#how he's been with an imposter for so long

[florestalio]

THE PERFECT COPY — yang jungwon

SYNOPSIS: finding a job in the current state of the world was a hassle, but given your skills, it wasn't hard to find a decently paying job as a doorman. your job is to distinguish the doppelgangers from the real humans. simple enough, right? right?

GENRE: that's not my neighbour au, dystopian au, doppelganger au

WARNINGS: (6.9k words) MDNI, noncon/dubcon, mentions of killing, blood, guns, unprotected sex (please don't), big huge dick!won, monster fucking, meandom!won, implied munch!won, nicknames (slut, doll, princess, etc.), dacryphilia, fingering, manhandling, bondage, lot of slick (an almost concerning amount), marking (hickeys), cum eating (not oral), missionary, mating press, bulge kink, degradation, praise, possessive!won, let me know if I missed any!

NOTE: i'm well aware that a similar fic has already been published by a different author, but mine was almost completely inspired by this video, so it's extremely different from the fic that had already been posted.

In a world which is slowly, but steadily getting overtaken by doppelgangers, finding a job is one of the hardest tasks — even if a lot of new jobs have been created for this purpose.

‘Doorman’, a post that was one of the more frowned upon jobs with a very low salary, had now become one of the most high paying jobs — since it was their skills and abilities that would determine whether the people in an apartment or complex lived or not. The job sounded fairly simple — figure out if the person wanting to enter is a human or a convincing doppelganger. Let only the humans in, get rid of the doppelgangers with the help of the D.D.D — another job created for the purpose of eradication of the doppelgangers from the world.

While the job of doormen did sound simple, it obviously wasn't that easy. Doppelgangers could be very convincing, their morphing abilities weren't a matter of joke. But, no matter how human they seemed, at the end of the day, they weren't human.

While detecting them could be very hard, doppelgangers… aren't the smartest tool in the shed. They always have some kind of imperfections, no matter how minor, in their appearances, in the way they behave — and many more. This is where doormen step in. They are skilled people with extremely sharp observation skills, which they use to figure out these imposters, and thus save the lives of a lot more people than they think they do.

You were one of these people with sharp observation skills that got chosen as a doorman of an apartment complex, situated near the suburbs. While you weren't getting a salary as high as the skies, it was still pretty high, considering that people from remote locations were impersonated a lot more than people from the cities, as these people are easier targets than them.

According to your job description, the old doorman was taking a long, well-deserved vacation. You were supposed to replace him for as long as he was on vacation, after which, you had no idea what would happen. Would your job be gone? Were you going to keep your job? Would you work alongside the old doorman? So many questions, yet they all remained unanswered.

You shook off those thoughts, focusing on the present. You looked around your new office, trying to make yourself familiar with your surroundings. Everything you needed as a doorman seemed to be exactly where you needed it; a telephone, checklists to grant entries, an entry list, records of all the people that lived in the building, their phone numbers, the D.D.D phone number, and whatnot. There was even an emergency button on the wall, which was attached with a metal partition that covered the window in front of the desk when activated.

The presence of all these faculties just made your work a lot easier. You took a seat, right in front of the desk. As soon as you sat down, the phone rang. You picked it up, only to hear a recorded message from the previous doorman. Turns out, his name was Sunghoon, and he had recorded it for you to listen to, since he didn’t wish for any mishaps to happen to you. As thoughtful as he was, he was also extremely repetitive. After several ‘do not let them in’-s, did the recording finally end, making you breathe out a sigh of relief.

Now comes the tough part. Doing your job.

It was a quarter to midnight. After a hard day’s work of letting in the actual residents and calling the D.D.D upon the impersonators, the entry list had only two more people left. Namely, a businessman by the name of ‘Park Jongseong’ who lived alone in the third room on the first floor, and ‘Yang Jungwon’, the milkman who lived alone in the second room of the third floor.

Over the course of the day, you had seen doppelgangers of all kinds, some a lot better at impersonating than the other. There were several times when you had almost missed a sudden flash of an extra pair of arms, or different eye colors — as impressed as you were, you had immediately called the D.D.D on them.

Sometimes the doppelgangers looked completely, utterly, perfect copies of the person they were impersonating. Had it not been for a slight difference in their ID’s or entry requests, you would have probably let them in.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps alerted you. As you looked up, you were met with the face of Jongseong, Jay for short. He gave you a half smile. “Sorry for bothering you this late, a client of mine was giving me a lot of trouble. Honestly, how is it my fault that the delivery was being delayed? Do they not realize that in the present situation, it is hard to navigate through the innumerous doppelgangers that are just waiting to pounce at any given moment of the day? It's truly very inconsiderate of–”

You interrupted his rambling. “Sir I require your ID in order to let you in. As you mentioned, it is already extremely late, so please, let’s not delay this any further.” You felt a little guilty for how you were acting towards him, but his rambling was taking up too much of your precious time.

His eyes immediately widened, before he started rummaging in his pockets. “Right — I'm really sorry, I'm not sure why I started to rant to you — here's my ID–”

You took a close look at the ID, trying to find any kind of faults in it. You heard him start to rant again. “—and honestly it was such a lovely day too, but this stupidly inconsiderate client had to ruin it.” You looked up at him, watching him continue to rant about the most random topics, which… didn’t really make any sense. “—so many ice cream trucks, but all of them had crashed into each other. The amount of people going up to those and stealing ice creams from them was actually insane–”

Suddenly you noticed something amiss on his face, protruding from his hat. Without missing a beat, you asked him. “Sir, what's that on your face?”

