#dexter voice: i want him on my kill table.

[smok3r7]

New Traditions // Valentine’s Day Oneshot

Joel x f!reader

Explicit, 18+

Main Masterlist & My AO3

Summary: The last Valentine’s Day two years ago has shattered your view of the so-called holiday. When Joel brings up the idea, you shut him down immediately, but he doesn’t listen. He hopes he can change your opinion on the holiday of Love.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: No outbreak AU, no Sarah or Ellie, slight angst, fingered, FLUFF

—

“What woman doesn’t love Valentine’s Day?” Joel questions as he lets your bent knees fall on his lap and lays one of his hands on your bare skin. The question throws you off, it’s a no-brainer; your face furrows instinctively.

“I guess just me,” you shrug your shoulders and laugh, “I just- I don’t have the best memories, is all. Ended up catching my ex of five years cheating on me two years ago with my receptionist. In my own home, might I add. So, safe to say that I despise this bullshit holiday.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah…fucking Adrianna, the gremlin lookin’ bitch.”

“Welp, his loss. So fuck ‘em.” Joel winks at you, causing you to chuckle and slightly shake your head.

“Thank you, but don’t think my feelings are gonna change just ‘cause you said that. Gonna take a lot for that to happen - if that’s even possible.”

“Oh baby, I got a week to think of somethin’ to do for you. But if it doesn’t work, I won’t try again okay?”

You give him a glance as your head lays in the palm of your hand, propped up by your elbow on the back of the loveseat. “Don’t go out of your way, baby, okay? I promise, I’m okay with doin’ nothing special or even related to it. Nothings gotta change, alright?” Your tone has more of an edge than before, making sure he understands that you really, really don’t want to do anything.

Joel must’ve heard the tension in your voice because he just nods his head, yes ma’am. He slowly leans closer and lays a soft kiss on your forehead as he cups your face with his large hands. Both of you turn your attention back to the TV that’s playing an old episode of Dexter, with both of you understanding your wishes.

—

The memory of that conversation finally clicks in your brain as you stand by the round kitchen table, with a mixture of fresh fruits and homemade omelets as Joel stands behind the wooden chair he’s waiting for you to sit in; you’re baffled.

“Joel, I told yo-“

“Don’t, I don’t want to hear it from you.” He interrupts your strong protest, before it can even begin. “Now, here’s the plan for toda-“

“But I said-“ you glare at his face when you cut him off, starting to become irritated because you really did want today to be the same. You just wanted to enjoy the day with Joel with no special treatment, but the fact that he didn’t listen to your wishes from a week ago kills you on the inside.

Why didn’t you just listen to me?

Joel interrupts your sentence by barking your name loud, this is when your body language shifts. Your arms quickly fold in front of your chest, your weight shifts to your left hip, and you just stare into his face with tears starting to blur your vision.

You hate to be yelled at, hell, scolded would be a better word for it. This has always been an issue for you; the minute you feel like a man goes against your wishes and then scolds you for arguing about it - you shut down and start to crack.

An eerie silence coats the walls of the kitchen that surrounds you and Joel. It feels like time has stopped, he stands in front of you with both hands wrapped around the rectangular dark wood chair and his face sharp. Although you’re about eye level to Joel, you somehow still feel small and broken as he looks into your eyes; you’re not quite sure what to do or think.

You look up slightly and start to rapidly blink so you can try to stop the tears from rolling, so you don’t seem like this weak little girl, but this just happens to cause the salty drops to fall. With a fifteen year age gap between you and Joel, there are times you do feel like a child and it twists your stomach into knots.

Your lips quiver from a smile, to biting your bottom lip, to being slightly pursed, all because you’re trying not to lose it completely.

“You went a-against my wishes, Joel,” you barely whisper, lowering your sight back to him in front of you.

“Just-“ he removes his fingers from the chair and turns his body to face you, now only about three feet apart from you.

“Please sit down n’ eat this breakfast, okay, baby?” He questions quietly, which causes his southern accent to vibrate through your ears.

Still with your arms crossed and body weight on your left side of your body, your eyes shift from his face to the delicious food on the table - that he clearly got up early and prepared for you. You don’t say anything when you look back at him, all you do is nod and wipe the tears from your face.

“Thank you,” Joel sighs, he then stands back and lets you sit down as he pushes the chair in behind you, and he kisses the top of your head, then walks to his seat across the small table from you and sits down.

Breakfast is eaten in silence, but a different one than before. This time, the silence feels comfortable and calm, no tension or eeriness in the walls. It’s just the scrapes of the knives and forks on the glass plates, mixed with the chewing from the two ends of the table, that fill your ears.

So delicious, my god.

By the time you clear your plate Joel is already standing up and reaches for your dishes. Instinctively, you move to stop him, but your brain stops your body from rejecting and you decide to sit back in the chair instead.

“Thank you,” you whisper as you scan your eyes up the large body only inches away from you.

“No need, darlin’,” he responds, staring down at you, he then turns and walks towards the sink and sets down the dishes with a soft, clink. “Now, I want you to head upstairs n’ wait in the bathroom for me. I’ll be right up.”

Your brain still isn’t functioning how it should be, and a large part of you wants to scream at him about how you don’t need to be treated with special treatment. But then the other part of you wants to accept this for what it is, that this man is madly in love with you and desires to treat you to special things.

An even smaller piece of yourself really does want to enjoy Valentine’s Day, it’s always sounded like a sweet thing; maybe this is the time.

So you know this isn’t a time to argue; instead, you smile when you stand up, and you don’t say anything when you walk in the direction of the landing that leads to the staircase. As you hesitantly step onto the dark carpeted landing, you hear the faint sound of the faucet turn on and the clinks of dishes in the kitchen.

The corners of your lips softly curl, and you continue up the staircase. The dishes are a part of the cleaning you did around the house - you and Joel split the chores around the large home, it was something that seemed fair for the both of you so no one got overwhelmed or felt taken advantage of.

So, the fact that he is taking the time to do something off of your list causes your heart to flutter. You reach the top of the stairs and head in the direction of Joel’s, and now your, bedroom. When you gently push the door open, your nose is filled with the scent of Joel, the musky scent of his cologne and his shirts lingering in an intoxicating way; this warm tender feeling forms in your belly, you feel so loved.

You just have to accept that Joel wants to do this, it’s not a chore for him, it’s a desperate need that he has.

Swiftly, you walk through the bedroom to reach the master bathroom that’s connected, and you slide the large barn style door open to the sight of tall candles lit and spaced out on the white tile floor and the outer edge of the porcelain tub, a small chair with bottles that read “Shampoo, Conditioner, Butter Cream Bubble Bath” next to the tub, and two white towels on the back of the chair.

When did he have time to do this? You whisper to yourself as you set your bare feet onto the cool tile, sliding the door closed behind you to keep the warm air from the heater confined to the bathroom. Your mind is trying to jumble ideas together, but comes up completely blank.

You still hear the sounds of dishes and water running downstairs, n’ wait for me. A smile grows on your lips, your cheeks warm up, and your belly spins and spins from anticipation. You spot your plush gray robe hanging on the hooks next to Joel’s black one, that’s hung up besides the glass standing shower.

So you decide to strip your pajamas off, the black tank top and sleep shorts dropping them in a small pile on the tile floor beneath your feet. Your right hand grabs the robe off the wall and swings it around your bare body so you can slip your arms through, and wrap the soft fabric around the front of yourself, as you do a little tie to keep it loosely together.

When you spin around to observe the bathroom from this side of the room, the soft glow from the candles is still just as breathtaking and beautiful. You catch the spot on the counter between the two sinks is empty like normal, at least something is the same. It’s the spot you sit whenever Joel shaves, brushes his teeth, showers - honestly, whenever he’s in here.

To keep some kind of routine and normalcy, you stride over to the counter and turn around so you can push your body up and set your ass onto the white and gray marble counter. Why does he insist on doing this? I’m not deserving of this kinda love and affection, it just doesn't seem real.

Your legs dangle off of the edge as you wait to hear the thumps from his feet on the stairs and the creak from sliding the door that separates you from the rest of the house. By now, the noises from downstairs have stopped and it’s only a matter of time until he’s in front of you.

The same time that you lean back onto the large mirror behind you, the barn door to your right gently slides open. The biggest smile appears on your face when you see him standing there, holding a long tray that’s filled with some more fruits cut up, but this time they’re covered in a white chocolate.

“Baby,” you purr as you sit up straight and he closes the door, then walks towards you on the counter and sets down the tray on the other side of the sink. Without saying anything, he turns around and turns the tub faucet on and to the hottest setting, and steam slowly rises from the water. Then he turns and brings his large body between your dangling legs, his hands placed on your hips, and he lowers his head to kiss you.

Your eyes start to well with tears as you kiss him back, but these are happy tears. You’ve never been treated with such care and tenderness, it’s very refreshing to know that a man is still capable of doing simple and effective gestures. Naturally, your arms hook around the back of his neck, which pulls your body right up to his; the smell of sweat, dish soap, and spices from breakfast overpower your nose.

God, he’s perfect.

“Okay, darlin’,” Joel sighs between the last couple kisses before he hesitates to pull away from you. “I want you to know that today is meant for you n’ that I want you to learn to love today. Cause’ you’re meant to, alright?”

With your hands playing with the curls that lay on the nape of his neck, you smile and nod as you stare into his soul-catching whiskey eyes, yes sir.

The smirk that appears on his face has your stomach doing flips, your hips instinctively grinding on his lower abdomen. His fingers dig deeper into your hips that’s covered by your robe as he groans under his breath, his eyes staring daggers into yours, trying so hard to not give in on his desires.

“Stop tryna’ distract me,” he tells you as he smiles and backs away from your jello-like body. Your arms drop in your lap as you watch him spin around and turn the tub faucet off, grab the bottle that reads “Butter Cream Bubble Bath” and squeeze a good amount into the water, and he swirls the steaming hot liquid. Bubbles start to appear just above the rim of the white bathtub, you can’t help but smile like a child waiting to be put in the bath after a long day.

Joel then brings his attention back to you, and the butterflies begin to appear like they did the first time you laid eyes on him at the bar where you met. The way his head cocks to the side to try to analyze you and your reactions tells you that he’s really trying to understand you fully, which you absolutely love.

He steps between your legs again, but this time his hands find a place underneath your ass and your arms hook around his neck once again. Joel then pulls you up, your legs latch around his waist, and your face rests in the crook of his neck, now lined with droplets of sweat from the warmth and humidity of the bathroom. You inhale once again, you can’t help it - you’re just so intoxicated by the smell of him, it’s almost an addiction.

But, just as soon as he lifts you up, he’s kneeling down and sitting you on the edge of the bathtub. You pout your lip at the loss of the body contact, your arms still around his neck as he kneels in front of you, his face now parallel to your chest.

“Don’t wanna’ get this wet, do ya?” His voice is deep and low as his hand reaches for the tie at your waist, his fingers slowly pulling the string keeping the piece of clothing together. You chuckle at his sudden confidence change, and you love when he does this, it somehow makes you fall even more in love with him.

His hands rise up to your shoulders and he gently pulls the fabric off of your body, letting the soft robe pile around your ass and thighs. His eyes gaze up and down your bare body, lingering on every inch of your skin like he’s eyeing his food, about to devour.

You slightly shiver from the warm air that hits your bare skin, Joel’s eyes move to your tits and he watches how your nipples perk from the humid air that circulates around the room. He licks his lips and mumbles something to himself, between the heater on the floor and the thumping of your heart in your ears you can’t make out what he’s said.

Both of his hands are placed on the top of your thigh and his thumbs start to do small up and down sort of motions. Your cunt beats at the same rhythm as your heart, a swirling feeling growing stronger in your belly, and you try to move your hips for some sort of friction. But your body is stuck from the grip Joel has on your thighs. You slightly whine and he smiles at seeing you losing your control.

“Now, spin your little self around n’ sink in.”

You do as he says with no hesitation, no questions, and no arguing. When you spin around and sink your feet into the bubbly steaming water, you’re immediately wrapped in warmth. Hhmm, you moan as you shut your eyes and fully submerge your body into the tub, laying your back on the porcelain behind you.

The water is almost at a scalding temperature, but it feels amazing on your skin, immediately relaxing the tension in your limbs that you didn’t even notice before.

“There you go, babygirl’, just relax n’ I’ll be downstairs, yell for me if ya’ need me.”

“Wait-“ you quickly say as your eyes shoot open and you lift your body up, causing your tits to surface from the water with clouds of soapy bubbles over them. Joel stops his movements and looks at you in the bathtub, waiting to hear what you have to say.

“You’re not gonna come in with me?”

Joel’s jaw clenches at your soft voice and the question, “Only if ya’ want me to,” he smirks back at you. All you do is nod and move your body closer to the faucet so he can slide in behind you. He watches the way the water moves with your body, and he starts to strip himself of the basketball shorts and his dark gray t-shirt, dropping them in the pile of your clothes.

Your cunt clenches at the sight of Joel naked in front of you. His chest and belly full of dark hair, his tan skin underneath, his cock hard up against his lower abdomen, and his thick legs beneath - he’s the perfect man, physically and emotionally.

He steps over the ledge and sinks into the same water you’re in, the bubbles and water now only an inch away from spilling over the edge of the tub. He slowly maneuvers your body so your back is against his chest, and you feel his cock lay against your lower back. Your head falls to his shoulder and leans into the crook of his neck, and your hands rest on his thighs that bend on the outside of yours.

Joel’s strong arms hook around your waist, one hand spreads against your lower belly and his right hand lightly grabs your inner thigh and raises it out of the water to hook your calf on the outer edge of the tub. The drastic temperature change between the water and the air causes goosebumps to rise on your skin, and Joel chuckles. You feel the rumble at your back as he does.

“Now, I want you to listen,” he whispers in your ear as he drags his fingers down your thigh and submerges back into the bubbles and water, stopping right at the crease before your mound.

“My moon n’ stars, you’re beautiful inside n’ out.” He bends his face and you feel his stubble tickle your neck as he starts to leave soft kisses between his words. His hands are still on your lower belly and thigh, giving soft squeezes to your skin; the mixture of it all causes soft moans to escape your lips, but you want more.

“You deserve nothin’ but the best things in life,” the hand on your thigh lowers and hovers over your aching cunt; your hips rise to try to feel him, causing the water to spill a little bit.

“My baby’s needy, huh?”

Mhmm, is all you can force yourself to do as you dig your fingers into his thick thighs and bite your bottom lip as you let him continue to leave sloppy kisses on your neck. Your stomach feels like it has dropped into a sinkhole, you’re just waiting for his touch so you can relax that overwhelming feeling. And just like that, his middle and ring finger swipe from your slick hole to your clit, your back arches and a broken moan leaves your throat from the sensation.

“Love when you finally give in, the noises you make,” his two fingers softly circle your clit and your right hand comes up to hook around the back of his head as you turn your face to meet him.

“N’ the way your body moves,” he whispers into your mouth as he kisses you with moans between each one. His fingers swirl slow circles on your clit for a moment before he lowers them and slowly inserts them in your small hole. The moan that leaves your lips is swallowed by Joel’s kisses as he pumps his fingers in and out, “So tight baby, relax,”

You try but you can’t. You’re so overstimulated from his fingers, his palm hitting your clit with each thrust, his cock throbbing behind you, and his other hand now pinching your left nipple.

I love you, my sweet girl, you look so damn pretty when you’re full of my fingers, your cheeks get so flushed and the way you can’t form words, just drunk off of the love.

You’ve never felt so loved before, this was all about you and Joel being able to do things for you - you’re finally starting to understand the appeal of Valentine’s Day. Pure love.

“That’s it darlin’, just like that. I’m right here.”

You break the kiss and lean your face into his neck, arm still wrapped around his head behind you, and you finally let that coil snap. With the last pump of his fingers, your back arches and you feel this tension release in your hips. Joel, fuck, you repeat into his neck as you calm down from the orgasm he just ripped from you, as he continues to slowly thrust his fingers in and out of you.

Shhh, pretty girl, I gotchu, he purrs as his left arm lowers around your waist so you don’t slide down too far into the water.

By now the water has cooled down, and it’s still warm but any longer and the two of you will be laying in a cool bath, which is fun for no one. Joel waits until your breathing has calmed down, and when it does, he taps your thigh that’s still hooked onto the outside of the tub. It jumps a little before you submerge it back into the bath water.

