your body shudders in response.

“Y–Yujin–”

“Look at you, that dick-sucking mouth not going along with your thoughts. You’re all hard now, don’t you?” She grabs your bulge harshly, feeling your hardness, delivering a powerful shock through your limbs. “I wanna see that pathetic cock twitch while I force that tight ass open.”

“Ngh.” You hear some onlookers chuckle at your whimper, but you just don’t have the resolve to look at them.

“Yes, moan for me, pretty boy, be my good little slut, and I might just reward you with something,” whispers Yujin into your shaken ear.

“B–But–”

“But what, you little man-whore? You love this, don’t you? You love being groped by a woman like me—domineering, harsh, unrelenting.” Her hands snake under your shirt, feeling every curve and contours of you. Your hands find handles on her meaty thighs. You hear her breath hitch slightly as your hands find her, but her resolve doesn’t falter even by slightly.

“I know you love having those cute–” she pauses, leaving time for her fingers to have a squeeze on your stiffened nubs. You moan out breathlessly in response, “–nipples played with.”

Her hands on your chest send jolts and jolts of ecstasy through your compliant body. Your grips on her thighs become tighter and tighter. You hear her moan softly, but she doesn’t let up. She won’t let up.

“I know you love having me jerking you off like that. Bet you went home that day and jerked off again—closing your eyes, imagining that it was my hand.”

“Th–That’s not true, Y–Yujin. I–I didn’t–”

“Hush, but you don’t stop just there. You put a big fucking dildo inside your ass, bouncing on it like some common whore, thinking it’s my strap, don’t you?” Yujin asks. Her finger is circling around your snug hole now, teasing you.

“As I’ve said before, it’s a waste of a good ass like this–” her fingers find your lissome rear under the waistband. She gives it a firm wrap of fingers, “–on someone as puritan as you, fucking Victorian slut.”

“Hhngn,” you whimper. The sensation of her finger on your snug hole is just too much. Your breaths come out shallow. Your cock twitches inside your pants furiously. You can feel a smirk beside your nifty ear. She’s revelling in this—the way you act, the eyes of the public, this whole damn dynamic.

“Don’t you, pretty boy? Don’t you love when your ass is stuffed with my giant cock? Hitting that soft, mushy prostate until you cum like a goddamn fountain,” Yujin continues to tease while her hand is feeling your tight ass under your fit pants, perfectly tailored for a woman like her to ogle at.

“I–I–”

“I wanna hear you say it, my little man-whore. I want you to say that you love being fucked right in that tight big ass by me,” Yujin commands, her voice laced with venom. Her hands are grabbing on the side of your meaty thighs now.

“I–I can’t, Y–Yujin, I shouldn’t,” you plead, though your heartbeats and the throbbing cock don’t support your case at all.

“Oh, why not, pretty boy? Don’t you love sucking my cock? Don’t you love getting plowed by daddy, huh?” Yujin asks seductively. She’s on your hardness now, and you can only shudder in response to her.

“D–D–Daddy?”

An evil laugh leaves her mouth as she flicks her tongue inside your ear again. “Yeah, daddy, my little cockslut.”

“N–No, Yujin, you’re not my–”

“Yes, I am, you fucking bitch. And you’ll give me the respect I fucking deserve, alright?” Yujin’s voice grows harsher now. Her grip on your cock grows tighter. Maybe this playing hard to get thing should end.

“Hgnn.”

“I know you want this, bitch, but you’re just too much of a coward to admit it,” she says, gently nibbling on your ear again.

“Wh–What if I don’t, Y–Yujin?”

“Goddamn it, maybe I should just leave then.” She then pulls her filthy hand away from your length, leaving it twitching emptily. She walks away from you, eventually. You’re left alone in the hallway again. The clicking of her heels becomes dimmer and dimmer. A sound of disappointment can be heard from the crowd.

You ask yourself: why am I like this? Is it shame? Is it pride? Why can’t you just let An Yujin plow your ass into oblivion?

It’s true, the accusations Yujin had about you. It’s always her when you’re alone in your bedroom. Your hand furiously sliding up and down your stiff cock while thinking of your bully jerking you off. You love the way she smelled that day. It was nothing short of wonderful. And you didn’t stop just there. A dildo you bought from the internet wasn’t for nothing. You lathered it with a generous amount of lube before slamming your tight ass down onto it. You moaned and moaned in ecstasy, thinking it was An Yujin fucking your ass.

A small part of you then overpowers you for a second.

“Wait!” You turn back to her.

She stops in her tracks, completely frozen, before she rotates herself back to you. A wicked, frightening smile is painted on her face. She laughs.

“Fucking finally, you bitch,” she says before slowly taking a stride towards you, one leg in front of the other.

Again, you smell her perfume as she gets closer—Yves Saint Laurent’s Libre. It’s intoxicating. Her firm midriff only entices you once more. You wish you could just give it a taste. The way she walks is alluring, meticulously designed to lure you into her, onto the huge strap she has in her locker.

“My little slut, giving in to his goddamn desires,” Yujin mocks you, but you only feel more aroused by her demeaning words. “I love little hard-mouthed brats like you, you know?”

She then rests her arms on your shoulder, pulling you closer by the neck. “And I’m going to fuck that tight ass until you can’t walk for a goddamn week,” Yujin whispers, smiling sinfully.

“Shall we?” she asks, pointing her head towards the women’s bathroom. “Hands on the sink, I’ll spread those cheeks so fucking wide then stick my cock into that tight hole.”

“O–Okay, Y–Yujin.”

—

The women’s bathroom is undeniably clean, well-lit, all-white. It’s much, much better than the men’s. It’s going to get dirty a bit, though—your drool mixed with your cum on the floor and all.

You’re standing face-to-face with Yujin. She’s a little taller than you, so you’re looking up to face her. You can see the fire inside her gorgeous eyes.

“Take that goddamn pants off, pretty boy.” You comply with Yujin’s command immediately, leaving your lower half with the boxers that’s struggling to contain your hardness.

Yujin’s eyes gleam with desire. She immediately grabs your cock through the thin cloth, making you moan in response to her sudden touch.

“Y–Yujin~ Ngh.”

“God, I wish I had this cock to myself. I’d love to see it twitch when I fuck that pretty ass of yours.”

You can do nothing but whimper. Her hand feels so warm, even though it's just on the boxers. 

