#but like. the more i try to remember 1) what it was 2) in what circumstances the least i can actually recall.

[lurkiestvoid]

13k+ notes and we've all already failed #8.

The "advice" has no public author, this version is both edited and redacted from the original version, and this is not even close to the version amended and posted by MLK Jr's daughter.

This is an excellent demonstration of how we're less likely to double-check things that already affirm our worldview. 13k+ notes and I couldn't see anyone that bothered to try.

King's amended version, posted to Twitter and FB, found through the relevant Mashable article someone linked in the comments:

Amended Post (especially related to #1 below):

Some Wise Advice Circulating:

1. Use his name sparingly so as not to detract from the issues. I believe that everyone, regardless of their beliefs, deserves the dignity of being called by their name. However, this is a strategic tactic. While we are so focused on him we are prone to neglect the questionable policies that threaten freedom, justice and fairness advanced by the administration.

2. Remember this is a regime and he's not acting alone;

3. Do not argue with those who support him and his policies--it doesn't work;

4. Focus on his policies, not his appearance and mental state;

5. Keep your message positive; those who oppose peace and justice want the country to be angry and fearful because this is the soil from which their darkest policies will grow;

6. No more helpless/hopeless talk;

7. Support artists and the arts;

8. Be careful not to spread fake news. Check it;

9. Take care of yourselves; and

10. Resist! Keep demonstrations peaceful. In the words of John Lennon, "When it gets down to having to use violence, then you are playing the system’s game. The establishment will irritate you - pull your beard, flick your face - to make you fight! Because once they’ve got you violent, then they know how to handle you. The only thing they don’t know how to handle is non-violence and humor."

When you post or talk about him, don't assign his actions to him, assign them to "The Republican Administration," or "The Republicans." This will have several effects: the Republican legislators will either have to take responsibility for their association with him or stand up for what some of them don't like; he will not get the focus of attention he craves; Republican representatives will become very concerned about their re-elections.

[ippipo]

self aware caleb

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | slight smut chapter

it's been around a month now.

you come back home from a long day and open the game immediately, wanting to talk to your now self aware.....friend? what is he? whatever. to caleb.

"hey, y/n," he greets you blankly. something about him seemed off though, a little speck of anger looming over his face. "what's wrong? you look annoyed," you point out.

"the storyline just doesn't make sense! why did they make me so weird and creepy?" he whines, making you laugh. "i found you a little hot because of it but yeah, you were......well," you scratch your nape with an apologetic smile.

"you need some help if you find that hot," he states making you snort. "say, why'd you pick this game?" he asks you.

"just wanted to feel less lonely and now i gush over five hot guys," you respond with a little shame in your tone. "pick one," he demands scrutinizingly.

"hmm..." you pretend to think for a while just to tease him. your amusement increases when his frown deepens. "definitely not you," you answer, the playful tone giving it away. he flicks the screen to show you his disappointment. "such a big liar."

you talked to caleb all night, letting the conversation lead its way to random topics. it was easy and comfortable, not having to restrict or conform yourself to fit into a mold of norms.

"gee, your fingers are so long," you remark absentmindedly. "yeah, you would get a first-hand experience if you were here," he says with a smug smile while remembering that one time he heard you doing.....things, trying to elicit a reaction out of you. "huh?" you let out, dumbfounded. you gasp in realisation of what he meant and your cheeks warm up.

"if you were here, i would've smacked the living shit out of you," you say with a playful threatening tone. "oh, really?" he teases.

"are you seriously doubting my ability to demolish you?" you fake-gasp. "what do ya think, missy?"

"from this day onwards, peasants like you shall not possess the right to freedom of speech, you will only speak when spoken to and the rest of the time, you shall shut the fuck up," you say with an authoritative tone, making him laugh in amusement.

"alright, alright. check your messages," he urges you, snapping his fingers. "huh? in-game chats?" you question, confused at the sudden demand. "no, silly. your actual chats."

you quickly exit the game to check. "do it faster, slowpoke," you hear him say. "you look like an angry hamster right now," he teases you, making you relax your face.

'hey y/n'

'guess who'

you stare at the texts blankly. you blink after a while of silence. "what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fu-" "don't start that again," he interrupts you.

"holy shit, you can text me?" you were so close to hitting yourself in the head. "mhm, just had to work a little harder," he sings.

he pops up onto your screen and you watch him as he shifts from his seat to adjust to a more comfortable position.

"i don't even wanna ask how," you close your eyes and sigh. a little happy, a little exhausted, and very much in need for sleep.

"caleb," you call out. "hm?"

"can you wake me up in an hour? i wish i could talk for longer but i'm so close to passing out and i have to complete some assignments," you request him.

"of course, lemme see your face while you sleep. i'll take pictures and obsess over it creepily for the next ten years so you'll never feel safe again," he says nonchalantly. "that sounds like a dream come true," you remark sarcastically. "that's what they made me to be," his face twists in slight disgust.

he rambles a little longer before finally shutting up when he noticed your drowsy state.

"sleep well, loser," he flicks at the screen. "mhm, g'night," you smile lazily before turning the lights off.

something about you felt liberating to him. after being controlled his entire life by a script, being forced to act clinically insane, a break from it all was what he needed.

he pondered over it after he became self aware. his feelings, that is. for so long, he believed that he loved that girl from his childhood, but the sudden realisation that it was all not in his control brought him more comfort instead of fear.

but the worst part of it all was the attraction he felt towards you. so familiar but so far away from what he would consider knowing someone. he was afraid of what was coming for both of you. if he couldn't control his feelings from spiralling against him, he's unsure if he could make you happy.

"you are really something, huh?" he whispers while staring longingly at your sleeping form in the dark room. he quickly covers his mouth when he hears you shuffling in your sleep. "y/n?" he calls out, wanting to make sure you were asleep. with no response from your side, he sighs in relief.

he doodles random things in his notebook while listening to your soft snores.

he hears the sound of a notification, making him straighten his back in alarm before realising it was on your phone. he notices it was a text from someone.

(an actual conversation between me and my best friend's boyfriend from when we were 15)

ne-andy-thal 👅

baebee

pls answer

our children miss you 🥲

caleb's brows furrow in annoyance. who was this guy and why was he texting you?

you

shes sleeping

ne-andy-thal 👅

gasp.

who is this

my baby done left me

for some dumbass dummy

you

its not what you think

ne-andy-thal 👅

who are you? whats ur name? why are u rextinh from my bbgs phone? fight me

you

im no one. none of your business. because we're studying together. no, i will not fight you dude, i have better things to do.

ne-andy-thal 👅

lame. rude. since when did she get another study buddy. yes, u will, dUdE.

you

im her boyfriend, we've been dating for a year now

caleb laughs to himself at the absurdity of the message. crafting up a lie to make you a little miserable.

ne-andy-thal 👅

GASP.

WHY DIDNT DHE TELL ME

SHE WONT ESCAPE ME AFTER THIS

you

your baby done left you

ne-andy-thal 👅

OH NO YOU DID NOT

you

oh yes i did

ne-andy-thal 👅

THATS IT, IM ON MY WAY

caleb panics at the text and quickly comes up with something else.

you

we are at my house

no point in going to hers

ne-andy-thal 👅

FINE. SHES GON GET IT TOMORROW

you

😵

he gets off the app, feeling bad for putting you in trouble.

"wake up, sleepyhead," he calls out after realising an hour had passed already. you groan and shift from your position. "five more minutes....please," you whine softly. 'adorable,' he thought to himself.

"your friend texted you, and i might have caused some trouble," he says, not even a single hint of regret in his tone. "what?!" you spring up. "i think his name is andy, fun guy," he remarks. you quickly check all the texts and groan.

"caleb! i'm so close to detonating, he's gonna kill me," you whine out. "first human i talked to other than you, worth it," he smirks.

"you have zero sense of boundaries for a game character so handsome, i hate you so much," you say with a frown. "ya think i'm handsome?" you wanted to wipe off that smug grin on his face with a slap.

"please don't do this again, i have no energy to deal with the buttload of questions i'm gonna face tomorrow. like boyfriend, really? is that the most creative thing you could come up with?" you nag him. honestly, it didn't bother you much. it's not like you had a great sense of boundaries either. you kinda may or may not like it when someone's so fully and absolutely involved in every part of your life, or maybe it's the loneliness talking.

"aw, thought you would find it funny. sorry, won't happen again," he says with actual regret laced in his voice. "is it really that serious?"

"no, not really. just- just make sure to speak to people whom i won't have to go through hell with right after," you tell him. "i'll introduce them all to you before you decide you wanna ruin my life."

he snorts before smiling at you. your dishelved hair and slightly puffy face looked adorable to him. he kept staring at you as you moved your phone a little further away to show yourself more to him.

he took in your features, his eyes trailing down from your forehead, to your eyes, to your nose, to your pretty lips that were slightly parted, to your collarbones, and finally stopping at your chest.

his cheeks turned red when he noticed your nipples poking out from your thin shirt. not wanting to oversexualize every part of you, he looked away. but he couldn't help but remember that night, your soft moans echoing through his mind.

it didn't help when you sucked on your lower lip to get rid of the dryness. the boner in his pants was ever so visible now, and you were doing nothing to make the situation better. he groans in discomfort, wanting to get rid of his jeans.

"is everything alright?" you ask him with concern. "oh- yeah, i just stubbed my toe," he quickly replies. you wince at the thought and go back to getting your books out.

"i'll finish my assignments, is it okay if i read my material out loud?" you question him. he looked at you before nodding, noticing how your eyes looked so pretty.

he sneakily removes his pants and boxers, unable to contain his neediness inside. he slowly rubs along his shaft while looking at you intently. oh god, the moment he hears your voice, he couldn't help but remember that night again. he bites his lip, trying not to groan.

his movements accelerate as he imagines your fucked out face, so pliant, just for him. the way he would kill to see you taking all of him inside you, tears staining your cheeks while he goes rouge on your pussy. the thought of you being completely unaware of the sinful thoughts he was having right now made the atmosphere all the more unbearable.

he could imagine your back arching, writhing in pleasure as he pounds into you, hickeys scattered all over your chest. he would take you over and over again until you see stars. he was getting closer and closer to his climax.

just as he was about to cum, you let out an 'ow' when you hit your hand to your desk when you were stretching which sounded awfully similar to a moan, and boy did he cum so hard. thick spurts of white liquid squirted onto his screen, and he felt so dirty. he continued fisting himself, drawing out his orgasm before stopping.

then it dawned upon him the realisation of what he had just done. and he didn't feel a single bit sorry for it. he cleaned everything up, making it seem like he didn't just masturbate looking at you.

[tqlepatia]

─ One of the girls. ♰

- ❝ sigh, guys, i tried. not revised, english in'st my first language and i dont write smuut very well 👁❞

you didn't really liked men, I mean, who likes them? but you is desperate enough for money to not put limits on your client's, basic math, fewer clients, less money.

Girls are hot, everybody knows that, but who most people don't know that the ones with the most courage, come to the brothel to "try" if they like girls or something like that, in short? You've never had such experienced womans.

until one day, it was a normal one to you, besides of the loud of the girls filling the of the building corridors, as aways you get dressed up, putting some perfume of some brand unknown, getting you hair done and soon remembering of change the sheets and etc.

Soon you finished all you chores you hear nock at the door, you check the watch in the wall, its still early, babette already open? you sigh, but then your big curiosity make you open the door, seeing babette with an almost new expression, she was a mix of confused, happy, sad and almost worry

"darling, you already is dressed up?" she ask analyzing your room, sighing she gives you bag of paper - with some white lace lingerie, looks expansive.

"do you know who is the silco right-hand?" Hm, you may heard one time during a late night conversation with the girls? the only thing you sure is that you are confused as hell.

"Yeah, i heard of her, shes dead ? Why u looking at me sooo?..not trying to be rude okay?" babette force a little laugh, she consider you, too much, almost like a daughter, she remember more clearly than the rivers of Piltover the day you come in, soaking wet of the rain, looking guilt, ashemed and all, she soon cleaned her through looking at you

"She was a regular client here, but of sudden, she disappeared, and shes back now, and told me she was coming here later, I'd think of separate my best girl for her."

you smile nodding, in a place like this, is rare even a little of genuine affection, she smile, wishing you good luck, and you almost grab as if is 100 gold coins flying on the air, you know you will need it.

after what feels like a eternity, you hear the ambient music, a low sensual jazz, The brothel Its officially open now.

Exactly 2 hours passed, and nothing of her, you were already with that lingerie, must be from Piltover, with too many details, little flowers embroidered on top of the silk, some transparent parts, and the big dress-like, transparent, feathered, white matching perfectly with each piece, you were left admiring yourself in the mirror for almost 1 hour, you looked pure even! Hm, so she was one of those woman's who liked seeing a woman so vulnerable, and innocent? Funny.

The soft jazz played in the background, almost drowned out by the weight of the silence as you waited. You were about to give in to the exhaustion, laying back slowly on the bed, when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. Each step was deliberate, firm, growing closer. The air seemed heavier now, the world around you quieter, as if holding its breath.

The door creaked as it opened, revealing a striking, imposing figure. You sat up instinctively, your gaze locking onto the woman now standing in the doorway. This wasn’t just any client. Her presence carried authority, and the dim light from the hallway caught the glint of a mechanical arm that seemed as natural to her as her skin.

“Finally found you,” she said, her voice low and gravelly, filling the room with ease.

It took a moment for your brain to catch up. Your eyes roamed over her face—a sharp scar running down one side, a smirk that bordered on dangerous, and eyes that seemed to pierce straight through you.

“You’re…?” you started, but the answer was obvious before you could finish the question.

“Sevika,” she said simply, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her with a deliberate slowness. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. Sevika. Silco’s right hand. The woman whispered about in hushed voices, both feared and respected. You never thought you’d find yourself face-to-face with her.

“About… me?” You tried to sound composed, but the hesitation in your voice betrayed you.

“That’s right,” she said, crossing her arms and letting her gaze linger on you. “Babette said you were… special.”

Heat rose to your face under the weight of her stare. Special? What was that supposed to mean? Her words didn’t make sense, but there was something in the way she spoke, the way she looked at you, that made the air in the room feel heavier, charged with tension.

“I didn’t think you… visited places like this,” you said, trying to mask your unease.

Sevika let out a low, almost mocking chuckle and strode toward the armchair in the corner of the room. She sat with the ease of someone who was completely in control, her mechanical arm resting casually on the chair’s armrest.

“Normally, I don’t,” she admitted, her tone calm, yet carrying an edge of authority. “But some things… deserve my attention. You, for example.”

“Me?” Your voice came out louder than intended, the disbelief clear in your tone.

“You.” Sevika tilted her head, her sharp eyes scanning you slowly, deliberately. “I wanted to see what made you different. Why someone like Babette would say you’re not like the others here.”

Your hands clenched at the fabric of the bedsheet, a mix of confusion and discomfort swirling inside you. How did she know so much about you? And why was she so interested?

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“Oh, I do.” Sevika leaned forward slightly, her voice softening, though it lost none of its weight. “You don’t belong in a place like this. Anyone can see that just by looking at you.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. It was the truth you tried so hard to avoid acknowledging—the truth that brought you here in the first place. But hearing it from Sevika made it feel far too real.

“Why does that matter to you?” you asked, trying to regain some semblance of control.

Sevika smirked, the metallic glint of her arm catching the light as she adjusted her posture. “Let’s just say I have a habit of investing in things that are worth it. And maybe… you’re exactly that.”

Her words made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t understand. Before you could respond, she stood, towering over you, her presence filling the room. She moved closer, her gaze still locked onto yours—intense, but now tinged with curiosity rather than scrutiny.

“So, tell me,” she said, her voice dropping to an almost teasing whisper. “Do you think you can handle someone like me?"

Oh! You handled it well, not even 2 hours of conversation, you were already pushing your head between her legs, you weren't surprised that she was so submissive, those big puppy eyes looking at you with such curiosity since she stepped into the room didn't fool you, but you can say was the best sex of your life.

You already played with Sevika's body in every way, strap, vibrator, anything you remembered having in the room, you were truly fascinated by Sevika's body, responding to even the slightest provocation

her mind? Too fuzzy to even make a sentence without letting out a moan or a sigh, of course, you as a prostitute were experienced, Sevika knew that, but damn, not that experienced, she already lost count of how many orgasms she had just that night, she stopped counting after the third one.