You and Joel chuckle at your body’s response, “You ready, dear?” You lift your face to look into his and you nod with a fucked-out look on yours. “You gotta carry me though,” you laugh as you say it, causing Joel to smile ear-to-ear and a deep laugh leaves his chest, “Was already plannin’ on it baby.”

Joel taps you once again to tell you to lean forward for him to get out, which you do. You watch him grab his black robe off the wall and slip it on as he ties it loosely in front of him. He then goes to grab yours and throws it over his shoulder, his hands then reach for yours to grab onto. You smile as you lift your hands into his and with the help of him pulling, you’re able to stand up and step out of the white tub. Water and suds drip down your body as Joel brings your rope around your body and lets you slide your arms into the soft material, then he ties the string to keep it together.

The smile has not dropped from your face, and you don’t think it will any time soon. Joel now has a softer smile over his, like he sees your opinion changing of valentine's right in front of him.

Joel takes your hand and leads you to the barn door once more as he opens it and tells you to lay down on the king size mattress you two share. Your brain is too foggy to try to refuse, so you climb on the navy comforter that smells of Joel. When you reach the pillows and turn around to lean against the headboard, you notice Joel holding the tray that’s full of the chocolate covered fruits that you forgot about.

Your face lights up as the sight of the chocolate strawberries, pineapples, and melons. So much so that Joel chuckles, I knew you forgot about these. He walks over to the side of the bed and sets the tray on your lap, he then grabs the TV remote that’s on your nightstand and he turns it to the station that plays movies that you always seem to love.

As you shove your face with the fruit, you also watch the guide on the TV as Joel scrolls and you look in the top left corner which reads, “2:48PM”. You almost choke when you realize that you two spent over an hour and a half in the bath, it definitely did not seem that long.

“There it is,” Joel says out loud as he clicks on the 234 channel, “Look at that, Good Will Hunting,” he turns his body to gauge your reaction, which is amazing nonetheless.

“How did-“

“Don’t. A magician never reveals his secrets. Now, I’m gonna’ go start dinner-“

“You’re not gonna watch with me?” You pout, setting down the small strawberry you were about to pop into your mouth.

“I mean, I had a couple more things planned, darlin’.” He replies but he watches your posture and how your eyes lower with sadness, it’s like a gut punch to him to see you like this.

“But if you’d rather sit up here n’ watch this, I’d be more than happy to do that with you.”

Your face brightens when you hear his voice tell you that with pure sincerity. You nod your head quickly, yes, please, baby, spills out of your mouth and you scoot over for him to sit next to you. He chuckles and climbs into the spot you cleared for him. “Wanna’ share?” he asks with a smirk on his face.

The laugh that leaves your chest causes Joel to blush and smile like an idiot. “My bad baby, of course.” You grab the tray and lay half of it on your lap and the other half on Joel’s. You lean into Joel’s side, he lifts his arm and rests it over your opposite shoulder as the two of you watch Matt Damon solve a ridiculous math question.

“So did I change your mind?” Joel’s question vibrates your body against his.

You take a second to answer him, you raise your eyes off of the TV and to Joel’s face where he’s already looking at yours below him.

“Order some Chinese takeout, and you sure did.”

Joel’s laughs and shakes his head, deal, darlin’. The same smile you had from the bath, takes over your face again as you push yourself up to kiss his soft lips.

“I love you, thank you.”

“Anything for you pretty girl, I love you more than the moon n’ stars combined.”

He kisses you one more time before he grabs his phone from his nightstand and goes to the menu for your favorite Chinese restaurant down the street. You bury your body more into Joel’s black robe, and you lower your eyes back to the movie.

Matt Damon bangs on the restaurant window, “You like apples?” The other dude nods his head, and Matt slams the napkin with the girl's number on it on the window, “How do you like them apples?” All his friends laugh as they walk into the street.

[mattsturniolosmuse]

Father Dexter

Dexter Morgan x Daughter! Reader

Summary: You are Dexter's daughter, 17 years old. Your mother gets murdered, and Dexter is there to calm you and protect you from further harm.

Warnings: Swearing, gore

🔪♥ 🔪♥🔪♥ 🔪♥ 🔪♥🔪♥ 🔪♥ 🔪♥ 🔪♥ 🔪♥ 🔪♥ 🔪♥ 🔪♥ 🔪♥ 🔪♥

*8 years earlier*

Blood. It was everywhere.

Staining your skirt, splattering your face.

Your mother, lies in the middle of it all. Her body parts strewn across the room. Her arm on one side, near the wall. Her leg by the couch. Her head resting just 1 foot away from you.

"Dad!" You scream. "Daddy!"

You sit there for hours. Hours, that seemed like days. The coppery blood dried to your face.

"Y/N, I'm home." Your dad calls from the foyer. He enters the room with a smile, holding a bouqet of lilies. Your favourite.

You begin to sob as your father calls the Miami Metro Department.

He picks you up, wrapping his arms around you protectively.

"It's OK, my angel, Aunt Deborah is on her way." He says, stroking your hair.

He carries you to the kitchen, wetting a cloth in warm water. He wipes your face gently, tears pouring down his face.

"Let's go change." Dexter says. You slip off your skirt, and Dexter puts it in a large zip lock bag. You take your shirt off. Dexter lays out some jeans and a pink sweater.

"Change, sweetheart." He says. You do.

🔪♥ 🔪♥🔪

*Present day*

"Dad? I'm going out with Joel." You call down the hallway towards the direction of your fathers bedroom.

"Hold up." He calls back. You lean on your door frame. He takes a look at what you're wearing. A nice dress, modest, though. It was down to your knees, and hugged your waist nicely. It was a halter top, showing no cleavage. Your father was strict that way.

"You look nice, my angel." He says, pulling you into a hug.

"You know the drill. No strangers, call me when you get there, if you want to leave just text me and I'll come and pick you up." He says, looking at you again.

"You're growing up. You've got a boyfriend." Dexter says, tears in his eyes.

"You can drink alcohol in less than a month, for god sake!" He says. You nod and smile.

"Bye, dad." You say, kissing his cheek.

"Bye, kid." He says. He watches with sad eyes as you get into Joel's truck. He's tried to protect you as much as he could.

The day your mother died was one of the worst days of his life. He vowed to hunt down the man who killed your mother and kill him. And so, he had found him, and it was going to happen tonight. Tonight was the night.

🔪♥ 🔪♥🔪

Dexter watches as the man leaves the bar, waving bye to a few friends. The man was a lot thicker than he was in his photo, with tattoos covering his arms and legs.

Dexter had hid himself in the back of the guy's car. When the guy got in, Dexter wrapped a metal wire around his throat.

"Go where I tell you. Or else I'll kill you." Dexter says to him, voice deep and unrecognizable.

The man follows Dexter's directions, and they arrive at their destination. An old fisherman's shack, that hasn't been used for 6 years.

Dexter followed his routine, injecting poison into the man, knocking him out. He laid him flat on the table, wrapping Saran wrap around his body, securing him to the table. Now, he just had to wait.

A few minutes later, the man gained consciousness, his eyes opening and closing due to the bright light. When he finally got used to it, Dexter spoke.

"Hey there." Dexter said, standing over him with a rigged knife. The man's eyes widen.

"What? What did I do? What do you want from me?" He asks. Dexter chuckles, shaking his head.

"Your life. You killed my wife. Which killed my daughters spirit. She was going to be an actress, you know. Until you killed her mother." Dexter says, slicing the knife into his cheek, drawing blood and dropping it onto a file.

"Who? I don't know what you're talking about." The man says, blood dripping down his cheek.

"Oh, I think you do." Dexter says, stepping aside so the man could see the photos of your mother. The man's eyes widen, his veins popping in his neck.

"She deserved it, that bitch. I am not sorry." The man said, full of venom.

"Good. Well, I don't regret this." Dexter says, swinging a butcher knife down on the man's neck, slicing his head clean off. Dexter smiles as the blood splatters over his front.

A small squeak snaps him back to reality. He looks up, bewildered, towards the front of the shack, seeing you, his beloved daughter, standing there, purse in hand, eyes wide at the mess in front of you.

"Oh my fucking God." You tremble, as you stare at the bloody mess and your father.

"Shit. Angel, it's not what it looks like." Dexter says, pulling you into a hug, coating your front in blood.

"How'd you find me?" He asks you.

"Well, you forgot to turn off your location, I guess." You say, not peeling your eyes away from the dead body. He seemed odly familiar.

"Dad, who is that?" You ask, stepping closer to the dead body. You examine his face.

"Well, it's the man who killed your mother." Dexter says, following you. It suddenly snapped into place.

The man's face, a sinister smile from ear to ear, as he forced you to watch him slice your mother's arms off, followed by her legs and head.

You start to cry. Sob.

Dexter pulls you into a hug.

"I'm sorry, angel." He says, kissing your head. You sob into his shoulder.

"You? You're the bay harbor butcher?" You snivel, looking at him.

"Yeah. God, I hate that name." He says, rubbing his face.

"But you have to understand that I only kill those who have killed others before." Dexter says to you. You nod.

"Please, angel, you cannot tell anyone." Dexter says, hugging you again.

"Can I help you next time?" You ask, genuinely. Dexter pauses.

"Of course you can." He whispers.

[inbabylontheywept]

The Price

Mithrain’s hands were thick boned and knotted with scars. Unfit tools for anything delicate. Yet they were all he had, so he traded patience for true dexterity. Where humans had skill and elves had grace, dwarves had time.

His fingers carefully tugged the knotted fabrics apart. Blanket by blanket, twist by twist, the bundle came undone until, at last, an infant lay on the war table.

It was human. Unmistakably so – round ears peeked through a halo of blonde hair. It reached forward with tiny hands and wrapped all ten of its fingers around the dwarves' thumb. Both its index fingers still lingered a full inch from meeting. Mithrain looked down at it with true warmth. Then he looked back up at the elves and gave a command.

“Kill it.”

No one at the table moved. The circle of elves looked from the child, to him, then back. To their credit, the tension was more borne of  confusion than moral wavering. They knew they would not do it. They did not know why they were being asked.

Solathan the Elder spoke first.

“No,” he replied.

Mithrain nodded. The refusal was not merely hoped for, it had been expected.

“This is why you will not win.”

The table sat in contemplative silence. Solathan, bravest amongst the elves, most forward, most dwarf, spoke again.

“Because we will not murder infants?”

“Because this infant is the son of Agamedes. He is the last king of the Hinterlands. Humans grow old quickly – in twenty five years he will be a man, and he will start a war just like the one you are fighting today. A war suspiciously similar to the one you fought twenty-five years ago.”

The words were calm, but he watched the generals hands closely. Even a twitch towards a belt knife would be enough to betray temptation. Yet, each hand remained perfectly still.

There was a short pulse of shame in him. Envy. When he’d had this conversation with his own war council all those centuries ago, there had been several who’d considered it. Who had considered the price of such self-degredation.

“You will not win. You could. But you see the cost now, and you know it is too high. You want to honor your treaties, your duties, your integrity, but you know the word for that which lacks soul but keeps contracts. You’ve fought them with me, in the deepest, darkest depths of the stone.” 

Solathan had gone white. He knew. He’d been so focused on winning this war that he’d failed to look ahead to the next. And the next. And the next. The cycle stood out to him, infinite and spiraling. He froze at the thought of walking down into that abyss.

“I could raise it. Him. I could try and break the cycle. I-“

“He will learn from another human. Another infant that grows to manhood. He will learn, and he will burn your house and throne. Do you think I am so wise, as to see the future without having lived the past? Whatever cleverness you will suggest, I have tried. I fought ten generations of warriors on the same field before I realized I had three options. To burn my soul, to trap myself in endless war, or to lose. So I lost.”

His voice cracked on the last three words. The infant had begun to fuss over the cold, and he went to work swaddling it again. He’d made his point - now it was time to take the princling home. But as his hands made their slow work, he gave his final warning. 

“You did not know when you started this. And you would not have listened if I had told you. But you know now. And if I meet you in those darkest depths, I will know what sent you there. The only pity you will find from me after that is a second death."

He finished his work in silence, leaving as he came. The quiet lasted long after. 

[poisonvenomgutss]

String Theory (2)

(gif is NOT mine. - see watermark)

"The String Theory suggests that we are all linked to those we love, regardless of physical distance or separation, by an intangible, yet powerful bond that is impossible to break."

Pairing - Dexter x Fem! OC

Plot - Dexter and Mary, although opposites in a lot of ways, find themselves almost tethered together. Regardless of the consequences, they are unable or unwilling to cut that string.

Trigger warnings - mental illness, talk of murder and I think that's it..?

a sense of calm and relief washes over Dexter as he drives home, nothing puts him in a better mood than a successful kill and now he gets to go home, spend a relaxing night with Mary and get a good night's sleep.

But when he opens the door to his apartment, his eyes find something that's quite the opposite of relaxing...His apartment looked like it had been ransacked, things thrown all over the place, his desk a mess of papers and the AC was missing the front panel.

Dexter's eyes widened as he came to the realization, the AC is missing the front panel.

she found his trophies.

This was worst case scenario, the woman he loved, finding out the truth about him. His mind raced as he thought of what she could possibly know, and if she had called the cops already. However, his panic was cut short by Mary's cold voice.

"So, where were you?" Her eyes bore into him with an anger he hasn't ever seen her have before, like she was holding back from strangling him.

Her eyes were bloodshot red, like she had been crying all night. Her hands held the box shakily, but her eyes stayed steady on him.

"I was at work...what happened here?" He slowly places his bag down as he slowly approaches the couch she's sitting on. His demeanor is calm, as usual. One thing about Dexter is he knew to always stay calm, as acting panicked would only fuel suspicion.

"No Dexter, you were not at work. I called Deb at the station."

Silence.

Mary never heard a silence so loud. She caught him in a lie, and now he had nothing to say?

Dexter tried to come up with something else to say, but he couldn't help but be distracted by the sight of his trophies sitting vulnerable in Mary's hands. All he wanted to do was get that box safely back behind the AC panel.

"It made me think, all those late nights at work...were those lies too?" Mary asked, a rhetorical question really, she knew in her heart the answer was yes. "I tried to think of why you would lie to me like that, but i could only come up with one answer. You're cheating on me." Her words came across careless, like she had already mourned the trust in their relationship.

"I'm not-"

"But imagine my surprise, after searching your apartment, I find absolutely zero proof of you cheating." she interrupts, "Instead, I find a box of blood slides hiding in your AC unit." she clears her throat, as if the next words to come out of her mouth got stuck, "Weirdly enough, it looks the same as those blood slides the Bay Harbor Butcher had...I saw it on the news." Setting the box on the table in front of them, she pushes them in directly in front of Dexter.

"Explain." She demands.

She needed to know, after all, there's really no rational explanation to having a box of blood slides hiding in your AC unit.

Dexters eyes fall down to the box, he runs his finger over the slides and lets out a deep, defeated sigh. His eyes meet Mary's, and all he can see is hurt and desperation on her face. He never wanted to hurt her or break her trust, but it was too late. She's already connected most of the dots, and if she were to talk to anybody about this it would definitely be over. He tried lying already, which clearly didn't work out, so why not try the truth?

"I kill people." He said bluntly, not looking away from the box of trophies. "I'm the bay harbor butcher."

Another deadly silence falls over the room.

-

(Mary's POV)

Dexters words fall heavy into my ears, shaking my brain of any coherent thoughts. He has to be fucking with her, right? Theres no way her boyfriend is the fucking Bay Harbor Butcher.

Weirdly enough, this isn't the first time someone had made a confession like this to her. Of all my years spent as a defense lawyer, I've only met one murderer, and I found myself having a lot of sympathy for him. He had these uncontrollable urges, as he explained to me, an addiction to drugs that led to the killing of a drug dealer.

Now that I think about it, I can see some of those same qualities that man had in Dexter. Quiet, always in his head, and now, the lying. But I had watched the case on TV, and they found the bay harbor butcher and they had irrefutable evidence.

"James Doakes was the Bay Harbor Butcher." I replied. My words came out matter of fact sounding, though I did have some skeptism now that the same trophies were sitting in front of me. Was this some sort of sick prank?