She starts to stroke that thick cock of yours through the cloth, stealing your already-scarce breath away.

“Y–Yujin~”

She says nothing, only a smile spreads across her face. She’s standing tall in front of you, jerking you off like she did that day. You can sense that her breaths are getting ragged, same as yours.

“D–Don’t get too excited, pretty boy. This is just the start.”

She adeptly twists her wrist as she reaches the tip, making the entire experience much, much more pleasing than it should be. Her free hand slithers under her own waistband, determined to relieve the heat that has been building inside of her.

“Yujin, w–what are you–”

“Shhh, pretty boy, I need a relief too, you know?” Her free wrist disappears under her short shorts that show off her meaty, supple thighs. You can see the movement within them now. She’s masturbating while jerking you off.

“R–Really, Yujin? I–I mean I can–”

“Don’t worry–” she brings out her juice-slicked hand to cup your face. You’re resisting with every fibre of you to not give it a taste. “–Daddy can do it by herself, alright?”

It’s an unusual warmth from Yujin. You’re a little taken aback by this sudden care. Left speechless, you are.

“I–I–uh–”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” She then draws her hand back into her slit, still smiling, thrusting her fingers into her cunt under the shorts. Small moans are heard leaving her mouth.

“Feels so–hmm–good, pretty boy,” she moans. The hand on your cock is still relentlessly pumping the life out of you.

The sight of this is unreal if you’re asked. An Yujin is masturbating in front of you with one hand while jerking you off with the other. The face she makes is nothing short of lewd—eyes fluttering, mouth opening wide. She’s lost in pleasure, and so are you.

Her wrist remains masterful at making you moan uncontrollably—slowing down at the hilt, while twisting it slightly as she reaches the top. It’s sending you into rapture, and you don’t think you can hold it off for long.

“You know, pretty boy, you’re cute when you’re like this,” Yujin says, giving you the rare, sincere smile.

“L–Like what, Yujin?”

“Well, under my control is one thing, of course.” She lets out a chuckle, amused by your quizzical reaction. “But you also look kinda–pretty, like actually pretty when you’re moaning.”

You try your best to not let out a smile in front of your bully. Is she actually complimenting you? It’s a rare sight, really.

“Maybe it’s just me, you know–” she laughs nervously, her movements become more erratic “–but I just love it when men moan because of me.”

“I–I think it’s p–pretty obvious, Y–Yujin.” Pleasure shoots through your body, making your words come out stuttered.

She lets out a small laugh that she doesn’t bother to conceal anymore. Is this more than a tryst?

But before you can think of anything, you can feel the ever-so-familiar feeling building up inside your loins. You’re going to cum, your breathing becomes shorter and shorter. She’s going to cum too—her thighs clench, her pupils dilate, and same as you, her breathing becomes shorter and shorter as the fingering goes on.

“Yujin, I–I’m gonna cum,” you utter. You can’t hold it anymore. You have to cum in her hands, right now.

“C–Cum with me, a–alright?” Yujin then quickly kneels down, sliding your boxers down with her motion. Your stiff cock springs free in arousal.

“Yujin, w–what are you–ah!”

Her lips connect with your hardness. Your bully is giving you a blowjob in the women’s bathroom now. She slides her mouth along your length with an unmatched adeptness. Fuck, she’s pushing you down her throat.

“D–Daddy,” you moan out. Her mouth is nothing short of perfection—the suction, the warmth, the tightness. They’re all so heavenly. You’re so lost in the pleasure right now, and you aren’t sure if anything could compare to this. Her fingers are still knuckles deep inside her cunt, making her moan into your cock relentlessly.

The way she looks into your eyes, god, you’re in the clouds. Those eyes are nothing short of angelic, and the fact only makes your orgasm come quicker and quicker.

“Daddy, I–I’m gonna–”

Yujin buries herself into your crotch, taking your entire length with bravery, bringing you into the best orgasm you’ve ever had. Your cock spews cum into her throat without relenting. Your body shakes and writhes in the godly climax. Your vision turns white. In front of you, Yujin also cums, squirt leaks out of her torn shorts. Her entire frame is tensed up in ecstasy. Her eyes flutter in rapture. She cums, hard.

Your orgasms then die down. Your heartbeats decelerate. Her squirt can be seen on the floor—fucking dirty. Some of your white nectar leaks out of her mouth, such a lewd sight.

Yujin then stands up, towering over you once more. You’re lost in her eyes. She’s so beautiful like this—messy hair, panting, cum leaking out from her lips. She’s an angel.

Fuck, you may have fallen in love with her.

Boldly, you pull her into a kiss, a deep kiss. Your tongue invades her mouth, tasting the remnants of your cum inside. It doesn’t taste the best, but you’re kissing An Yujin right now, and you don’t care whatever she tastes like.

After what feels like an eternity, you pull back from her lips. You find the rosy hue in her cheeks. She loved it as much as you did.

“Wow,” says Yujin. She’s speechless. Her breaths are out of rhythm. Her pupils dilate.

She has fallen in love with you too.

“I–I don’t know what to say, pretty boy.”

“There’s no need, Yujin. You’ve told me everything I need to know.”

—

[the20thangel]

The Emperor and His Lady Chapter 5

Summary: As Arabella slowly began her game, Noticeable changes started happening in the palace. While some are pleased with the changes, others are not. Making a foe to rid of the lady from her emperor's side.

Word Count: 2.9K

Tags: Smut, fluff at the end, Minors DNI, 18+ !!!

Taglist: @barcelonaloverf1life @justnobodynothingmore

Masterlist

The next few days were a blur, but at the same time, it was painstakingly long for Arabella. Instead of spending time with her lady and the general, she forced herself to stay in the company of the emperors. At first, Geta did not notice the change until he noticed many of his concubines were distancing themselves from him. Not understanding the change, he took more notice of his background and saw the company of his day, seeing Arabella in his crowd. Shocked, he had no idea she was there, but since then, he searched for her each day, and each day, she was there, wearing the same colors as he was. Seeing how she intentionally dressed to match him made him feel extra possessive, and he started requesting that she stay by his side by holding onto his arm. 

Another change he noticed was that since Arabella’s presence, more and more of his people were willing to speak with him and no longer seemed to fear him. He had mixed feelings about this new change since the start of his reign; people had always feared him and his brother; it was how they created their empire, but at the same time, seeing people willing to talk to him made him feel a different emotion; it made him feel loved. 