"Y-y...hmm..yeah baby...keep your tongue li-..like that..." sevika is losing her goddamn mind with you, shes fucking overstimulated mess, babette didn't lie, you are fucking special.

She swear that was seeing stars everytime your hot tongue licked her swollen clit, while your fingers hitting all the rights spots.

"Woah woah Vika, calm down, she is a most eating my fingers, I still need them later yk?" - you tease letting a little laugh while the sound of almost pornographic wet vagina - no. It was dripping, after about ten minutes sevika reached the climax, and at the same time her time was up. You give a small kiss on her pussy, as a farewell, but before you could say anything, sevika pulls you for a kiss.

The room was quiet now, filled only with the fading hum of soft jazz in the background and the occasional creak of the bed as you shifted against the pillows. Sevika sat at the edge of the bed, her posture loose and unguarded, her mechanical arm resting heavily in her lap as she carefully poured water from the jug on the nightstand into a glass.

You watched her silently, still catching your breath, the weight of everything that had just happened leaving you warm and buzzing. The vulnerability Sevika had shown—seeing her let go, let you take control—was something you hadn’t imagined. Yet now, she was the one moving around, fussing over you.

She handed you the glass, her fingers brushing against yours. Her cheeks were still a little flushed, a light sheen of sweat catching the low glow of the room’s dim lighting.

“You know,” you said, raising an eyebrow as you took a sip of the water, “shouldn’t I be the one doing the aftercare here? You’re the one who got ruined, after all.”

Sevika shot you a look, her lips quirking up into a small, tired smirk. “Shut up,” she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words. She reached for a clean cloth, dipping it into the bowl of warm water she’d set aside, and turned back to you.

“Seriously,” you teased, watching her gently wring out the cloth. “You’re not supposed to be up and about after that. You’re supposed to be the one lying down, looking like you just got wrecked.”

Sevika let out a low chuckle, shaking her head as she leaned closer, brushing the damp cloth along your collarbone with surprising gentleness. Her movements were careful, her touch soft as she wiped away the remnants of sweat, cum and split from your skin.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost tender. “But I’m not the kind of person who just… sits there and lets someone else do everything. Besides”—her smirk widened—“you earned this.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound light and almost disbelieving. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, her gaze softening as it met yours. “I’ve been told.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Sevika continued her careful ministrations, her hand steady even as exhaustion began to tug at her features. There was something deeply intimate about the way she tended to you.

When she was done, she set the cloth aside and sat back, looking at you with a rare softness in her expression. “You good?” she asked, her voice almost hesitant.

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, I’m good, and you?”

Sevika reached out then, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, her fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “Good,” she said simply, her voice rough but warm.

As she leaned back, you couldn’t resist one last quip. “Still think I should’ve been the one cleaning you up, though. You looked like you could barely stand for a second there.”

Sevika rolled her eyes, but the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “Keep talking, and I’ll leave you to clean up on your own next time,” she muttered, though the smirk playing on her lips said otherwise.

You laughed softly, pulling her down beside you and wrapping an arm around her waist. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Sev.”

Her mechanical arm clinked softly as she shifted closer, her body relaxing against yours. For now, there were no walls, no façades—just the quiet warmth of her presence and the promise of moments like this to come.

[riddleswhcre]

he doesn’t make me cry .2

fred weasley, the prat who shattered your heart, corners you in hogsmeade, pouring out a desperate confession that makes your blood boil and your pulse race. you try to resist, but his touch ignites a hunger you can’t smother, leaving you tangled in an alley, half-frozen and wholly his again. terrible idea? absolutely. irresistible? without question.

warnings: MDNI, semi-public smut, rough sex (bending over, possessive fred), heavy angst and emotional tension, minor toxic behaviour (possessiveness, jealousy), mention of cheating implications. you are responsible for your own media consumption.

part 1

more.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

the days following that snowy conversation with fred were a blur. you tried throwing yourself into anything that would keep your mind occupied—classes, quidditch practice, even spending hours listening to elliot drone on about his plans for the summer.

and it was fine. perfectly fine.

except, it wasn’t.

you kept catching glimpses of fred around the castle. in the great hall, in the corridors, even during care of magical creatures when he was supposed to be on the other side of the paddock. and every time your eyes met his, there was something unspoken there—something raw and aching that left you restless long after.

by the time the next hogsmeade weekend rolled around, you were on edge. elliot suggested a day at honeydukes, and you agreed just to avoid the suffocating walls of the castle. but the moment you stepped into the shop, your stomach sank.

fred was there.

he was standing by the fizzing whizzbees display, laughing at something george said. but as soon as he spotted you, his expression shifted. the easy grin disappeared, replaced by something far more complicated.

“alright,” elliot said, oblivious as he led you deeper into the shop. “let’s grab some of those treacle fudge things you like.”

you nodded, barely hearing him. your attention was glued to fred, who hadn’t taken his eyes off you. he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks, and for some reason, that made your chest tighten.

you tried to focus on elliot, who was now debating the merits of various liquorice wands, but the air in the shop felt heavy. oppressive.

“i’ll just be a minute,” you said suddenly, stepping away.

you slipped out of honeydukes before elliot could follow, the cold air a welcome relief against your flushed skin.

“running away now?”

the voice stopped you in your tracks. you turned to see fred leaning against the side of the building, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

“i’m not running,” you said, crossing your arms.

“could’ve fooled me.”

his smirk was half-hearted, but the teasing lilt in his voice still made your stomach flip.

“why are you out here?” you asked.

“could ask you the same thing.”

you rolled your eyes, but he stepped closer, his expression softening. “look,” he said, his voice quieter now. “i didn’t mean to corner you or anything. i just... i wanted to talk.”

you hesitated. part of you wanted to tell him to sod off and leave you alone, but the other part—the part that still remembered the way he used to hold you, how he’d kiss your forehead when you were upset—couldn’t seem to walk away.

“alright,” you said finally. “talk.”

fred ran a hand through his hair, his usual confidence faltering. “i’ve been a prat,” he admitted. “i know that. i hurt you, and i don’t blame you for hating me.”

“i don’t hate you,” you said quietly.

he looked at you, surprised, and you sighed. “i’m angry, fred. i’m hurt. but i don’t hate you.”

“right.” he nodded, his breath visible in the cold air. “good. that’s good.”

you waited, but he didn’t say anything else.

“fred, if this is all you’ve got to say—”

“it’s not,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “merlin, it’s not. i just—i don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot.”

“say what?” you asked, your heart pounding.

“that i miss you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “that i can’t stop thinking about you, even when i know i should. and it’s driving me mad because i see you with him, and all i can think is... i let you go. i let the best thing in my life walk away, and now i’m stuck watching you be happy with someone else.”

his words hit you like a blizzard, overwhelming and suffocating. you opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going.

“and maybe i don’t deserve another chance. maybe you’re better off without me. but i need you to know that i... that i still love you. that i never stopped.”

the world seemed to tilt, your breath catching in your throat. “fred...”

“i know,” he said quickly, stepping back as if he’d overstepped. “i know you’ve moved on, and i shouldn’t even be saying this. i just—bloody hell, i’m making a mess of this, aren’t i?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. the weight of his confession hung between you, heavy and suffocating.

“tell me to go,” he said finally, his voice raw. “if you’re happy with him, tell me to go, and i’ll leave you alone. i swear.”

your lips parted, but no words came out. the truth was, you weren’t happy. not really. elliot was safe and kind, but he wasn’t fred.

fred, who could make you laugh until your sides hurt. fred, who could infuriate you and comfort you in the same breath. fred, who was looking at you now like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“i can’t do this,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes.

“can’t do what?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “i can’t keep going in circles with you, fred. it hurts too much.”

he stepped closer, his hand brushing yours. “then don’t,” he said softly. “don’t keep running. stay.”

you looked up at him, your resolve crumbling as he cupped your cheek. his touch was warm, familiar, and it made something inside you shatter.

“this is a terrible idea,” you murmured, your breath hitching as fred’s fingers brushed your cheek.

“probably,” he replied, his voice low and rough. his thumb grazed your bottom lip, lingering for a moment. the chill of the winter air contrasted sharply with the heat radiating between you, and every logical thought you had melted away as his lips captured yours again.

this time, it wasn’t soft or tentative. it was raw, hungry, a collision of pent-up desire and frustration. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as he walked you backwards until your back hit the wall of the alleyway.

“fred—” you started, but the words were swallowed by another kiss, his teeth tugging at your lip before trailing down your jaw.

“merlin, i’ve missed this,” he muttered, his breath hot against your neck. his hands were everywhere—tangling in your hair, sliding down to your hips, gripping you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

you should have stopped him. you knew you should. but the way his mouth moved against your skin, the way his fingers dipped under the hem of your jumper, made your resolve crumble completely.

“inside,” you managed, barely recognising your own voice.

fred pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and blazing with intent. “not a chance. can’t wait that long,” he said, his hands already hiking up your skirt.

the air was cold against your thighs, but the heat of his touch made you forget everything else. his fingers trailed up the inside of your legs, teasing, deliberate.

“you’re soaked,” he murmured, his tone laced with smug satisfaction as his fingers pressed against the damp fabric of your knickers.

“shut up,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing, but the way his lips quirked into a grin made your stomach flip.

he hooked his fingers under the waistband and tugged them down, letting them fall to your ankles. the cool air hit your skin, and you gasped, but fred was already turning you around, pressing your front against the rough stone of the wall.

“been thinking about this for months,” he said, his voice low in your ear as his hands slid up your thighs, spreading them just enough. “about bending you over and making you mine again.”

your heart pounded, your breath catching as he pressed himself against you. you could feel how hard he was through his trousers, and the realisation made your knees weak.

“fred,” you breathed, a shiver running down your spine as his fingers slid between your folds, teasing your clit.

“still so perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “so ready for me.”

he slid two fingers inside you, and you bit back a moan, your hands bracing against the wall. his fingers curled, hitting that spot that made your vision blur, and he chuckled low in his throat.

“missed hearing you like this,” he said, his other hand gripping your hip as his fingers pumped into you. “missed making you fall apart.”

you whimpered, your hips rocking back against his hand, but it wasn’t enough. “fred, please—”

he didn’t need to be told twice. his fingers withdrew, leaving you clenching around nothing, a frustrated whimper escaping your lips.

fred chuckled low behind you, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “so needy,” he murmured, and you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, the metallic clink making your pulse race. the rustle of fabric followed, then the heat of him pressed against you—just the tip of his cock brushing against your slick folds.

your breath hitched as he dragged himself along your entrance, teasing you, but never pushing in. “fred—”

“what’s that, love?” he asked, his voice thick with amusement. “you sound desperate. want to tell me what you need?”

you groaned, your forehead pressing against the wall in front of you. “i need you to stop messing around and fuck me.”

his hand slid over your hip, gripping firmly as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “such a filthy mouth,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “been thinking about this for months, and you want me to rush it?”

“fred—” you started again, but he cut you off, one hand moving to slide between your legs. his fingers parted your folds, gathering your wetness before he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance again, teasing you with shallow thrusts that didn’t go nearly deep enough.

“tell me how much you’ve missed me,” he said, his tone a mix of playful and commanding.

you bit your lip, refusing to give in so easily, but when he thrust just the tip inside and pulled back out, a frustrated moan escaped you.

“say it,” he coaxed, his voice soft but insistent. “say you’ve missed me, and i’ll give you what you need.”

your pride warred with your desperation, but as he repeated the motion—just enough to make you feel the stretch, then leaving you empty again—you cracked.

“fine,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “i’ve missed you, okay? i’ve missed you so much i could scream, you bastard.”

fred’s low laugh vibrated through you, his hands tightening on your hips. “that’s my girl,” he murmured, his tone dark and pleased.

before you could respond, he thrust into you in one smooth motion, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. your gasp turned into a moan, your hands scrambling for purchase against the wall as he stayed there, letting you adjust to the sudden fullness.

“fuck,” he groaned, his voice strained. “you feel even better than i remembered.”

“move,” you pleaded, pushing back against him, your body already arching for more.

“greedy,” he teased, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his own restraint.

when he pulled back, it was slow, deliberate, almost torturous. but when he slammed back in, his hips snapping forward with a sharp thrust, you cried out, the sound echoing in the alley.

“that’s it,” he murmured, his hand sliding around to your front, his fingers finding your clit. “let me hear you, love. let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

“fred,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

“say it again,” he demanded, his voice low and rough as his thrusts quickened, his hips hitting you with just the right amount of force.

“fred,” you moaned, your knees threatening to give out as his fingers rubbed tight circles on your clit, the pleasure building with every movement. “you—you feel so good—”

“yeah?” he said, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned over you, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “you like the way i stretch you, don’t you? like the way i fill you up?”

“fuck,” you whimpered, your head falling back against his shoulder.

“that’s what i thought,” he growled, his voice dark with satisfaction. “no one else could fuck you like this. isn’t that right?”

“fred,” you managed, your voice breaking as his pace grew relentless, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, pushing you closer to the edge.

“say it,” he urged, his lips brushing your temple. “say you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i’m yours, fred—always—”

“that’s my girl,” he groaned, his hips snapping into you harder now, his cock hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars. “fuck, i’ve missed this—missed you.”

your nails scraped against the stone wall, your body trembling as the coil in your stomach tightened impossibly. “i’m—fred, i’m so close—”

“i know,” he murmured, his fingers pressing harder against your clit as his thrusts grew erratic. “let go, sweetheart. let me feel you.”

his words sent you over the edge, your climax crashing through you as you cried out his name. your walls clenched around him, and with a low, guttural groan, he followed, spilling inside you as his hips stuttered.

for a moment, neither of you moved, your ragged breaths mingling in the cold air.

finally, fred pulled out, and you shivered as the chill hit you again. he turned you around, his hands cupping your face as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“i’m not letting you go again,” he murmured, his voice still hoarse.

you didn’t have the energy to argue, leaning into him as his arms wrapped around you. maybe it was a terrible idea. but right now, with fred holding you like this, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

[little-jana]

"The Perfect First Date" (2)

Part 1

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x receptionist!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: drinking wine, reader wearing a dress

Words: 964

Summary: After weeks of playful teasing, you and Aaron Hotchner finally go on your first date.

The next few days pass with you stealing glances at Hotch every chance you get, your heart racing each time you remember his soft smile and the way he said "maybe" to your dinner suggestion. For once, you’re the one trying to keep things professional, but it’s impossible to ignore the way his gaze lingers on you a little longer, or the subtle warmth in his tone whenever he speaks to you.

On Friday afternoon, as you’re finishing up some paperwork at your desk, Hotch approaches. You don’t notice him at first, too busy typing, until his low voice breaks the silence.

“Still planning on holding me to that dinner?” he asks.

Your head snaps up, your breath catching at the sight of him standing there, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He’s watching you intently, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips.

“Of course,” you reply, trying to sound composed despite the butterflies in your stomach. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

“I didn’t forget,” he says softly. “How about tonight?”

Tonight. You can’t help the wide grin that spreads across your face. “Tonight works for me,” you say, your voice brighter than you intended.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says, nodding slightly before turning to leave. But just before he steps away, he glances back at you, his eyes warm and sincere. “Dress nicely.”

You spend the rest of the day in a whirlwind of excitement, wondering where he’s taking you and what the night will hold. When 7:00 p.m. rolls around, you’re waiting by your door in a sleek dress that hugs your figure in all the right places. You hear a knock, and when you open the door, your breath catches.

Hotch stands there in a perfectly tailored suit, holding a single red rose. His dark eyes sweep over you, and for a moment, you think you see him falter.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low and genuine as he hands you the rose.

“Thank you,” you reply, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “You’re not looking too bad yourself, Hotchner.”

He smirks, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

The car ride is quiet but comfortable, with soft music playing in the background as he drives. He doesn’t tell you where you’re going, only glancing over every so often with a faint smile that makes your heart flutter. When he finally pulls up to the restaurant, you’re stunned. It’s a cozy, upscale place with dim lighting and a romantic atmosphere.

“This is... wow,” you breathe as he opens the car door for you.

“I thought you’d like it,” he says simply, guiding you inside with his hand gently resting on the small of your back.

The dinner is perfect. Hotch is the perfect gentleman—pulling out your chair, pouring your wine, and making sure you’re comfortable. But what surprises you most is how easy it is to talk to him. The serious, stoic Hotch you know from work seems to melt away, replaced by someone softer, someone who listens intently and smiles often.