"That's what I made everyone think. He was my coworker and he was getting too close; I had to do something." Dexter replies, closing the box and rising to his feet. "I didn't kill him though." He added.

I watched as he rose to his feet, walking over to the AC and carefully placed the wooden box back into its hiding spot, popping the front panel back into place as well.

"Dex, what the fuck are you talking about?"

I listened intently as Dexter explained his past to me. My anger slowly washing away as he speaks. I had known about his biological mother's death, a horrific murder not too different from my past with my father. The emptiness he felt, the urges that controlled him and the code he was taught, well that was all news to me. Anger boiled up inside me once more at the thought, how could a father teach murder 101 to his vulnerable and traumatized child? I had been lucky enough to be quickly put into therapy groups after my father's death, but Dexter, he only had Harry.

After Dexter got through telling me about everything, he finished with a deep sigh. I could see the fear in his eyes, fear that I would run away or maybe even report him to the police. Instead, I grabbed his hands, looking at him with gentle eyes, "I love you, Dex. We'll figure this out together."

-

6 notes on that last one was 6 more than I expected so thanks for that! Again, I'm not really a writer, nor have I written any fanfic since like 13 years old so although the quality isn't great, I hope you enjoy the idea.

[ectojyunk]

Prompt #4: Reticent

Ship: Emet/Exarch

CW: Underdiscussed kink, public foreplay

"And when you make your way into the Greatwoods…" the Exarch bit his lip slightly, "you should be wary of some obstacles in your way."

The Scions talked among themselves while the Warrior asked the Exarch to explain further. Emet-Selch was also seated amongst them, for reasons none of them could discern or care. "R-right, there are…" the Exarch paused and then continued talking about various things to watch out for when entering the forest, "for example- the Ronkan ruins," he winced and shot Emet-Selch a look. Stop doing that. Whether Emet-Selch could read his thoughts or not, he did not know.

But, one thing was for sure— he could not risk the Scions catching wind of what was happening unbeknownst to them. Emet-Selch smirked at the Exarch, very much enjoying himself at the Exarch's predicament.

And then, Emet-Selch did something that turned the Exarch pale. He pressed his foot further into his crotch from under the table, as he had been doing do for the last couple of minutes, and spoke clearly as to turn all of the Scion's attention onto himself, "No need to be so reticent, dear Exarch. Tell everything to your friends. Be a bit more open as to what is on your mind- tell them what sort of troubles they might face in the forest, hm?"

The Exarch almost squirmed in his seat while the Warrior and all of their friends focused on him. He wanted to kill the Ascian so bad. "T-there are a couple of other points I was… going to get to."

As he listed off his guiding points, Emet-Selch continued his silent and relentless assault. To his suprise, the Exarch impressed him, his exterior got further composed the more he pushed. No matter, he could do more. He wanted to see him struggle- take him to the brink and pull him back the last second before they were caught. That is what the Exarch had divulged to him a few moons ago after all. This is what he wanted, even if he panicked at the notion of putting it into practice now.

The meeting was almost over, thankfully. Yet, -somehow- Emet-Selch had taken his shoes off without anyone noticing; the added dexterity with his soles off maddened the Exarch more. Luckily, the talking had been overtaken by the Scions as they planned together with a map of Norvrandt in front of them. They were distracted enough so the Exarch could just, lay his head down for a bit and… and enjoy… enjoy?

"Exarch?"

The suspicious tone in Alisaie's voice shook the Exarch upright and made even Emet-Selch stop his ministrations.

"Y-yes?"

"You look tired. We'll take it from here-" she said as she made off with the map. The rest got up and followed her, Alphinaud mouthing a "Thank you!" before leaving.

…

"What is wrong with you?" The Exarch hissed, as he felt a limb press near his groin again.

"A lot. But do not blame me. It is you who I believe said, and I quote, 'I can keep my focus no matter what distraction might befall me', no? I simply wanted to… test your little declaration." Emet-Selch chuckled, "Do you want me to continue? Or will you give up? Judging by your flushed face… I think you want me to finish this as soon as possible."

"… Not here."

Another push.

"And why not?" His voice got low, almost a whisper. "You are enjoying the thrill— you wouldn't be this hard when I was only touching you half-heartedly…"

Godsdammit. He saw right through him. But he was right- he… his heart beat out of his chest at the thought of being discovered yet- yet he didn't do anything to stop it- he didn't want it to stop.

"I- I will keep quiet. I can- take this…" The Exarch slumped over the table, hiding his head between his arms as he invited Emet-Selch to continue- slightly opening his thighs for easier access.

"Good boy. As I said- no need to be reticent. At least… not with these inner desires of yours," he said while stroking the Exarch's length up and down through the fabrics, drawing out a quiet whine from the man.

"Whatever ammoral desires you have, share them with me, your equally ammoral enemy," he snickered with a gloved hand to his mouth. "No mortal would accept you like I do, my dear."

The Exarch didn't respond, he simply prepared and braced for his climax so he could suppress his voice and body as to not alert anyone in the library. Not soon after, with a final stroke, he came underneath his robes with a nary a sound, just a shiver, barely visible to anyone not paying attention.

"Well done. I'm impressed, not so much as a single yelp. I'll be in your chambers- your… performance has given some… inspiration," he laughed low and took a deep sigh, almost with a hint of… wistfulness?

The Exarch had a mind to call him a freak, but he was no better. No, he was no better at all. With a spent look, he looked at Emet-Selch's hungry golden eyes.

"… I'll be there."

[dark-arts-and-crafts-universe]

A Dying Art (Chapter 17)

A Dying Art

Lorcan Verdigris is a time wizard, a misanthrope, and a single father to a household of magically-sentient furniture.

Lorcan Verdigris is not a necromancer. Anymore. But when the leader of the  local necro coven comes to him with a request he really, really can’t  refuse, past collides with present and he finds himself back in a world  he’d tried to leave behind. Someone is trying to steal a powerful  magical artifact, one whose destruction could unleash chaos upon the  city. Or save it from an even greater danger. Or do nothing at all. Who  knows. See, this is exactly why Lorcan stopped messing with the stuff.

Unfortunately,  one way or another, Lorcan’s the one stuck dealing with it. He’d like  to say this is a challenge that will take all his magic and his  ingenuity to overcome, but let’s be real, stopping this threat will take  something even more dire: actual effort. At least he’s getting paid  this time…

Previous | Table of Contents

Chapter 17: What Remains

Word count: 3,618

Content warnings: no major content warnings

So this is the last chapter of A Dying Art! I’ve been really nervous about posting this, wanted to make sure it was as good as it could be to end the story strong. I do plan to write more with these characters and universe (because wow is there a lot more story to tell) but this work represents the first major chunk of Lorcan’s arc. If you’ve stuck around until the end, thank you so much! I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it.

-

Osiris did live up to their promise to pay him if he survived. They even threw in extra to cover expenses. Lorcan got the letter in his mail five days after the mall battle–he almost didn’t check until the kids pestered him about it. Alongside the cash was another message. It read: Darken my GameStop one more time, Lorcan Verdigris.

The normal people were definitely staring when Lorcan entered the mall. He couldn’t blame them–he’d found a big stick in the small patch of grass outside and was regularly jabbing it into the walls on the off-chance something started breathing. He tossed five rocks onto the escalator before deciding it was (probably) safe.

Of course, if the mall was still evil and liminal, his time sense would be killing him again and everything there was comfortably usual. So. His slipshod plan had worked, then. The scenesters hadn’t connected the mall dimension back to their plane of existence, and Osiris hadn’t taken the space for themselves. Maybe this incident wasn’t entirely over, but some things were back to the way they’d been.

“You did not bring your familiar this time,” Osiris’s voice greeted Lorcan as he stepped into the shop.

“Well, fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice and I really will irradiate you to death.”

“We see,” they said, then: “That was not Dexter’s death curse.”

If Lorcan was a little bit snippy, it was because he was still catching up on sleep from the week before. He ran a hand through his hair, then asked, “Did you summon me to your shop to say things we both already knew?”

Because, duh. Dexter Young would never bury anything important in a place he and Lorcan had explored together. His trust extended just far enough to let him help with the mostly-useless first attempt, ten years ago.

But, “The prototype looked close enough to fool the others.”

“Not us, however.”

Yes. Osiris had all of Dexter’s memories. That was how that worked.

“I didn’t need to fool you,” he told them. “I just needed to get you in a position where it benefitted you to play along. The fight had been going long enough I figured you’d want it stalled, if nothing else.”

And they nodded slowly, like Lorcan had given them something they needed. “An intriguing gambit.”

There was almost a note of respect in their voice–exactly what Lorcan had hoped wasn’t going to happen. Aside from the ethical implications…he’d only been able to get the drop on Osiris because they’d underestimated him. He would bet that wasn’t going to happen in the future.

“Not without its consequences, of course,” the Crown said, probably thinking the same. “What you gained from the ploy must have been worth the risk.”

Not this again, Lorcan thought, pretending very suddenly to be interested in one video game on the shelf in front of him about…cars? “I thought my demands were clear enough. My son, and the petty, fleeting thrill of victory symbolized by a pair of overpriced shoes.”

Osiris let out a hum.

Before that hum could turn into a barbed comment, or worse a question, he added, “So I guess you won the fight, then? I mean, this place looks less hell-dimension than last time.”

He couldn’t say things seemed entirely normal–he was studiously avoiding the new, very artistic posters the Crown had added to the decor since last time–but it was still Osiris’s store, so he had to assume things had worked out for them.

“More or less,” they answered, with a tilt of their head. “After your…outburst, you could say the adrenaline of the moment had dimmed. The Dominion sought respite for their injuries–”

“Who the fuck is the Dominion?”

“The ‘scene crowd’. Their collective nom de guerre,” Osiris told him. They frowned. “They had a monologue about it when the fight began. Were you not there for that?”

“No, I was busy being left for dead,” he said.

“Ah.” They gave it a second’s thought and moved on, “The Dominion broke to in-fighting soon after you left–petty complaints about being ‘frightened’ and ‘dying’. It was as if they had not yet considered murdering a powerful necromancer might involve some degree of personal consequence. We know that you would never be so foolish.”

And Lorcan flinched at that, because it was true in exactly the way he didn’t want Osiris to think about. “They seemed pretty young,” he offered.

“In years, they did not differ much from you. In maturity…” They nodded once. “Their worldview is very much marked by youth: the old is worthless, everything must be fresh, new.”

“...like the New Osiris?”

A scowl. “That was part of the monologue, yes. A quite vainglorious sobriquet–the name Osiris is not for any common ruler to claim. It belonged to a truly admirable individual.”

Lorcan did not resist the urge to roll his eyes. “You know,” he drawled, “some people would pretend to be humble.”

The look of unamusement on Osiris’s face was expected. But it seemed different from usual. Somehow more solemn. “We mean the first Osiris. Contrary to popular belief, we chose the name out of respect.”

He turned that over in his head. The first necromancer in the area to call himself Osiris was before Lorcan’s time. But he did know the stories. “He convinced his enemies to merge their covens together,” he said, working through the thought. “No enchantments–supposedly–no shows of force. Just words and charisma.”

“Osiris the First achieved through will alone what for others required powerful magic.”

“And you…admire that?” he had to ask. Osiris (the Second) did value hard work, and skills separate from magic. The GameStop was proof of that.

What Osiris (the Second) didn’t bother with was charisma. Needing people, trusting people–Lorcan had seen their lip literally curl enough to know their disgust at the thought. The necromancer souls that made up the gestalt had needed people, and they’d failed to achieve anything close to the first Osiris. He’d think, with their ego, that would more likely lead to envy.

“You admire someone,” he repeated.

“We do have a heart, Verdigris,” they said. “On occasion it is capable of positive emotion.”

“So is this–” Lorcan pointed at himself, then the Crown, and the store. “--one of those rare moments of gratitude, then? Because I saved your ass back in that fight?”

There was the lip. “Whatever minor assistance you rendered was, truly, unnecessary in the grander scheme of things.” They paused. “But, as the opportunity did arise, we decided acquiescing to a momentary stalemate would allow us to allocate our remaining stamina for this upcoming shift. Besides which, the ritual circle had been damaged in the battle somehow.”

“Oh?”

“The liminal death dimension still exists,” Osiris explained, “but its connection to our own plane has been frayed. A new bridge would need to be built before the space is again usable.”

Little victories, Lorcan thought.

“As for the physical Spirit Halloween in this mall,” they continued. “It has vanished as quickly as it appeared. A front the entire time, we assume.”

Osiris let out a small huff of breath, not quite a sigh. It was still more defeated than Lorcan had ever seen them. “A clean victory would have been preferable, though it seems this time that was not quite possible.”

And for a moment, Lorcan could feel a sense of kinship with the wistfulness in the Crown’s voice.

“Things keep happening.” He looked down at his hands. “You don’t want to be the one who has to handle them. But you’re the one who’s there and that means it’s up to you. It sucks.”

“Indeed. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the’…” They trailed off mid-quote, and pointed to their crown upon their head. A soft, halfway-chuckle slipped out of their mouth. “True rest escapes us still. The Dominion’s fiendish accountancy knows few bounds.”

“I thought you’d have dealt with that by now.”

“You know as well as we that the advent of online shopping was the dagger in the metaphorical intestine of the American mall,” they informed him. “It bleeds slow, but death is certain.” Sad silhouettes of signage flashed into Lorcan’s mind. Empty halls and dusty floors.

“The only locations turning a profit at this complex are this GameStop and–” Osiris let out a disgusted shudder. “--the Hot Topic. Pre-orders alone may not be enough. We will likely need to devote even greater attention to this job simply to hold the line. We may even have to cut down on our extracurricular murders.”

Hm. “That’s rough.”

“Yes. We must all make sacrifices in this trying time.” Then, after a pause, “Or rather, some of us must make fewer sacrifices. But the time of separating business from magic, at least, is at an end.”

Lorcan wouldn’t say no to less extracurricular murder, but it was overall a somber statement. A lot of necromantic status quo in the area was going to get upheaved. It might, emphasis on might, work out better for the locals for a new enemy to distract Osiris’s attention. But there was a lot of new room for innocents to get caught in the crossfire.

It had been the same way back before the Crown had merged into a necromantic gestalt, and Lorcan didn’t know what he, as one mid-tier wizard, could do to stop it.

“You did not answer our question, Verdigris.”

They were doing this, then? They were really doing this. “I’m pretty sure I did, actually,” he said. Argumentative, but there was no helping that.

“We wish to hear why you did what you did that night.”

“You know damn well why,” Lorcan snapped. “Is it really so confusing I might want to protect my children? My children who I love?”

“Perhaps.” Osiris raised an eyebrow. “It is such a feeble, human emotion, after all.”

Yeah, he didn’t buy that. “I’ve heard you do have a heart on occasion.”

It was too easy an answer: the evil, inhuman villain who does evil things because they don’t feel love. Better than admitting your old friend had just stopped caring. No, for all Osiris insisted they were no longer mortal and weak, their evil was human enough. Something about the specifics of Lorcan’s family did seem to be tripping up their inestimable wisdom. But it wasn’t that.

Osiris liked to avoid emotion. Lorcan knew firsthand that didn’t stop you from feeling it.

“And you know what,” he threw out like a challenge, “you never answered my question: did you call me here just to talk about things we both already know?”

The words were more confident than he felt, and Osiris stared at him, eyes piercing, stance sure. Lorcan tried not to shift, not to fidget. Whatever they were looking for, they were only going to see what he’d already explained. For a moment, he could see hesitation flickering in the dark of their eye.

When the Crown finally spoke, they said, “Dexter was surprised when you began calling yourself a father.”

And how could Lorcan respond to that except, “I was, too.” It was a vulnerable admission, and for once, Osiris didn’t press their advantage.

The feeling in the silence that fell prickled at his neck. It was almost like…uncertain smalltalk back in Belial’s tattoo parlor. A kind of verbal joust he still didn’t know the rules for. He was missing something big, he just didn’t know what. So there was a moment of relief when the door to the back of the shop opened, enough that he didn’t think to question who could be coming out of it.