The main person who was not happy with these changes was Caracalla; it had always been just his brother and him against the world, against their enemies and allies. Now, all because of a stupid woman, he was losing his brother, leaving him alone. He didn’t like being alone. This, unfortunately, allowed Macrinus to slither his way to the younger’s ear, telling him his foe was the sweet lady hanging off his brother’s arm, letting him know how everything could go back if the lady were ruined for Geta.

“Wouldn’t you like to have fun with her and finally get your brother back? Take her, and your problems will all disappear, my emperor.” Macrinus whispered, growing in sadistic delight as Caracalla hungrily watched his next prey. 

Sighing, Arabella rolled her shoulders. She sat behind the emperors as they talked with the game master about postponing the next set of games. 

“Filling up the Colosseum with water is taking more time, my imperators, but I assure you that everything will be ready in a month, " the game master said, growing nervous with the emperors’ glare. 

“Or you can work twice as hard and fill it faster, and the games can take place how we want them,” argued Geta, drinking his wine while he stared at the game master. 

The Game master gulped as he felt small under Geta's glare while Caracalla cackled, allowing a concubine to feed him a grape. Seeing the impending temper, Arabella prayed for the gods to be merciful as she stepped in. 

“My Imperator, the game master, just wants to ensure he provided the best games he can offer you, but it is not meant to be a slight. Rush the preparations and have a mediocre game, or move it back a month and ensure an entertaining game for you and the whole of Rome. Imagine the success; people will thank you and your brother for throwing a spectacular gladiator fight,” she soothes, placing an arm on Geta’s arm. 

As Geta turned to his lady, the whole room froze, watching the internal battle between emperor and lady. After what seemed like minutes, Geta took a sip of his wine. 

“If what Lady Arabella says is correct, I only expect the best games from this postponement. If it does not meet my expectations, you will make her a fool and shame my brother and me. Then, only the gods will hear your plea as your body is ripped limb by limb. Do I make myself clear, game master?” Threatened Geta, smirking as the game master stuttered in fear. 

Arabella closed her eyes and exhaled. Considering what could have been the outcome, it was a positive sign. Leaving the resolution as it was, the emperors moved on to have enjoyment.  Geta noticed Arabella’s slight scowl and discomfort as the Emperors started messing with their concubines. 

“Arabella, you are free to go…” Geta dismissed her, turning away. 

Arabella, feeling grateful, bowed before hurrying away from the room, not noticing hungry eyes following her out. Feeling like she was being stared at, she turned, making eye contact with Caracalla as the younger emperor licked his lips, not paying attention to the concubine on his lap. Shuddering, the lady left fast and walked to the gardens to relax her breathing. As she leaned on the fountain, she steadied her breathing when she heard a warm voice calling for her. Lifting her sight, she smiled, seeing Former Empress Lucilla walking towards her. 

“My lady, how I missed you. I apologize for not spending time with you as of late, " Arabella said as she kissed Lucilla's cheeks. 

“No worries, sweet one, I… I have been busy as well…” hesitated Lucilla, looking around her surroundings before pulling Arabella closer. 

Being led around the gardens, Arabella waited as she watched her lady gather her strength.

“I want to tell you something, but please, it must stay between us… no one can know.” Lucilla warned the younger. 

Nodding, Arabella promised as she leaned closer to the former empress. Smiling, Lucilla caressed her surrogate daughter’s cheek. 

“Lucius is alive. My Luicus is with life!” she exclaimed quietly, tears glistening. 

Arabella paused in shock, having conflicting feelings. For one, she felt happy for her lady that the son she grieved all these years was alive and not dead. On the other hand, she felt envious; Lucilla’s son was alive while hers was buried in the ground, and she never had the chance to hold him and love him. Third, if Luicus was alive, would he want his throne? What did it entail for her and for the two emperors? Lucilla’s smile dimmed at Arabella’s silence, causing the younger to force a slight grin. 

“I am happy for you, my Lady. Truly, how joy you must feel to know he is alive and safe… is he not?” She paused, seeing Lucilla frown at her words. 

Tearfully breathing, Lucilla responded, “He is one of the gladiators; he goes by Hano… He…He pushed me away. He does not want a relationship with me.” 

Lucilla shed a tear, remembering how Lucius pushed her away. Arabella's eyes softened. Wiping the tear away, she tried comforting her lady. 

“But he is alive, my lady. That is what matters, and he is so close to you. Pray for the gods for his protection; if he plays his cards right, he can earn freedom. Then there, no one can ever take him away from you.” she comforted her lady, grinning as Lucilla giggled with delight at the idea of Lucius being with her. 

“Yes, I hope so. May the gods protect and guide my son,” Lucilla prayed as the two ladies walked more. 

Soon, the ladies thanked each other, leaving Arabella to enter her chambers and see an upset Marcella waiting for her. 

“Marcella, please not tonight…” pleaded Arabella, growing exhausted hearing the scolding each night she did not lay with her emperor. 

“No! It will be tonight; while you were walking with the former empress, Caracalla and Geta overindulged in their wine, and again, I heard Macrinus urge Caracalla to make his move tonight, given how drunk Geta is; he will not be able to notice what happens until the dawn. You must go tonight; do not let that man win, Arabella….” Marcella nervously scolded her lady. 

“I… I will go tonight…” Arabella confirmed, closing her eyes in defeat. She had no idea how to seduce Geta. She was drunk the last time she did and stupidly naive. 

Marcella shook her head, helping her lady prepare and giving her spoken advice to seduce the emperor. Arabella flushed and bit her lip as she listened to the advice. Once they finished, Marcella led her lady to Geta’s chambers. 

“Now remember what I told you, my lady,” soothed Marcella as she fixed Arabella before bowing and leaving her alone. 

Sighing, Arabella searched for wine, wanting to calm her nerves. Seeing a cup, she walked towards it, looking at it in slight disgust. How many had drank from this cup? She thought to herself. Hearing commotion approaching her, she took a deep breath and drank the rest of the wine before walking back to the middle of the chambers. 

As Geta drunkenly entered his chambers with two concubines, they all froze at the beautiful sight of Arabella waiting for her emperor. Her cheeks blushed as she licked her scarlet lips, her brown waves framing her angelic face. As Geta loosened his hold, both concubines shared a look and silently left the room, leaving the emperor and lady alone. 