He tells you about his favorite books, his favorite vacation spot, and even a funny story about Jack trying to convince him to adopt a puppy. You find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks, and it’s clear he enjoys seeing you smile.

By the time dessert arrives, you’re leaning closer to him, your hand resting on the table just inches from his. “This is amazing,” you say softly, looking up at him through your lashes. “I didn’t think you had this side to you.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he replies, his voice warm and teasing. “But I’d like to change that.”

You smile, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his tone.

When dinner ends, he insists on paying, despite your protests. “I asked you out,” he says simply, sliding his credit card to the waiter. “It’s only fair.”

On the way back to your place, the car is filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that speaks volumes. You glance over at him, admiring the way the passing streetlights illuminate his face, and you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world.

When he walks you to your door, you turn to face him, clutching the rose he gave you earlier. “Thank you for tonight,” you say softly. “It was... perfect.”

He steps closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “You deserve perfect,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you can overthink it, you rise onto your toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. He stills for a moment, and then his hand comes up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a soft smile.

“Goodnight,” you reply, your voice trembling slightly as you unlock your door.

As you step inside, you glance back one last time to see him standing there, his hands in his pockets and a small, almost bashful smile on his face. You close the door with your heart racing, already looking forward to the next time.

Because tonight wasn’t just perfect—it was the start of something real.

[amitiel-truth]

River Maiden Pt. 6

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,

"Telemachus..." (Y/N) sighs into the sea, leaning out the window with a longing look in her eyes and a small pout, hands under her chin, missing her Prince.

Two guards stand behind her, who is just about done with her yearning.

"She's been longing for the Prince since he left." one of the Guards mutters, remembering how the two barely want to let go of each other, kissing too passionately to the point it unnerved The Prince's crew and (Y/N)'s Guards, before being forcibly pulled apart.

"If we didn't pull those two apart, I swear they were close to having sex then and there." the other Guard points out.

"I can hear you, Ioannis, Panagiotis. Oh, who am I kidding? We were about to have sex then and there." (Y/N) agreed, whining, burying her face in her arms, as the two Guards shared a tired look.

A storm had just passed, (Y/N) doesn't know why but it feels different, familiar.

Suddenly she heard yelling at the palace entrance, there she saw Antinous and the Suitors, antagonizing who seemed to be a Beggar.

"What are they up to now?." (Y/N) grimaces, before walking down the hall with the knights following her.

"You—dare to call me out, beggar? You who live on the scraps thrown to you by the mercy of others, who have never known the power of a seat at the king’s table, speak as though you are in any position to judge me? You think I take advantage of the royalty's hospitality? Ha. You are mistaken."

He steps closer, his voice low and venomous.

"I’ve earned my place at their side. The gods themselves would envy the privileges I enjoy. You? You’re nothing more than a shadow, a fleeting thought that the nobility might spare a coin or two, and that is the extent of your world. Do not mistake my invitation for weakness, beggar. It’s a courtesy you will never receive."

With an icy glance, Antinous leans in, voice barely a whisper.

"Keep your insults to yourself, or I will remind you what happens to those who speak above their station."

He turns sharply, leaving the beggar with nothing but the weight of his contempt hanging in the air.

"What's going on here?" a sharp voice cuts through Antinous arrogant claims, there stands a woman the Beggar never seen before, as the Suitors give way with two guards behind her.

Antinous steps forward, trying to maintain his composure, though his irritation is evident.

"Ah, it seems we have a new guest. I was merely handling a... misunderstanding, my lady. A beggar is attempting to sow discord with his wild accusations." He gestures toward the beggar dismissively, his voice carrying the weight of entitlement. "It’s nothing of concern, truly."

The woman’s eyes meet his with a sharpness that makes his words falter, her expression unreadable as she glances from Antinous to the Beggar. before (Y/N) walked up to the Beggar, a soft smile began to appear on her lips.

"Hello Sir, you seem tired and restless, you seem like you haven't had a good rest for the past 20 years or so, would you like a place to rest for a while, I assure you, you'll be provided with food and fresh clothes, think of it as compensation from our unruly guest, please take some rest." (Y/N) offered gently, surprising the Beggar.

The Beggar stares at her for a long moment, his face a mixture of disbelief and cautious hope. He hesitates, glancing at the guards behind her and then back at the crowd. But there is something in her gaze—something genuine—that softens his hardened exterior.

"Food… fresh clothes?" He repeats, a small laugh escaping him, though it’s laced with uncertainty. "For a beggar like me? A man who’s seen nothing but the gutters and shadows for more years than I can count?" He looks down at himself, his clothes ragged and dirt-streaked.

He bows his head slightly as if humbled by her offer. "But... perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to rest for a moment. A bed… food… I’ve long since forgotten what it feels like."

He nods slowly, accepting the offer, though his eyes flicker to Antinous one last time, a small but defiant smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he steps forward to follow her.

"Thank you, my lady," he murmurs softly, as though the words themselves are foreign to him. "I will gladly accept your generosity."

"Right this way, Sir." (Y/N) leads the way, with the guards following them behind, barely paying any mind to the Suitors's leering eyes

“Forgive me, lady… but I’ve wandered these streets for years. I’ve heard no word of a princess on Ithaca. No news, no whispers, not a single mention of one among the suitors. You carry yourself as though you’re of noble blood, yet none of the townsfolk have spoken of a princess." the Beggar asked in curiosity as they began to walk down the halls near the servant quarters.

"Oh, I'm no Princess, Sir. I'm the Prince's bethrode" (Y/N) clears up the confusion with a wave of both her hands.

"The Prince’s betrothed?" He repeats, voice laced with disbelief. His eyes flicker to the men, now understanding why they’re watching her with such intent. But it still doesn’t quite add up in his mind. "I’m new to Ithaca, so forgive me, but… I’ve heard nothing about any betrothal, let alone the Prince being promised to anyone."

His voice drops slightly, almost to himself as he continues, trying to make sense of what’s happening around him.

"These suitors, they’ve been here for ages. They talk about the Queen’s hand, the one they’re all fighting for. But no word about a Prince, no whispers of his betrothed, nothing at all. It’s like they’re all focused on the wrong prize."

"And I wish to keep it that way." (Y/N) commented, as they reached one of the unoccupied servant's room.

"This is your room for now, I'll make sure someone brings you food, clean water, and fresh clothes" (Y/N) opens the door for him with a smile.

"You say you wish to keep things quiet, but I wonder..." He turns to face her, leaning against the doorframe of the room. "Is there danger in revealing who you truly are? Or perhaps the suitors are only a small part of this, aren’t they? There’s something else, something you're not telling me."

He gives a small, wry smile before continuing, his voice lowering as if speaking to himself. "I don’t mean to pry, but it feels like there’s a storm brewing here, and I’ve just walked into the middle of it." (Y/N) simply stares at him with a smile, but her eyes seem different.

His eyes soften, his voice gentler now as he adds, "But I’ll take what you’ve offered—food, clean clothes, rest. I won’t question your kindness. For now."

"It'll only take a while, take as much rest as you want." (Y/N) stated as The Beggar softly closed the door, and she turned to leave to look for a servant.

As (Y/N) walks down the hallway, leaving the beggar alone in the room, Antinous appears at the end of the corridor, leaning casually against the stone wall. His eyes lock on her the moment she walks by, and he pushes himself off the wall with a smirk, stepping into her path.

"Well, well, if it isn’t the lady herself," Antinous says smoothly, his tone laced with mock admiration. He takes a look around the palace hall as if inspecting the surroundings, then gestures broadly with a sweep of his hand. "You’ve really turned this place into an inn, haven’t you?" He chuckles, clearly amused by the thought.

"Beds for everyone, meals on demand... What’s next? A 'no questions asked' policy?" His eyes twinkle with mischief, though there’s an edge to his words that suggests his distaste for what’s happening. His gaze flickers back to where the Beggar is resting in the room she’d just shown him.

(Y/N) simply scoff "If the palace were an Inn, you'd be our no. 1 customer, the problem is, you don't even bother to pay your bill." (Y/N) taunted, looking at him mockingly.

Antinous’s smile falters for a moment, his eyes flashing with irritation, but he quickly recovers, giving a low chuckle as he crosses his arms over his chest. His posture remains relaxed, though there's a noticeable edge to his voice now.

"Ah, a sharp one, aren’t we?" He gives her a sideways glance, clearly amused by her response, but his tone still holds that familiar arrogance. "I suppose I’d be a loyal customer if the service were worth my time." He pauses, his eyes lingering on her body as the guards cross their spears over her, making (Y/N) raise her hand as they back down.

"And what makes you think you deserve those kinds of services?" (Y/N) asks, tilting her head.

"Deserve?" He echoes her word with a mock thoughtfulness, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Well, I don’t believe in the concept of deserve as much as I believe in taking what I want. And I want what I see. It’s as simple as that, (Y/N). You’re not as untouchable as you seem."

"And I don’t need to explain myself to anyone—especially not to someone playing pretend in a palace like this." His words are laced with a sharp edge, his confidence unshaken despite the guards presence. "You might be the prince’s betrothed, but that doesn’t mean you’re above everyone else here. You still have your role to play, just like the rest of us." He pauses for a moment, his voice lowering with a hint of something darker, something more possessive.

"You know," he begins, stepping a little closer, his eyes scanning her with a new, pointed intensity, "the thing about being a betrothed is that you need someone strong by your side. Someone who can really protect you." His lips curl into a sly grin, clearly aware of the implications of his words. "Not some... boy pretending to be a man."

"Especially when you’re as... fragile as you are," he adds with a mocking edge, his voice turning colder. "I mean, look at you—caught in a palace full of men who don’t even see you for what you are. It must be so... lonely, being with someone like the Prince. You need someone who sees your worth, who can show you what real power feels like."

His lips curl into a slow, almost predatory grin as if savoring every word.

"I can give you that, (Y/N). A man like me, not afraid to take what’s mine."

(Y/N) looks at him blankly, a cold stare in her eyes, before laughing, an extremely taunting laugh, akin to someone who's not afraid to...send a message.

"You truly believed all that act?!" (Y/N) laughs, heaving, as the guards look at her confused.

"Oh, but I couldn't blame you, my dearly beloved was so protective of me that day and I wouldn't have it any other way, I just love being doted by him day and night." (Y/N) sent him a smirk with her hands on her cheek.

"Something you can never do~."

"Really?" He drawls, clearly attempting to mask the sting of her words with feigned amusement. "So you think this is some kind of... sweet little game?" He looks her up and down, his gaze sharp as he tries to regain some control of the conversation. "I’d be more careful with your little prince’s doting, you know. Protective, you say? Sounds more like someone’s trapped in a gilded cage."

"Sure, you can love being doted on. But you know what they say about people who need constant reassurance..." His voice lowers, a hint of condescension creeping in as he steps closer, his eyes glinting with a dangerous satisfaction. "It’s not about strength—it’s about needing to be needed. And from what I can tell, your prince is happy to play the part. But let’s be real here, (Y/N). He’ll never be able to give you what you really need."

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice to a near whisper, but his words are as sharp as ever.

"And that’s something I can give you. Strength that doesn’t cower behind softness. Power that doesn’t rely on foolish ideals."

Antinous stands a little taller, his smirk widening at the tension he’s created.

"So go ahead, keep playing this little game with him," he finishes with a mocking laugh of his own, "but don’t be surprised when you realize—he’s nothing compared to the kind of man who can truly show you what it means to have control."

"I don't need control, all I need is Telemachus. and besides, why would I ever replace a Prince, to a man who couldn't provide his own food and shelter? ~." (Y/N) smirked at him, before leaving him in the middle of the hall to collect himself.

Antinous stands frozen for a moment, his smirk faltering as the weight of her words sinks in. He watches her walk away, and for a brief second, his usually unshakable confidence cracks. "Telemachus." The name lingers in the air like a bitter taste, and it’s clear that her declaration has hit him harder than he expected.

He stands there, his jaw tightening, fists clenched at his sides as he watches her retreat, a surge of frustration rising in his chest. He opens his mouth as if to say something—anything—but the words don't come. Instead, he stands in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by the heavy silence, trying to mask the feeling of being dismissed.

His eyes narrow as he watches her back, the smirk on his face replaced by something darker. The mention of Telemachus cuts deeper than he’d like to admit, and he realizes, with some bitterness, that (Y/N) isn't playing by the same rules he’s used to.

With a slow, deliberate exhale, Antinous turns away, his pride bruised, but the fire in his eyes burns just as brightly as before. As much as he wants to dismiss her as another game, a part of him knows this won’t be the last time their paths cross. And next time, he’ll be ready.

For now, though, he retreats to gather his thoughts, the tension of their exchange lingering in the air, his mind racing with all the ways he plans to make his mark.

"Mother, is it truly time?" (Y/N) asked, looking at Penelope in worry, as she held her husband's old bow.

"...I don't think I have any other choice, My dear," Penelope answered with tired weary eyes, as they walked out of the Queen's Quarters with the guards following them from protecting its doors, (Y/N) looking at her solemnly, taking her hand to give the Queen some comfort.

As they reached the Throne Room, The Suitors' chatter died down, as (Y/N) let go of his hand to let Queen Penelope present the bow, her challenge.

"This is the bow of Odysseus, King of Ithaca." Queen Penelope presented it, licking her lips, as she felt her mouth dry to the next words she was about to speak.

"The man who strings it and shoots an arrow, cleanly, through all 12 axes, shall take his place." Queen Penelope presented her challenge, as she placed the bow on a stone pedestal, for anyone who wants to try and complete her challenge.

The Suitors murmur among themselves, some impressed by the challenge while others scoff at it. After a moment of whispers and mutterings, each of the Suitors steps forth to try and string the bow. However, each one of them fails miserably, the bow remaining taut and unyielding in their hands.

As the Suitors fails the challenge, (Y/N) moves to Queen Penelope's side, taking her hand in a show of support. The Queen gives her a small, appreciative smile, touched by the gesture. The Hall is filled with the sounds of the Suitors mumbling and grumbling amongst themselves.

Nightfall came, many had tried but still unstrung the bow, as Queen Penelope and (Y/N) left for Queen Penelope's room.

"Are you sure you'll be alright alone, Mother?" (Y/N) asked in worry after escorting her with the guards.

"I'll be fine, Dear, get some rest as well, It's been a long day." Penelope sent her off with a caress on her cheek, before closing the door, but the three of them could hear her soft sobs, but none of them decided to comment on it.

"Let's go." (Y/N) softly tells her guards, as they begin descending the stairs, as (Y/N) takes the lead, Ioannis notices she's taking the wrong path.

"Lady (Y/N), this isn't the way to your room."

"Yes, yes. I know, I just want to check on them, It's quite hilarious to watch them fail." (Y/N) points out with a teasing smile, as all the guards could do is share a look.

as they reached the throne room, (Y/N) ordered them to wait by the door while she sneaked in to watch.

... a few minutes later, she slipped out of the door quickly, shaken.

"Lady (Y/N), What happ-"

"Keep our voices down, please." (Y/N) requested, calming herself down.

"Go to the Queen's Bedroom and guard the door right now and don't let anyone inside, I'll be there shortly, quickly!." (Y/N) orders as she runs off the opposite way from the guards.

The Guards stand by the Queen Room, unsure for what purpose, as they hear footsteps on the spiral stairs, they point their spears at the would-be intruder, before getting off their guard as they see (Y/N) on sight.

"Lady (Y/N), what's going on?" Panagiotis asked, confused while (Y/N) watched her breath.

"The Suitors, have grown impatient, they're planning to ransack the palace for all it's worth and force Penelope to choose by all means necessary." (Y/N) explains, panting, shocking the guards.

"I ask you both, are you willing to protect your Queen and me, from 108 hungry men?." (Y/N) asked, looking at them seriously, without a second thought, Ioannis pulled out a small dagger from his strap, giving the handle to her.

"Get inside." Ioannis tells her, while Panagiotis opens the door for her.

"Thank you, thank you both of you." (Y/N) Thank them both, before taking the dagger, rushing into Penelope's room, and began blocking the door.

"(Y/N), dear, what's going on?" Penelope asked, sitting up from her bed.

"The Suitors, they've grown impatient." (Y/N) explains, blocking the door as best she could.