There had to be wards hiding Jennifer Lynn’s shimmering spectral form from non-magical eyes. Even in a dying mall, there were too many people who would notice a translucent woman carrying a stack of games to the shelves like she was any normal employee. It was a sign of the upheaval Lorcan had been the unwitting architect of, he thought with a sinking heart. The days of the Crown Osiris’s GameStop being a place safe from magic were over.

Then he saw the person standing behind Jennifer Lynn.

Necromancy made a lot of common idioms hard to say with a straight face. So for Lorcan to say that spotting Kyle, in the flesh, carrying a stack of video games was like ‘seeing a ghost’--well, there was a ghost right in front of him. This was more shocking.

“You are staring,” Osiris noted.

“I’m just surprised to see him still–” Alive. “–employed.”

“Clearly we overestimated his ability to lead independently of our instruction,” they said. “It does not matter. We have long been in need of a footman whom we can provide with much firmer management.”

“And how’s Kyle feel about that?”

“Kyle?” Osiris asked him.

“Super grateful for not being dead, um, your royal magic-ness Opal ma’am!” The kid had a plastered-on smile that looked only halfway fake. “I mean, the new hours suck a bit, but it’s better than food service. Also being a, uh, footman comes with health insurance?”

It sounded more like a question than a statement. Lorcan glanced back at Osiris.

“We bound a wraith into the fabric of his soul to ensure his body will not expire before our use for him has,” they said. “That counts. Honestly, we would not have bothered in the first place,” they added with a wave of their hand. “But Jennifer Lynn saw potential in him.”

The realtor’s shade hadn’t looked at Lorcan since she walked out, almost pointedly ignoring him. It wasn’t until the split second where Osiris turned to examine a display that she met his eyes.

Huh, he thought. How about that?

Lorcan wasn’t going to insult Jennifer Lynn’s intelligence by letting slip any more than a single nod, barely more than a twitch of his neck. But when she pivoted back to her work as if nothing had even been communicated, he thought she got the gist.

It was a bigger favor than Lorcan thought he could ask for. The situation Kyle was in was not ideal by any means. It was a lot of trouble Lorcan didn’t know if he could get him out of. But more achievable than full resurrection–he wasn’t that good a necromancer.

“You will need somebody to keep the shop running,” he said, because anything that kept Osiris from doubting Jennifer Lynn’s judgment was good. “Even if you black-market-gem your way out of debt, the customers are what keep the mall alive in the first place.”

Osiris disfavored him with a sour look. “Why should we surrender our own wealth to fix others’ inadequacies? No, we have found a more ingenious solution to our budgetary distress,” they pronounced, eyes glittering. “We have garnished Kyle’s pay.”

Lorcan glanced over to Kyle. “Hooray for capitalism,” he said.

He shouldn’t even be surprised anymore. Osiris was who they’d always been. As Dexter, as Opal, as the full gestalt. These were all people who would do anything to never need anyone.

Kind of like Lorcan. He took a deep breath. He was trying to be better. “Look, Osiris. This might be out of hand–”

“Then do not say it?”

He pressed on, “But you could consider giving a little more recognition to your underlings. There’s stuff they’re doing that you can’t, or won’t, and it doesn’t hurt you to let them pick up that slack. And maybe,” he added, “if you happen to owe someone for past services rendered, just pay them? I cannot stress enough that you’re a rich person who can do that.”

Osiris hummed to themself, seeming to consider it. “What you are saying is that re-investing in our minions now is the opportune moment to secure more unwavering loyalty in the future. Achieve our goals through mundane manipulation, like our predecessor.”

“No,” he said. “No, do not take this and turn it into a necromancy power grab. I’m trying–I am trying to be nice here, goddammit.”

“We know. It is a strange gesture. It hardly suits our working relationship.”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“And yet you slave to the impulse in your mortal mind to meddle so. Our nigh-infinite wisdom is at a loss to explain it.” Their voice lilted for a moment, like it was a funny joke. But if they had seemed amused at first, their next words made it clear they were very, very not: “One would think the collateral damage alone from your interferences would deter you.”

Lorcan’s heart stuck in his throat. “Is that a threat?” he asked, and tried to sound confident.

“To your, ah, children? No, we have resolved that to attack ones so frail and helpless no longer befits the dignity of our gestalt. Consider it a courtesy after all you have done for us.”

Sure, he thought. That was the reason.

“No, it was,” and Lorcan knew exactly what the Crown would end that sentence with, “a simple observation. You must know by now that your nature is a poison, rather than a balm. Look at what you have wrought in the last week alone–was any of it ‘good’?”

He didn’t react. He didn’t let himself. His very breath stopped. Osiris was looking for a reaction, and he would not give them the satisfaction.

They smiled, and it was as unkind as anything Lorcan had ever done. “Some people were not made to be helpful, Verdigris. Remember that if you seek to interfere in our affairs again.”

Message received, Lorcan thought, mouth suddenly very dry. “Right,” he said, mechanically. Going through every motion. “It’s been real, Osiris. Corporate must love your progress reports.” He turned to go.

But this time, they didn’t let him leave with the parting shot. “Do you know how a conflict between us would end, Lorcan Verdigris?”

This again? “Yes,” he said tightly.

It was an obvious, obedient answer. So it sent a chill shock through his system when the Crown told him that, “We are no longer so certain. But if need be, we will put the question to the test.”

If there was one thing Lorcan had learned about Osiris, the thing that was new and strange about this person who was almost an almost-friend, it was that they liked their labels. It was their way of making the world predictable. Life and death. Work and magic. Threats and fools.

And if there was power in breaking boundaries, Lorcan might have done the worst thing he could in the long run by establishing himself as a threatening fool.

The unsettled feeling stuck with him all the way back to the apartment. “Hey, you’re still alive,” Vulk said, watching TV.

“Yeah.”

<But it’s done.> Frank flickered his light, letting out a satisfied creak.

“...Yeah.” He looked over to the desk, where Loretta’s light shade had swiveled to peer directly at him. “Loretta. Could…” He trailed off.

Going back to a lazy schedule meant he didn’t have to wear himself down thinking over everything that had happened. It meant he had plenty of time to do it anyway. And some thoughts were less avoidable than others.

His nature…a crafter’s art and their magic reflected who they were. It wasn’t supposed to be as simple as ‘good’ and ‘bad’ types of magic. But maybe Lorcan was just an unlucky jerk with nothing below the surface.

If he was a little nicer, would he have ended up with magic like Kryptonia and her friends, something that created instead of destroyed? A seer knew, at least, what it was they were supposed to do. Whether their actions would help or hurt. He could admit he envied that.

When Lorcan first saw the vision of red, he assumed it meant blood. The consequences of a bad choice. Frustrating, vague, and in the end it had been a clue to something else entirely.

No, despite the hint Lorcan was all alone, making his own choices the best he could. And look how that had gone.

In one week, he’d injured several people in a magic fight, gotten a hapless GameStop employee near-permanently subjugated, and threatened to destroy an entire mall. He’d potentially maneuvered the Crown Osiris into a position of even greater strength if they managed to win this necromantic power struggle. Vision or no, maybe there was going to be blood on his hands after all.

“I need a little more light in my room,” was what he said.

Loretta tilted her lampshade. “Sure thing, Dad,” she replied. “You’ve had a rough day.”

Lorcan took her back into his bedroom and plugged her into the outlet by his bedside table. Once he had, it felt like all the fight drained out of him; he slid down the edge of his bed to the floor, head resting against the table.

“Mad and sad, you said?” he asked softly.

He heard a squeak of metal hinges, then her voice in his head. “You did what you had to.”

“I did,” he said. “I don’t regret it. I’d do it again, if any of you needed it.”

“I know.”

His hands were shaking, and he could still feel the mall’s deathly chill. “I just wish--if my magic wasn’t like this--anybody else would have had other options.” His voice was pathetically weak as he asked, “Why me?”

Loretta didn’t answer, and Lorcan didn’t expect her to. He closed his eyes.

When he woke up hours later, his children had crowded their way into the bedroom, entertaining themselves with soft conversations in hushed voices. Loretta was watching over him, Vulk’s cord gripped his wrist, and Terry was wrapped around his shoulders to keep him warm.

Some things in Lorcan’s life were predictable. And despite everything, it was good.

[castiels-babydoll]

Divine Devotion; Chapter Three

--------- ● Castiel x Cassius Winchester ● An Angel and Hunter Love Story ● Themes: Light Smut, Smut, Suggestive Language. Sex Dream, Wet Dream, Fluff, Sibling Banter, etc? ● This chapter has some light smut/spicy themes in it so please under 17 years old please dni with this chapter. ● This is Part Two of Chapter Three, the other part(s) will be tagged as their respective parts. Please make sure you read the story in order.

With the shower not helping she sighed and finished washing herself, when done she turned the water off and got out, grabbing a towel and drying herself off. Cassius got dressed and then went over to the bathroom sink, grabbing her toothbrush and started brushing her teeth, once done she rinsed her mouth and tooth brush out and turned off the mini radio. Picking up her dirty clothes and hung up her towel before exiting the room, tossing her clothes down the laundry shoot before walking to the kitchen to see if the boys were still there. “Hi,” Castiel said to her once he saw her enter, “Uh… hey, Castiel…..” she replied, tensing once again, “He brought breakfast” Dean said as he pushed a box of donuts to the edge of the table. “He did?” She asked confused, not recollecting him holding anything before she got into the shower, Dean nodding, Cassius nodded and opened the box, seeing a long john donut and grabbing it. “Thank you Castiel…..” she quietly thanked before eating it, “You are welcome” he smiled, happy the three Winchesters liked his gift, Sam drinking his fourth cup of coffee already as he was deep into a book. “Do we have any hot chocolate?” Cassius asked, “No I think you drank it all the other day” Dean replied, making Cassius sigh, “We need more then” she said, “Or you could drink coffee like a normal person” Dean said. “Yes and I’ll just liquid shit every where dumbass” the girl scoffed and rolled her eyes, standing up and walking out of the room and to Dean’s mancave making him yell and holler up a storm, one she ignored with zero care. Once in the room she sat down on the bean bag couch she had shoved in there and turned on the movie theater sized screen, searching through for something to watch, the girl getting bored and switching to her Netflix account to find something. As she searched through her list of shows to watch she decided on Ancient Apocalypse, she curled up into the side she was sitting on and pulled a blanket over her, one she found on the other side of the couch.  “What are you watching?” She heard a scruff voice say, the girl jumping at the sudden-ness of it, “Jesus christ you scared me-” she said while looking over to the other side of the couch to see Castiel, “I am not Jesus, you know who I am” he said. “Cas, it’s a statement. Like oh my god” she said, “Right….. I forgot, I’m sorry” he replied, “You’re alright, I promise” she softly smiled before going back to watching her show, shivering after a couple of episodes, even with the blanket she has wrapped around her. Castiel scooting over and wrapping his trenchcoat around her while holding her closer to him, Cassius turning a bright pink as she cuddled into his side, she could almost even feel one of his wings wrap around her, it wasn’t physically there but she just knew that he had done so. “You’re really comfy” she quietly said to him, “Thank you” he replied just as quiet, “So he just kills people who are bad beccause he wants to kill?” Castiel asked her after a few minutes, “Yea basically. Dexter is a psychopath and has homicidal thoughts and to curve those thoughts and feelings he kills the bad people, aka criminals and all so he doesn’t go on a random spree and hurt a bunch of people. He follows a strict code and he tries really hard to not do it though because of his girlfriend Rita and her kids” she explained to the angel, the man nodding his head “Oh…. Okay” he said, understanding it but not quite.

[bloodmaven-blog]

the one character i really want to interact with but can’t find a blog for: the guy from hello neighbor. if nobody rps him then i will. 

[dancingisdangerouss]

God I need some dexter mogen headcons just enything about dexter morgen x reader I am begging you. There is not enough fan fiction about him.

It is indeed criminal how few things there are out there for him. Which is weird, because I know you hoes on here love a suave, cocky serial killer with a thing for blood, so I don’t get why he’s not more popular. Like??

Anyway. Here are some headcanons I’m pulling out of my ass:

Dexter is a Dork. If you remove the serial killer/Dark passenger vibes, he’s like just a nerd with weird fascinations. He strikes me as a very scientific guy, like you could ask him about molecules or some shit and he’ll excitedly prattle on for an hour about it.

He’s doing his best to come across as a regular guy, so he would be a very thoughtful lover. Taking literal notes down about things you like, stuff you mention wanting, etc. so he can surprise you with gifts. That adorable, doting boyfriend couldn’t possibly be a killer, right?

Dexter loves blood. We know this. It’s his life, his work, his obsession…So like a vampire, he comes a-runnin’ like a faithful puppy anytime you’re bleeding from something, just admiring the wound with a sense of great awe before sucking on it.

He’s so into it, he’ll even do what some guys do with their semen, where they spray all over the girl’s face and chest, except with his own blood. Finds it erotic to cut himself at just the right spot to make the blood mist all over you, gulping and huskily muttering about how fucking good you look like that before plowing you into the wall.

He needs a lot of reassurance. He talks about being a monster and a bad person in a flippant manner, but I think, deep down, it hurts knowing what he is. He plays it off like “oh yeah I’m a bad guy who kills bad guys, anyway, want some fries?” but I feel like he actually feels hurt and isolated by what he is, and just craves acceptance.

Dexter can be… a tad possessive and overprotective. He’s loved and lost a lot in his life, and he’s not about to lose you, too. Any guy talking to you? He’s puffing his chest and posturing, intimidating the man to leave. Someone hurting you? Even just by giving you a playful smack on the shoulder? His hand is around their wrist in a serpent’s grip, like, “you wanna lose that hand?”

As seen in the show, he doesn’t think he likes sex and acts like he’s indifferent to it, but dude is a sex fiend. He loves incorporating his kinks into it, too—assuming you know what he does in his spare time, that is. Would love to tie you down naked with plastic wrap, take a sample of your blood and lick the wound clean, and fuck you while you’re bound to the lab table, whimpering and unable to touch him back.

He’s also a very verbal guy in the bedroom. A real teasing, silver-tongued bastard who knows exactly what to say to make your knees weaken. If you have any kinks, he’ll take full advantage of that, whispering the filthiest of things into your ear. I personally think he has a really nice voice in general, and would use that to his advantage.

Aftercare. BIG into aftercare. We’ve seen with his lovers he’s very affectionate and playful, and I get the vibes from him that he would want to ensure your absolute comfort, however you prefer.

[munson-master]

Well…shit | Eddie x Reader

Summary: Dustin accidentally sets off a trap during the campaign that ends up killing y/n’s character. (Based off of Critical Role C1E44)

Part Two Part Three

“The feather-covered sarcophagus opens, revealing a skeletal corpse surrounded by fine gold and silver jewelry. It is wearing a set of jet-black studded leather armor bearing a series of runic engravings and carvings and trimmed with black feathers. What do you wish to do Henderson?”

“The feather-covered sarcophagus opens, revealing a skeletal corpse surrounded by fine gold and silver jewelry. It is wearing a set of jet-black studded leather armor bearing a series of runic engravings and carvings and trimmed with black feathers. What do you wish to do Henderson?”

“We should do an investigation Che-“ you start to say only to get cut off by Dustin.

“I go over to the tomb and start to remove the armor” Dustin’s voice shouts over yours causing Eddie to snap his eyes really quickly to his girlfriend before looking down and flipping through pages of notes.

They had already been playing for three hours and after finally defeating the beholder, the party was exhausted of hit points but elated from their win. The group had decided that gathering the loot from the tomb before resting would be the best idea since the game would end at rest. You and Dustin both had your figures standing next to the sarcophagus as Eddie narrated.

Eddie’s eyes move rapidly in between Dustin and you as he sit in silence for a moment. Eventually he looks down at his notes and it’s obvious he’s thinking a mile a minute but the only words that come out are “make a saving throw”

“W-What?” Dusting squeaks while y/n roles her eyes.

“Oh my god Dustin I swear to god if this hits me… I only have 32 hit points left!” You shout at him reaching for you lucky dice.

He ignores you and quickly rolls.

“Nice! Natural 20 babyyy!” Dustin shouts, giving Mike a fist bump. The joy from his high roll isn’t shared though as Eddie glared at him before looking over to you face falling blank.

“Sweetheart I’m gonna need you to make a dexterity saving roll.”