“Why are you here, Arabella?” slurred Geta as he staggered, and Arabella met him halfway.

Pressing herself to him, she explained, “I wish to spend the night with you. I have missed you, my imp—” She paused before finishing her sentence as Geta snorted. 

“Missed me, huh? After years of being distant, you now miss me?”  taunted Geta, watching as Arabella lowered her eyes for a second. 

Channeling her bravery, she pushed herself closer, her lips lightly touching Geta’s. She whispered, “Yes, I have…so please, Geta…. My Geta, please let me in.” 

Shuddering, Geta closed his eyes, her words affecting him again. Opening them and seeing his lady’s hooded eyes, with lust in her eyes, he closed the gape. Both allowed the walls around their hearts to fall as they embraced and deepened their kiss. After years of yearning for each other, they were finally breaking free. Arabella gasped, feeling her emperor's tongue enter her mouth. She tightened her hold of his arms as she pressed her body further to his. Groaning at the feeling, Geta grabbed her waist while pushing her closer to his bed. 

Falling on his bed, the lady, heavily breathing, stared up at her emperor, her lips swollen, her night dress falling off her shoulder, exposing more of her skin. Grinning, Geta leaned down, capturing her lips, before he moved down her jaw, down to her neck, where he began his attack, sucking a spot with licks and bites, enjoying the delicious whimpers he brought out from her. 

Arabella, falling more into her lust, wrapped her fingers through the ginger hair as she gasped, feeling Geta bite down on her neck. Yes, it was painful, but her pleasure was more remarkable. Moving to expose her neck more, she moaned, feeling him grind his clothed budge to her exposed and drenched cunt. Biting her lip, feeling devious, she, too, started to grind her hips up. She was matching the rhythm of her emperor. Grunting, Geta released his lady's neck, growing in satisfaction, seeing a red mark starting to form. Taking hold of her hip, He rubbed himself on her wet cunt, his grin growing, seeing her wither and pant from his humping. 

Opening her eyes, Arabella reached up, cradling her Geta’s face, “Please…My Geta, make me yours again; I want to be yours again…” she pleaded, breaking her promise to her 15-year-old self. 

 Growling, Geta began to undress while commanding Arabella to do the same. She did as she was told, shaking in pleasure. Arabella shed her gown before crawling onto Geta’s lap and kissing him again. She moaned into his mouth as he pushed himself inside her. He was thicker and larger from the last time she had him. Releasing her lips, Geta kissed the top of her breast before he began thrusting into his lady. Arabella moaned louder, moving her hips to match the rhythm but losing it once Geta started changing his speed, pounding into her. 

Wanting to have more control and speed, Geta pushed her to lay on her back; raising her hip, he pushed harshly, pulling out at a fast and bruising pace. Arabella screamed in delight at the overwhelming pace, her breasts bouncing with each thrust from her emperor, her mind in a daze, and she could only focus on his cock sliding in and out of her. 

“Who do you belong to…”Grunted Geta.

Leaning her head back, Arabella whispered, “I’m yours…” 

“Louder! I want the whole palace to hear you scream for me!” growled Geta as he pulled entirely out before slamming back inside her. 

Gasping wide eyes, Arabella screamed, “Yours, I am forever your Geta…. Yes… Yes… more…please… My Geta… I want more of you!” 

Grunting, losing a little of his pace, Geta grunted, “Yes, you are mine. Nobody shall ever have you. You were made for me, and nobody can ever… mmm… no one can ever compare to your cunt.” 

Nodding, Arabella squeezed her legs around Geta’s waist, grabbing his hands and placing their intertwined hands on her hips. She entirely gave herself to her emperor. 

“Yes, I will always be your Arabella. No one else can ever take me from you…” she declared before moaning loudly, feeling her emperor’s warm seed enter her. 

 As they gasped for their breath, coming down from their high, the lady ran her fingers through her liege’s hair. 

Listening to his lady’s heartbeat, Geta thought back to her declaration. Did she mean it, or was it in the heat of their pleasure? Unable to fight the tiredness, both lady and emperor fell into Morephus' domain. 

The following morning, Marcella entered her lady’s chambers, ready to prepare her for the day, when her heart jumped to her throat; Arabella wasn’t in bed. Thinking the worst, Marcella ran out of the room towards the emperors' chambers. As she nearly passed by Geta’s chambers, she stopped. Looking around, she quietly entered, growing nervous seeing the emperor naked with a woman in his arms. She decided to creep forward; the sight before made her face grow red, and she quickly moved her eyes away. In his arms was an equally naked Arabella with a slight smile on her face. A smile grew as she quickly covered them with a sheet and left in relief. 

Arabella, feeling warm, snuggled deeper into the arms around her before she realized her actions. Sharply inhaling, she opened her eyes and inclined her head to ensure she knew where she was. Staring at her, Geta’s calm face flushed as memories of last night returned, the heat blooming in her stomach again. Feeling selfish, the young lady pushed herself up, grazing her lips to his; she stared at him for a moment before leaning in and giving a chaste kiss to her emperor, waking him from his slumber. 

Usually, Geta would grow annoyed when any of his concubines tried to kiss him from his sleep, but once he opened his eyes and noticed it was Arabella, he closed his eyes again, enjoying her warm, soft lips on his. Allowing his vulnerable side to take hold, he raised a hand to her cheek, caressing it. Arabella's eyes snapped open in shock, breaking the kiss to lean away from Geta. Geta grumbled as he opened his eyes, annoyed that his kiss was cut short. As both lovers stayed frozen, staring at each other, neither knew how to begin their conversation. 

Geta decided he would be the first to speak, his question from last night coming back to him: “Did you mean what you said last night…” 

Arabella searched his face for his emotions but was unable to read him, “...I-” 

“Did you mean that you will always be mine, Arabella, that no one has or ever will touch you?” questioned Geta more firmly as he sat up. 

Arabella’s heartbeat echoed in her ears, staring into Geta’s soft eyes, even if his tone was firm. Even if her 15-year-old self screamed to place her walls up, pleading not to fall again, begging to protect their heart, Arabella could not lie anymore; she would not deny it. 

Softening her face to grace a sincere smile, Arabella kissed her lover before whispering her words on his lips, “Yes, I am forever yours, Geta, my love… not one person in the entire Roman empire shall ever take your place. I do not want to; I only want to be with you, My Geta.” 