"They've formed a takeover, they're going to ambush Telemachus at his return by the pier, they plan on forcing themselves on us, Mother." (Y/N) reveals, tears building up in her eyes.

Penelope’s eyes widened in shock, her heart sinking as she tried to process the gravity of (Y/N)'s words. She could hear the fear in her voice and immediately moved to comfort her.

"How... how do you know this, my dear?" Penelope asked, her voice trembling but steady, trying to keep calm for both of them.

(Y/N) wiped her eyes, taking a deep breath as she stood firm in front of the door, protecting her. "I overheard them, planning it out. They're going to strike before Telemachus can even reach the pier. They know he's the only one who can stop them."

Penelope nodded slowly, her thoughts racing. She had been through so much, but this—this was a new level of danger. She stood, moving toward (Y/N) with a quiet resolve.

"We must think, quickly. We cannot allow them to succeed," Penelope said, her voice hardening with determination. "If we have to, we will fight back. We won't let them take us."

"We only have two guards outside, but they won't be able to hold off 108 men, we also didn't have time to run away, the moment they formed the plan, they began spreading out." (Y/N) panted, leaning onto Penelope's arm.

"I would have thought you'd go after Telemachus, you must have the power for it." Penelope commented, rubbing her back.

"Every fiber of my being is begging to go to him, to warm him, but I know he can handle himself, and he would have wanted me to protect you, Mother." (Y/N) replied, a teary smile on her lips as Penelope appreciated her choice.

"Besides, I've already taken of them."

A group of Suitors began their plan to ambush Telemachus by the pier while laughing along the way like a pack of hyenas.

"Three of you! there! the rest form a formation, keep yourself hidden to not scare him off." their makeshift leader orders, making the rest of them grumble but follow, but their plans are all futile, as an unnatural wave washes over them, falling on all of them, but this wave is different, it doesn't let go of them, it deliberately pulled them into the water, into the sea, and finally, the depths of the ocean, where they are never heard off ever again.

[agathasfamiliar]

you better make me better (pt. 4)

agatha harkness x fem!reader (+ rio is here now)

A strange woman, who clearly shares a sorted history with Agatha, interrupts your moment together. Agatha asks for your help to deal with Death, and you're more than happy to oblige.

other parts: 1 2 3 4

word count: ~4800

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dehumanization/objectification, exhibitionism/voyeurism, fingering, "good girl" and "pet", tiny bit of degradation and praise, jealousy, mention of death, brief description of a corpse, smut

author's note: it has been a bit! sorry for the delay but i hope you enjoy this part and let me know if you'd like more. also thank you for all your help, you know who you are.

tag list: @lanfear-is-my-darkmistress

You’re still catching your breath, Agatha’s eyes making a meal of your every coy adjustment, when a sudden strident sound overwhelms your senses from all sides.

It’s akin to a ringing in your ears, but with a bassier root noise that vibrates your jaw in its sockets. The higher pitches seem to claw the inside of your brain causing every hair on your body that isn’t already at attention due to the chill in the air, to stand on end. Punishing blares somehow surround you while also feeling like they are coming from inside your skull, making it clear that this isn’t simply some terrible musical instrument foreign to your ears, but rather something of an otherworldly origin.

Confirmation that you’re not alone in this strange experience comes with Agatha’s head whipping to face the clearing behind her. Her long curls sting your cheek with the force that they slap against your face in the proximity, but you don’t mind. The scent of her hair meets your nose fully in the process and you inhale the biting of a citrus peel that teeters on bitterness, but remains mouthwatering, mixed with something deep and earthy like black tea leaves with a hint of peppercorn.

Another rush of wind disrupts your analysis as it carries the overpowering smell of juniper into your nostrils that causes you to chase after the retreating scent of the woman before you. Juniper, you find odd, as you hadn’t observed any such trees in your trek through these woods.

“Shit!” Agatha swears, eyes scrunching up as if suddenly remembering, upon arriving home from the market, that she’d forgotten to buy the milk she needed.

“What is it?” You ask worriedly, trying to draw the woman’s attention back to you, to no avail.

Rather than a proper answer, you instead see the feminine silhouette of a figure clad in a long black bombazine mourning dress, trimmed in a deep green shade. She steps from the treeline opposite the two of you, a long torch in hand that roils with bright green flame, casting harsh shadows against the delicate features of her face. 

Some preternatural awareness tells you that the ringing in your ears, which has only minorly subsided, as well as the new scent added to the already woody air, has come from her. A pit settles in your stomach as you scan black hair and dark eyes from a rapidly closing distance. You can’t put your finger on what about this seemingly innocent woman, witch rather, if her colorful flame and entrance “music” was any indication to go by, is sending such bolts of doom into the core of you with a single glance. 

A glance from you, that is, as this woman, in all her approaching, has not spared a flicker of her vision for anything but the one that still brackets you against the tree.

Just as the awareness of Agatha’s maintaining hold crosses your mind, she is releasing you, instead turning to face the other witch head on, as she now only stands feet from you both. You glower to yourself at the loss of contact for a split second before Agatha’s hand comes up to hold your left hip in place, as if making sure you stay behind her. The small gesture of protectiveness sends a thrill through you as well as worry at the prospect of what could possibly cause Agatha Harkness to show any measure of fear.

“Agatha,” the green clad woman speaks her name like a blessing and a curse.

“Fancy seeing you here. Not like you to stick around at the scene of the crime…anymore, that is.” The black haired woman says like the two are sharing a secret you are definitely not privy to. 

Though you can’t see Agatha’s face, you can feel the slight twitch of her fingers against your hip at the final phrase before she speaks back.

“Seems I lost track of time, you know how that is.” She returns in a ridiculing tone you’d watched her use with your coven, though now with a more personal intent that stabs the words into the air.

The woman holding the torch nearly pouts at the response, completely nonplussed by whatever secret message is being communicated.

“Shame, here I was thinking you wanted to have a bit of fun.” The stranger replies teasingly, such that you feel both a twinge of jealousy in your gut and utter fascination at the history between the two witches.

“Ha! Actually, we’ve already had quite a lot of fun.” Agatha retorts with a laugh, the hand not holding you gesturing playfully over her shoulder to where you stand. You flush with pride at what borders close enough to praise, as well as the thought of her using you as some sort of brag to this woman she clearly has some significant past with.

Your mouth runs dry as you move your eyes from where they have been fixed at Agatha’s back to gaze at the woman whose name you still haven’t caught up close. She’s looking over you like she truly hadn’t even noticed there was a third living person in the general vicinity, though you find that hard to believe.

Her eyes case you in an instant, running over every visible inch and lingering for a moment over what you know is an already forming bruise that sits in the dip of your right collarbone from Agatha’s earlier exploration. The spot almost burns at the attention and you wonder if it’s just in your head or truly some magical product of the other woman’s glare. In all her searching though, deep brown pools never lock to yours. Not in a shy or anxious way, but rather in the way one might not think to look into the eyes of an animal, feeling no need to address it as conscious. 

With every near pass of her gaze to yours, your heart pumps faster in your chest and you’re not entirely sure why. Part of you wants desperately for this woman you don’t even know, to acknowledge your personhood, while another loathes the potential loss of the tension forming around her continued neglect. 

“What is this?” The woman asks, clearly referring to you, but looking to Agatha as she starts to further close the already small distance. Her eyes, which you haven’t been able to look away from, blaze slightly and nostrils flare in resentment as she does. 

“Not of your concern. She’s alive.” Agatha fires back pointedly and the statement causes you to internally quirk an eyebrow, trying to deduce the exact implication in it. She gives a half step to her left in order to guard you more fully from the other woman’s advance. 

This doesn’t seem to deter the darkly dressed witch at all as she steps up to Agatha and peers over the shorter woman’s shoulder to get a better look at you, her face now only inches from yours. A tickle spreads along your hairline and cheek where she scans your features, though she does not touch you. One hand remains at her side while the other extends behind her to keep the flamed torch at bay.

“Hm,” she starts thoughtfully, “it’s pretty.” The sweet word takes the shape of an insult in her mouth.

“Don’t you have a job you’re supposed to be doing?” Agatha asks accusatory, once again causing your mind to run wild chasing after its meaning.

“Can’t shirk your duties now.” She continues, the words being spit out like poison in her mouth.

The final word is heavy as lead and files itself away in your head as a possible piece in the boundless puzzle that is the dynamic between these two women. Two dark eyebrows lace together for a split second in what looks like a hurt expression on the stranger's face before she schools her features back to that of contempt and shifts to her heels to meet Agatha’s gaze again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Especially after you’ve left such a gracious offering.” She replies with a wink and a wicked smile that you feel causes Agatha to tense even more in response to.

An offering, you wonder to yourself, images of altar gifts and tithe collections spring to your mind along with the memory from minutes ago of that purple halo surrounding Agatha’s head. You’re unsure how long you’re lost in thought, but before you know it the odd woman is stepping away from the two of you and approaching the splayed, grey-ish corpse of your coven leader at a casual stroll.

“What’s she-” Your question is cut off by Agatha’s interjection and another squeeze to your hip, still not having turned from her position facing away from you.

“Quiet, pet. You’ll see.” She responds in a tone that is half harsh and half very far away, gaze following the black-haired woman’s movements as she stoops down to the face of your former superior and traces the sharp, black nails of her free hand along the side of her hollow cheek, lazily.

From this angle, you can no longer see the faces of your coven leader or the one who leans down to touch her, but your breath seizes in your throat as a stirring starts to come from the body that has been lying still and lifeless for some time now.

Her crooked limbs twitch and spring to life as though waking from a fitful dream; it’s all you can do not to let out a yelp of fear at the apparent resurrection. Agatha’s nails digging into your hip are no longer enough to ground you to the situation, and before you can decide otherwise you are wrapping your arms around her waist from behind and burying your face into her left shoulder blade to shield you from the horrible sight.

A grateful calm washes over you when the witch doesn’t push you away and even relaxes marginally into your embrace, especially after her previous chiding. The irony isn’t lost on you that this image is somehow more frightening than that of all the bodies of those you’d known most of your life dropping motionless to the grass not too long prior. 

It isn’t until the previously diminished oppressive sound creeps back into your senses that you’re able to tear your eyes back open and peer over Agatha’s shoulder at the view before you again. The reverberating noise that rattles your skull and presses on your eardrums blocks out the details of the conversation that is clearly being had between the two witches who now stand several yards away. Even from this distance you can see your coven leader’s face has been returned to its former health and fullness. She doesn’t seem to notice you, despite you standing in her direct eyeline. 

All of this feels suddenly surreal again, as if you’re moments from waking from a dream due to your realizing its falsehood. That is until your eyes travel down the bodies of the pair to the ground below, where you see the clear image of your coven leader’s form still drained and stiff in the same position you’d remembered her in.

Your breath starts to come quicker as your eyes flick rapidly between the version talking to the darkly dressed woman and the one with sallow, sunken features unmoving in its permanent rest. Panic starts to well up within you and stinging tears brim at your eyes in your confusion, that growing sound turning from a droning to a screeching in your ears that you would claw at if you thought it might help. The burn you feel growing across your brain might very well be your neurons firing in succession to try to make sense of what it is you are looking at.

The answer doesn’t snap into place until a darkened doorway appears between two trees at the wave of the strange woman’s hand, spilling fog the color of jade onto the ground in front of it. She sends one last glance over to Agatha before stepping through it after the retreating lively version of the inexplicably dead woman who once led you and your fellow witches. 

Your panicked breaths cease completely at the reveal of the sudden change in her visage as she turns. What was just moments ago the elegant, if slightly languished features of a woman have now been replaced by a shadowy and vacant skeletal structure; bone white brow and cheekbones protrude over exposed teeth and a jaw that fixes her expression into an unrelenting mockery of a grin that strikes the identity of the formerly nameless woman into your heart.

The ringing in your ears reaches a fervor that seems will not let up until you admit what it is you now know to be true. The words leave you without your express permission, but as if breathing and releasing them are cosmically tied actions.

“She is Death.”

“Yes, very good.” Agatha responds, louder now that Death and the ghostly figure have vanished into the summoned portal, or perhaps it just seems that way with the sudden pause in the ambient noises that seem to follow the primordial being. 

The way she draws out the vowel on the confirmation brings a condescending tone to the perceived praise at your deduction skills, as if she’d been waiting impatiently for you to put two and two together. This interaction feels completely divorced from before, when she’d lit up at your realization of what she wanted, your pleading. It takes the wind out of your sails momentarily as you cast your eyes down to the dirt in shame.

“Oh, come on, don’t pout. It doesn’t look good on you.” She twists in your grasp before placing a hand on either side of your cheeks to roughly raise your face back to look at hers. You reluctantly meet her eyes and find them still slightly put-upon, but more satisfied with your following of instructions. They search you with a consideration, as if weighing her options. 

“You want to help me with something?” She asks, almost patronizingly in the way she clearly already knows the answer. You would feel shame if it weren’t overridden by just how much you do want to be useful to her. You nod, measured and desperate, and the smile she gives you melts away your fears and is well worth whatever it is she’s going to demand.

“Good girl.” She admires, hands supporting the weight of you melting into them at the title. Maybe, you think, you can endure the bite of her admonishments for how much sweeter they make the taste of her following commendations.

Her hands release your head once you’ve gained your composure back enough to return to an upright posture. Luckily, there’s not even enough time for you to mourn the loss before they have grazed down your sides and are maneuvering you around by the waist.

Agatha silently walks you the few paces back over to the center of the clearing where you had shared your first kiss such a short time ago. The determination on her face is fascinating but you think better than to ask her too many questions, especially after her response to the latest one. 

You stand with your arms awkwardly at your sides, letting her shift you a step to the left or right, a glance over your shoulder allowing you to deduce that she’s trying to find the perfect angle directly in view of the still-swirling doorway that Death has left behind. The witch hums in delight when she’s found the perfect spot for you; you bite your tongue in favor of mentioning that you’re almost certain this is the spot you started in. 

“Perfect!” She declares, clapping once to seemingly applaud her own curious work. 

“Now, lay down.” 

“What?” Your mouth asks before your brain can remember to nix any questions. 

Jumping into action before she can answer, or more likely scold you for the inquiry, you drop to the soft grass and fan your skirt around you to cover your legs from the chill of the blades swiping along them. You try to maneuver your hair to do the same, but the poking sod snakes its way along your neck and face and you already feel somewhat itchy. You push the need to fidget away and focus every thought on being still, being good.

Agatha watches you get comfortable with a smug sort of grin and you can tell the pieces of whatever plan she has brewed up are coming together.

You admire her for a moment from your worm's-eye view. The contrasting light cast by the starry night and sickly green magical fog strikingly paint her already stunning features and that fear you’d noticed at Death’s arrival has somewhat quelled with the giddiness in her at this mysterious plan. You’re happy for it, even if you have no idea what to expect next. 

She must catch your trailing stare that now dances shamelessly along the taut column of her neck, because the toe of her right shoe starts to playfully ghosts along your ankle to shift your legs further apart and ride up the hem of your dress just slightly. It’s an innocent enough action, but so soon after the previous events of the evening makes it enough to send shockwaves through your core in anticipation. It does little to tamp down the improper thoughts that the image of her long, exposed neck have already started brewing as well.

Your eyes drag up to Agatha’s face in delighted curiosity, only to find her staring off into the portal. It’s almost as if she hasn’t even noticed her own toying movement against your leg. 

She looks like she’s waiting for something, and you’re about to ask her what it is when your train of thought is cut off by action behind and in front of you. 

Having thought her request for help would involve some sort of ritual or spell, you’d been silently mourning the more pleasant section of the evening that seemingly came to an end with the arrival of the lady of Death. However, when said umbra-clad woman finally steps back into view through the magical vessel just ten feet from your head and Agatha drops to her knees between your spread legs at the arrival, you know it has only just begun. 

The facial expression upon the returning woman’s face, whether it’s surprised or even there at all, is lost to you as your gaze is locked on the one kneeling between your legs and the way that the cloth covering you ripples as her cool, searching hands crawl up your body from beneath it. The chill of her fingers causes you to inhale sharply through gritted teeth, your lower half still damp with sweat and furnace-hot from your earlier activities. Your eyes flick between Agatha’s face and her moving hands in delighted confusion, whatever she is doing now at least taking the shape of something you desire. 