Jay immediately stopped his rambling. “My face? Wh– What’s wrong with it? It– It's just a normal face!–”

Your hand started to creep towards the emergency button. “There are tiny hands on your face.”

Jay panicked, watching you reach towards the emergency button. “Wait!– I have an explanation for this — see I was talking to this little girl called Jiah right? So I called out to her ‘Hey Jiah! Can you give me a hand with this?’ and she came and put her hands on my face! No wait don't–”

It was too late. You had already pushed the emergency button, watching the metal partition fall into place, blocking your view of him. You could hear the doppelganger wailing about how it was ‘a perfect disguise’. You quickly contacted the D.D.D, letting them know of the situation. Within five minutes you heard them arrive, screams of ‘get away from the door you filthy animal!’ and ‘but I don't wanna’ filled up the air, along with the sounds of guns going off, before it all went silent.

The partition suddenly went up again, a bloodied yellow hazmat suit with the D.D.D logo coming into your view. The person in the suit spoke. “Cleaning protocol has been completed. Please feel free to carry on with your job.”

You whispered a small thanks, watching them leave. It was almost midnight now, and you still had to let in two more of the apartment’s residents. It almost annoyed you, but this was in your job description when you had applied for it, so you had to suck it up.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps reached your ears again, along with a voice. “God, I'm so sorry for coming this late, Sunghoon, I swear I'll come earlier next time–” The voice stopped short, and so did your breath.

Good fucking gracious. You did look at the profiles of all the residents in the building, but none of them looked as good as Jungwon did up close.

Jungwon, a milkman by profession, was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Even with his tired eyes and exhausted appearance in general, he looked so fucking… ravishing.

He cleared his throat. “I'm so sorry, it's usually Sunghoon who sits here — are you new?”

You nodded, licking your lips nervously. “Yeah I am… Sunghoon went for a vacation, a long one apparently, so I'm here to replace him for the time being.”

He nodded in understanding. “That makes sense. Good thing he went for a vacation, god knows he needed one. We all need one, given the state of the world at present — how are you liking it at the new job? Is it giving you too much trouble?”

You shook your head. “Oh no, not at all — there were a lot of posers, but I handled them just fine. I think I'll be alright.”

“That's good. Oh, I remember my first experience with a doppelganger — it was almost terrifying. See, there was this — this woman, who lived here and… it was a very convincing disguise. The only thing wrong with her was that… there was a mole on her right cheek, except that it was supposed to be on the left side. When the D.D.D was called on her, she… kept screaming and screaming — all that just… it takes a toll on you. Not being able to recognise them, that is.”

You gulped, barely hearing what he was saying, too focused on the movement of his lips. “Yea… that's — yea, it's scary.”

He offered you a half smile. “It is. But what you're doing is important. You're saving a lot of lives this way, and that is all that matters. That's what is important.”

“Thank you — I appreciate that, I truly do.”

“You're welcome. I may not know you personally yet, but I can tell that you're an honest person. People like you… they tend to overthink these things. So always remember that… what you're doing is great. These doppelgangers are evil, and they deserve what they are getting.”

You gave him a grateful smile, once again thanking him for his kind words. He gave you one back. “Not a big deal… princess. Here's my ID… and my entry request.”

As you took his ID and his entry request, you froze, suddenly aware of the nickname that he used to refer to you. “P-Princess?–”

Jungwon had a tiny smirk on his face this time. “Yea? Do you not like the nickname? I can stop–”

You were quick to deny it. “No I didn't mean — uhm — I do like it…”

An amused glint was present in his eye. “I see. So… are my documents in order, princess?”

You nodded, feeling heat creep up on your cheeks. “Yep, all good.” A sudden idea struck you. “Actually wait… there is something wrong.”

His smile vanished. “What?– Something's wrong?”

You nodded. “Yea… with your face.”

He raised a shaky hand to touch his face, something you missed. “M– My face? What's wrong with it?”

You smiled at him, your eyes twinkling with amusement. With as much cheesiness as you could muster in your voice, you replied. “Yea, it's called ‘handsomeness’.” You immediately cringed at yourself. What kind of a pathetic attempt at flirting was that?

However, it seemed to sway Jungwon. He immediately blinked, before letting out a relieved grin, a faint blush coating his cheeks. “Oh?– You got me there. Thank you — you're extremely gorgeous too.”

Now it was your turn to feel shy. Your cheeks were aflame, heat creeping up your neck. Were you seriously flirting instead of doing your job? This late at night?

You shyly smiled at him, thanking him. He gave you another smile back, this one seeming a lot more cocky than the last. “Can I go now, pretty girl? Or do you have more tricks up your sleeve?”

You giggled a little, pressing the green button to let him in. “Nope! Go right in.”

He gave you a small smirk, tipping his hat towards you in the same manner a cowboy would, before disappearing through the door.

Around three minutes after Jungwon went in, the sound of footsteps reached your ears again, only this time, it wasn’t exactly the sound of a person walking. It sounded like someone was running. Fast.

You heard the sound of panting, before… Jungwon came into view. Only this time, he had blood all over him.

This was obviously a doppelganger, but before you could reach for the emergency button, the fake Jungwon spoke. “Oh my fucking god — hey I’m guessing you’re new? Listen, this is really important. Did you see… me earlier?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. This was a new strategy. No doppelganger had used a strategy quite like this one earlier today. “Uh-huh.”

He banged on the glass partition with his fist, making you flinch. His eyes looked crazier than before. “I’m not playing around here. Did you or did you not see me earlier?”