Feeling tears prickle his eyes, The Emperor ignored his 17-year-old self, screaming at him to push her away, that if he pushed her away, they could not suffer through the same heartbreak they felt when their son died. Geta held his lover’s face as he kissed her back. She lay back on the bed as she wrapped her legs against his waist, again begging for him to enter. 

As he entered her sweet body again, hearing her quiet moan, he whispered in her ear to make sure only she would listen to his vulnerable words. “I have missed you, My Arabella, my sweet girl, my empress.” As servants passed Emperor Geta’s chambers, they heard the sweet sounds of two lovers rejoining their hearts together again. 

Later, the feast chamber was tense as many had conflicting feelings about the scene before them. Usually, Geta and Caracalla sat on an extended bench flocked by concubines as they were fed. However, Arabella sat beside Geta’s left today while Caracalla sat beside his brother’s right. Everyone saw the enormous angry mark on Arabella’s neck that she wore proudly as Geta ate happily. Acacius and Lucilla, who were invited, in truth, more commanded to come, shared a weary look between them before Lucilla drew in a sharp breath. Geta raised Arabella to his lap, looking at her with admiration as the young lady smiled at her emperor with the same look. While Caracalla and Macrinus also stared at the lovers, one in shock and the other in annoyance. It would be more challenging to separate the two, thought Macrinus as he drank his morning wine.

[ssruis]

Don't look now but another bell has hit the sekai

Oh great heavens [coughing up blood] [sounds of bones breaking] [audible wailing and sobbing] [falling down ten flights of stairs] [harsh wheezing] [death rattle] yehag im good.

everyone who said ena would be transphobic take a walk of shame in your massive clown shoes. I’m not even a niigo reader (I’ll catch up one day, I swear) (<- she keeps saying this) but having read the first mizuena event and the picnic event and the ena painting mixed focus etc idk how you could ever think that Ena wouldn’t accept mizuki in an instant. “I’m bad at waiting but I’ll wait for you” <- absolute madwoman. she is so full of love for her friends and she cares so much about mizuki and she just wants her to be happy.

Also ecstatic that mizuki is being given acceptance and kindness. She has suffered enough. It is time for peaceful wind chimes no more ominous bells. And so so so relieved none of the dumbass theories that mizuki would cut her hair or detransition or worse held up. (I’ll spare you the inarticulate rage those theories made me feel. What I will say: what purpose would that serve beyond contrived and heavy handed angst? How does that fit with mizuki’s character? What message would it be sending to torture a canonically transfem character like that, especially in a time where transphobia - esp transmisogyny - is on the rise? Do the transfem people who see themselves in mizuki need to see people frothing at the mouth hoping for more pain? Was Mizuki being outed in such an awful way too boring for you? Does prsk being a game about hope and improvement and growth and friendship make you seethe?)

[cherryssodapop]

you do know that Billy is racist right...

*sighhhhhhhh* Alright, here we go…

Typically I don’t like getting into this argument because you’re not supposed to argue with a POC about what’s racist and what isn’t (I don’t actually know if you are poc or not this is a general statement I’m making), I know I don’t because it just doesn’t feel right, but here’s the thing.

When it comes to this character the one line he said that everyone’s going crazy for I’m going to have to disagree here because it’s just 1. too vague of a statement, of course you could argue that Billy talking about Lucas’ skin colour is implied in his statement and I agree, but not for the reasons you think.

And 2. there’s a reason Dacre changed this scene with the duffers regarding Billy’s potential racism because you’re creating a character who’s an antagonist who originally had no reason to be bad (until Dacre suggested the scene with his father) and then you wanna add racism into the mix? if the duffers really wanted to bring up the issue of racism during the 80s especially in small secluded areas like Hawkins, I’m pretty sure it would’ve been an actual subplot, but no they just wanted to use it as an additional reason to make Billy’s character initially unlikeable and it was so poorly written into the script and also Dacre was just straight up uncomfortable acting out that whole sequence so we can safely say the concept of Billy being a racist is scrapped from canon all together. I’m explaining this from the perspective of a film student because you can’t write an antagonist without a plausible reason and motive to be bad, so Dacre humanizing him and giving him that back story and lore is exactly what you do when it comes to character work, especially for antagonists like Billy (unless you wanna make the villain a basic villain with a basic story arc who’s sole purpose is to get in the hero’s way and die trying but in this case Billy never did that. He never really got into anyone’s way besides at the end of season 2 but it’s because he had no idea what’s going on and in HIS mind he thinks he’s saving Max from a fucked up situation. And im not even going to start with season 3 because we all know; bro was possessed, he wasn’t himself, Vecna was acting out entirely through him Billy had no say in any of it. In fact he even showed remorse and shame during the little time Vecna let him be in control of himself before abruptly taking over.) Also, yes you can be from an educated and woke society (California is a blue state and the equal opportunities act in the states already passed and Billy leaves for hawkins in fall 1984 so it’s already well established in society at that time that being racist is not acceptable) and still be a bigot, but I really just don’t believe this is the case for Billy.

What I think the issue here is his father, now hear me out, hear me out.

In the book “Runaway Max” it is brought up that Neil is a huge supporter of Reagen who at the time was a republican and attempted to abolish the equal opportunities act bill but ultimately failed of course. Max even says it herself that Neil is racist and a white supremacist. What does that tell you? His father is the whole problem. Because we all know that Billy gets beaten and blamed for everything that happens whether it’s Max’s fault or his Neil will take any excuse to physically hurt Billy. And being how Neil is so adamant on Billy watching over Max and being in charge of her, what would happen if Neil caught Max with Lucas who is black and we know Neil’s views on that demographic of people? What do you think would happen?

Of course, we could also bring up that if Billy was racist it would be a learned behaviour from his father. Though, to be honest, considering how much Billy tries to rebel against his father, I think it’s safe to say that would include Neil’s morals and beliefs, so I highly doubt it.

Going back to my first point, I think Billy did say that about Lucas not because he hates Lucas but because his father would and would take out that well known hatred out on Billy. It was more of a warning for both of their safety because of how insane Neil is. That’s why I think Billy said that and acted that way in terms of their friendship because he doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of his father’s wrath.

We can also see this in season 3, when Billy is working full time, starting to take control of his life (likely saving up money so he could leave and move back to California) he doesn’t even care about what Max is doing let alone dating Lucas, he’s too busy trying to get his life together.