“This is why I said to do an investigation check Dustin! If I survived a beholder just to get knocked out by some dumb trap I’ll kill both of you!” You shout as you angrily grab your dice and begin your roll. You were anxious, you took a real beating from the beholder and only had 32 HP left, a heavy blow could completely knock you out.

Finally letting your hand open, the d20 go, it rolls across the table to land right in front of Eddie.

Your eyes move from your dice to his dark brown eyes looking for reassurance. He winces looking back at you.

You had rolled a natural one.

“Well…shit.”

—————————————-

* Five Months Prior*

You were panting as you finally made it to the only local game shop in Hawkins. You had ran straight there after your shift at the Palace Arcade had ended. The new Dungeons and Dragons issue came out today and you needed to get your hands on it.

DnD definitely wasn’t a popular interest that most girls your age had but honestly you didn’t give two shits about that. You never really gave much thought about ever fitting in because to be honest it wouldn’t matter anyway. You were a military brat and your parents moved around a lot so you never had the chance to settle down and make friends, let alone worry if you were going to fit in.

That’s kind of why you were so into DnD, in the game you could be anyone you want, create roots and a home and characters that you can relate to. So despite everything In your life being out of your hands; even if you didn’t stay in one place for very long, in DnD you could live your life the way you wanted. All the moving did make it hard to actually play the game though. Finding a party alone was difficult but finding a party that would let you, some new girl, join was ever harder. You took what you could get though and if you couldn’t play in your location you would at least be able to read up and build your character more.

You had just moved to Hawkins about a month ago with your mom while your dad stayed at a military base two hours away. School hadn’t started yet so you didn’t know if there were any DnD clubs but you did know that there was a local store that sold dice sets and players handbooks.

You finally found the issue you were waiting for and went to grab it but when you reached out your hand landed on top of another much larger, ring adorned hand. You gasp and pull your hand back quickly.

“I am SO sorry” you quickly apologize, and without looking at whoever the hand belonged to you take a few steps back. You found it better to apologize first especially when you were alone in a new place. In your experience most people in rural towns like this have treated you less than kind before.

“Woah Woah! It’s alright sweetheart. You want this?” The hand reaches out holding the magazine you both reached for. You finally look up to see a young man wearing a vest with pins and patches for various metal bands. His head was adorned with shaggy brown hair with a bandana tied around it. He made a sideways grin.

You slowly grab the issue he was holding out and clutch it to your chest as you can’t help but stare at the young man. He was fairly good looking but what caught you the most off guard was how kind his eyes seemed. You were obviously getting lost in thought while staring at him in silence which brought an ever so slight blush to the boys ears.

He looked away and cleared his throat while rubbing the back of his neck.

“So you play?” He asked nudging you out of your trance which immediately embarrassed you. You flushed pink and swallowed hard before responding.

“I would like to. It’s hard to find a party when you’re always the new girl.” You grumbled as you watched him grab another issue for himself.

“New girl huh?” He looked back with a smirk before reaching back out with his hand. You hesitate before grabbing it giving it a shy shake as his grip tightened slightly.

“Well new girl you could always join Hellfire. I’m their DM so what I say goes. We meet in the drama room at Hawkins high.” He points to his shirt that you can now see reads Hellfire Club with a red devil and some other doodles . Eddie seemed slightly nervous when asking though, his eyes looking anywhere than at you.

“Hellfire?? Isn’t that just…perpetuating the stigma that DnD is satanic?” You question while putting one hand on your hip. You already had the hardest time convincing your mother that you weren’t sleeping with the devil and sacrificing baby’s or whatnot.

“Hey it keeps out the undesirables and makes it safe for lost sheep like you.” He shrugs and then shoots you a wink.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile gracing your lips. “Well I don’t know about lost sheep or whatever but maybe I’ll see you around …?” You drifted off not knowing what to call him.

“Eddie! Eddie Munson, hopefully your new Dungeon Master.” He starts to back away again tucking the DnD magazine into his vest. “see you around new girl.”

“Y/N!” You call after him as he turns, stooping him for the moment. He looks back over his shoulder at you a smile growing on his face with an eyebrow raised.

“My names y/n.” You finish as he send another wink at you before leaving.

Maybe….maybe you won’t have to be alone this time.

*back to the present*

The table fell silent, all eyes going from you to their dungeon master who let his bangs fall in front of his eyes. The entire group sat on the edge of their seats waiting to see what Eddie was going to say.

You waited with baited breath, knee bouncing up and down while you watched your boyfriend take a deep breath before narrating what happened next.

“A deep rumbling from below can be felt before dark shadows creep up out of the sarcophagus! Dustin, you notice quickly and back away, just out of the smokes reach.” He moves Dustin’s figure back before looking up at him anger clearly showing on his face.

“Eddie…?” You ask as he takes a little to long glaring daggers at poor Dustin who is visibly sweating at this point. You know how serious Eddie takes DnD hell you are just as into as he is. You spend most of your time after school everyday just talking through campaign ideas or finding new items or monsters to include in the next session. You spent hours together looking over different DnD magazines. It’s how you met, how you grew closer, how you fell in love.

He also knows how important it is to you. He was there as you spent hours researching new spells and actions for your character development. He listened to every detail about your character without ever interrupting or growing bored. He knew how important this character was to you, to the whole party really. You had been playing for a little under five months together. You all felt really attached to each character they felt like extensions of yourselves.

So when Eddie finally looked up, his face grim, eyes somewhat misty, you took a breath. You held his gaze watching him clench his teeth, your hands flying to your mouth.

“The shadows go through you knocking the breath out of you. You take 56 points of necrotic damage.” He spits out through clenched teeth.

“No…no way!” “Wait wait what happened!” “Oh no no”

Each member now shouting over each other scrambling for their handbooks.

You don’t even notice though as tears fill your eyes. He holds your gaze, neither of you looking away as the party scrambles around you.

“Wh..what can we do??” Mike asks Eddie, waiting for some kind of response.

After not getting one Dustin asks a little louder “DM?! What does that MEAN??”

Eddie finally looks away from you and to the rest of the party. He was the dungeon master after all the show must go on.

“Y/C/N falls back, the breath leaving her body in one final woosh. Her body grows cold…the light leaving her eyes.” He slowly reaches and puts your figure on its side.

You gasp again finally letting a tear slip out. You know it’s just a game. You know it’s not real but still you were so into it. So invested. You and Eddie made this character together. If you’re dead you can’t participate in his amazing campaign anymore. You can’t help the party out or cast an kickass spell shocking your boyfriend. You won’t get to see the sparkle in his eyes whenever you beat a particularly tough monster he cooked up.

You look back at Eddie, you can see how stiff he is. How his fists are balled up on the table. He loves this game just as much as you do. He loves YOU just as much as you him.

The silence is broken by a whisper.

“Dude you just got the DM’s girlfriend killed. We are so boned.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･* *･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･* *･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

A/N: Ok I know how absolutely nerdy this is but I just love DnD and I love Eddie so I kept thinking about playing DnD with Eddie and ugh idk I just wanted this to be a thing.

This is my first ever written.. anything….like ever. So forgive any mistakes please. Idk if I’ll write more or not. I just really needed this out of my head.

Should I write more???

[darling-i-read-it]

Curiousity

Dexter Morgan fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: murder, mentions of assault, dexter just being amazed that she isn’t fucked up but is fucked up

Author’s Note: I do not condone what i just wrote. I think Dexter would. But I do not. I hope you enjoy!

Requested: by anon, I saw that you wrote for Dexter so I wanted to quickly request something before they fill. After reading your last Dexter fix and loving your writing style, I just had to request more of Dex!

Could I possibly have a reader who has no trauma yet is still a serial killer? They aren’t a psycho/sociopath or anything, just a regular human being. I’m interested to see what you come up with!

Summary: the request!

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You brushed your hair out of your face, leaning over the table so that you could help the gentleman you were speaking to with his order. You nodded, smiling gently, your lips turned into an innocent look. You stood up straight and scribbled on your notepad, the man returning your helpful gaze with an even kinder, more appreciative look.

Dexter had to be wrong. This was not the person he was looking for. Yet, he looked down at his phone and backed up at you. Same person as the one on the scratchy security cam. Except then you had blood on your hands. You had killed, from his information and the stuff Deb unknowingly gave him, 6 people. There wasn’t really any rhyme or reason to your kills that he could find which annoyed him even more.

Usually people were so easy to read once he found the bodies. It was always they killed because of the ex girlfriend, the mother, people who looked a lot like someone who had wronged them. Easy enough. But you just got more confusing.

You had to be masking like he was. You were just…much better than him.

You walked over to Dexter’s table and he fidgeted, looking up at you politely.

“Hey, my names Y/N can I take your order?” You had a chirpy voice. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he never would have known it was you who killed those people. It was like you hadn’t even swatted a fly before.

“Just a cup of coffee,” he said and handed you the menu. You nodded once and didn’t bother writing it down.

“Okay coming right up.” “Actually,” he started and you turned around to face him. “What do you recommend?”

“Oh I usually get the pancakes. They’re the best here, I can’t make them at home anymore because they’re just not as good,” you admitted, holding your notepad to your chest.

“I’ll get a pancake then! Thanks.” You nodded once and turned around, walking away from him. He dialed Debs' number and she picked up on the second ring.

“Yello.”

“Hey Deb, can you run someone for me?” “Sure thing, what’s the name?” “Y/N Y/L/N. Just check for anything, deaths in the family, abuse at home, mental illnesses. Anything that comes up.” Deb hummed. He could hear the clicking of the computer keyboard on her end.

“K I’ll text you. What for? Running a background check for a date?” she teased, in that voice where she wanted it to be true.

“Depends on what comes up on the search!” “Then I will make it my top priority, damn the murder I’m investigating.” She hung up the phone. He couldn't tell if she had been joking or not.

By the time his pancakes had arrived, Deborah sent the text message with what she found.

Fat load of nothing. Sounds like perfect dating material! :)

Nothing. He looked up at you, bringing him a second cup of coffee, and was astounded.

“Thank you,” he breathed. You nodded once.

“Anytime.”

===

He had to follow you, just to be sure. If he didn’t and he got you on the kill table that uncertainness would hang over his head for months. It took only a day and a half before he could see you turning a corner, driving suspiciously slow. You pulled over, talking out the window with that sweet smile and the man got into your car.

Just like that.

No force, no threats.

Dexter followed your car from a distance for about ten minutes and parked down the street from the apartment building you stopped at. He got out and watched the man lead you inside.

Twenty minutes later you were coming back outside, your face flushed, in a rush to get back to the car. Yep. Murderer.

“Hey!” Dexter froze. You were facing him. He was so lost in his future planning that he hadn’t even noticed you take a few steps closer. “You’re the guy from the dinner. Are you following me?” You hugged your jacket closer to yourself.

“What? No, I’m waiting for a friend.” He gestured to the building. Your eyes went wide and you nervously walked closer.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just a little jumpy.” He didn’t have any ketamine on him but this would be a perfect time to snatch you. It was nearly midnight, this place was so rundown there were no cameras. Just you and him in a parking lot. Would it be worth it just to hit you over the head?

Curiosity was eating at him though.

“Yeah no, my friend’s just taking forever.” “They shouldn’t leave you out here in the cold,” you muttered.

“Why are you out here?” “I’m just heading home. I’m sorry about the mixup, I’m just tired.” He shook his hands, keeping that soft smile on his face to mimic yours.

“Don’t worry about it.” You nodded once. You shoved your hands in your jacket pockets and backed up.

“Well then I’ll see you around.” You turned around. Why did you kill someone? What happened to you that made you grow up like this? Was it just inside you? If it was inside you, could it just have been inside him? Nature versus nurture was an age old debate.

“Do you maybe wanna go get coffee? Together I mean.” You turned around, still backing up. He couldn’t tell if your smile was insidious. Would he end up on your table before you ended up on his? The idea was alluring.

“Sure. What was your name again?”

“Dexter Morgan.”

“I’m working a shift tomorrow Dexter. You should stop on by at say, noon?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

And ironically, he was too.

[elysianslove]

shameful lust; suna rintarō

synopsis; he’s off limits in every way, but that only makes you want him more. based off of this, this, and this. the smut is inspired by my bunny anon’s birthday idea :) bunny, you know the one :)

pairings; brother’s bsf!suna rintarō x fem!reader

genre; porn with kind of plot lmfao

word count; 5.5k what the fuck??

trigger warning; age gap (not specified, & everyone’s 18+), masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, humiliation, praise, mini panic attack, link for the lingerie (slight nsfw warning)

it started off innocent, as most things do. you were sixteen when you first felt the butterflies nestled deep in your stomach, the drop of your heart, the heat of your cheeks, only around him. you’d thought it was a natural reaction; after all, you’d known suna rintarō since, quite literally, forever, and you were a growing girl, hormones imbalanced and thoughts as confusing as ever. it was normal, completely ordinary to feel as nervous as you did whenever his hand so much brushed against yours, or whenever he’d barely glance your way to offer a small, teasing smile.

it meant nothing, of course. you were just a young girl, sixteen, desperate to lose yourself in some sort of fantasy. a silly crush on your brother’s best friend was nothing strange, and definitely inevitable.

it would go away.

you’re eighteen when the feelings don’t go away, and when they begin reshaping into more— impure thoughts. the more you see of him, the more hyperaware you grow of everything that he is. suddenly your eyes easily find the small strip of skin revealed when he stretches his arms up, and suddenly you can’t help but constantly think about the way he sits, legs spread so wide as if to... accommodate something. suddenly your thoughts always find their way back to the way he’d hugged you goodbye, arms squeezing you so tight to him, allowing you to feel every ridge and ripple of his muscles, and the way he had ruffled your hair and his hand, so large, so easily sinking into the strands— and you’re left wondering what else his fingers could do in your hair, to the rest of your body—

it’s bad. it’s really bad. every day you try and convince yourself it’s innocent, and every night you prove yourself wrong when you find yourself on your stomach, face buried in your pillow and teeth biting down on it, mouth dampening the cloth as your fingers rub harshly at your clit and sink into your dripping cunt— all with his name falling off your tongue as you heave and cry. every night you think about how much thicker his fingers are in comparison to yours, how much longer, how they’d feel inside of you, curling within you. you know he’s dexterous, insanely good with his hands. you’ve seen the way his fingers fly across a keyboard or tap urgently at a gaming console. you know it, and it in no way helps in calming your frustration.

it’s bad, of course, but you live with it. after all, he is in every way off limits. a lot older than you, and much more experienced, suna would have to lose his mind before he ever thinks of you the way you think of him. what would a girl like you have to offer a guy like him anyways? your shaky hands and clumsy mouth? your tight cunt that can barely fit two of your fingers? you’d only leave him unsatisfied, and leave yourself utterly humiliated.

worst of all, however, you can’t imagine how devastated, how betrayed, your brother would be if he’d caught you fooling around with his best friend.

so although you’re yearning to say fuck all and fuck him, you don’t, because it doesn’t make sense in the slightest for you to do so. you continue to make due with what shirtless image of him or that time he slept over and went commando, waking up at the same time you had and his — his dick was hard— you could see—

fuck.

you need to grow up.

as you sit with your back to your headboard, your knees bent up and swinging slightly, two simple knock erupt on your bedroom door. it’s late afternoon, the sun’s brightness dimming slightly, casting your room in an orange glow. in all honesty, it’s soothing.

looking up from your phone momentarily, you call out for the person knocking to come in, your eyes returning to your screen once more.

“hey.”

at the sound of the awfully familiar voice, your head snaps back up and you lock your phone, looking up with newfound excitement at the man standing at your doorway. “hi,” you return with a smile, sitting up and crossing your legs.

suna smiles back, walking into your room with one hand tucked behind his back. “your brother said i’d find you here,” he explains, walking towards you.

you quirk a brow, curiously and amusingly smiling as you ask, “whatcha got there?”

he’s quiet for a moment as he walks over to your side of the bed, maneuvering in a way that doesn’t reveal what he has hidden behind him. you twist around on your bed, leaning on your knees to face him properly, and it’s just when you lift up slightly to settle comfortably that he leans down, bends over to get close enough to whisper, “happy birthday, pretty girl.” he gives you not another moment to process how close his face is — how close his lips are to yours — before the hand behind his back comes around between you.

tucked in his hand is a medium sized bag, not related to any sort of brand, so you assume it’s a simple bag he’d gotten from a convenience store. that would really only mean one thing— that he’s gotten you more than just one gift. you can’t see what’s in it since there are colorful papers stacked within it, obstructing your view, but you’re still flustered at the mere thought he’d even considered to buy you a gift. it’s not unusual; suna, every year on your birthday, has gotten you a gift, yet it’s usually more so a gag gift than anything. some inside joke of yours, maybe he’d pay for your dinner, things like that. never a full on, thought out gift.