Your hand quickly went to the emergency button. Noticing that, he started panicking. “No no no — don’t press that, just listen to me. I was knocked out — he stole my keys! — everything, he stole everything… even my face! Please tell me you didn’t let him in.”

Your hand hovered over the button, his words making you hesitate from pushing it. “I did let him in…”

His eyes widened. “Oh fuck — this is bad, this is bad, this is bad — listen, you have to call the D.D.D — right now. Do it! Call them right now!”

You gazed at him, conflicted. He sounded so… convincing. But so did the first Jungwon. Which one of them was telling the truth?

You almost wanted to scoff at yourself. You were supposed to have some top tier observation skills to be able to figure out who is a doppelganger and who is not. So why was it so hard for you to tell in this case?

You didn’t even realize when your hand fell on the button, pressing it by accident. As the alarm bells sounded and the metal barrier began to fall, several shouts of ‘No!’ could be heard from the outside. You sat there rigidly, not even aware of when the door to your office opened, the person on the other side of the door slipping inside. It wasn’t until he put a hand on your shoulder, causing you to flinch, when you realized that Jungwon, the first one, was inside.

You relaxed for a moment, before he bent down, whispering in your ear, causing you to freeze. “You did a good job princess. Such a good job. Now continue to be a good girl and sit here quietly like a good fucking girl would, yea?”

As he spoke, the realization dawned upon you, the cold dread that came with it washing over you like a bucket of ice. The second Jungwon was the real one.

As you sat there frozen, Jungwon — or rather, the doppelganger — called up the D.D.D, informing them of a ‘doppelganger’ situation. Within five minutes, they had arrived, screams and sounds of gunshots once again filling up the air. Once they stopped, the metal partition opened, once again revealing a yellow hazmat suit stained with blood.

The D.D.D agent recited the same words that it did everytime, before walking away. As soon as the D.D.D had evacuated the building, ‘Jungwon’ clicked the emergency button again, quickly pressing another button to deactivate the alarm bells, so that only the metal partition fell down. He gripped the handles of your chair, spinning it to make you face him. You gulped as you faced him, the sinister smirk on his face filled you up with a fear so intense, that it gripped you in an almost vice-like grip. It was terrifying — he was terrifying.

His eyes raked over you, drinking in your fearful expression. The shaking of your body, the pleading in your eyes, the nervous gulping — all of it filled him up with a foreign emotion — an emotion that made him want to devour you whole.

He lifted up a hand to your face, holding your chin between his fingers, leaning your face upwards. He himself leaned down, stopping just a breath away from your lips, causing your own breath to hitch. Whether it was from fear, or anticipation, he didn't know — not that it would change anything.

He tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, maintaining eye contact with you. “Are you surprised? That I'm not who you thought I was?”

You gulped, too afraid to speak. Although the shaking of your eyes told him what he wanted to know.

He smirked lightly. “Does it make you feel angry? To know that you have been finally bested by a — what do you humans call us again? Ah, a ‘doppelganger’.”

‘Anger’ was the last thing you felt. Fear was all you felt — fear for both yourself, and everyone else whose life you had endangered. You were absolutely terrified, dreading your fate.

You had seen pictures of the real form of the doppelgangers — albeit just drawings; derivations from people who somehow lived to tell the tale. They were described to be completely monstrous, with yellow eyes and sharp teeth, greenish skin and huge claws that could easily rip anyone to shreds. It was only natural for you to feel terrified of your fate. Were you going to be torn to shreds by him? Or was he going to eat you? Do doppelgangers actually eat humans?

Turns out, he did plan on eating you. Devouring you actually. Just… not in the way you thought.

He traced his lip with his tongue, practically undressing you with his eyes. He was going to fucking ruin you.

He traced your lip with his thumb, forcing your mouth open. He pressed his thumb down on your tongue, watching the tears gather at your waterline and the saliva on your tongue. You were already so much fun to play with.

You wanted to cry, scream — anything to get out of this situation. You weren't trained for something like this — all the instructors just said “Catch them, or they catch you. If you're caught, consider yourself dead.” None of them ever prepared you for a situation like this.

You needed to use your own tactics, and you needed to use them fast. You stared at his eyes, trying to make sure your facial expressions didn't give away your thoughts, when suddenly, a brilliant — okay, not brilliant, but still better than nothing — idea struck you.

Your eyes suddenly fell on the door, your eyes widening slightly with a glimmer of hope. He frowned at your expression, looking backwards at the door as well, taking the bait.

You immediately pushed him off you, catching him off-guard, before quickly running to the door. But just as you were about to reach for the handle, you felt him grab your shoulder from behind, pulling you backwards in a not-so-gentle manner. He shoved you to the floor unceremoniously, causing you to scream from the impact — not that anyone would hear you, since the walls were soundproof as long as the metal partition was pulled down, and you had no way to reach the button to deactivate it.

You tried to get up, but were immediately shoved back down to the ground, with him climbing up on top of you, pinning your arms above your head. If looks could kill, you would have already been six feet under by now.

For a moment he just glared down at you, your lips quivering, your eyes shaking with unshed tears. Your chest was rising up and down erratically, downright terrified with what he was planning on doing to you. Was he going to strangle you to death? Tear you apart by hand? Break your neck? Or was he going to–

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by him. His voice was cold with a sinister undertone. “You know princess, I was going to be nice to you — go nice and slow, appreciate everything about you, take my time with you, make it memorable for you. But after this little stunt that you just pulled? I don't think you deserve kindness. If you want to be a fucking brat, acting like you weren't ready to spread your legs open for me just ten minutes ago, then I'm going to fucking treat you like one.”