So no, I don’t think Billy is a racist and I’ve listed all of my reasons why from a canonical standpoint using evidence from the story, plus my own analysis on his character as an actor myself.

Now from a shifter’s standpoint; I really don’t wanna hear y’all judge my choice of S/O considering some of y’all shift for active psychopaths and murderers meanwhile I’m shifting for a dude who’s been deeply traumatized and wants to live his life in peace and find true love.

To conclude; this is entirely my opinion and my belief on the topic. If you believe the opposite you’re fully entitled to, no one’s gonna attack you or try to convince you otherwise. But the thing is with people like myself who like Billy’s character and indulge in his lore and fanfiction we’re constantly getting criticized and harassed and even as far as labeled as bad people just because we view him from a different perspective. I believe it’s time we all grow up and respect each other’s opinions because not everyone agrees with everyone and that’s the way of the world. freedom of thought freedom of speech.

(goddamn this was a long rant but i had to say my peace)

[yushiteru]

hii wanted to ask if you could do first time having sex w yushi ! i honestly feel he’d be gentle and loving from the way you write but i’d like to see it in your writing style bcs i love it sm <3

helloo~

wow does this give me ideas 🫣 i totally see him being soft and gentle in his demeanor towards you in bed with his overall cautious and attentive nature. the way he babies and comforts sakuya sometimes and the small acts of service he does for sion makes me think he would be so tender and quite chivalrous almost? like being mindful of when the blankets/sheets fall away in case you get cold, holding your hands when you need reassurance, and just making you feel safe and cared for throughout the experience, regardless if its his first time too. but i think even under all of that, he has a needy side and is not one to deny himself of his more primal desires. i also am confident that he's a touchy-feely-grabby kind of guy;;;

like imagine he goes on tour not too long after you guys start dating, so you haven't had a lot of time to get completely comfortable with each other, physically and emotionally. but on the night of ur reunion, he's just so overcome by his longing for you and all the thoughts he had of you while he was away. the images he pictured in his head when he was in bed in his hotel room were downright shameful and he felt bad, really, but he was lonely and you're just so beautiful.

you guys would be cuddling and caressing each others arms, back, face, whatever was closest because the need for physical touch was so strong, as you catch each other up on what was missed. but you'd feel yushi's hands start to slowly wander, from the small of your back to your waist, your hips, and then down to your thighs as he rubs circles into the flesh. even though you guys had never really gone that far yet, you knew what his actions were trying to signal and you just missed him so much that you were reluctant to delay anything even further.

yushi would nuzzle his face in between your jaw and shoulders, letting his breath warm the sensitive skin of your neck as he tries furtively to act like he's just snuggling real close to you, but his fingers are subtly tugging on the waistband of your sleep shorts.

his lips on your neck go from letting out small puffs of hot air to nibbling and sucking on the soft skin; the natural, unique taste of you already making him lightheaded with desire, the anticipation of what may come making him desperate and impatient for more.

his fingers that were curled around the waistband of your shorts have abandoned their original goal and are now climbing up your midriff and sliding under your shirt. they stop at the crease where your breasts meet your torso and his fingertips feel like they were dipped in burning candle wax, leaving invisible marks in their wake.

"y/n... can i? please?" he says, his voice quiet, but with enough gravelly desperation that it makes him sound pleading almost. you don't answer, for a lack of coherent words or the little faith you had in yourself to not submit blindly to the temptation. you're not even completely aware of what exactly yushi was asking permission for, and the thought of someone catching sight of you two, how quickly things had escalated, was enough to have you glowing with retrospective embarrassment.

but none of that matters, in the small room that now smells distinctively of want and desire, and feels like someone had lit a fireplace underneath.

you give a tentative nod, the movement almost imperceptible, but to yushi it feels like an answer to his prayers as he collects the material of your t-shirt and bunches it up under your collarbone, exposing your breasts to his awaiting mouth. without loosing a second to spare, he ducks his head down to wrap his lips around one of your stiff nipples, sucking and licking broad strokes on the sensitive tip. one of his hands is back to squeezing your upper thighs, while the other cups your other breast, his tongue now running along the underside, kissing and sucking the skin, making you gasp and whine at the unexpected sensitivity.

you tug on the sleeve of his shirt, signaling to him that you need desperately to kiss him, if not in an attempt to cover up the sounds spilling out of your mouth. it takes a few tugs to get him to latch off, a low grumble echoing in his chest at being interrupted from what he thinks he could do forever, but he meets your eager lips with just as much enthusiasm.

he gently lowers his body onto yours, still mindful not to crush you with his weight and he fits his thigh in between your legs. the movement allows for contact between your core and the muscular expanse of his thigh, and yushi groans at the back of his throat at the feeling of the warm, damp cotton of your sleep shorts.

"wh-what's gotten into you?" you breathe out into his open mouth, in between the sloppy kisses he gives you, the wet, smacking noises surrounding the two of you. you don't mind the sudden neediness, feeling almost overwhelmed by such love and want. yushi doesn't answer, opting instead to pull his shirt off by the back of the collar before leaning down again, his pupils dilated and darkened by lust.

you press a hand against his bare chest, stopping him from coming any closer. "yushi, i need a breather," you let out firmly, blowing a strand of hair out of your eyes.

he visibly softens, the greedy look in his eyes now replaced by his usual warm and fond gaze. moving slowly, so as not to startle you, he tucks the strand of hair behind your ear, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. "i'm sorry, baby. for getting carried away," he mumbles, his words laced with a touch of sheepishness as if he couldn't believe himself. he presses a sweet peck on the skin below your ear, trailing more under your jaw, back to where everything had started, but this time he's much slower, taking the time to write out his devotion with his lips.

"you look so beautiful tonight," he whispers, making you squirm and hide your face in the pillow. "just tonight? so i'm ugly the rest of the time?" you tease, peeking one eye back open.

"don't be a brat," he says with a laugh, pinching the soft skin of your stomach in retaliation. you jump, reaching out to slap him on the chest, but yushi catches your wrist before you can make contact and wraps your arm around his shoulders. he leans down again, the movement all too familiar on this night, and the butterflies in your stomach kick into drive again. "now where was i..." he mutters, unable to conceal the smile on his face as he lowers himself towards your lips and you're more than ready to meet him halfway this time.

ahhh i wasn't quite ready to write full out smut yet (emphasis on yet) and i had this one in my drafts for quite some time so i just wanted to get it out heheh i kinda got carried away with needy yushi, but its honestly one of my favorite characterizations of him (one that i think im 100% correct on;;;;) anyway some of my wish writer friends have already gotten a head start on wish hard thoughts (check out this one by the lovely @yushi-ni !) and i wanted to catch up >:]

[cantareincminor]

Round 2: Fandom Wrapped (Writer Edition) 2024!