Perhaps, you think, you do hear the faintest intake of breath from behind you at the obvious bulge in the fabric as Agatha’s left hand briefly hovers just over where you want her most, and it’s the only sign of this display having any effect on your newfound company until she speaks. It won’t dawn on you until much later that Death herself taking a breath is probably about as shocked of a reaction as they come. 

“Agatha.” Death uses her name now as a warning, as if cautioning a child from playing a cruel trick. 

Does that make you the trick? 

The thought of it should, you know, breed a certain amount of indignity in your heart. The way Agatha’s looking at you, however, like you’re just the suit she needed to pull in a high-stakes game of cards, causes any humiliation you’d have about the scenario to evaporate. While she may be using you, she's using you.

“Rio…” Agatha’s mocking return of the woman’s name trails off, so pointedly not looking at your only other living company, if you can call her that. Instead, her eyes rake over your body as your muscles tense and roll against both her hands that finally settle to grip your bare hips beneath your clothing. Her strong fingers work to still the slight rocking against nothing that you hadn’t even realized you’d started doing.

Rio, you think. At learning what you assume is the more human name used by the entity, you can’t help but turn over your shoulder to finally take her in once again with your new knowledge in mind. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief at the confirmation that you’re not being met with exposed bone, but a very human face looking on to the scene before her in intrigue mixed with simmering fury. 

The fact that she still actively avoids meeting your eye as you lay before her makes you run both hot and cold at once. She surveys you like one might regard a piece of furniture in a room and her gaze only reaches as far as your exposed, flushed neck before making a path right back down your supine form. It’s a level of supposed disinterest that can only be achieved through truthfully great curiosity.

“You don’t w-” You hear the beginning of Rio’s continued attempts at reasoning but they are lost to the sound of your own loud gasp that tears from you unexpectedly. 

Before you know it, there are two fingers buried in your wet heat for the second time tonight, the remnants of your first orgasm still enough to allow little resistance for Agatha’s reentry. You hadn’t even noticed her left hand leave your hip in your contemplation over the spectator in your midst, giving you no time to brace for the intrusion or try to stifle the loud noise that came of it. 

Her fingers don’t let up as they set a slow, but deep, curling pace that has you making a concerted effort not to instantly start writhing on the ground beneath you. A hot blush fills your cheeks when you find Agatha grinning at you as her hands work you over, your brows knit up and teeth sink into your bottom lip in your effort to keep some semblance of your composure. 

Of course you’d realized some aspect of Agatha’s intentions moments ago, but the actual experience of having her buried up to the last knuckle inside you as a near perfect stranger watched on, was something else entirely. Especially when that stranger was Death herself. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Agatha cheerily asks Rio, finally turning to meet her eyes as if she is simply knitting a sweater and not dragging you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy with every thrust of her hand. 

“Couldn’t hear you over the…” The casual chuckle in her voice and the way she raises her eyebrows once in emphasis as if to say ‘you know’ almost makes you want to laugh right along with her in your delirious state, having gone from quiet contemplation to whimpering mess in mere moments.

“Oh, my mistake! Should I talk louder!?” Rio replies, much louder now and with a naked anger in her voice.

Agatha’s pace quickens right along with the volume of the other woman’s exclamation, slamming that spot inside you in such rapid succession that you can’t help but let out another loud moan that trails on longer than you intend. This only seems to delight the woman fucking you all the more.

“That was a bit too much, honey!” Agatha fires back amusedly, matching Rio’s theatrical shouting. For a moment you think she’s referring to your moans and you flush with embarrassment before realizing her true intent.

Something about watching the two of them argue, both with focus locked on the other so intently that Agatha’s ministrations between your legs are the only indication that either of them even know you’re there, has somehow brought you hurtling towards climax much faster than before. She isn’t even touching your clit, but that doesn’t seem to matter at the moment. A little bit more of this and you’ll be gone.

The thought of coming apart around Agatha’s fingers like this, while she might not even notice it’s happening, somehow strikes both a feeling of dread and carnality through every inch of you. 

“Oh, you think?” The woman standing just a few yards behind you questions with irritation that now meets your ears with an undeniable elation laced within it. This is thrilling Death. 

You rock your hips even harder at the thought, partially involuntarily and partially to try to signal to the otherwise engrossed women that you’re moments from release. You’re torn at the concept of interrupting the display, canines digging so deeply into your lip to stifle your moans that you taste iron on your tongue. 

Agatha’s earlier teaching also springs to the front of your mind, but you can’t muster any “please”s at the moment. In fact, you’d rather drag this out longer than beg for more. The dark haired witch driving into you clearly has other plans, though, ones that involve her yanking you down even harder onto her fingers by your right hip all while she continues looking past you and maintaining her conversation. 

Your eyes roll and your head drops back at the somehow redoubled pleasure coursing through you. You can’t even moan now, mouth open in a silent scream. If this isn’t Agatha giving you the signal of her permission then you’re not sure of anything anymore.

“Yeah, I do.” She says with a sarcastic pitying tone and nod of the head.

The way she drags in and out of you, her rhythm and angle never faltering in her performed passivity, feels almost too good. The growing pressure below your belly is going to snap at any second. As much as you want to hold onto this deliciously sinful feeling for a while longer, with Agatha’s permission granted and your body screaming at you for its much needed release, you give yourself over to its whims.

“Better than not enough.” Rio bites back in a way that you know is meant to strike you, despite your back being to the woman. 

And it does, a spike of shame lances your heart in the exact same moment that you utterly come undone. If your first orgasm crashed over you, this one tears out of you. You can do nothing else but let the warm liquid that gushes from you to coat Agatha’s waiting hand as you release a string of guttural groans and high pitched gasps of pleasure, as well as embarrassment, that mingle in your brain to create an intoxicating concoction. 

Agatha’s fingers don’t cease for several more seconds, aftershocks causing your hips to jump and force her even further into you for a moment. You start squirming at the overwhelming sensation, words failing you as you bat her hand weakly. She stops her movements, but leaves the digits within you for the time being as you come down.

This is not an out of body experience like before, but a thoroughly grounded one. You feel a heaviness of satiation in every limb like gravity has suddenly become stronger around you and you figure if you weren’t already laying down you would’ve collapsed by now in pure fulfillment.

“See, it’s done already. Shame.” Death tuts dismissively down at you, eyes floating somewhere around your middle.

“Don’t worry, Agatha. I’ll just get finished up here and we can have some real fun.” She continues.

Agatha laughs darkly at that, but even you can hear the thread of longing within that threatens to rear its head.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. You go ahead and do your “work”, we’ll manage just fine.” Agatha starts, releasing your hip to make air quotes with her right hand while the other remains inside you.

At Rio’s assumption of your inadequacy and Agatha’s signal for more, you find a renewed vigor throughout your body and push up on your elbows into a more upright position.

“Please.” You plead in the most desperate voice you can muster, and you know from the look on Agatha’s face that you’ve done the right thing. 

Just out of the corner of your eye you can see Rio, who must’ve taken a few paces forward in the time you were otherwise occupied with your waves of euphoria, as her eyes flare at your word and Agatha’s gleeful reaction to it. She turns pointedly away and starts towards one of the other five bodies. 

It sends a chill down your spine, that in this moment, Death is jealous of you.

[fuk3d]

A Moment In Time

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (?)

Warning: Murder, Descriptions of blood, Major character death.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Hey everyone. I really appreciate the support you guys gave on my last post, it was really overwhelming for me even though it might not seem a lot to most lol.

Chapter 1: Happy Birthday | Chapter 2: Distant Memories

Blood. 

Its smell is tang and metallic. Its colour is dangerous, fervent with connections of power, hatred, anger, and… death. 

Blood.

A fickle thing it is. In the way it stains, no matter the material. It stays, even when you try to get rid of it. But you already knew that didn’t you, [Name]?

“[Name] you must stay quiet, no matter what you hear and what you see, stay right here, please baby. Mama loves you” Your mother would say to you, the last thing she would ever say to you actually as she shoves you into the closet, shutting it with a harsh push before hurriedly walking away. Away from you. 

‘Don’t leave me’ you thought. 

Your small form had curled into itself in the dainty closet, small tremors compelling your whole body to quiver and shake. You were just a child back then, hiding away from the sounds of glass shattering, minute fragments of it scattering onto the hard-wood floors. Furniture could be heard crashing against the walls, multiple gruff voices penetrating through the sanctuary your mother had called your ‘safe space’. The sounds of her broken voice breaks through the closet barriers whilst she fights viciously, for the both of you. Still, all you could think about in that very moment was- 

When is mama coming back? How long has it been? Are they still here? Are they gonna hurt me too? Like how they’re hurting mama?

Your body couldn’t handle the stress, streams of whimpers and curt gasps escaping from your lips. You didn’t even know you were beginning to hyperventilate, your eyes blurred by the oval tears that had begun to collect. You couldn’t stop feeling, couldn’t stop hearing the sounds of struggling. You can’t breathe, can’t see, you can’t even hear what’s going outside beyond the closet. All you knew in that split second was that you needed to get out, smell the clean air before you went insane. 

And peculiar, how fate works in its twisted ways; it's almost like it could hear you, begging for a somewhat momentary release. The noise had died down, and everything had suddenly just come to a…. Stop.

Silence.  

No more were the sounds of screaming, yelling, and crying. Now, it was just you. 

You remember that night so clearly, every detail drilled through your head in a never-ending loop. 

And so, with much hesitation, you step out of the closet. Eye’s locked onto the horrific sight that had been laid in front of you. There lies your mother in a pool of her own blood, her eyes, like polished globes appeared lifeless, dead. You take a step, and then another one, then another, until you're standing in front of her. 

“Mama?” Your lips wobbled, legs buckling under the realisation that she was dead. You drop to your knees with a hard ‘thud!’, pain coursing through your little knees. Red starts to stain your clothing as the colour envelopes your tiny hands. Fluorescent red and blue gleam through the apartment. 

“Mama! Mama, wake up! The police are here, can you hear them? They’re coming to save you so you can stop pretending!!” You yell at her, attempting to pull at your mothers hand. Only to reel back from shock at how cold she felt. “Mama, why’re you so cold?” You put your soft hands on her own, feeling tears before it even registers in your mind that you’re crying. The transparent liquid sliding down your puffy cheeks, dripping at your chin before trickling onto the floorboards.   

The noises of your grieving reverberate off the worn down walls, the shuffling of heavy footsteps can be heard but you ignore it, too engrossed in your own mourning. When the police arrive at the designated area that you were in, they’re stunned by the sight. In the middle of all the broken glass and shattered furniture, was you and your mother.

You’re hastily carried away from her, a sick and uneasy feeling growing within your stomach when you see people gather her body and shove her into a body bag. 

What happens next is hazy. You fuzzily recall arriving at the police station and taken in immediately for questioning. They had asked if you knew who your dad was, to which you shook your head ‘no’, shaken by the awful tragedy that took place tonight. You think back to the two officers chatting to each other, just outside the room you were situated in. “Said they don’t know who their father is, poor thing. Must’ve been hard not having a dad.” A resounding slap could be heard as the officer scolds his friend with a coarse tone, “Keep your voice down will ya? You dickbag, they can hear us.” You remember their voices becoming distant, soft mutters of  ‘Alright! Alright!’  became nothing but background noise. 

After that, the police got you cleaned up before taking you down to a hospital lab, the people there extracting a sample of your DNA and swiftly sending it off for a paternity test. While they tossed you into an orphanage for a temporary stay. That's the system for you.  

It had been 6 weeks after that night, and during your abode at the orphanage, you had become entirely numb, both physically and mentally. You didn’t even attempt to make friends, too wrapped up within your own head about that night, about what went down. You completely shut down and refrained from opening up until one of the caregivers gave you a letter addressed to you. A black wax seal with a big, fancy W was engraved into. Curiosity akin to a cat, you unfurled the envelope, eyes lighting up with excitement when you realise that your father was Bruce Wayne. After all the traumatic shit you had gone through, you deserved to distract yourself from all the bad memories that had been plaguing you. 

Three days. 

 In three days, your dad (a word so foreign to you) will be taking you to your new home, where you’re safe, where you can sleep without any fear. 

Three days. 

Time seemed to feel prolonged, and it made you tense. You were so conscious of how skittish you had become over the course of three days. You just couldn’t sleep properly, couldn’t sit still at the thought of finally meeting Bruce Wayne, the man who was your father.

So, when the three day wait was up, you were dressed in your best attire (with what little clothes you own) and hurriedly made your way to the front of the orphanage, your cute suitcase in hand as a monochromatic  vehicle pulled up. You were basically jumping out of your shoes when you heard the car door open, only to realise that it wasn’t a man who looked to be your father. Actually, it was an elderly gentleman dressed in butler attire, with balding grey hair and a pale complexion. Huh, how disappointing.

You couldn’t help but frown, struggling to mask the disdain as he stepped towards you with an air of confidence. “You must be the child Bruce was talking about.” Huh? Why did he say it like that? Where was your dad? “My name is Alfred, I am your family butler.” 

Your lips stretched down into an impossibly deeper frown. “Okay… but, where’s my dad?” You questioned, awaiting his answer as Alfred cleared his throat. “Your father is… busy as of right now. He’s attending to matters regarding work. I hope you forgive him for his improper timing Young [Name].” Alfred dips his head, mimicking something similar to a bow while you poorly nodded at your family butler– Alfred. You stay silent as you step inside the car, Alfred shuts the door while he gets into the driver seat, the car's engine roaring thunderously as it shakes the vehicle. 

You look out the window, eyes reflecting off the glass whilst the people and buildings blend in together. Gotham was such a dull place, monochrome colours mixing into each other. It was the only region that was able to turn its own people into vile, foul, and disgusting human beings disguised in sheep's clothing. It was the only region that could turn its people into villains and monsters. And it certainly had a habit of making the people with the most potential suffer a fate worse than death. Just like you. 

Why didn’t my dad pick me up instead? What was so important that he couldn’t even meet me himself? What’s going to happen to m-

No. You shouldn’t think like that, you wouldn’t think like that. You’re sure it was just an accident, a slip up, a one time thing right? It doesn’t matter, as long as he’s your dad and as long as he cares right?

‘Right’ you affirm to yourself. Your confidence comes back, you're excited once again. 

If I can’t meet him at the orphanage, I can just meet him at my new home, right?

You really couldn’t wait. You couldn’t wait to meet your new family and you couldn’t wait to see your new home. 

“We’ve arrived Young [Name].”

@strwberryglass

End Note: Okay so I was contemplating if I should continue this further because I didn't want to start a piece of writing just to lose the motivation or interest. I want to do this for myself and not for the sake of writing for others (no offence). Anyway, thank you for reading!

Also, updates are going to be pretty slow since I'm starting school next week! So please hold on until then :)

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

Eddie's reaction to the new alt girl when the ne t time he sees her she's not wearing a bra and can see her nipple piercings through her shirt?

I'm totally obsessed with eddie finally getting the attention he deserves and someone not being shy about it. Like maybe instead of the next day they accidently meet up when she shows up at the garage that corroded coffin is practicing in. Like maybe she was passing by and heard them only to see eddie and immediately become interested and more flirting and teasing eddie ensues, but this time in front of his friends? NSFW if you're OK with it?

ok. I don't know if you are the same person that sent the first request for alt girl. but even if you're not, I've decided to link it up, so this is a part 2. I don't know what you meant by 'the next day' so I'm making it the next day from when the last fic was based in. I hope that's ok.

I'M THE ONE WHO SHOULD BE HONOURED

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Alt!girl Summary: you find Eddie along your adventure through town Warnings: 18+ i wouldn't say this is SMUT but there is allusions of it. mention of nipple piercings, making out, humping/grinding, nipple play.

Part 1 Here!

☠︎︎⋆♱✮♱⋆☠︎︎

☠︎︎⋆♱✮♱⋆☠︎︎

You walked around town, through neighbourhoods and hidden roads, trying to familiarize yourself with your new home that you would most likely stay at for 2 years MAX.

You hadn't seen Eddie, which, if you were going to be honest, kind of upset you.

You had woken up and peered out your window to see the van outside gone and it completely ruined your day.

You were hoping to take him up on the offer of last night, but he might have been too high to remember he even said it, or that he met you.

Something flew in your eye, causing you to wince and you itch it, trying not to mess up your eyeliner as you stopped walking.

Your Walkman finishing the song and you were too focused to rewind it and play the album over again as you rubbed your eye gently.

The silence in the air caused you to hear the faint sound music being played down the street.