Your blood ran cold. He was going to what?

You couldn't even understand where he was coming from. You were ‘acting like a brat’? Was trying to run in order to save your life a crime now? You were getting ready to ‘spread your legs for him just ten minutes ago’? First of all, it was some harmless flirting with a nice guy who you thought was human, not a fucking monster. So what the fuck was he even trying to say?

None of it mattered now — not now, when he was sliding the belt that was just there for design purposes through the hoops in your skirt. It didn't matter now, when he started to tie the belt around your wrists, ignorant to your struggles to break free. Not now, when he was grabbing the ends of your shirt, roughly shoving it up.

He couldn't shove it off you, since your hands were tied, so he proceeded to tear it off with his hands. It was an expensive shirt, but there wasn't any time to mourn the loss of your shirt — not when his hands had already moved to your skirt. He didn't even bother trying to get it off this time, simply ripping it apart like paper.

The tears finally broke free. This was it. This was your fate. You were going to get used like some pathetic doll by some monster and then tossed away once you were useless. Even death would have been a kinder fate than this.

You screwed your eyes shut when you felt him touch you over your panties, disgusted by yourself when you realized that you were, in fact, wet. You heard him let out a menacing chuckle, causing more tears to fall from your shut eyes. You felt his finger just barely trace over your covered cunt, making you squirm. He was quick to hold your legs down, before shoving a finger through your panties, causing it to stick inside your wet folds, drenching it further. You felt him leaning down towards your core, a whimper of utter despair leaving you.

He ignored you, taking a whiff of your scent. As soon as it hit him, he let out a loud groan, a quiet ‘fuck’ accompanying it. He definitely needed to eat you out, but first, he needed to stretch you out.

He gripped the waistband of your panties tightly, before ripping it off. The sound of the cotton material tearing brought a fresh batch of tears to your eyes. “P-Please — don’t do this, please–”

He quickly interrupted you by grabbing your throat, applying just enough pressure to cut off your oxygen. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t get to decide what I’ll do or not do. I gave you a chance, didn’t I? I was nice to you initially, wasn’t I? You clearly took advantage of that and tried to run, so why the fuck would I listen to you? If you don’t want to make matters worse for yourself, take what I give you like a good little slut would.”

That ruined whatever tiny hope you had of avoiding this fate. More tears fell from your eyes, causing you to bite down on your lip to conceal your sobs. For some reason, the sight of you biting your lip, paired with your tears, turned him on a lot more than it should have, causing him to grab your chin tightly.

Your eyes flew open in shock, releasing your lip from the abuse from your teeth. His eyes landed on your swollen lips, his pants growing tighter and tighter by the second. Before you could register what was happening, he smashed his lips on yours, swallowing your surprised gasp. He kissed you harshly, his movements sloppy. Saliva dripped past your mouths, smearing onto your chins, but he could care less.

He bit down on your lip, pulling it slightly with his teeth, causing a whimper to leave you involuntarily. He let out a quiet groan at the sound, before diving back inside your mouth, shoving his tongue inside your mouth. He hungrily explored your wet cavern, his hands moving to take his shirt off, the heat radiating off the two of you becoming unbearable. He grabbed your jaw tightly, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, his legs planted on either side of you.

Even if you didn’t want to enjoy it, any of it, your body couldn’t hide its true reaction. You kept letting out whimpers and moans, squirming under him. He gladly swallowed each and every sound of yours, little grunts and groans of his own leaving him. He badly wanted to grind down on you, but he had enough self control to not do that. Instead, he slid a hand down, collected the slick that kept gushing out on his fingers, before shoving his middle finger inside.

Your reaction was immediate. You let out a sharp gasp into his mouth, your hips bucking up into his. He bit down your lip at your reaction, breaking the skin and drawing out blood. He plunged his finger in deeper, feeling even more slick gushing out of you. He sucked the blood off your lip, licking the cut, moaning at the taste. Your blood ignited a fire inside him, the heat spreading to every part of him, the need to completely, utterly, ruin you for everyone else spreading to his finger tips, taking over his brain. He thrust his finger impossibly deeper, before pulling it out, causing you to let out a desperate whine into his mouth, one that was quickly replaced by a shocked moan when he plunged in two fingers at once.

You could feel your cunt stretching to accommodate his fingers, which were long and slender, allowing him to reach parts of you that no one ever did. His fingers dragged across your walls, allowing you to feel every inch of them. His fingers hit every ridge and bump perfectly, making you clench around them tightly.

He felt your pussy walls hugging his fingers, causing him to fasten up the pace of both his fingers and his mouth, swallowing up your whimpers, listening to the wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of your cunt.

He curled up his fingers, feeling your entire body shake under him. He let out a victorious smirk against your lips, having finally found your spot. He increased the pace of his fingers, making sure to curl up his fingers every time, hitting that spongy part in your walls every time with ease.

Your breathing sped up, your whimpers increasing, your wrists becoming red from how much you were struggling to get out of the tight grip of your belt wrapped around them. You could feel yourself becoming wetter and wetter, yet being so far from the edge. Something was missing, something that you desperately needed to finally teeter off the edge.

Even if you couldn’t understand what exactly you needed, ‘Jungwon’ sure did. He broke the kiss, taking in the sight of your bruised and swollen lips, before shifting his attention to your neck, immediately latching his lips on your pulse point, sucking on it harshly. He pumped his fingers into your pussy faster, his thumb moving to rub at your clit harshly. You almost screamed at the added pleasure, your walls clamping down on his fingers in a vice-like grip.