Thanks again to @kattyelf for the template. A blank one can be found at @twiyorbase for anyone who wants to do their own!

Detailed reflections under the cut.

This is a long, introspective post. Forgive me if I sound self-absorbed in all this reflection.

The past year has been a unique one. The last long fic I completed was more than ten years ago in the Aladdin fandom. I dabbled in shorter, more stream-of-consciousness fics after that, but hadn’t written or posted a fic since 2016. Then I got into Spy x Family in 2022, devoured tons of fics, and slowly, nervously considered writing again.

There were many reasons I stopped writing. Being busy with real life responsibilities, naturally. I got married and had kids. I had a highly stressful career. With so little time on my hands, I feared that if I tried to write after such a long hiatus, the result would be stilted and disappointing, and I would have “wasted” my precious free time feeling shittier about myself. I’ve had some version of this mindset my entire life: if I can’t do something well, then I shouldn’t bother.

I have @whateversawesome to thank for encouraging me to try my hand at writing again. After the mole hunt arc was published, an idea struck me quite suddenly—what if Yuri had died or been critically injured in Shellbury? How would Twilight deal with that guilt and how would the identity reveals unfurl in such an extreme scenario? Could Yor ever forgive him? 

For months I shied away from writing it. To do the idea justice, I knew it would have to be a long, complex fic. And I continued to have mixed feelings about my last long fic in the Aladdin fandom—regretting parts of the premise and the ship dynamics and the characterizations and just overall feeling ashamed about my writing. I didn’t want to fail—write myself into a corner and abandon the fic or something like that. Right now, on the other end, I still look back on Orpheus sometimes and wonder how the hell I managed to write it. I reread my favorite passages and wonder how I came up with those exact words.

If it may help any writers, I would be happy to share a copy of my brainstorming doc and outline of Orpheus, where I kept track of unresolved plot points, options to resolve those plot points, notes to self to go back and add foreshadowing, and calling out unexpected events in each chapter that I did not plan ahead for. It is a very long doc. But I wanted to remember everything I was thinking at the time as a gift to my future self, in case I ever attempt a big project like this again and feel paralyzed.

Orpheus allowed me to explore themes and beliefs I suppose have been marinating in my heart for years. For anyone who is still interested, below are some of my thoughts and personal experiences around the main themes.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness and redemption are always what I reach for in my serious fics. I think I fumbled it in my Aladdin fic (or didn’t really get to the redemption part), but I was able to explore it more thoroughly and with more integrity in Orpheus, with an additional decade of life experience. 

I think forgiveness is a difficult and fascinating theme to handle because it is so highly personal and often carries memories of deep hurt for ‘victims’ or shame for ‘perpetrators’. I was grateful when readers sometimes shared their personal beliefs and experiences with it in their comments. In order to treat this theme with respect, I wanted to convey that forgiveness should not come cheaply. That is not to say it’s bad to be merciful and quick to forgive—those are amazing virtues. But the act of forgiveness comes at a cost and can be incredibly painful. The cost does not simply vanish due to good feelings or an act of the will.

Someone can either withhold forgiveness and make the other person pay the cost—in Orpheus, this would have been Yor rejecting or taking revenge on Twilight and leaving him to feel horribly guilty about Yuri’s injury for the rest of his life. Or they can choose to forgive and pay the cost themselves. In my own experience it feels physically painful. It feels like extreme grief. This is what I wanted to portray, the devastation to the spirit, as well as the catharsis that can follow. Because after the cost is paid, what we gain is healing. The ability to move on and no longer feel like we’ve swallowed glass. And the mending of a relationship, if both sides are willing. In the case of Yor and Twilight, it makes their relationship even stronger, like a broken bone healing stronger than before. And it adds weight to the trials they would face together after that moment.

Forgiveness of self / Perfectionism

Of all the conflicts in the fic, “Twilight vs. himself” is the last one to be resolved. Even after the man has been forgiven by the people he loves, he still struggles not to hate himself. To find his life to hold any value outside of being a highly competent spy. I think many people go through some version of this struggle. I certainly did and still do sometimes, with regards to work and career.

I chose Orpheus as the title to illustrate the journey of someone who carries an enormous burden on their shoulders. Trying to save the person they love and having to follow a strict rule of never turning around or they will lose it all. All the while, the temptation to look back is incredibly powerful. Twilight bears the burden of WISE’s expectations as their top spy, the hero who has stopped nuclear missile launches, who will supposedly prevent the next war from breaking out. He also carries the expectations of his newfound family which call him to turn away from the ruthlessness of his mission. To look back at them, and not abandon them for the sake of world peace. And finally he carries the guilt of what happened to Yuri, and the pain of keeping all the secrets resulting from Shellbury.

In Orpheus, Twilight harbors both a very low sense of self-worth as well as a highly inflated sense of self-importance. He sees himself as a discardable tool who has done unforgivable things for his missions, with no right to love and be loved. But at the same time he sees himself as the lynchpin to maintaining the fragile geopolitical peace. Responsible for never screwing up, ever. Responsible for the fact Yuri was shot, even though he tried his best to spare him. He’s an unreliable, self-absorbed narrator, and the other characters around him also parrot his guilt back at him throughout most of the fic. Until the end, where I try to address the illusion of control and how a good portion of his guilt is unrealistic and undeserved. 

Unfortunately for many people who carry this kind of burden, no one tells us that it’s okay to turn around. That we are indeed not responsible for more than our own choices, and we certainly cannot be responsible for circumstances outside of our control. I’ve worked jobs where I’ve been asked to do the impossible. My first job out of college, the expectations were incredibly high. I got no training and was thrown into a project in a foreign language and an unfamiliar industry. I pulled so many late nights that in the second week I fainted on the way to the office. And I was told this was normal. That in order to succeed like everyone else, I would figure out a way to solve each problem thrown at me, no matter how impossible.