The faint music tugged at your curiosity, and you turned toward the sound, following it down the quiet street. It was rough, loud, and unmistakably live- drums, guitar, and a bassline that rattled in your chest. It wasn’t some polished radio track; it was raw, chaotic, and passionate. Your kind of music.

The closer you got, the more the sounds sharpened, and you realized it wasn’t coming from someone’s stereo. It was coming from a garage. You rounded the corner, and there it was-

A slightly beaten-up garage with the door rolled up, spilling the noise out onto the street. You recognized Eddie’s van parked haphazardly out front and felt a rush of excitement flood through you.

Inside, you could see him-

His hair wild as he thrashed his head to the beat, fingers flying over his guitar. There was a small group inside:

A drummer pounding out an aggressive rhythm, a bassist bobbing along, and another guy on an electric guitar, but his noise being swallowed by Eddie's shredding, stealing stole the show just for you, commanding attention even in the chaos.

You recognise his guitar from last night- his sweetheart, he called it. and she definitely was beautiful, red and black splotched hitting the sunlight.

He was so rough with her though; it made you wonder if he'd be rough on you too.

You paused at the edge of the driveway, your boots crunching on the gravel, and crossed your arms, watching him. The tank top he wore clung to him, the dark gray fabric making him look so pale compared to the other boys, and his tight jeans hugged his legs so perfectly.

So incredibly tight that you didn't even need to be right next to him to see that he's a show-er.

You smirked, stepping closer, your confidence blooming again. “Well, well, if it isn’t Eddie Munson,” you called out, just loud enough to cut through the noise.

The music stumbled, the drummer missing a beat as all eyes turned to you.

Eddie’s head snapped up before looking down, before doing a double take and looking away again before noticing it was you and he looked up again, his eyes locking onto yours, and you caught the flicker of surprise in his expression. His hands faltered for a moment on the guitar, but he quickly recovered.

“New girl!” he shouted over the dying music, his voice cracking just a little as he scrambled to pull the guitar strap off his shoulder. “Uh- what are you doing here?”

“I was just walking by, heard the music,” you said casually, stepping into the garage. “Figured I’d see if it was worth sticking around for. turns out I was right” you winked, your eyes raking over his body.

His friends exchanged glances, one of them, a tall guy with a mop of curls- snickering. Eddie shot him a warning look before turning his attention back to you, his nervousness palpable.

“Uh, yeah, we’re just, y’know, practicing.” he swallowed thickly, a little embarrassed you've found him.

You leaned against the doorframe, your smirk growing as your eyes flitted around the garage. “Practicing for what, exactly? Battle of the Bands?”

“Something like that,” Eddie said, running a hand through his hair. He glanced down, then quickly looked away, his jaw tightening as he noticed your outfit- or lack of certain pieces of it.

You’d ditched the bra today, and the thin fabric of your shirt left little to the imagination. The faint outline of your piercings was visible, and you caught the way Eddie’s gaze lingered for just a second too long before darting away.

“What’s the matter, Munson?” you teased, tilting your head.

He cleared his throat, trying to act cool before his friends came up behind him as Eddie's eyes lowered to your chest again.

The rest of the band followed his gaze, their playing coming to an awkward halt. Jeff was the first to speak, raising an eyebrow. “Uh, Eddie? You gonna introduce us to…?”

Gareth leaned on his drumsticks, grinning. “Yeah, man, who’s your friend?”

Eddie’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “She’s- uh...she’s just-”

“-Just the new girl,” you cut in smoothly, stepping further into the garage. You flashed a teasing smile at Eddie’s friends. “Moved in across the way from this one.”

Jeff’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you live across from Eddie, and he didn’t tell us? That’s new.”

“Really new,” Gareth chimed in, smirking. “And you’re hanging out with him already? What, are you his secret girlfriend or something?”

Eddie choked, nearly dropping his guitar. “What?! No! She’s not- she’s just..she’s not-”

You tilted your head, your grin widening as you looked at him. “Aw, secret girlfriend? I wish.”

Eddie froze, his face burning so red you half-expected steam to come out of his ears. “You’re-she’s joking,” he sputtered, glancing wildly between you and the guys. “She’s joking. Right?”

The guys burst out laughing, clearly enjoying his discomfort. Jeff nudged Gareth. “Man, he’s never been this flustered. You’re breaking him, new girl.”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “I’m just being honest. But hey, if it’s too much for you, Munson, I can leave.”

“No!” Eddie blurted, then immediately cringed at how desperate he sounded. “I mean-no, it’s fine. You can stay.. If you want.”

You raised an eyebrow, your grin softening into something a little more genuine. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

Jeff leaned on his bass, watching Eddie squirm with a shit-eating grin. “Alright, Munson, since when do you get visitors? And hot ones, at that.”

“Okay, can we just play already?” Eddie snapped, gripping his guitar like it was the only thing grounding him to reality.

You plopped down on the battered couch in the corner, crossing your legs and getting comfortable. “Don’t mind me, boys. Pretend I’m not even here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gareth said, clearly holding back a laugh as he adjusted his drumsticks.

Eddie shot you a look, equal parts exasperated and embarrassed, before turning his focus back to the guitar. You didn’t miss the way his hands trembled slightly as he started the next song, nor the way his eyes kept flicking toward you.

You bit back a smile, settling in. This was going to be fun.

☠︎︎⋆♱✮♱⋆☠︎︎

An hour and a half later you were slumped on the couch, an almost empty can of terrible beer in your hand as you watched them pack up.

Eddie brought his guitar back to his van and his friends really took the chance to look at you without being glared at by the older teen.

"d-did you like it?" one of them- Jeff? asked, taking his guitar off his shoulder and hanging it on the wall.

"yeah, you guys were great" you nodded, lying through your teeth.

You had heard Eddie all the way from your trailer some nights shredding his guitar and he sounded awesome..but.. you think he should stick to being solo because together... it just sounds a bit messy- and not the metal kind of messy.

But if Eddie liked it, then you liked it, you loved it.

"what's going on?" Eddie came back, hands on his hips as he walked up the driveway once more to grab his amp

"new girl was just telling us she liked our music" Gareth said, getting up from his stool

"oh yeah?" Eddie frowned, looking over at you.

The sweat on his forehead caused his bangs to stick to his skin, but you could still see the thin layer of stickiness covering his neck and arms.

It was so hot out, which is probably why you rolled up your already short skit up halfway through the show.

It totally wasn't so Eddie got a better view- which he totally did and loved

He sighed, turning to you, nervously running a hand through his hair. His usual bravado was slipping, and he couldn’t help but feel like he was making a fool of himself in front of you. You were so effortlessly cool, so confident, and Eddie? Well, he was just trying to hold it together.

“You need a ride?” he asked, his voice a little rougher than usual, as though he was still processing everything that had just happened. “I, uh, can drop you off, if you want- seen as we're going to same place- if you're even going home?!”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the side of the couch. “Sure, I guess that sounds good. Don’t wanna walk all the way back, y’know?”

He nodded, biting back a grin at the way you’d teased him earlier. He was still reeling from it. You’d definitely gotten under his skin.

You said bye to his friends and rushed over to Eddie as he brought his amp to the back of his van and shutting it forcefully.

As you climbed into the van, Eddie quickly got behind the wheel, starting the engine, the sound of the van's rumbling filling the silence. He kept his eyes straight ahead, focusing on the road, trying to keep it cool, but it was hard when you were sitting next to him, looking like you just stepped out of a dream.

Eddie caught a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision. You were leaning back in your seat, your shirt clinging just right to your figure. There was no denying it, he couldn’t stop himself from noticing. The way your body moved, the subtle flash of silver through your shirt as the dim lights outside flickered... Yeah, that was definitely distracting.

You noticed his gaze flicker over to you and raised an eyebrow. "What? You need something, Munson?" The playful edge in your voice was unmistakable.

Eddie’s face flushed, and he quickly turned his eyes back to the road, trying to look nonchalant. “N-no. Just, uh... driving, y’know?”

You chuckled softly, leaning over just slightly to get closer to him. “So... if I asked, would you tell me if you’re looking at me because you think I look good, or just ‘cause you’re trying to figure out why I’m so damn interesting?”

He nearly choked on his breath at the question, but kept his hands steady on the wheel. “I, uh... don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled, avoiding looking at you.

“Well, come on, Eddie,” you said, voice dropping to a teasing tone. “You’ve got to be noticing something. You’ve been staring at me all afternoon.” You glanced down at your shirt and smirked, knowing exactly what he was seeing. "Maybe you like what you see."

Eddie’s mind short-circuited, and he swerved a little in his lane, quickly correcting the van with a sharp jerk of the wheel. “Shit-sorry!” he stammered, his face heating up. “I... uh, it’s just, you know, you and... I didn’t mean to... stare, or... anything.”

You grinned to yourself, clearly enjoying watching him stumble over his words. You liked the effect you had on him- how completely flustered you could make him with just a few words. Eddie Munson wasn’t usually the type to get flustered, but with you? He was like putty in your hands.

“You’re cute when you’re all nervous,” you said, your voice warm, and for a moment, it was like the whole world around you two faded. “Makes me think you’re not used to having girls pay attention to you.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitched upward as he glanced at you, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "You don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, his tone more defensive than he intended.

"Sure, I don’t," you teased. "But maybe you could prove me wrong."

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. The words were out before he could stop them, his voice hushed, almost too quiet for even you to hear.

“Yeah, well... maybe I will.” His gaze flickered to you again, catching the light of the streetlamps reflecting off your skin, the curve of your lips, and the way your shirt hugged you just right. He wasn’t sure if it was the lingering tension or the way you made him feel exposed, but his heart raced.

You noticed the way he was looking at you now, his expression softening. And you knew you’d pushed him far enough to make him feel the heat that had been building all night.

Just then, Eddie’s voice dropped an octave, more hesitant now. “Hey... I gotta ask... did those, uh... piercings hurt?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Nah," you answered, almost matter-of-factly. "why? you thinking of getting them done?"

He shook his head, a dry chuckle leaving his lips as he tried to focus of the road

"Well, if you're so interesting in mine...if you want, you could... taste 'em." You gave him a slow, almost seductive grin, letting the words hang in the air between you.

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. “What?” His voice cracked slightly, and his grip tightened on the wheel, his knuckles white.

The van slightly swerves again but he fixes it and blinks vigorously

"You heard me," you said with a smirk, thoroughly enjoying the way you had him rattled. You leaned back, letting the silence hang between you two as Eddie tried to regain his composure, his brain struggling to catch up.

Eddie blinked a couple more times, his mind racing. The words had been a joke, right? But the way you’d said it, the look in your eyes- he wasn’t so sure anymore.

His heart hammered in his chest, and all he could think was that if he didn’t keep his focus, the van might end up in the ditch.

Shaking his head, Eddie cleared his throat. "I- uh- well... that’s... uh... that’s a bit... forward, don’t you think?"

You just laughed, letting him stew in his embarrassment for a moment longer before finally teasing him again. "Maybe," you said with a wink. "But you’re the one who can’t stop looking."

And just like that, he was undone.

Eddie was speeding home to the trailer park, a weird look on his face

Had you made him uncomfortable? did he want to go straight home and never see you again because he doesn't like you?

It made you wonder anxiously as you stayed in the passenger seat quietly, bouncing your leg, picking at the fishnets that pinch the meat on your thigh.

He parked in front of his trailer roughly, the tires screeching as he quickly hopped out

You, However got out slowly, backing up to your trailer, nodding for him to follow you subtly before turning back, wanting him to come with you.

You walked toward the door of your trailer, turning back slightly to see Eddie still standing by the van, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. He looked like he was wrestling with whether he should follow you or just melt into the ground.

“Well?” you teased, arching a brow. “You coming in, or are you just gonna stand there pretending you don't to?”

He laughed nervously, rocking on his heels. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” His voice cracked at the end, and you smiled to yourself as he jogged to catch up.

It was cute, just like a lost puppy.

Inside, you flicked on a lamp, casting a warm glow over the trailer’s cozy chaos. You plopped down on the edge of your bed, kicking off your boots, and patted the spot beside you.

“Come on, Munson. Don’t be shy.”

He hesitated for a moment, standing on the other side of the room, by your door.

Eddie looked around nervously, taking it all in, but his gaze kept darting back to you. “Uh, cool place,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

You tilted your head, studying him with an amused smile.

“It’s just a trailer,” you said. “But thanks. You can sit, y’know. I don’t bite... unless you’re into that.”

His face flushed instantly, and he let out a nervous laugh, finally crossing the room to sit beside you. He was close enough that his knee almost brushed yours, and you could see how tightly he was gripping his jeans, like he needed to anchor himself.

His gaze snapped to yours, wide and uncertain. For a moment, the air between you felt heavier, charged with something unsaid.

“Eddie,” you murmured, your tone shifting. “Have you ever been kissed before?”

His mouth opened, then closed, like he was trying to figure out how to answer. Finally, he shook his head.

“No. Not really,” he admitted quietly. “I mean, not... not like how it’s supposed to be.”

You smiled gently, finding his honesty both endearing and heartbreaking. “So, never?”

He swallowed hard, glancing away. “Nope. Not once.”

You bit your lip, leaning in just a little closer. “Would you... want to?”

His head whipped back toward you; his dark eyes wide with disbelief. “You mean, with you?”

You grinned. “Yeah, Eddie. With me.”

He blinked, his breath hitching. “I—uh... I mean- I though you were joking around about all that- stuff.”

"Oh, I would never joke about a hot nerdy metalhead" you shook your head, a slight pout on your lips as you looked into his processing eyes.

"I- ok, yeah- yes, please- I want to." he nodded eagerly, licking his lips and turning his body to face you better.

it was so cute.

“Good,” you said softly, moving even closer until your knees brushed. “Because all I've wanted to do since I met you was kiss you stupid.”

His lips parted as if to respond, but whatever words he had died on his tongue the moment you leaned in, closing the distance between you. You kissed him gently at first, testing, but when he didn’t pull away, you pressed a little harder, guiding him into it.

His hands hovered awkwardly near your hips, and you smiled against his mouth, reaching down to place them on your waist. He flinched slightly but didn’t pull away, his grip tightening as the kiss deepened.

Eddie made a small, muffled sound- something between a gasp and a groan-and you couldn’t help but smile again.

It was just so hot.

It was tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure what to do, but the moment he relaxed, it was like something clicked.

He kissed you back with a surprising amount of enthusiasm, his fingers flexing against your waist as he leaned in closer. You slid your hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him even closer until there was no space left between you.

The heat between you built quickly, his initial nervousness melting away as he got more comfortable. When your tongue brushed against his bottom lip, he gasped softly, his hands tightening their grip on you like he couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his as you whispered, “Not bad for your first kiss.”

Eddie let out a breathless laugh, his cheeks flushed and his lips slightly swollen. “That was... holy shit, that was... amazing.”

You smirked, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Glad I could be your first.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, breathing heavily, the charged air between you crackling like static. His hands were still on your waist, and you could feel the heat of his palms through your shirt.

“You, uh...” he started, his voice shaky but full of wonder. “You wanna... keep going?”

You leaned back slightly, grinning. “What do you think, Munson?”

He tried to hide his smile when he leaned it, taking the initiative to kiss you.

His rough hand connected to your cheek and stroked gently.

For his first- now second kiss, he really wasn't bad, how could he be so good without kissing anyone? he has to be lying.

It was a bit sloppy, but Jesus did that suit him perfectly, and all it did was make you more desperate to have him.

You hummed and bit onto his bottom lip, making him pull away with his eyebrows raised, a small whimper- a fucking whimper escaping his lips.

"I thought you said you don't bite" he sighed, his gaze dropping to your shirt again.

Knowing full well he could take you up on that offer from his van now.

"Did you miss the part when I said unless you're into it? and don't deny it because that noise said it all" you teased, sitting up on your knees and spreading your legs to put them on either side of his thighs.

His hands moved to rest on your lap as you looked down at him, biting your lip

"Can I take you up on that offer from last night?" you smiled innocently

Of course, he remembered what he said to you last night, that moment replayed in his head all night and now all day.

He doesn't know how he's going to take off your shirt with his teeth, all he knows is that he needs to, because whatever is underneath that thin fabric has made him go crazy all day.

Eddie licks his lips again and reaches up to remove your shirt with his hands, knowing he can get that skimpy skirt and panties down with his teeth if he wanted. but your shirt? that would be a little difficult.