“you didn’t have to,” you say, settling back down on your knees and hesitantly taking the bag from him.

he waves you off, disagreeing. “course i did; you’re nineteen now.”

you roll your eyes. “wouldn’t eighteen be more special?”

“fine,” he decides, playfully taking the bag from your grasp and pulling it to him. “guess i’ll just give this to someone else then— maybe your mom—“

“suna!”

at your reaction, he laughs boisterously, and against all odds, you find yourself smiling too. quickly, you reach out for the bag again, pulling it back to you.

“open it when you’re alone,” he disclaims, almost as if in warning.

warily, you eye the bag.

“sure.”

you try to be quieter when unboxing suna’s gift, but the paper’s scrunching is just so damn loud. after cursing it out, you finally rid the bag of its first layer of paper, and are met with a scented candle and some lotion. basic, expected. there‘s a card there too, and when you open it, there’s a note in his messy handwriting, reading out a simple happy birthday— and a good couple of yens too. money, a candle, lotion.

so basic.

there’s still more paper beneath, but you don’t expect it to be for anything except decoration, not for—

what the fuck.

what the fuck.

What The Fuck?

your two hands dip into the bag, reaching out for the final gift, grabbing it by its straps and—

holy shit, he got you lingerie.

it’s so— sheer? you don’t think an inch of you will be properly covered, even with the lingerie on. it’s properly transparent, with only the intricate lace designs to modestly cover you. when you dig into the bag, you find the panties to match the bra and— well, it’s pretty, you can’t lie. there are dark, almost flowerlike designs all over, and it’s a deep black, nearly blue or green. there’s also a garter belt, but there aren’t any stockings in the bag to attach to the clips. maybe he’d expected you to take care of that?— ah no, you stand corrected. there are stockings.

fuck, he thought of everything didn’t he?

but more importantly, what the fuck does all of this mean?

burying the lingerie deep inside the bag again, and making sure to cover it up with the paper, thoroughly, you place the other gifts and the card back in and on top, before putting it aside on your bed.

and now, to gather your fucking thoughts.

you had to text him to thank him for the gift, obviously. but there was no way he’d accidentally misplaced the lingerie there. it was deliberately placed, with the way it was folded and tucked neatly, underneath an extra layer of paper above and beneath it? yeah, definitely on purpose. but— why? had he taken notice of your feelings towards him? was this his way of making fun or... reassuring you they were mutual?

god, what the hell are you thinking.

snatching your phone from your bedside table, you check the time.

2:01 a.m.

okay, everyone‘s bound to be asleep by now. hopefully. you eye the bag, so cautiously one would assume there’s some sort of killing machine within it. you contemplate. shake your head. no. the gears twist. yes.

no.

yes. no. yes. no—

fuck it, it’s yours anyways, isn’t it?

you snatch it loudly, rushing off to lock your bedroom door, then rushing to close the blinds, tightly, surely, then rushing to turn the lights off and turning the small lamp by your bedside on instead. what else are you meant to do with lingerie other than, well, put it on? it’s rational, you think, obvious.

it’s fine.

stealing one last, deep breathe, you dump the contents of the bag again, and pick out the lingerie.

it fits.

it fits perfectly.

the bra is snug against your chest, pushing at your breasts but not digging in uncomfortably. your nipples peak through what‘s revealed of the mesh, and when they stand perky and hard, you blame it on the fact that you‘re half naked. the garter belt wraps tightly around your waist, not squeezing to the point of discomfort and pain, but not loose that it’s a nuisance, and the clips that hang from it are attached to a pair of stockings that stop mid thigh, squeezing at the flesh. finally, a pair of panties rest on your cups, cupping your ass perfectly. it too is sheer, and god— you can see so much of you.

is this— what he would‘ve wanted?

you can’t deny that you do look good. it shows your figure off appealingly, and coupled with some dark lipstick, your messy hair, and the slightest smudge to your day’s eyeliner— would— would he have wanted you like this? all dolled up for him?

is this what suna likes?

doubting the fact that you’ll ever have the courage to put this set on again, you grab at your phone, clearing the area before your mirror, then sitting down at the edge of your bed. might as well enjoy it while it lasts, shouldn’t you? posing in the mirror, you appreciate the way you look, the way the dim lighting complements the atmosphere, the way the piece hugs your body and shows you off. you look so good.

so good— for him.

reveling in this surge of confidence, you snap a good amount of pictures, posing differently in each of them, taking them at different angles. your camera roll overflows with them, and as you fall back on the bed, hair splayed out on the mattress, you smile proudly at the pictures.

do you look good enough for him to see?

the thought strikes you suddenly; it tickles at the pit of your stomach, makes your knees bend and your toes curl.

should you?

the messenger app is open at the text messages between you and him before you can think, a picture of you uploaded and ready to send.

should you?

you tuck your lower lip between your teeth, mulling it over anxiously.

no, you most definitely shouldn’t.

quickly, you swipe out of the messenger app, and onto safari. porn it is.

you should‘ve turned the ac on. fuck, it’s hot.

3:10 a.m. 45 minutes since you’d put the lingerie set on and had your mini photoshoot, ten minutes since you’d started masturbating. everything’s still in place except for the garter clips, which have snapped off of your stockings at some point in the past few minutes, but you pay it barely any mind as your legs spread wider, one hand dipped beneath your panties, the other pressing hard against your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet.

it’s not that you generally had a problem keeping down your noises. your home was constantly filled with people, and you’re almost always sexually frustrated at the most inconvenient times. this time, however, it’s different. it’s different because you’re wearing a lingerie set that suna picked out, that suna bought for you, that suna gave you himself. would he have wanted to watch you touch yourself like this, dressed up so pretty? or— would he have wanted to fuck you while—

shit, you’re gonna cum.

you let out a broken moan, bleeding into a desperate son, muffled barely your hand. your fingers fuck into your cunt faster, squelching lowly as you arch your back, pressing your palm harshly against your clit.

“ugh, hngh,” you whine, squeal, wrist aching. “fuck, rin— please—“

you’re so loud, shit, shit, shit.

beside you, your phone dings! loudly, alerting you of a message received, but you can’t stop, not when you’re so close. it dings again, and again, but you continue to ignore, chasing your own high so desperately, faster, faster, faster. the coil tightens, your body tenses, mind hazing over and eyes rolling back— so close, so fucking close.

“well aren’t you a doll.”

your eyes snap open, and you only manage one second to process who the fuck and what the fuck before your hips are trembling and twisting, and your legs are shaking so awfully as your back arches deep. the moment you hear his voice, so deep and clear, looming just by the edge of your bed where you lay spread, fucking yourself, you cum— and you’re convinced you have a humiliation kink. you didn’t cum because you’d simply been close— you came because you heard him catch you.

in your post orgasmic daze, you pant deeply, chest heaving, rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. your fingers pull back from your panties, falling to the bed, sticky and wet, while your other hand falls from from your mouth, drool and spit dripping from the corner of your lips.

“aw, you ruined the set.”

you sigh. “rin.” the way you say his name isn’t in a way that’s calling out for him, but neither are you scolding him nor brushing him off for teasing you. you’re just simply trying to process the fact that he’s here.

“i like it when you call me that,” he admits, and in a second he’s falling over you, hands bracing and steadying him beside your head, keeping himself hovering at a small distance. “why do you always insist on calling me suna?” he wonders, head tilting curiously.

blinking slowly, you breathe in, and out, and ask, “what are you doing here?”

above you, he shrugs. “you were the one that sent me those—”

immediately, you’re pushing him off you, sitting up all too quickly as you reach out for your phone. you shakily unlock it, typing in your password and opening the messenger app. he’s right— shit. you could’ve sworn you’d deleted the photo, because you’d explicitly decided just how stupid sending it would’ve been. 

well, look at you now. 

“that wasn’t— oh my god, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to,” you stutter, turning your body towards him once more, but avoiding his gaze, your body, only barely having just cooled down, heating up once more. 

“oh?” he tests. “was it not meant for me?” 

“no, i—“ 

he’s smiling all too wide for him to not be getting off on your embarrassment. at the thought of that, your eyes unintentionally snap up to him, to his crotch, where beneath his sweats is a bulge, and god, it’s like all those nights ago where you’d seen his dick through his sweats and he’s big, he’s so big—

“just where do you think you’re looking?” he sneers, hand all of a sudden gripping your chin, tilting your head back up and forcing you to finally, for the first time, meet his eyes. they’re dark, almost sinister, as they narrowly glare at you, begging you for explanation. 

your mind’s no longer clouded over, all pleasure dissipating from your veins, pathetic humiliation replacing it. “i’m sorry,” you mewl, eyes tearing up at the look on his face. of course he was disgusted. just as your stupid crush on him was natural, so was his reaction. “i’m sorry, please don’t tell anyone,” you beg, lower lip wobbling. 

his grip on your chin tightens as he furrows his brows. “tell anyone?” he questions. “about what?” 

had he not— heard you? 

he says your name, firmly, deeply, in a way that has you stifling your sobs and biting your bottom lip to stop its quivering. patiently, you wait for him to speak, to say anything, until finally, he asks, “do you want me to fuck you?” and your heart stops. “yeah?” he continues, his other hand reaching for your wrist, your hand, the same one that’s still sticky with the evidence of you. slowly, as he brings his lips closer to yours, fingers slipping so that he’s squishing your cheeks tightly, he leads your hand to his crotch, to where his dick is painfully hard beneath his sweats. your initial touch is featherlight, and he doesn’t fully press your hand to his clothed cock, but still, just the smallest, tiniest feel of him has the lust in your veins thrumming alive. “you think you’d look pretty—” he pauses, lips hovering by yours, eyes searching for any sign of hesitance or resistance, “sitting on my cock?” 

“i’m sorry,” you apologize again, but he swallows it by finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours. his lips are so soft, softer than you’d imagined and fantasized a thousand times over, as they press against yours, managing to pull the softest moan of surprise and pleasure from you. you’d forgotten, in your moment of shame, just how much you’d craved suna rintarō. just how often you thought about him, those same fingers gripping your chin to be buried inside of you, those pretty lips sucking on your tits and clit. “want you so bad,” you hiccup, kissing him back. “so bad.” 

he hums, amused, pulling back. licking his lips with a grin, as if tasting you, his hands leave you entirely, reaching for the hem of his shirt as he lifts it up, freeing himself of the piece of clothing. “don’t you think i know, sweetheart?” he teases, daringly. at the sight of your eyes widening, he nods with a dramatized serious expression, tutting as he adds, “so dirty, thinkin’ ‘bout me like that.” 

you whine again, hands lifting up to obstruct your face from his view as you fall back on the bed, body bouncing slightly. “stop,” you plead, not for him to pull back but for him to stop reminding you of just how wrong it is to feel the way you do. still, you spread your sticky thighs for him when he presses his hands to your knees, and you shiver at the feel of his fingers tickling at your skin. “i’m sorry.” 

“that’s okay, pretty girl,” he reassures you, faux sweetness dripping like honey off his tongue. he leans in, carefully slow, hands following the curve of his body and yours. “i want you too.” he smiles mischievously, leaning close once more. “so bad,” he mimics you, lips hovering right above yours before he kisses you once more. you want to pinch his arm for outright mocking you, because really, how infuriating can he be? but it’s impossible to want to do anything but desire him in every possible way at the moment, especially when he presses himself harder against you, hips slotting between your legs and clothed cock brushing against your dripping panties. 

“rin,” you plead, hands clawing at his back, grasping at his shoulders. god, his skin is so warm. 

“yes?” he drawls, wet lips kissing the corner of your mouth, trailing easily to your jaw, and down to your neck. patiently, he waits for you to speak. 

with a trembling voice, you ask, “be quick. please.” 

a little stunned, suna pauses his ministrations at your neck, but it’s barely for a second. because moments later, he’s grinning sinisterly into the crook of your neck, sucking hotly as he replies, “sure thing.” 

you do want to take your time. you want him to stuff his face between your legs and sink his fingers so deep inside of you. you want him to force your mouth down on him, want to bury your face in your lap till you’re choking and gagging on his cock. you want him to take his time stretching you for his cock before he sinks inside of you, letting you feel every single inch and ridge of his dick until he bottoms out. you wish. you wish. 

but you’re desperate, and needy, and frustrated, and most of all, you’re not even sure if this is real. you’re scared to blink and have him disappear all of a sudden. you’re scared to wake up with soaked panties and no gift from suna, no suna above you, hard cock pressing against your cunt, only the same suna from all these past years, the same suna you pine over at a distance, wanting but never having. 

so you whimper so quietly, “be quick,” again, because he’s still too slow for your liking.

his fingers grasp the sides of your panties, pulling as quick as he can, sliding them down your thighs, watching as the cloth rolls at the urgency as it slides past your knees, your shins, your ankles, legs lifted high up. at the final loop around your right ankle, as suna flings it off, he kisses at your ankle, gripping it tightly and using it to spread your legs. 

as your legs spread, your pussy, soaking from both your past orgasm and this unbelievable build up, spreads too, glistening and dripping for him. his eyes easily fall to it, and, with that same glint in his eyes, he grins, and licks his lips again. “wish i could have a taste,” he admits to you, shuffling closer and bending your legs closer to your chest with one hand. the other hand frantically pushes at the hem of his sweatpants, tugging it low, beneath his balls. “god, i’d have you sit on my face for hours.” 

he’s going to kill you. 

he’s going to fucking kill you. 

at his words, your cunt pulsates and clenches tightly, hole glistening as you moan. you hope he doesn’t notice, but he does, somehow, and he laughs, too fucking loud. “you liked that, hm? bet you’d look so cute,” he spurs you on, and your entire body trembles. 

you wish to say something, to find the courage to belittle him, degrade him, remind him that if you’re in the wrong for wanting this then so is he, but it’s so hard to find your voice. it’s like he’s stupefied you completely, reduced you to this dumb, wordless, horny mess. god, fuck, it’s embarrassing. you can only watch with wide, tearful eyes and quivering lips and trembling legs as he spits on his hand and fists his cock, quickly, getting himself all nice and slick for you. his cock is— he’s so big, fuck. if you’d been shocked feeling him beneath his sweats, well, your entire body’s rigid with anticipation now. 

just as promised, suna’s quick. with one hand pressing and steadying firmly at your lower stomach, right by your hip, he guides his cock to your cunt with the other, wasting no time by pushing in. no way, no way, no fucking way. 

how is he fitting? 

“ease up,” he orders sharply, forcing more of himself inside of you.

in response, you bring both hands up to your mouth, clasping them tightly above your lips. you remaining quiet is as impossible as ever, with the way he’s stretching you so wide for him, so you press down harder with your hands and throw your head back as he sinks in deeper, and deeper. 