Within seconds your pussy started to convulse around his fingers. Your release gushed out of you in huge amounts, coating his fingers in a creamy white. He helped you ride out your high, shallowly pumping his fingers in you. He stopped sucking on your neck, looking at the newly formed purplish hickey on it proudly. Once you came down from your high, he slipped his fingers out with a wet ‘pop’, watching your walls flutter around nothing.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, slipping them inside, tasting your release. You watched him with hooded eyes, your chest rising up and down slowly as you tried to catch your breath. His eyes screwed shut when the taste hit him, a deep groan leaving him, one that traveled straight to your core, despite having just had one of the best orgasms of your life.

He opened his eyes, his gaze darker than before, making you gulp. He leaned down again, maintaining eye contact with you. He ran a hand through your hair, before gripping it tightly, ripping a whimper out of you. He bit his lips, whispering “God, you drive me fucking crazy” before smashing his lips onto yours. He shoved his tongue inside your mouth almost immediately, making you taste yourself.

Fuck, he would be lying if he said he wasn't dying to eat you out, but the problem in his pants would probably kill him before he had his fill of you — which was why he was furiously trying to get his stupid belt off, something which proved to be quite a challenge for no apparent reason.

When he finally managed to get it off, he threw it away somewhere in the room, out of reach. His shirt was sticking to his skin uncomfortably from how much he was sweating, so obviously that had to go too. Once it was off, he quickly shimmied out of his pants, his boxers quickly following them.

As soon as his boxers were off, his bare cock slapped on his stomach, standing tall and proud. His mushroom tip was an angry shade of red, leaking a generous amount of precum. He was both long and girthy, almost ridiculously so, making you a little concerned about the stretch — or if it would at all fit.

Of course you were anticipating it — how could you not? Yes, he was taking you without consent, but did that really matter anymore? Your morals were thrown out of the window the moment he shoved his pretty fingers into your hole. You couldn't help how much you were leaking for him then, and you certainly can't help it now. You were practically gushing down there, a puddle of your sweet slick starting to form in between your thighs. God, it was a miracle that he hadn't started eating you out like a starved man eating his first meal in days. But then again, he also couldn't wait to finally sink into your wet heat, and fuck you till all you could think about was his dick.

So that's what he did. He spread your legs further apart with his knees, settling down between them. He aligned himself with your entrance, but instead of directly pushing in, he decided to toy with you a little. After all, you were just a toy for him, weren't you? The perfect little toy — a doll if you will — for him to use, break, destroy and dispose of as he wishes.

A little whine from you caught his ears. He looked at your face, almost taken aback by your expression. Your eyes were hooded, lips swollen and glistening from your sweat — possibly a result of you biting down on them. Were you… enjoying this? Did you want this?

It was hot, so undeniably hot of you to like this — not just your body, but you. There was no fucking way he was ever going to let go of you now — no, you were too perfect to lose.

He swallowed thickly, trying his best to subdue his desire of immediately plunging inside you and railing you into your next life. No, he had to be patient, in order to make it fun for him.

He tapped the head of his cock on your clit, watching even more slick pour out of you, joining the puddle on the floor. It was truly magnificent how much your body craved this — how much you craved it — almost as much as he did.

He rubbed his tip over your slit, gathering the slick from it, ripping out pitiful whimpers from you. He almost caved in to your sinful sounds — almost — before continuing to gather your slick on his mushroom tip.

He watched as your slick and his precum mixed together, forming a beautiful white mixture, something that looked almost delicious — of course he had to taste it, and make you taste it as well. You would like it anyways.

He gathered some of the mixture on his fingers, before popping them in his mouth. He closed his eyes, savoring the sinful taste. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see how much the taste affected his body, even more precum having dribbled out of his tip, falling into the puddle of your slick.

He swirled his finger in the mixture, before bringing it to your own mouth. He watched as you eagerly wrapped your lips around his digits, sucking the mixture of your wants greedily. He let out a groan, wondering if you would suck his cock the same way. But he had plenty of time to find that out later.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’, ignoring your whine. He pushed his hand into the puddle of your slick, before wrapping the same hand around his ridiculously large dick, slowly pumping it. His eyes were dark as he maintained eye contact with you, taking in the way you gulped slowly. It was so cute, the way you wanted it as much as he did, and yet were afraid of it actually happening.

If he stared at your cute little lips or your pretty little eyes that were filled with both hesitation and desperation, he would definitely cum even before he had the chance to be inside your — by the looks of it, extremely tight walls.

He grabbed your legs again, spreading them even further apart, before slowly starting to push into you. He was immediately met with a lot of resistance from you, loud gasps and whimpers falling from your lips in a beautiful melody, your pussy walls clamping down tightly on his tip alone. He hissed at the pressure, gripping your hips tightly as he slowly started to push in.

The sounds of your whimpers and choked gasps increased two-fold, your walls stretching to an alarming extent as they tried to fit him. You were well aware that the ‘Jungwon’ that was fucking you wasn't the real one, that he was a monster — but you didn't realise that doppelgangers were this hung. He was big, huge even — way bigger than the average dick size. It felt like he was splitting apart your insides, but you couldn't deny the enormous amount of pleasure that accompanied the pain.

He had to suck in a breath when he had finally buried himself to the hilt inside you, your walls clamping down on him painfully. It almost felt like he willingly buried himself into a dick guillotine, that’s how tight you felt around him. It wasn’t like he could blame you either — he wasn’t human, even if he was impersonating one, all of his physical features were obviously not perfect. As for him, his imperfection happened to be his dick, which was way larger than the average human dick, almost monstrously so — not that he was complaining… and he knew you wouldn’t be either in a while, once you got used to his size.