You lift your arms, allowing him to slowly take your shirt off.

His hands slightly shook, and he dropped your shirt to the floor as he came eye to eye with your hardened, pierced nipples.

He stared at them for a moment, reading the heart-shaped charms saying 'suck' 'it'

Your hands raked through his hair, and he hummed lowly

"Go on" you whispered "suck them"

His eyes fluttered up to yours and searched for any part of you that would say you're joking, that you'd slap him across the face and call him a freak.

But you smiled "only if you want to" you winked.

Eddie felt himself getting hard, but with you perched on his lap, he tried desperately not to, not wanting to embarrass himself.

He leaned in, taking the sensitive bud into his mouth, licking the warmth of your skin and humming against the cold metal of your piercing.

You whined, hands gripping his hair and pulling him closer.

"feels'o good" you moaned as he flicked his tongue against it.

His mouth took it all in his mouth and sucked, softly lapping it up before you moved your hips, needing some sort of friction when you began to feel his hardening cock between your legs.

You grinded your hips against his, one of your hands leaving his hair to hold his shoulder, squeezing his skin.

He became more aggressive towards your nipple, sloppily sucking one and pinching the other, causing you to hiss at the feeling but roll your hips in pleasure.

He made you feel so good, and you haven't even gotten to the best part.

☠︎︎⋆♱✮♱⋆☠︎︎

[starryeyedstray]

❤️DBH V-Day Card Exchange 2025❤️

Calling all DBH artists~!

If you lived in the USA, you might remember the nostalgia of trading little character Valentines' cards in elementary school. Let's bring that energy back!!! But this time, WE'LL be the ones drawing up the cards with our beloved DBH characters~! Basically, it's an art trade except the art will be cute Valentines' Day cards!!!

Step 1: Let people know you're interested in trading Valentines' Day cards!!! You can either leave a ❤️ emoji (or any other comment) in the replies or reblog this saying you're open to trading. Totally okay if you add a caveat like you're only opening trades up to moots or oomfs. (You can skip to step 2 if you rather just reach out to specific people rather than having your trades fully open)

Step 2: Set-up your trades! SOFT DEADLINE: Feb 1-ish (up to your discretion on when you want to stop accepting trade request) Either reply to someone's comment or message the person directly if they've said they were open to trades. To keep it simple, I recommend both parties simply saying what character(s) you want drawn on your card.

Step 3: Draw your card!!! If you're still unsure what kind of card this is supposed to be here's a DBH-specific example. Basic template is picture of character + DBH-related pun/pick-up line:

I recommend keeping the drawing simple. The more cutesy and stylized the better~!

Step 4: Post your finished card between Feb 13th-15th!!! You can just make it a regular post or you could send it to your valentine via inbox! It's up to you!!! Use the tag #dbh vday exchange 2025 if you want.

🚨IMPORTANT RULES🚨 This is an impromptu event run by just little ol' me with really no rules since everyone is in charge of their own trades, but here are some things to keep in mind.

Keep it PG!!! I want everyone to feel comfortable participating, so keep the puns and pictures SFW. Think wholesome and flirty not horny please!

Please be respectful of each other! Don't be offended if someone declines a trade with you. They might not have enough time to accept more than a couple trades. And don't be rude when declining a trade!

Please be respectful of each other's time! If you aren't able to fulfill your trade for whatever reason, please communicate that with the other person. A quick apology is 1000x better than ghosting someone.

Keep it low stress and fun!!! These cards are supposed to be just a quick fun way to do some art trades. Don't agonize over the drawings or try to make full colored masterpieces (unless you really have the time and energy lol). The expectation here is quick and cute doodles meant to spread some love and kindness <3333

You are welcome to keep your trades private, but I would love to see them!!! So feel free to tag me @starryeyedstray once they're posted or tag #dbh vday exchange 2025.

[sterifels-blog]

Last night I had a thought about Simon but I'm not creative enough to come up with a good scenario, so I'll just skip ahead.

Imagine that Simon and Reader had a thing for 1 or 2 months but they never ended up dating, and then Simon disappears and doesn't respond to Reader's messages. A while later Johnny takes Simon and Kylie to spend the week at his house after a mission and there Simon discovers that Reader is Johnny's younger sister, and that the 1 year and 7 month old boy who is very attached to her is actually his son. As if Reader looks a lot like Johnny but her son is identical to Simon.

Feel free to ignore this 👀 Any language errors are Google Translate's fault. Either way I'll spend days thinking about this 🤸‍♀️

this is definitely not a prompt i'd usually cover, but i'll attempt it nonetheless. i had such a hard time trying to conceptualize what an appropriate reaction to this sort of situation would be, but there are so many different ways to validate a reaction. this is the best take i can offer you! ⤵️

A mess of things to fix.

Simon had never imagined that he would be standing in Johnny’s kitchen, staring at a child. A child that he couldn’t fathom, whose heartbeat was unmistakably his own, though he'd never had the chance to know him. The sticky summer heat of a mission’s aftermath still clung to him, sticking to his body in cloying sheets of sweat and travel-worn leather. Simon was a contradiction in flesh: battle-hardened, skin soaked in salt and iron, and yet standing awkwardly in the glow of the kitchen’s overhead light, as if someone had poured an entire century's worth of regret down his throat.

And there you were— you— who had once been just the woman who had made his bones hum beneath the skin. A weekend, a couple of months… something like that. Something forgotten by time, but carved into the ether between you both like graffiti in an alley only the broken remembered.

You were Johnny's younger sister. Johnny, the one who'd so effortlessly pulled him into this twisted little family. But now? Now everything was mangled and unspooled.

His son.

He tried not to blink too hard when he first saw the boy. You were holding him, cradling him in your arms. The little thing was bundled in too many blankets, chubby cheeks peeking from under his small beanie, his large eyes a mirror of someone Simon had never really been sure he wanted to meet. But there they were, those eyes—those identical, goddamn eyes.

Simon didn't remember this. He didn’t even remember the night. But here, in Johnny’s kitchen, surrounded by mugs and heavy laughter that seemed too far off to touch, everything started to settle in his chest like lead.

You didn’t know how to look at him either. There was the hesitation—splayed, unsaid—heavy between you both. The moment when his presence meant more than just the passing shadow of the past. The truth had settled and clung to your face like old makeup. You didn’t want him to see, but you knew. He knew. He knew because his blood had turned to ice, and in his veins, a cold panic spread.

You had a child. His child.

Johnny, ever the oblivious one, smiled as if he didn’t see the earthquake unfolding. “She looks just like me, right? Gave her my best traits. Don’t let her tell you otherwise.”

But it was clear, wasn’t it? Your son. He looked like him, even if the years had stolen what could have been.

“What’s his name?” Simon’s voice was gravel, rough with an unfamiliar edge. He felt nauseous with the knowledge. He couldn’t escape it. The knowledge of a past he’d left behind, unspoken, unresolved, and now here it was—too real to ignore. His son.

You swallowed thickly, keeping the boy close to your side. You told him the name, and Simon didn’t even register the syllables. The truth was louder than any name could be.

"Charlie."

Johnny clapped Simon on the back, misinterpreting the silence. “Oi, mate, just don’t look too long at her kid. He’s already on a first-name basis with trouble, trust me. I’ve seen the future, and it’s got a lot of broken windows in it.”

Simon forced a smile. A bitter curve of his lips. “..Right.” The awkwardness slithered around the table like some beast with too many eyes. Conversation flitted, fragile and half-formed, until dinner had ended and the quiet remained, stretching longer than it should have. The little boy yawned, and it was cemented in the moment it was time for bed. Simon barely heard the clinking of silverware, until Johnny was cooing a cheeky goodnight to his nephew- re-stating that his "favorite uncle" would be there to see him in the morning.

You stood, giving him no choice but to follow. The weight of the moment anchored his feet to the floor like gravity had decided it needed a joke at his expense. As you ascended the staircase with the boy in your arms, Simon’s boots followed behind in a trance. There was something haunting in the way you moved, like a shadow threading through space, one that should’ve been broken long before this— one that felt like a single thread was holding it together.

He hovered by the doorframe of the child’s room as you placed him gently into the crib. The boy squirmed for a moment, settling into the warmth of his sheets, but his little fingers gripped at your sleeve, unwilling to release. Simon watched, his throat tightening like an iron clasp.

You turned to look- and for the first time that night, you made eye contact. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. The weight of the silence between you both felt like it had grown too heavy, and there, in the doorway, he lingered, as if you had just invited the storm into the room.

You couldn’t escape it any longer— the elephant sitting in the room had too many sharp edges. The question hovered between you, thick and suffocating. He was trying to push it back, but it was there, in his eyes, tangled with guilt and regret. Until, finally, he broke the silence.

"..Love. Can I… can I see him?" Simon’s voice cracked the air, raw and desperate, as if he had the right to ask something like that after all this time.

The words felt like they had shattered the air between you. There was an edge to them—like a plea wrapped in anger. He was furious, but at what? Himself? You? The situation? The fact that he was asking this, now—it made everything too complicated, too impossible.

It made your blood boil. Made your chest tight with a heat you couldn't contain. How dare he? How could he stand there and ask, knowing nothing? Knowing how many nights you’d spent alone, how many times you had to bite back tears, pretending you weren’t breaking under the weight of it all? You didn’t even tell him. You couldn’t. You hadn’t. And now, after all this time, after all the silence, he had the gall to ask for what was his—when he hadn’t been there to help raise him.

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, but you didn’t snap at him. You couldn’t. You didn’t know how to explain it— the hurt, the fury, the helplessness. He didn’t know. And you hadn’t given him the chance to.

You swallowed hard, biting your lip to keep your voice from shaking. "Yeah," you muttered, cold as ice, before stepping aside. The words stung like salt on an open wound, but they slipped from you, like a wave crashing over the rocks. You didn’t know if you could even trust yourself to speak. "Yeah.. Just— don't hurt him.."

Simon’s eyes softened— too late— and he stepped toward the crib slowly, uncertain, like the boy wasn’t his own flesh and blood. Like he had no right. But he was there. He was looking, and you couldn’t stop it.

You stood by the door, back against the frame, arms crossed, watching as he hesitated, before reaching down to lift Charlie, awkwardly at first, as if he were holding something breakable. It was almost a joke— the way Simon held him like he was a piece of glass, fragile and unworthy of the comfort the child had never known he needed from his father.

And then, like a dam breaking, Simon’s face crumpled, his shoulders shaking, and you saw it. The first tremor of realization, of loss, of guilt— flooding over him in waves too powerful to stop. His hands shook, the child still clutched tightly in his arms, and he cried. A tear slipped down his cheek, followed by another, each one a crack in the wall he’d built around himself, and your heart twisted.

The bitter taste of resentment clawed at your throat, but it was drowned out by the ache you’d been carrying for so long. For so, so long. Watching him finally hold Charlie— the son he’d never known— made something snap inside you, something raw and real. And though you were furious— though a part of you wanted to hate him, to blame him for everything that had been missing, you couldn’t. Not entirely.

The tears fell freely now, down his stubbled chin, mixing with the slow, shuddering breath that escaped his lips. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t even apologize in the right way, but you saw the regret in his eyes, and it twisted the knife a little deeper. He was sorry— more than he could ever express— but it was too late.

"You should’ve been here," you whispered, but Simon couldn’t hear you. He was lost in the weight of it all, too consumed by the moment, holding onto your son like he was the only thing left to hold onto in this shattered mess. He didn’t know how to fix it. Neither did you.

But you couldn’t take him back. Not like this. Not now.

And so, you let him hold him. And Simon wept.

[247-diaperboy]

Welcome to Adult Baby Reform

Welcome John. I’m here to give you series of shots and you won’t have to be seen for another month. So, level 1 is light compared to level 2 and level 3.

It's my understanding that you had committed a series of crimes. Your attorney has power of attorney over you due to the fact that you are underage not to mention your parents have abandoned you. Oh, you don’t like what I have to say, that's fine.

See level 1, requires me to give you two shots of hormone therapy one into each testicle. Oh, medical necessary for sex addiction. This will stop all of your sexual urges as well as take away all control over your bladder rendering you incontinent and forcing you to remain in diapers for the foreseen future. See John this is a powerful potent form of hormone mixed with a strong muscle relaxer. This will stop your body from creating any more sperm and testosterone.

The muscle relaxer will slowly take away all muscle control, causing you to dribble and leak nonstop into your diapers. You can try as hard as you want to hold it. However, with the muscles relaxed you will be unable to hold anything back no matter how hard you try.

John, please sit back down and listen. If you can’t complete level one or refuse to or you decide to walk out that door, you will be stopped before you get to the end of the sidewalk.

Once brought back you will be given level 2. Understand you lose your freedom, and we commit you to medical nursing facilities. Go ahead john pull that door open. You will meet two big mean orderlies waiting for you to run.

John I’m not bluffing, I would advise you to sit down. John I’m serious about level 2.

That was the last thing John remembers. Everything faded to black as the orderlies tazed him.

John woke up 4 hours later and was in utter shock at how wet his diaper was. He was feeling the diaper when the nurse walked in.

Well John, I warned you about running. Now you have been given not only level one but also level 2.

Level one was injected into your testicles. The second set of shots have been injected directly into your sphincter muscles.

He was puzzled and confused he had never had any issues with bladder control, especially at night. He couldn’t comprehend why it was so wet

Whatever drugs, they are using causes severe dry mouth and constantly have John craving any type of fluid.

He knows that they’re using a strong, diarrhetic and laxative, all fluids go straight through him into his thick diaper with no control whatsoever.

The nurse explained once you had wet the diaper It was a sign that the shots were beginning to take hold and work. we know the medication has been absorbed into your body and is slowly taking full control of your bodily functions.

Let's get you on the stretcher and restrained for your ride down to the treatment room, for your therapy session.

Now while we have you here and until the medication takes full control of your body you will undergo daily electro stimulation. Not only will it milk the remaining cum from those now useless testicles but also cause you to lose bladder control.

When you place the electrodes in the right place, it causes somebody to lose their bladder control.

If you use the electrodes for one hour at max setting, you’ll lose bladder control for eight hours.

It also slowly milks the patient. draining any and all cum from his testicles.

After 24 hours of using the electro to max setting they say you lose nearly a week of bladder control.

After a week of using the electrodes at maximum setting the muscle and nerves are permanently damaged, and you’ll have no bladder control for the rest of your life.

Mixed with the shots that have been given to you, you will no longer be able to control anything, rendering you 100% incontinent.

Are you ready to wear a diaper like a baby for the rest of your life? I bet after a week you will be.

I know after level 3 of the injections you will be in diapers like a true baby rather the electro stimulation has worked its Magic or not.

Once you have been given your next dose of hormone and muscle relaxers you will be. required to stay at the medical facility for the rest of your life.

Are you scared yet?

You should be. This syringe contains, level 3 of the treatment. It is your everyday drinking alcohol.

Now that your tightly restrained and can’t move a inch. I'm going to inject your testicles with normal 100 proof alcohol.

No, you won’t get drunk.

This is what going happen downstairs.

Sterility

Impotence

Low testosterone

Inability to obtain an erection

testicular atrophy

penile atrophy

incontinence in both your bowels and bladder.

You will submit to medical testing of incontinence absorbency products. you agree to allow the facility to make future medical decisions. 

will be consider a danger to yourself and others and will be confined to the facilities for your entire sentence. a review committee will review your case and grant dismissal from the facility at the end of your stay.

Now that your fully dependent upon diapers, and the doctor can’t help. You just wish you could regain control. But after that last injection you have no hope of that ever happening.

[ryuzakemo128]

Ghoap x Female Reader

Content Warnings: Female reader is Italian and speaks Italian. Swearing. Cursing. Insults thrown around. Reader talks about their wealthy family ties. Philosophy talk about death and what it means to accept death. Car accident in somewhat graphic detail I guess?

Note: If you want more of this type of thing, let me know, and I'll whip up a part two in a heart beat.

Note 2: Camion is Italian for 'truck'. At least, I think it is. But please correct me if that is incorrect.

You were still unconscious from the car accident, you weren’t the one who caused this forsaken mess, and yet you were the one who suffered the consequences of somebody else’s actions. Doctors said you suffered greatly, but then again anyone who was railed by a camion would have.