“aren’t a good girl?” he praises sweetly, his other hand mirroring the one on your hip. he watches as you lower your head again, lifting it up slightly to look between the two of you at where he’s fully bottomed out, buried deep inside of you. “feel good?” he wonders, even if he knows the answer. your head falls back again and you nod with your eyes squeezing shut. “feel so full, yeah?”  you’re glad he’s speaking for you, because you doubt you could find your voice at the moment, even if you tried. 

you nod again instead, urgently, just as he pulls out until only his tip remains inside of you, before pressing back in quickly, thrusting into you suddenly. the sight of him above you is better than anything your mind has ever made up, hands squeezing at your hips tightly, both ensuring you keep your legs spread for him and keeping himself up, steadying himself as he fucks into you. his arms bulge and the muscles in his abdomen tighten and tense with every thrust. his chest, so flushed red; his hair, a little sweaty, a little messy; his brows, furrowed deep in concentration; his lips, wet and red, so fucking red, his tongue jutting out slightly as he picks up the pace, as he thrusts faster, harder. 

and best of all: the noises he makes. he’s shameless, fucking into you with abandon, moaning and grunting and whining for you, like he’d been the one yearning, pining, and not you. and, you suppose, with the way he’s fucking into you right now, that there might’ve been some truth in his words, that he’s wanted you just as bad, that this wasn’t some pity fuck— poor little girl, his best friend’s sister, sending him lewd and inappropriate photos because she’s so desperate, she can’t help but lust after him, every single day. 

his hands squeeze even tighter and he grunts, gritting his teeth sharply. “fuck, m’already close,” he grunts, and somehow, that makes your heart swell, pride deepening. “cunt’s so fucking tight, shit.” you’re making him say those words, you’re going to make him cum so quick, it’s you. you. 

when his hands crawl up to your breasts, squeezing and kneading through the bra, your hands fall to his forearms, gripping so tightly and digging your nails into his skin. “please, please, please, cum inside,” you beg, trying to be as quiet as you can. “please rin, please.” 

the bed creaks with the effort and speed of his thrusts, your body bouncing as his cock fucks deep into your cunt. his head bows in, smooth hair swinging forward as he curses. “are you— hm..hngh—sure?” he asks, and you nod so rapidly you feel dizzy, arching your back as much as you can to get him deeper inside of you. he’s a mess of curses and pants as he fucks you even faster, one hand remaining at your breast, grasping tightly, the other lowering to your wet clit, rubbing furiously, messily, clumsily. 

no words are exchanged as he desperately circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers, squeezing and kneading your breast as he angles his hips, trying to get you to cum before he does. and just as as before, just as he’d caught you earlier, your body starts to tense up, shaking in anticipation as your orgasm draws closer and closer.

but there’s something— different. 

“rin!” you yell out, still half-whispering in an attempt to keep quiet. your eyes well up as you call out for him again, your orgasm unbearably close. “rin, feels weird— oh m—”

he only just barely manages to shove his hand against your face before you’re screaming, throat aching and scratching as you thrash beneath him. around his cock, your cunt spams and clenches down tightly, cum splashing and spraying all over his lower stomach and past his cock to his balls. you’re still thrashing, still squealing and screaming, and he’s spilling inside of you, filling you up impossibly, his cum splashing and dripping as it mixes with yours. 

“holy shit,” he breathlessly marvels, hips still rocking and grinding against yours as he helps the both of you ride out your highs. “you ever—“ he steals in a breath, steadying himself slightly, “—cum this hard?”

you’re sobbing, hiccuping and mewling and whining and crying, your body impossibly sensitive. tears stream freely down your cheeks as you sink into the mattress, feeling quite literally like jelly. slowly, suna pulls his cock out, trying not to get distracted by the way your cunt squeezes out some of his cum, and instead focuses on you, his hands cupping your cheeks softly. 

“hey, hey, eyes on me,” he encourages, kneeling above you as his thumbs brush at your tears. 

“m’sorry, ri— suna,” you heave, hands grasping his as your eyes water again, fresh tears joining ones that are yet to dry. 

“what for, sweet thing?” he asks gently. when you start to lift yourself up, he leans back, sitting on your bed, giving you space to get comfortable. he watches with worried eyes as you furiously rub at your eyes with your palms and the back of your hands, as the tears never stop flowing. shit, did he fuck up somehow? he calls your name again, cautiously reaching out for you. when you don’t reject his touch, his heart settles, just a little. “tell me what’s wrong?” he offers again, and you sniffle. 

“are you not disgusted?” you ask, voice wobbly and cracking. 

his brows furrow, and he cocks his head. “because you... squirted?”

you slap at his arm with a roll of your eyes. “no, suna.” 

“when did i lose my first name privileges?” he asks, dramatically shocked. again, you roll your eyes. well, at least the tears have ceased. softening slightly, suna sighs. he’s shit at this. he’s worse than shit at this. talking in general? awful. talking about his or someone else’s feelings? he’s sure the devil would be better comfort. still, he can’t just— leave you. he’s sure that would make things a thousand times worse.

and honestly, neither does he want to leave you. 

“i can’t read your mind, pretty girl,” he reminds you, and momentarily, you look away. 

until you inhale sharply, and meet his eyes again. “it’s okay...” you begin, trailing off as you attempt to gather your words, before continuing, “that i feel this way for you?” 

at your words, at the much needed clarity, suna sighs in relief. so that was it. “more than okay,” he promises you. 

you nod in understanding, before prodding further, “not weird?” 

he thinks it over, before answering. if he’s honest with himself, the most he’d felt with you was sexual attraction. he liked the way your tits bounced when you ran to greet him or the press of your ass against his crotch when you passed by him to get somewhere. he liked— he liked thinking about your body, your lips, your hands. it’s why he sent you that lingerie set, the one that sits so pretty on your body right now. not that he’d been expecting you to send him anything, and he’d even anticipated that you might feel disgusted, might throw it in his face and slap him too. but he knew you better. suna was observant. he knew more than he let on, more than anyone could imagine. if he hadn’t realized your eyes on him in the past years, he must be blind.

still, he’s not sure if it was ever more, or if it is more. but, he supposes, it’s not an unimaginable feat. he thinks that maybe, there is a chance. he likes you, sure; you make his belly twist and his heart jump. but is he going to risk leading you on? 

he doesn’t know. 

he settles for, “good weird.” 

your face is the definition of a question mark. “what the hell is good weird?” 

“your face is good weird,” he retorts. it’s a bad comeback, terrible actually, but his face is flushing a dark red, and he needs to get away. you’re flustering him and it’s pissing him off. 

“that’s so mean!” 

yeah, the devil would’ve been better comfort. he wasn’t around though, so he made sure suna had been sleeping over that night instead. 

worked in your favor didn’t it? 

end note; my godddddfhksfhbskjbsb ,,, sorry if you found mistakes this took me all day and im not assed to proofread <//3 but i hope you liked regardless!! 

[poisonvenomgutss]

string theory (intro)

"The String Theory suggests that we are all linked to those we love, regardless of physical distance or separation, by an intangible, yet powerful bond that is impossible to break."

Pairing - Dexter x Fem! OC

Plot - Dexter and Mary, although opposites in a lot of ways, find themselves almost tethered together. Regardless of the consequences, they are unable or unwilling to cut that string.

Trigger warnings - Violence, talk of suicide, mental illness

Dexter always thought of himself as emotionless, cold and empty. That's why he liked Mary. In a way, she was everything he's not. She's so full of emotions; it's enough for the both of them. She was empathetic to almost a fault, seeing good in everybody and everything, even if it hurt her in the process. When she's happy, which according to Dexter was most of the time, she was intensely happy.

They did have some things in common though, as Mary was born in blood just like Dexter.

When she was a young girl, about 3 years old, she had watched her father kill himself. Laura, her mother, was driven away by his alcoholism, but he never stopped begging her to come back. But if Laura wasn't going to take him back, what was the point? One night, he took his handgun out of the bedside table it called home, brought it up to his temple and pulled the trigger. blood and brain matter splattered over the wall, as well as all over 3-year-old Mary. She waited there, next to her dad for days until Mary's aunt came to pick them up for church, finding the horrific scene as she entered.

Mary was weirdly quick to open up to Dexter about this, making him open up to her about his past as well. He was fascinated by her opposite outcome; how did she end up so full of emotions while he was left so...empty. Either way, he felt like she understood him on a level nobody else did.

Their relationship quickly blossomed, and Mary found herself completely enthralled in Dexter. She was sort of obsessive in her love for Dexter, and although they hadn't said the words "i love you" yet, Mary felt it. So much so, she did everything she could to hide her darkness from him.

Her darkness would replace that intense happiness she carried with intense sadness, intense rage or both. Some days she felt she couldn't get out of bed, like she was trapped under the weight of her sorrow. Some days she would wake up and find everything is enraging her, causing her to lash out and sometimes break things. She would be filled with paranoia most days, but she had it under control, or at least she thought she did. But little does she know, Dexter is hiding his own darkness from her.

-

(Written from Mary's POV)

As I finish up dinner, I see my phone buzzing on the counter.

1 new voicemail

"Hey! it'll be a late night at the station again, so don't wait up." Dexter's voice said through the phone.

Looking over at the dinner I had just cooked for him, I let out a long sigh. It would be wasted if he didn't eat it, given I'm not a meat eater myself, but maybe it would be nice if i brought it to him. I packaged it up, then grabbed my phone to call Dexter back and let him know i was on my way with his dinner.

ring..ring..ring..It's Dexter Morgan, leave a message... beep..

Voicemail? Really? I shook my head as I left a sweet message letting him know that I'm coming to see him.

These nights where he'd unexpectedly work late, made my thoughts go crazy. Is he drowning himself in work to avoid me? Is he even at work or is he somewhere else? is he seeing someone else? It's crazy, really, Dexter has never lied to me before, but my mind can't help but race.

I shook my paranoid thoughts away and tried to ignore them. As my hand reached for the door to leave, I hesitated. Maybe I should try calling Deb, I mean, I wouldn't want to barge in on any confidential meetings or whatever. I put my things down and dig through my purse to retrieve my phone once again.

The phone gives out 2 rings before Deb quickly picks up the phone. "hey Mary, everything alright?" Deb was always so sweet to me, and I could always count on her to answer the phone.

"yeah! everything is fine, I was just about to drive down to the station to drop off some dinner for Dexter, but I didn't know if I should call first, he didn't answer so I figured I'd call you." I nervously ramble into the phone, the paranoia still weighing on me.

"Dexter? He left like an hour ago, he's not back yet?"

my stomach dropped at Deb's words...he was lying..

I give a hurried reply, "oh, uh, probably just some errands or something but uh, thanks anyway!" hanging up before she has time to answer.

There it is...that darkness. As I feel the rage flow through my veins and start to boil my blood, I set my phone down. Deep breaths. in and out. just like I've practiced so many times before.

I'm going to freak the fuck out.

he's definitely with another woman, but i need to know who and i need proof.

Within the hour, I've successfully turned the whole apartment upside down, looking everywhere and anywhere to find a trace of this other woman. The only suspicious thing I found was a locked chest in his closet, I tried but couldn't break into it.

I find myself sitting on his couch, surrounded by the mess I've made. With my head in my hands, I make the decsion to call Dexter again, maybe its just a big misunderstanding?

Ring..Ring... "hey Mary, I'm just finishing up here, I'll be back soon" Dexter answers. His voice is so calm and nonchalant, im almost forgot he was lying. "Almost finished up with what?" I respond, trying to keep my voice just as casual.

"Just this big case we're working on, but I gotta go, bye."

and just like that, he hangs up.

Frustrated, I throw my phone against the wall, accidentally hitting the AC, causing the front panel to fall. fuck. I think to myself, making a mess is one thing but I'm not trying to break things...as i rush to put the AC back together...something catches my eye. a small, wooden box tucked neatly inside the AC.

-

Hi guys!! This fandom is dead af so I needed to make some content of my own buttttt let me know if people like it because i may or may not keep going. I have not written anything like this since like, middle school so sorry if its trash lol

[myth-blossom]

Hi! For your song fic challenge I'd like to suggest Mansoon by Tokio Hotel. No particular characters or pairings in mind though.

Used to love this group when I was a teen 😅

Hi Glazolina! Thank you so much for this request, this song is SO good! I’ve definitely added it to my playlist. :D I found inspiration to write something angsty for 47 and Diana set during Hitman: Absolution. Hope you enjoy!

*Content warning: discussion of major character injury/“death”

47 was tired.

He kept on the move with Victoria following Blake Dexter’s demise, remaining cautious as they were still being pursued by Benjamin Travis and the Agency. They needed to stay vigilant while 47 amassed the resources to find and eliminate Travis. He wouldn’t risk compromising Victoria’s safety, not again. He made a promise to Diana, and he intended to keep it.

It was unusual travelling with a companion, but 47 did his best to socialize with the girl when prompted. Victoria seemed at ease around the hitman and enjoyed talking to him, even if he was more often silent than not. It was difficult for him to engage in conversation when the subject matter she chose was often so painful for him.

Diana told me stories about you, she would say. Victoria would share some of her favorites, especially those from the early days when Diana and 47 started working together. Sometimes he would budge and mention a detail Victoria hadn’t known, and other times he would keep quiet with an expression that reminded Victoria of Diana when she spoke of him. Those talks always ended the same way for 47, and that evening was no exception.

They checked in at a hotel in the middle of nowhere, the place rundown but not as derelict as what he rented before in Chicago. Victoria was asleep on the old mattress while her empty takeout container lay abandoned on the bedside table. 47 sat on the lounge chair in the corner facing the television, his dinner cold and untouched in his lap. 

Victoria craved noodles for dinner and picked out a place to stop on the way to the hotel. 47 deferred to her judgment since she needed to eat and his appetite had not fully returned to have an opinion. He had just opened his utensils to eat because the noodles did, in fact, smell incredible, but his stomach dropped at another mention of Diana. The takeout reminded Victoria of the first meal Diana made after she rescued her and she wanted to remember that familiar comfort. Victoria spoke more of Diana after that, but 47 felt too weary to engage.

He hadn’t stopped thinking of Diana since that fateful day. 47 had killed many people in his life, but never had a contract wound him so deeply as hers. He was constantly plagued with visions of her wounded on the bathroom floor, using her last breaths to secure Victoria’s future instead of damning 47 for his betrayal. Diana was always practical, even in the end.

47 set his meal aside and leaned back in the chair, hoping rest might reach him if only for a few minutes. He closed his eyes and tried his best to clear his head.

Diana would find him in his dreams, too, though those were often kinder to him. 47 would see her as she was and as he imagined her to be, often smiling and teasing him for his tardiness when he approached. He wanted her so desperately to be real and sometimes found the distinction difficult to make, learning to check his injured barcode on the back of his head when he needed clarity. A lack of pain would tell him to enjoy the dream with her while it lasted. The discovery of a bandage told him he was very much awake, and very much alone.

His phone broke his concentration on resting when it started vibrating in his pocket. He retrieved the device and stared at the screen with a furrowed brow. No one should have this number, 47 thought. He decided to answer it without speaking, letting the caller make the first move.

“Are you both safe?”

47 felt the air escape his lungs as he fought to keep his voice steady.

“Diana?” he asked quietly.

“Are you both safe?” she repeated.

47 felt his grief rekindle at the sound of her voice, wanting so badly some relief that she was somehow alive and well, speaking to him as if the contract never happened.

But he had been here before. He knew it wasn’t real. 

Still, 47 was willing to pretend. Diana was an apparition, the product of a guilty conscience. The least he could do was tell her the truth. He looked over at Victoria where she continued to sleep soundly.

“We’re safe. Victoria is safe.”

Diana sighed in relief. “Thank you, 47.”

“Diana, I…I’m sorry for what happened. I didn’t know…“

“47–“

“If I could take it all back—“

“47, please…you did what you had to do. We both did.”

He stayed silent, unconvinced.

“I forgive you, 47. I hope that one day you will do the same.”

47 clenched his fist, knowing her words were too good to be true. She could never forgive me for what I’ve done. He relaxed his hand and reached behind his head to press upon his barcode. This was a dream, he knew it had to be—

He exhaled sharply at the pain caused by his touch.

47 straightened in his seat, blinking in disbelief.

“Diana?” he asked, hopefully.

“Yes?”

For the first time in weeks, 47 smiled.

“It’s good to have you back.”