And what sucks is when you start succeeding. You pull off miracle after miracle and then people start expecting it of you like it’s normal. The reward for success isn’t a break. It’s more work. Harder work. And you buy into that unrealistic narrative that you should be able to do it or something must be wrong with you, you must be broken and can’t perform like you used to. And when you finally break, you get spit out and discarded like an outdated machine. They find the next, younger miracle worker to buy into the narrative.

Knowledge vs Wisdom

This is an easier one. Funny that Twilight’s agency is called WISE in canon. But what is wisdom? The ability to discern between right and wrong, to utilize knowledge effectively for the greater good, to know how to truly live life and live it well. 

Twilight strikes me as the kind of person who uses knowledge as a weapon, not too dissimilarly to Yuri who literally states “knowledge is power.” Twilight hoards knowledge like building an arsenal, so he can always be prepared for any problem. And this is how nations treat knowledge (intel) in the real world. Constantly trying to gain an information advantage on the enemy. 

But how does one know if one’s strategy to use all that knowledge is right? In Orpheus, the Ostanian state exhibits little wisdom in its pursuit of endless knowledge, experimenting on children and prisoners and animals to gain an edge over its rivals and amass more power for those at the top. At the same time the competition and backstabbing between the various arms of the state are almost childish in their motivations, the epitome of foolishness. Knowledge on its own does not build trust or confidence—but it can build hubris and confusion and distrust. 

One unexpectedly fun part of writing Orpheus was the dynamics between Garden and WISE. While there is distrust at the start, the leaders and members of both sides demonstrate wisdom in how they navigate the partnership and grant trust to each other bit by bit. And this feels very counterintuitive to spies who build careers off of lies and masks, as they find that truthfulness can unlock results so much faster than subterfuge. At least when it comes to dealing with Garden.

On a final note on this topic, I find it interesting that in canon Donovan Desmond claims it is impossible to know what other people are thinking and therefore human beings can never trust each other. And yet the highest form of knowledge (second only to knowing God), in my opinion, is to truly know another person to the depth of their soul. To know a person completely, and to trust and love them regardless. This is what all people yearn for, even people like Twilight who have made a fortress of masks around their true self. And this kind of knowledge is what requires deep wisdom to wield well.

Sigmund Authen’s gift of the Tree of Life plaque and the accompanying wisdom quote was an unexpected event I did not plan in my outline for Chapter 33. So was Barbara’s advice to Yor in Chapter 34, which I will end this long ramble with:

Before the two left, Barbara turned and patted Yor’s arm. “I know what it’s like to be married to a brilliant man, dear. Don’t feel discouraged. They don’t need their brilliance and worldly achievements so much as they need our love. I know it can be exhausting sometimes, but I’ve stuck by my Siggy this long through thick and thin. What he didn’t mention amidst all that blather about wisdom is that even wisdom isn’t the final goal of all of mankind’s striving. Love is. What is a life full of wisdom and philosophy if it doesn’t help you find love and keep it? In my simple little mind, that’s what wisdom is for. Goodnight, dear. Thank you for having us over.”

And that's a wrap for my 2024!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️

90 for 🌤️:

---

“Yeah, I am,” Chris says. “And I agree with this Imposter Buck, so please just be honest with me.”

“I’m not an imposter!” Buck nearly squawks. 

Eddie sighs.

“Okay,” Buck admits. “Maybe I am, a little.”

“What does that mean?” Chris demands. 

“It means…” Eddie makes an exasperated noise. “It means we’re not from here or now. We’re still us. We just… Don’t belong here?” 

Chris looks as puzzled by this explanation as Buck has felt all day. “What does that mean? Where are you from?”

“2024,” Buck says. 

Christopher’s jaw drops. 

“He’s going to think we’re crazy,” Eddie grits out. 

“Yeah, maybe a little,” Chris agrees, eyes very wide. 

“We… We don’t know Nico, Chris. We’re not married. We’re not even together,” Buck says. “I just broke up with Tommy. You know Tommy, right? How much is different here?”

Chris wrinkles his nose. “Yes, I remember Tommy. Is this a prank?”

“No, definitely not  a prank,” Eddie says. 

“And you can’t tell Nico,” Buck pleads. “We don’t want to scare him.”

“I didn’t want to scare you, either,” Eddie says quietly. 

Christopher’s expression changes, like a lightbulb has gone off. 

“2024?” He asks. 

Eddie and Buck both nod. 

“That’s why…” Chris exhales. “That’s why you both cried. I’m gone. I’m still gone, aren’t I?” 

Buck looks at the floor. 

“Yeah,” Eddie mutters. “You are.”

“Shit,” Chris exhales. 

They both flinch a little, unfamiliar with that sort of language out of his mouth. 

“Dad…” Chris says. “I-”

“It’s okay if you’re pissed at me,” Eddie says quickly. “I know I’m not your dad that you were expecting and I’m obviously worse than him, so-”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chris interrupts. 

Buck looks at Eddie, uncertain what the answer will be. Somedays, he’s open about Chris. About how much he misses him. About everything that happened. Others? Well, others, it’s like walking on eggshells. He never knows what will send Eddie into a dark place. When he’d come over to find Eddie pantsless and seemingly happy, he’d been blown away. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Yeah, I want to talk about it.”

Buck feels a wash of relief. Thank god. 

“I’ll watch Nico,” Buck assures them. 

Then he turns and walk towards Nico’s room, giving them space. 

🌤️

They sit outside in a backyard Eddie didn’t realize he had. It’s nice. Not overly spacious, but set up with furniture and comfortable-looking. That must be all Buck, Eddie thinks. He can imagine being married to Buck means hosting dinner parties and barbecues more than he might personally choose to. He imagines he’d complain, but secretly love it. Eddie tries not to think about it. He’s not actually married to Buck. 

“So what’s the last day you remember?” Chris asks when they sit down. There’s a stiffness between them that Eddie can’t quite gauge. Is it because Chris is angry Eddie is the wrong Eddie? Or is it because Chris is still angry about everything else. Eddie wouldn’t blame him if he is. What Eddie did probably earned Chris a lifetime of trauma. 

“Um, November 7th, 2024? Or 8th? I can’t remember if we went to sleep after midnight or before.”

“That’s… That’s kind of a shame,” Chris sighs. “If only you’d decided to time travel a few months later.” 

“I didn’t decide… Wait, what?” Eddie frowns. “Why? Why a few months later?”