His grip on your hips was tight enough to bruise, as he slowly pulled out almost completely, leaving only his tip inside, making you let out a sigh of relief. But that relief was short lived, because he almost immediately slammed himself back in, knocking the air out of you. It felt as if he somehow managed to fit another non-existent inch inside of you.

The squelching sound from the slide however, encouraged him to continue. You were liking it, he knew you were. That’s why you were getting even wetter than before, weren’t you? Yep, that was it. That was why your walls were clamping down on him so tightly. Your body didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want him to stop.

He pulled out almost completely again, before ruthlessly slamming right back in, ripping a scream out of you. But the slick that kept pouring out of you, past his cock, told him all that he needed to know. He thrusted into you mercilessly, without caring about how you felt — he knew you liked it, he was sure of it–

Your loud whimpers of pain broke him out of his daze. “P– Please, it h– hurts so much–”

His hand grabbed your neck, squeezing down on it as a warning. “Don’t fucking lie to me — you’re leaking past my cock, and you expect me to believe that you aren’t enjoying this? Stupid, fucking slut, lying to me to my face? Absolutely pathetic.”

He grabbed both of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest, before starting to thrust into you again, the ruthless pace of his hips almost bruising your thighs. The new angle allowed him to hit even deeper, your cries of pain only increasing in volume. He ignored them, focusing on how his hips snapped into yours with every thrust. “Fucking take it — you know you like this, you fucking painslut. It hurts, does it? How adorable, you fucking love it, you know you do.”

He continued to ram his hips into yours, uncaring of your discomfort — unbeknownst to you, your cries only caused him to grow harder, his cock bulging through your stomach. The bulge on your stomach appearing and disappearing inside you caught his attention, causing him to groan. He fisted your hair tightly in his hand, pulling you up. “Look at that, princess, look at it — look at how I keep disappearing inside you. Fucking perfect for me, aren’t you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, continuing to slam his hips into yours. He let go of your hair, pressing down on the bulge in your stomach instead. The added pressure caused him to groan, his pace increasing. Your slick made it easy for him to pound into you, your cries having started to turn into loud moans. He found it almost cute, your switch up.

He pushed your thighs up higher against your chest, his hips snapping painfully into yours, balls slapping on your ass with every thrust. It felt so fucking wrong, but even you couldn’t deny how good it felt. “I’m gonna fill you up, till my cum is dripping past your legs — gonna make you walk around like that. You would love that, wouldn’t you? Walking around with my cum dripping down your legs like a fucking slut?”

If the way you clenched around him at his words wasn’t a dead giveaway to whether you liked what he was doing or not, then he didn’t know what else could possibly be it. He increased his pace. “Yea? You like that? You want that? You’re my precious little cumslut, aren’t you? My sweet little doll, so eager to be filled up to the brim.”

He brought a hand down to your clit, rubbing it harshly. The added pleasure sent shockwaves to your brain, your back arching, eyes rolling back. You could feel the coil in your stomach continue to tighten, the harsh pace of his assault on your clit only making the coil tighter and tighter.

He suddenly pinched your clit harshly, the sudden sensation causing you to let out a choked gasp. The coil in your stomach finally snapped, causing you to gush around him. He groaned at the feeling, your walls clamping around him, triggering his own release. He buried himself deep inside you, spurts of cum sprouting from him, slowly filling her up to the brim. He gripped your hips tightly. “Take it, take all of it, fucking take it — you’re mine to fuck, mine to breed, no matter when I see fit. So fucking take it–”

He kept on and on cumming, your walls clamping around him, milking him dry. He hissed, pulling out his softening length. It was so hot, the way his cum dripped out of your hole. It was the perfect time to eat you out, but that had to wait.

He grabbed your hands, finally undoing the belt on them. As soon as you were free from the restraints, you tried to flex your wrists, to fix the blood flow. He smirked at your antics. He grabbed your chin tightly, making you face him. “Listen up sweetheart — from now onwards, you do what I say. If I tell you to stay, you will stay. If I tell you to sit and look pretty, you will sit and look pretty. Got it?”

You gulped thickly. You were absolutely terrified of him. Why shouldn’t you be? Given what he had done to you, you would have no other choice but to obey him.

So you nodded. Albeit hesitantly.

He wrapped his arms around her “Good girl — my good girl”

[feroluce]

Oh my gosh the way the Pop-Up Shop event ended and what it hinted at that's going on rn, and what it might imply about what's in store for the next time we see Sampo, I'm so excited AAAAAAA

Because it seems it really IS our Sampo, and whereas before I was absolutely delighted by the thought that he was possibly getting fucked with by some outside influence, and that was why he was saying such strange things... There's nothing quite like that going on here. There's no memetic virus messing with his head. There's no imposter, no possession, no nothing.

Just Sampo, and the ominous, all-consuming dread that hangs over his head like a guillotine, as he willingly walks right into what he is sure is a trap. ♡

Because this event was weird right off the bat, yeah? Sampo invites us in on a business deal that won't make him any money? The hell???

And I was just waiting on pins and needles for it to make sense, and oh, I was not disappointed at all. Because I've got a nice meta post about it over here, but Sampo actually DOESN'T make a lot of money most of the time- but he does always get something out of his dealings. He works for favors and good will and networking, but never for nothing. And it was the same here!

Sampo didn't make any money with this little business venture because that wasn't what he needed from it. That was never his goal to begin with. He just needed something entertaining.