[ace-beef]

The Gang Plays Dungeons and Dragons

so my silly little brain loves to just take a group of characters and go “what if they played DnD together?” and that is exactly what I’ve done here with the characters from Always Sunny. Might turn this into a fic but idk yet 

Charlie  - was the one who suggested playing it because he happened to discover it one day and as the funky lil creative he is, he's prepared a homebrew campaign that is absolutely nuts and doesn't always make sense - as he can barely read he hasn't exactly got the best grasp on the rules. He might go and find some videos to explain it better to him but he also does have a shit attention span so he probably gets a little bit bored - basically he found out about a game for adults where you can acceptably play make believe like a kid and really liked the idea of it - a somewhat fair DM but gets frustrated when the others inevitably deviate from the plot a lot, like I feel like he also threatens to kill people's characters if they continue to completely ruin stuff - really works hard on doing different character voices and describing different characters and places, even down to having props, costume parts, maps etc - draws everyone’s characters 

Mac  - starts out complaining that he "doesn't want to play some shitty nerd game" but then gets shown the barbarian class and all the weapons his character could use and then he gets fully into it - briefly thinks about being a monk instead but gets very put off when reading about Ki and just doesn't understand it at all - builds a Dragonborn or Half Orc barbarian beefcake, his highest stats are strength and dexterity, and he has weapons that use a d10 or a d12 for damage - he never really gets into the roleplay aspect and gets kinda bored when there hasn't been any combat for a while which means that he often starts combat himself, like they're all yelling at him not to and he just attacks anyway and rolls his dice and then Charlie just yells like "OKAY FINE ROLL INITIATIVE" - constantly tries to do cool stunts (you know he’s physically demonstrating them too the best he can) and gets very mad when his dice roll low, and so he probably flips the table at least once every session - doesn't ask to roll for intimidation (or any other skill but he uses intimidation way more than the others) he just does it anyway and announces it - Mac: I rolled a 12 so I intimidate the guard with my big muscles and he cowers before me Charlie: nO dude that’s not how it works, I decide whether he’s intimidated by you aaand *rolls dice* he’s not  Mac: WHAT??? That’s bullshit Charlie you KNOW how big my character’s muscles are! *proceeds to flex irl* 

Dennis  - also "doesn't want to play some shitty nerd game" and takes more convincing than Mac, but eventually what sways him over is the fact that his character can seduce as many people as he wants, and he probably sees some raunchy artwork of a tiefling woman and decides that he'll play - Aasimar Bard that has a very high charisma stat and is quite possibly the horniest bard you have ever seen, although he's not seducing dragons and monsters because he "has standards" - uses 'vicious mockery' constantly and comes up with the most incredible insults, and often threatens to use it on his party members  - never gives inspiration dice to the others (except maybe to Mac on occasion) - probably a bit of a rules lawyer but only when it benefits him or ruins someone else - surprises himself a little bit and the others when he ends up getting very into the roleplay part of the game, oftentimes completely forgetting that he's just effectively flirting with Charlie in a wig - therefore gets Very into character and ends up becoming weirdly attached to and protective of his character so gets genuinely upset when his character is near death “heal ME! I’m clearly the best member of the party!” - very detailed and descriptive roleplay, sometimes too descriptive 

Dee  - also also "doesn't want to play some shitty nerd game" but particularly when Mac and Dennis get roped into it she doesn't want to get left out and joins anyway, plus she very quickly realises that it's a perfect opportunity to demonstrate her acting skills - therefore very much enjoys the roleplay aspect and often gets very intense which the others (except Dennis) aren't quite sure what to do with since they're just goofing around for the most part - would argue with Dennis about being a bard but eventually she gets bullied into settles on being a Tiefling Sorcerer because it "seems pretty cool" - the others joke about how she should be playing an Aarakocra though, "oh wow Dee look! They based an entire race on you!" - argues with Charlie A Lot about various different things that she supposedly can and can't do (tbf they all do but she is The Worst) - has an incredibly long and fleshed out backstory written down for her character and she keeps asking Charlie when he’s going to bring it up and use it in the plot of the campaign  - not so interested in combat since she can never quite get her head around the magic system but she does laugh at and berate the others about not being able to solve 'simple' puzzles

Frank  - has absolutely no idea what DnD is or what he's doing but he's playing just for Charlie and because Charlie was so enthusiastic about it - when making a character he probably asks stuff like "so which class has the most sex appeal?" / "Which one of these will get me to bang the most fantasy broads?", which inevitably means he gets involved in the ‘Who Gets To Be The Bard’ argument with Dennis and Dee but backs out very quickly because honestly, he's not That invested - I would say he gets 'lumped with the healer role' because of this but you just KNOW that the gang has absolutely no idea how to build a good, co-operative party and therefore has the most chaotic and messy party you've ever seen - ends up being a High Elf (so he can be "tall and sexy") Rogue so he can be crafty and steal a bunch of money from people, which also includes his fellow players and they get very mad about it - Mac: hey you can't steal from me! I attack him with my greataxe *rolls dice* Charlie: no Mac he rolled a 15 whereas you rolled a 2 your character didn't notice him steal from you Mac: but I just watched him say he stole from me! Charlie: YOU did but your character DIDN'T! Dennis: Mac buddy he's right you just didn't roll well enough! Frank: *cackling* I just stole all of your money! DEAL WITH IT! Mac: *standing up* WELL I ROLLED WELL ENOUGH TO HIT HIM! I GOT A 19! Charlie: *overlapping* YOU DON’T HIT SHIT! Dennis: *overlapping* METAGAMING! THAT'S METAGAMING YOU CAN'T DO THAT!

[jimlingss]

gladiator jk?? 🤭🗡

I’ve written quite a few historicals, but never in the Rome era or quite as far back. So please excuse the historical inaccuracies and all that. I did my best to do a half hour crash course on it.

↳ Spare and Surrender

2.5k || 50% Fluff, 50% Angst || Jeon Jungkook || Gladiator!AU

Jungkook is a star.

He’s won eight games — five against wild beasts and three against other gladiators where he killed two and maimed the other. The entire Colosseum always cheers when he enters. He knows he’s become a favourite, that there are those who bet their life savings on him, and most importantly, he always wins.

The fact that he’s alive is enough proof.

But in spite of the horrors he’s had to face, of the lives he’s had to take, Jungkook still likes it. They give him a place to sleep, three delicious meals a day, and baths and massages whenever he wants. Jungkook is good at what he does too. He isn’t like those elite men from the senate who rigged the fights in their favour and perform simply for their own amusement. The scars on his body are the evidence of his strength and true victories. Jungkook is talented. He was one of the best during training, heard endless praise and even now the roars of the people make him feel alive. Even when asked if he wanted to be free, he refused. Jungkook bleeds competitiveness and the games have become his reason to live.

Today, the crowd is cheering again. But it’s not for him.

“Who’s up there?” he asks a fellow fighter, Darius.

“The new one. You haven’t heard of him?”

The two of them climb the steps, candle fire illuminating their figures and casting their shadows against the underground stone walls. 

“They call him the Mouse Dragon.”

Jungkook frowns. “Why?”

“Because he’s as tiny as a mouse, but as fierce and swift as a dragon.” The clamour of the crowds become louder the closer they get to the center. There’s light from the end of the tunnel closest to Jungkook and curiosity makes him go closer. “He’s already won five games, Jeon. He might take your place soon.”

Darius nudges him with a small grin. But Jungkook doesn’t take it lightly.

He follows the light and peeks out of the barred tunnel to see you. 

You’re in amber armour, silver dagger in hand as you encircle a wounded bear. It growls, leaps forward at the speed of light, but you don’t evade. You lurch forward and before the animal’s sharp teeth can rip into your skin, the dagger pierces into the side of its throat.

The bear roars in pain and you dig the blade into it before pulling out to pierce it again.

Finally, the large creature drops dead at your feet. The crowd bursts into wild howls and screams. It’s deafening. 

Jungkook slinks back into the shadows.

He doesn’t know how he remained so ignorant as to not know you, to not know a fellow gladiator who won so many games. Granted, your number of victories is far from his, but it’s still notable especially when most gladiators died in their first games and few made it past ten. Jungkook plans on making it there. But at this rate, you might as well. And there was no room for two stars. Not when fame was fickle and he planned to become the most famous.

He allowed his arrogance to blind him for long enough. It’s time to make himself known to you, to show you what a real gladiator is and let you know your place.

Jungkook returns underground, darting past the many fighters preparing for their own matches. He brushes past the guards and trainers, ignoring the cry of the animals kept in their cages. 

Down here, there was its own chaos. Chaos that is kept from the eyes of the public. 

But when he gets to the place where survivors usually recover and collect themselves, the hall is empty and much quieter. The noise of the Colosseum is merely muffled faintly above him.

Jungkook whips back the curtain of the first room, but it’s empty. He turns on his heel, calms down his temper and glances through the gaps of the curtains, searching for you. He sees no one in the second room and no one in the third.

He’s about to relent and look for you on the training grounds later on. But at the fourth room, Jungkook’s vision unintentionally trails through the small space between the curtain and the wall.

His eyes grow wide as it lands on you. Unraveling your chest bindings.

You look up on instinct. Your pupils connect with his doe, brown eyes. A gasp rips from your throat.

But by then, he’s gone. Like a ghost or the smoke of a flame.

Jungkook strides back from where he came from, feet moving quickly. He’s in disbelief, utter confusion—

And a hand wraps around his wrist. In an instant, Jungkook’s yanked into one of the rooms.

You’re panting, chest rising and falling as you hold your bindings to your breasts.

His eyes weren’t wrong. “You’re a woman.”

“And you’re Jungkook.”

He blinks. “You know me?”

“Who doesn’t?” You slip the worn tunic on, and Jungkook realizes how small you really are. Up close, your neck is slim and your wrists small. But unlike the others, he knows it’s not because you’re a tiny, frail man. You’re a woman. “I’ve watched your games before.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why are any of us here?” You face him, gaze intense and fierce without once wavering. He can’t be threatened. Not when he’s Jungkook, someone who’s quickly becoming one of the strongest gladiators of Rome. Yet for some reason, he’s held in his spot because of you. “I was a slave and was going to be sold as a prostitute.”

“So you pretended to be a man and train as a gladiator.”

“At least I can win enough prize earnings to pay for my freedom. Or I can die. Either way, it’s better than what was in store for me.”

Jungkook’s taken aback by the determination ablaze in your eyes, by the strength and conviction in your voice. “There are female gladiators, you don’t need to hide yourself.”

“If they knew I was a woman, they’d want me to expose my breasts and fight and no one would take me seriously.” You hiss at him like he knows nothing, “What kind of prize earnings would I get then if they’re pitting me against dwarves for their own amusement.”

Jungkook looks at you — he really looks at you. Beyond a fighter in the Colosseum, beyond a fellow competitor, beyond a heroic gladiator who garners cheers.

He feels foolish.

Small-minded. Short-sighted.

His intentions of intimidation and putting you in your place has long vanished. You and him are so different. He can’t compare to you.

You don’t fight for sport. You fight to escape.

“Don’t tell anyone.” You soften. “I hate owing others, but please. I beg of you. Let me be.”

“I was a slave too.” In the farthest confines of his mind, Jungkook still hears the screaming, the burning city, Romans taking him in the midst of their conquests. And the others. The difference between him and them was that he was stronger. He survived. But he almost let himself forget. “If you made it this far, it means you’re strong as well. I have no business in revealing your secret.”

Jungkook had almost forgotten what life outside the Colosseum meant. He almost forgot the thirst to survive. To live on without needing to fight another day.

But as he looks at you, the memories return. It makes him feel sickly. He pushes them away.

“But for a price.”

The relief on your expression washes away just as quickly as it came. “What price?”

“Tell me your name. Your real name.”

You hesitate before the secret tumbles from your lips. “It’s Y/N.”

...

Jungkook sees you again in the training barracks. Now that your face isn’t simply one amongst the crowd, blurring together with the men, now that he can pick you out by just the back of your head, he often joins you. Whether it be pity or curiosity, he isn’t quite sure yet. But he speaks to you when he has the chance, invites you to sit and eat at the table with him much to the confusion of fellow gladiators, and he trains with you during the day.

He can tell you’re not fond of his attention as it garners the attention of the other men. After all, Jungkook doesn’t often associate himself with fellow fighters and certainly not those that are supposedly lower than he is. But he can also tell that you like his training help. 

“Stab, don’t slash.”

“I know that.”

“But you’re still doing it.” 

“I survived this far without your help, Jungkook.”

“And you’re going to need my help if you want to keep surviving and earn your way to freedom.”

The corner of his mouth tugs when you’re rendered to silence. 

But you’re not the only one to gain from the relationship. Jungkook enjoys sparring with you. He likes it when your sword clashes against his, when your shields are struck. You’re a formidable competitor. While he is sturdy, swift and strong, you are agile and dexterous. He is especially impressed when you tumble away from him like your bones have turned to air.

Jungkook has always liked his women elegant with intelligent eyes, dressed in beautiful clothes that drift through the breeze. You, on the other hand, are rough when you wield weapons. Your words can be crude and he’s never once seen you in finery. Yet, he is absolutely stricken with you.

And maybe that’s why he feels a need to protect you through the fight—

“The Mouse Dragon! The Unstoppable Beast!”

The crowd goes wild as you both enter the Colosseum together. The nicknames given to the two of you are absurd, but Jungkook still feels pride that he’s famed enough to be named.

It was posted earlier today that you’d be fighting together against an exotic animal from the west. A creature with a large trunk, two tusks and whose height towers him twice over.

Perhaps the trainers saw how close he was becoming with you. Maybe the rumours began to take that he was your mentor and you were going to become the next bold gladiator. Either way, you were put together.

Jungkook looks to you and the both of you nod, preparing your stances as the animal is released from its confines. It cries out and decides to trample towards you.

The game lasts ten minutes. It always does and it’s the longest ten minutes he knows.

Jungkook is reckless this time. More than what he is used to.

“You don’t need to protect me—” you spit at him, standing shoulder to shoulder, catching your breaths.

He knows, but he can’t help it. “Who says I am?”

Jungkook strikes when he should be holding up his shield. He surges forward before you can. And he’s clearly more worn than you are. But it’s not for the cheers, not for the crowd to chant his name, and he isn’t trying to steal the spotlight from you.

You narrow your eyes in on him. “I can handle it on my own.” 

You do. 

The creature becomes wounded from your stabs and blood splatters across your face. But in the moment of the animal’s death, it wails out and leans on its hind legs with its last effort. From the force, you’re thrown to the ground. About to be trampled. About to be crushed.

Yet before it can come down, before you can brace yourself — Jungkook digs his entire sword through its side.

The animal falls over. The dust is awakened into a cloud.

The crowd screams all around you and your gaze meets Jungkook’s, knowing he saved your life.

The game is something to remember. So much so that a close trainer, Marcus Namjoon, whispers that the next time the two of you will have to fight a more ferocious beast. The lion.

“How will you manage?” he asks you that same night as you’re seated on the wooden steps.

“I’ll just have to or I’ll die.” The corner of your mouth curls as the light of the stars glow against your face and makes you look like a goddess. Jungkook is sure you must be the child of Ares and Aphrodite. “May the best warrior survive.”

His hand crumples into a fist. He tears his eyes away from your magnificence.

Sooner or later, you will win your freedom or sooner or later, you will die. Or worse. Jungkook knows how the games go. He’s been here for years and he knows why these matches exist. It’s all to distract the public of more important matters and if something happens, if a big enough distraction is needed, sooner or later, Jungkook will be pitted against you.

Then, he will have to kill you or at least maim you. Or he will have to be your sacrifice.

“Take this.”

He drops a leather pouch into your lap and looks away.

It’s heavy and you tug the strings. A gasp pulls on your lips. Gold and silver gleams back at you.

“Jungkook…”

“It’s all of my earnings I’ve saved so far. With what you have, together it should be enough to buy your freedom.” It becomes silent and he lets the peace of the night settle into him.

“Why?”

“Because you desire freedom more than I have ever desired anything.” That might be a lie. There is one thing Jungkook desires most that could possibly contend — and he’s looking at it. Looking at you. “If there’s anyone who deserves this, it’s you. I would not regret it if this is where my earnings went.”

“W-What about the fight?”

“I’ll have a better chance than you do.”

“Jungkook.”

You take his face within your hands to kiss him. He feels your soft lips and in spite of being a warrior, your body is even softer. You feel feminine under his touch and as he years for more, he grabs a hold of your waist and pulls you flush against him. Jungkook inhales your yelp, your tongues sloppy against one another.

A hunger from inside him awakens. Jungkook wants to have you right here, right now. But you part from him, catching your breath.

Under the stars, Jungkook has become entirely enraptured by you.

“I’ll work.” You make an oath to him. “I’ll save enough to free you.”

Jungkook’s never thought of leaving before. Even as a distinguished warrior, when he had been asked if he wanted to be granted freedom, he refused. He likes it here. There’s a roof over his head, he gets three meals and gains attention and fame that he could never get on his own.

Yet, you are a bigger reason than all other reasons.

He has never desired anything more than being with you.

A smile tugs on his lips. “It’s a promise I’ll hold you to then.”