The term ‘suffered greatly’ is absolutely vague and at this point? It felt almost deliberate. Who knew when you would wake up? Let alone wake up at all? The nerves bundled up inside the both of them. Unsure why they had insisted it was safe enough for you to go there alone.

As the rain hammered down upon the asphalt road. As the camion came beside you inside the car that was small enough to be crumpled with too much ease. You didn’t see it coming. Not that you would have now, would you? It wasn’t like you could predict the future and considering the past is set in stone. It wouldn’t do any good trying to change what already happened.

“I will not be subjected to your lack of taste. Nor do I expect you suffer from my own tastes.” You told them months ago about Italian opera and how much you enjoyed it. “Either way. What you need. You shall have. No strings attached and no favours required.”

You are far too ‘selfless’ sometimes. According to them. But you loved them for what they did for themselves rather than what they did for you. What good is assistance if they can’t hope to help themselves.

“Hey, I will not have you speak negatively about yourself or wishing death upon yourself either. Neither helps you and nor will it help you heal either. Just because can doesn’t always mean that you should. You told me that once and I think it should be said to you too.” You gently scolded them once.

You showed them your AGM-1 carbine, your Italian Bullpup Carbine, once, “Its nice. I quite like it.” You said to Ghost one afternoon. “Its one my favourites. Along with the Barrett M8A1 I use.”

Soap hasn’t stopped pacing around the hospital waiting room. He was sure you would be dead before the two of them got to start dating you. Couldn’t have that now can they? But much like life itself.

Moments like these aren’t fair. Ever. You told them life shouldn’t be taken for granted. Cherish the time you have now and mourn the people you eventually leave behind. You knew this more than most people. You studied it in subjects like Forensics Anthropology, Forensics Pathology, Thantology, and Archaeology.

“Death cannot be cheated, nor can it hope to be delayed. To think you can do just that is beyond naïve. Hopefully idealistic in the act of thinking humans could ever dream of immortality.” You told them once. 

“Unless you are like my lineage, I doubt your family is going to have their own homegrown cemetery attached to their own churchyard. ‘Can’t have the ‘common folk’ get anywhere near our dead or something like that.” You added in.

When you do wake because death had decided it wasn’t quite your time to leave the earth just yet. Denying you passage to death’s cold embrace. How long would it take for you to get used to your new arm you wonder.

Ghost still remembers hearing about your favourite flower being ‘Lilly of the Valley’. Shocking him because they were light coloured flowers and the total opposite of your aesthetic. You said it was because of the fact life gave them such light colours to such delicate things. It was your mother's favourite for a while, along with flowers like sweet pea.

You didn’t like them until she passed, and thereafter? Loved them completely. Roses were fine. You weren’t going to turn away from them completely. But the sentimental value from the light pink lilies were far more than any dark red roses could offer. It was like comparing a sunrise to a sunset. Both were beautiful, one had a taint of sadness captured in it that you found absolutely charming.

“I find them prettier than I did when I was younger. Perhaps it was because my mother valued them so much? I can only guess that was the reason I took a liking to them.” You told him looking back at him from looking out the window. The rain hadn’t stopped pouring down from the look of things.

You continued speaking after a brief pause, “Though I do remember bringing her red and white snapdragons on Mother’s Day one year. I didn’t think it would affect her so much, until she said she had chosen them for her wedding bouquet. Her mother-in-law hated it, said it clashed with the ‘atmosphere’ and yet she decided to go with it.”

“You should have seen her, inside of white, she wore a midnight blue with silver embroidered stars along the fringes of the veil and the dress’s long train. Like she was walking straight from the depths of the sky. I said it was like the moon was loaning her its stars in the attempt to woo her into staying with him instead. In her refusal he gifted them in remembrance.”

You didn’t speak about your family’s ludicrously magnanimous volume of worldly goods, nor did you want to. Why would you?

How do you put in plain words to someone that it was reaped by taking care of the dead? You know you didn’t have anything to be embarrassed of. But in what way does someone go about telling loved ones their family’s legacy lies inside the act taking caring of the dead or the ones about to die?

Even though it was your mother’s side who dabbled in such things and not your father’s. Your father’s side were the more pompous kind of rich, lavish, extravagant and excessive with their wealth. It was your mother’s side that was more grounded, more in touch with reality. Creating the overture combination of a rich girl with the heart of someone who knew of suffering.

Though parts of your furniture does seem odd. Like the Marc Held for Prisunic Moulded Fiberglass Bed, c. 1966. You had decided to place a waterbed mattress to it, just because you wanted to make it feel older.

The black silk sheets and crimson silk pillowcases were the things inside your bedroom. These things? They made it feel more 70's. You liked that era, you also loved the 60's and 80's. Which despite the gothic shades, tones and colours. It was like you were trying to hold onto a piece of your mother.

They didn't know how to cope when they first heard you were in a car collision with a camion, you weren't going too fast. You weren't intoxicated. You weren't high. You were just driving back home after a rough case, and fate decided it was time to throw you curveball. A fucking curveball no one saw coming.

Soap slept in your bed that night, inhaling your scent from the silk sheets and clutching your whale shark plush. The heavy blanket draped over him. The fur blanket made from real deer fur. You told him it was made from the first deer you hunted with your grandfather months before he passed.

You had killed it yourself. You remarked it was your grandfather’s way of making sure you respected the animal you slaughtered. Use every part otherwise its murder and not hunting. A beautiful blanket which has lasted longer than most things you bought. In colour it’s a deep, rich brown, almost auburn in the right lighting. Soft to the touch. Eerie to think it once was a creature roaming the forests freely.

When you woke and Ghost had been in the chair beside you the whole time? “What……what time is it?” you asked like you had rolled out of bed.

“Two in the morning. You’ve been asleep for seven days and eight nights.” Ghost answered calmly. Knowing the doctor told him to keep the excitement to a minimum.

“I don’t know why, but I jumped, panicked a little, thinking I had to wake up for work.” You mumbled, you are still completely out of it from the amount of morphine inside you.

[yellowchippy]

Caitvi AU

They are schoolmates at a university but studying different majors

---

Caitlyn Kiramman, campus crush and straight A student, always liked studying in the cafeteria for two reasons; one: it had food so she can study and eat, and two: it was beside the football field so the air was always fresh. But she also hated one thing about the cafeteria, it was beside the football field. And sometimes it had players being rowdy. She didn't mind them most of the time especially right now that she had midterms to focus on and was damn hungry. Most days she would sit farthest from the field but today the cafeteria was full, she got a table outside.

1. A plate is attached to the frame of a machine by two side fillet welds as shown in Fig 12-23a. Determine the size of the welds to resist a vertical load of 10 kips. Assume that the allowable shearing stress through the throat of the weld is 21 ksi

"Okay, easy enough. Centroid of the weld lines, with respect to A. T=Pe, q=T/y and J= ? Come on Cait, you've gone through this. You know this" she mumbled to herself

"What was J again?" Cait tried recalling her notes while taking a bite of her sandwich.

"Nice pass Mylo! Maybe you should do it more often" shouted a red haired player from the field as she grabbed a lanky player in a headlock.

"J=L(1/12L^2 --" Caitlyn brought her hand to her chin trying to remember the formula.

"Come on Mylo! Pass the ball!"

Caitlyn now frustrated at her apparent distraction glanced at the unruly players and squinted at the names on their jerseys.

No. 7 V. O'Connell

No. 13 M. Cage

"Do they have to be this loud? They're not that far from each other." Caitlyn whispered under her breath as she tried to read the problem from her book once again.

Violet O'Connell, the red haired player, was also a campus crush and a varsity player. She was dribbling the ball and passed to Mylo when she noticed the blue haired girl at the table closest to the field.

"Holy shit it's Caitlyn Kiramman" Violet thought as she spotted the straight A student with eyebrows furrowed and laser focused at her book. Her look could burn through the pages.

"Mylo! Give me the ball!" Shouted Violet even louder now while running nearer to the cafeteria.

Caitlyn was determined to answer this problem before she finished eating. She tried so hard not to look at anywhere else but her book that she didn't notice Violet standing within her peripheral vision.

"Mylo, here!"

"Come on woman, how loud do I have to be for you to look at me" Violet thought while catching a glimpse of Caitlyn Kiramman.

---

Whew had to get this off my chest. Someone said just write that shit. Should i continue this?

[laylakongg]

my sona in @quartztwst's no yandere au! info under the cut ♡

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

Layla currently lives with her parents and two sisters (one older and one younger than her).

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

She considers Quartz her friend, but they don't talk much (she's too nervous to start a conversation with someone as pretty as Quartz!).

3. What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

Azul is that smart kid who just talks about politics and tries to trick you into buying from him or doing him favors. They met in class when she needed homework answers last-minute.

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

Floyd: She thinks Floyd seems nice enough, but they aren't friends, nor acquaintances. Floyd most likely doesn't remember who she is since she thinks he's spooky and doesn't actively try to talk to him.

Jade: They're classmates but haven't interacted much. She's scared of Jade.

Ace: They're friends. Layla sees him like an annoying family member, and Ace sees her as sort of strange (spooky) but she's nice when you get to know her.

Deuce: He's one of Layla's friends along with Ace. She sees him as the more tolerable of the two, but his delinquent persona startles her a lot. He thinks she's nice which is how they became friends.

Idia: They act like siblings who always try to annoy and outdo the other. Stealing from the other, bantering over small things, etc.

5. What grade/year is your OC?

Layla is a 2nd year (17).

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

Try to at least pass her classes.

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

"...What? No, I wouldn't! I didn't do it, I swear!"

She would be startled and stand still without saying anything for a second before responding. If she knew Quartz was the one behind everything, she wouldn't outright say it was her but just try to prove her own innocence.

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

"As long as I don't get hurt, I'm fine, right...?"

Wouldn't tell anyone since she doesn't like blaming others, especially her friends since she barely has any. Who would believe her anyways? They're more likely to think she's the one with a weapon in her pocket.

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

She usually gets to school almost a minute before the bell rings and makes sure to get to all of her classes on time, but during breaks she usually wanders the school with one of her friends.

Her lunch spot is on one of the benches in the courtyard.

10. How are your OC's grades?

Not the worst. They're passing, but her grades are 50/50. Some classes are A's, while others are C's or D's.

Personality:

Though she looks straight-faced or scary, she actually talks a lot and sometimes can't stop, though only with her close friends. She mainly talks about her interests like games that she plays, books she's reading, her annoying classmates, etc. She's sharp-witted and straightforward to a fault, though she's not impolite, which is why she worries about saying harsh things to people. She gets startled easily, especially if there are any sudden loud noises. She's usually very awkward with her classmates, but they take it as her being intimidating instead.

edit: forgot to add quartz in the crush category so just pretend she was always there

[ridercutting]

blade stageplay (saitama) translation (part 1)

ok i've translated the first 2 scenes (first 15 minutes) from the blade stageplay (saitama). putting it under the cut ↓ it's a hard wip in terms of tone/ phrasing/ some grammar etc but i'll edit it proper later, i just want to get something out for now. enjoy!!

"The spell binding the king of time has been lifted, bringing chaos to the world once again."

---

Hajime: What in the world happened? I'm supposed to have become a human. So why am I the Joker again..?

King: That form suits you much better, Joker.

Hajime: Spade's Category King… Why have you…

King: It's kinda a pain but we're gonna resume the battle fight, okay? For me, and you two Jokers~

Hajime: Kenzaki? It can't be helped. Henshin!

King: It's fine, even if you don't transform.

King: What are you holding back for? Even though you're actually suffering. Hurry up and turn back into the Joker!

Hajime: Answer me! Who is it that released you!

King: I'll be taking this~

Hajime: Give it back! You didn't have any interest in the battle fight. What are you playing at only now?

King: I hit a nerve, huh? That's right. This battle means nothing to me. Just as long as I get to mess up what you and Blade have done.

Hajime: What?!

King: Now then. Your power is mine now, Joker.

Hajime: Kenzaki…

Tachibana: Hajime!

Hajime: Tachibana!

Tachibana: What's going on Hajime? Why have the Undead…

Hajime: We'll talk later. For now…!

Tachibana: Right. Henshin!

King: How troublesome… After them!

Now, What comes next?

I know that. But if you don't discard your hand at the most opportune time…

More importantly… If we use this guy, we'll be able to see something much more interesting.

Otherwise…

Mantis: This is…

King: Yo! Long time no see, Mantis.

Mantis: Caucasus!

King: Why don't you calm down? I don't have any intention of fighting you.

Mantis: What?

King: I want you to lend me your power. Battle fight is not yet over. Because the two jokers have delayed its conclusion.

Mantis: Joker… Two of them?

King: You know about it too right? The rider system. That humans have used that to become undead. I want you to seal the Joker.

Mantis: What are you scheming?

King: Nothing at all. If I use my power, I can even force you to obey me…Though it'd be more interesting if I didn't have to.

Mantis: Fine. But after I defeat the Joker, you're next.

King: Hahaha! Interesting. I'd like to see you try!

----

Tachibana: Are you alright, Hajime? What in the world is going on?

Hajime: Tachibana, do you remember that I became a human?

Tachibana: You're a human? What do you mean?

Hajime: Some time ago, Kenzaki and I got wrapped up in a particular battle, during which we lost the Joker's power and became human.

Tachibana: He… Kenzaki has turned back into a human?

Hajime: Yes. All the Undead were gone, and the battle fight was settled… At least it was supposed to have been.

Tachibana: If that's true, then why…?

Hajime: It's the Overseer. Other than that, there's no one else who could have pulled off something like this. But I don't feel it's presence at all.

Tachibana: Several cards disappeared from BOARD. Could there be any relation…?

Hajime: I don't know..

Tachibana: For now, you should hide yourself. I'll deal with sealing those undead.

Hajime: I'm sorry, Tachibana

Tachibana: It's for the sake of our friendship.

Mantis: I won't let that happen!

Mantis: Joker! This is payback for back then!

Hajime: What are you talking about?

Mantis: For the humiliation of being the Spider's puppet and being defeated! What's wrong! Give me your all!

Hajime: I… I won't fight!

Mantis: What'd you say?!

Hajime: I wont… I won't go so far as to trample on Kenzaki's resolve.

Mantis: Like I care! Fight, Joker! The one I want to fight is that beast that bared its instincts, that ruthless killer! Only by defeating you, can I regain my pride as an Undead!

Hajime: That's your wish? And yet, I still won't fight!

Mantis: If so, then I'll draw the Joker back out of you!

Wake up! Joker!

Hajime: I…

Mantis: That's right! That's the way! Release your instincts! Joker!

Amane: Hajime-san!

Hajime-san.

Mantis: …What?

Hajime: I am… a human!

Mantis: You…! This kinda…

Tachibana: Hajime!

King: Where are you going, Mantis?

Mantis: Even if I take on such an opponent, my wish won't be fulfilled.

King: Did you forget? I was the one that unsealed you.

Mantis: I fight for the sake of my own goals. I had no interest in anything else from the very beginning.

King: Is that so? Even though I thought it was just getting interesting…

Mantis: What?

King: I guess I should just have forced your hand after all. Like the rest of them.

Hajime: These guys are…

Tachibana: The cards that disappeared! So you were the one that had them!

King: That's right! Well, have fun!

King: I guess I'll start by getting rid of you, the hindrance.

Hajime: Tachibana!

Tachibana: Hajime!

King: Don't get in the way.

Fine then. I'll seal the joker.

Tachibana: Hajime!

Hajime: Tachibana

Tachibana: Hajime!

Hajime: Tachibana… I'll leave… Kenzaki to you.

King: Game over~

I'll take this.

Tachibana: Hajime!

King: Such a pity, isn't it? All of your useless struggles up till now, has been rendered into nothing with just this. Get him.

Mutsuki: Henshin!

Tachibana: Mutsuki!

Mutsuki: Are you alright, Tachibana-san?

King: Leangle, it's been a while hasn't it? Ohh, so you've been able to suppress the power of the Category Ace. Mutsuki: This is… Spade's Category King. And also…

Tachibana-san, Let's retreat for now.

King: Ah… well, whatever. Joker was successfully sealed. Next up is Blade. This time I'll hunt you down. The rest of you, chase after them!

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that's all for now, ill probably come back and edit parts of this post every once in a while. probably i'll get out a proper tl once i finish the rough (mutuals feel free to hmu if youre interested in proofreading/ qc etc!!!!!) and tell me if you spot any weird mistakes lol.

if anyone wants the jp raws feel free to ask as well ^_^