Sampo has the key to get into the tavern's basement where Sparkle has been keeping his mask for him, but he still needs to be let into the front door of the tavern itself. The fun stories he got from this event were his entry fee. He leaves at the end because he's probably already on his way to Epsilon, where the World's End Tavern should be.

So that explains part of what was so strange this event. It's the rest of his ooc tendencies that have me like foaming at the mouth though because AAAAAAAAAA

There's long been hints of...some? kind of strain between Sampo and the rest of the Masked Fools. Like it starts all the way back in Belobog's main quest with the big infamous fourth-wall breaking sequence, where Sampo talks some shit.

And it continues in the Aetherium Wars event, where we finally get the confirmation that Sampo is a Masked Fool and even get to see him interact with Giovanni, one of his brethren! And where Sampo talks more shit. He also leaves the trailblazer a warning against Sparkle, who they hadn't met yet, and probably the Masked Fools in general.

And for some strange reason, it seems to be popular fanon that Sampo like. Talks a lot of shit? Or is rude in general? Like I feel like I see a lot of jokes about if Hook says a cuss word, it was probably his fault. But Sampo is actually pretty polite with everyone. I think the only time we really see him be harsh is when he has to set some hard boundaries in the museum event. Otherwise, he conducts himself like a model friendly businessman. Like he IS super shady and slimy, but he's still polite about it. I'm pretty sure the only time he actually talks any shit, and so bluntly, is about the Masked Fools or Epsilon as a whole. He really seems to have some sort of beef with them.

There's also his hilarious relationship with Sparkle, which I'm including for consideration because we don't know how common people like her are in the Masked Fools, so she might represent how Sampo interacts with a lot of them. ...But I'm pretty sure Sampo's grudge with her runs deeper than that anyway jdksajfdkljas

She's so funny I hope she fucks with him more FJDKSJAKD

Anyway, the point is, Sampo doesn't seem to see eye-to-eye with a lot of the rest of Aha's followers. And it was never hinted at before the pop-up shop event, but now I'm wondering if it might be like. An actual dangerous sort of situation.

Because during those brief packaging sequences, you get some. Pretty wild text dropped on you. There was actually a really cool explanation for it by another user already! But basically, all of the phrases are more fourth-wall breakage. They're mostly in-game achievements...except for one.

"This must be a trap create"

We never get to see the rest of the phrase. Just "This must be a trap create."

That is the only one we don't have an explanation for yet, at least as far as I know.

AN EDIT: Thank you to @/kittaykattz for this one, because it looks like someone DID find the source of this line. Unfortunately, it only came up in my search after I looked for the full phrase. I couldn't find it on the wiki before orz And yet this somehow does NOT make it any less ominous ajfdklsjkl The full phrase is "This must be a trap created by a Masked Fool!" and it comes from another in-game achievement, "Boxes and Ladders." Which is really cool, because I had figured the last line must be something from Penacony, since it was the only area not represented so far. So in that way, it fits perfectly with the rest of the text. Now we have one achievement from every area of the game, which fits with the theme that Sampo has been following the Astral Express, the trailblazer specifically. It's the way that it doesn't fit that's the weird part though. Because the rest of the lines that come from in-game achievements are all titles; that's why they were so much easier to find. For some reason, Hoyo saw fit to single this one out. They didn't use a title. They specifically chose the line about falling into a trap set by a Masked Fool, a trap with seemingly no way out, where one's only choice is to take a leap of faith and pray to make it out ok in the end.

Love that. Absolutely love that. That's so fucking tasty, I will be daydreaming for days on end now about Sampo finding himself in a horrible situation with no way out where all he can do is make a desperate attempt and pray to whatever might listen (probably not Aha fjaksljdk) that he'll survive it WHEEEEEE

Because Sampo talks so strangely throughout the whole event, but it gets worse day by day, morose and morbid and dreading and sometimes even almost like he's warning the trailblazer against something about to happen.

I've already lovingly discussed it in an analysis about Sampo's name (alias included) but like. There certainly are some fun connections there. The Sampo of myth was smashed and lost to the sea. Poisson was flooded. Brueghel died suddenly and left a final painting of a storm at sea unfinished.

The Masked Fools are referred to with imagery of water and the sea. And frequently so.

And so I do wonder what Sampo knows, and what he's expecting to happen when he gets to that tavern at the end of the world. If maybe he thinks he's walking right into a trap, and is doing it willingly, doing it anyway, because, well.

Belobog is on the line.

And Sampo has already proven he seems so ready to do whatever it takes to protect it.

[nibbelraz]

Warning! Warning! Character No longer Exists!

[dockaspbrak]

Jobs for someone not cut out for real life but who excels at mimicry

[beanmaster-pika]

You ever think about traditions that died on your birth

[shidoukanae]

Lineart to lineless art progress thingie (for funsies! and also bc im running out of things atm to put in queue lol). My fashion sense is very basic but i really like the left & right designs for Helene!

It's interesting to see how many details get lost/added in the process between lining things out/turning the lines to full color. Helene's face on the left loses the angle I was going for (OTL) and i fiddled with the anatomy a bit to make it better on the right

Wanted to make this as a glimpse at what a modern AU!version of Helene would look like (and im really hoping to see her on Earth and her reactions to being on Earth! but atm it's hinted only dragons are capable of tracking down people across 'verses so im just saying...hey Paris...regarding Helene and your Dragon Pact powers...).

[yan-maid-cafe]

Yandere Imposter

Imagine a yandere that pretends to be someone else...

You and your husband hadn't been close in years. A rotten drunkard that spent all day rotting away on the couch. When the two of you got married, you genuinely thought things would be perfect, he was such a sweet guy. But things just went downhill from there.

He was a sleeze bag. Spending all day drinking and refusing to work. Forcing you to get a job to support you both, but he couldn't even bother being somekind of househusband. No, he expected you to get off of work clean the house for him and still cook him dinner everyday. You felt more like his mother than his wife. And it was getting on your last nerve.

So imagine your surprise when you walk into the house one day, the smell of cheap booze and cigarette smoke gone. Instead replaced with the smell of soup?

The place was oddly spotless as you made your way into the kitchen, and there standing at the stove was your husband. Wearing an apron as he stirred the food in the pot. It was unnerving, if you knew anything about your husband it was that he refused to even step foot in the kitchen unless it was to eat. As if sensing your presence, he quickly turned around a smile spreading on his face. Was it just you or were his teeth whiter than usual?

Walking over he wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug, burying his face into your neck. A look of happiness on his face as he held you close.

"I'm so happy you're finally home, Dear. I went ahead and made dinner, you just go sit down and I'll be right over."

Since when had he called you pet names? You couldn't help but check his tempature, wondering if he was running a fever of somekind. Why else would he be acting so out of character suddenly. But he simply laughed off your worry and ushered you towards your seat. Immediantly serving you dinner with a blissful smile, a smile you had never seen on his face. You were so confused...

The night just continued on like that. One weird occurance after another. It felt like you were with a stranger, someone nothing like your husband yet identical to him. You felt like you were going mad, until night eventually came. Bringing you to bed, you and your husband lied down together. Except unlike everynight since your honeymoon, he pulled you closer. Snuggled up next to you as he whispered softly in your ear, almost bringing tears to your eyes.

"I'm so sorry for the way things have been all these years. You never deserved any of it. But as long as I'm here, I'll treat you perfect..."

Edan had always hated his brother. Despite looking identical, they couldn't have been more different. And it felt like his brother was always out to make his life difficult. If Edan got on the football team, his brother was the quaterback. If Edan got a B, his brother got an A. If Edan got honor roll, his brother got valedictorian. And eventually when Edan felt like he had met his soulmate his dear brother had to marry them. He could never win. It was all too much.

Especially when Edan began to take a closer look into the life his brother had stolen away from him. He was disgusted. Working his beloved like a dog day and night. Treating them as nothing more than a servant meant to do whatever was demanded of them, not giving them the life they deserved. The day he snapped came when he saw his beloved leave for work, continuing to stay near the house. He watched as his brother stepped out of the house hours later, walking over to one of the neighboring apartment doors and knocked on it. A scantily clad individual opening the door and ushering him inside. He saw red...

How foolish did that idiot have to be. Stealing away the life that Edan deserved, only to not even appreciate it. He got the privilege to lay beside perfection every night, and he still ran into the arms of some worthless harlot. He couldn't stand it. His beloved didn't deserve this mistreatment, and his brother didn't deserve their love. But what was he supposed to do about it...

He had never been so happy that the two were identical...

All it took was a little makeover and a swap of IDs for the two to look the exact same again. Now if he was ever found, Edan would be dead. He had to clean up all the blood from the floor, he might have gone a bit overboard but years of hatred and frustration will do that to a person.

But it was all worth it in this moment. Holding his beloved close to his chest as the two lay together, it was a dream come true. Burying his face in their hair, he continued to whisper to them, arms wrapped tightly around their body so that they couldn't get up. They never had to know.

" You'll get the life you deserve. We'll both get the lives we deserve, no matter what..."

[wispeth]

(doppelganger Merlin au. Arthur is looking at two Merlin's, who both have all of Merlin's memories, except the imposter doesn't have magic. which is perfect, because the real Merlin lied so flawlessly to Arthur that imposter Merlin would have a real chance to take over Merlin's life. oh and, uh, Merlin was drugged w a truth serum. so he can't lie about the magic if it comes up. The imposter is able to pretend to be Merlin better than Merlin can bc ofc the magic comes up.)

Arthur: What's the first thing you ever said to me?

Imposter Merlin, confidently: Hey, that's enough. You've had your fun my friend.

Real Merlin, dazed, looking over at the imposter in horror as he realizes that the imposter has all of his memories, and that the imposter is actually capable of lying rn unlike himself, which means Real Merlin can't even keep up his own facade, but the imposter can: (says exactly the same thing in perfect unison with the imposter, but looks a lot more lost and shaken about it)

Arthur, narrowing his eyes at them both: What is your favorite tunic to dress me in?

Imposter Merlin: The red one. (It was a fair enough assumption. It was the one that Merlin picked out for Arthur to wear more than any of the others.)

Real Merlin, unable to believe he's about to admit this, but he has truth potion in his system: Your nightshirt, when you decide to wear it... It is--you look the happiest, in that one. (gay sweatdrop)

Arthur, kind of floored by the vulnerability: (was honestly expecting Merlin to say the red one, but now he wasn't so sure because that also sounded like something girlish that Melrin might say) Alright... How many times have you saved my life?

Imposter Merlin, gleeful on the inside because he finally has a chance to play Merlin's part while Merlin can't even maintain his own web of lies because of the truth potion: (to this imposter's credit, he is very good at pretending to be merlin. he starts mumbling to himself and counting on his fingers, just as Arthur thought Merlin might have done.) Let's see, there was the dagger, the poison, the... (proceededs to ramble off most every single one that Arthur himself is aware of) ... so that's about, a dozen? I'd say?

also Imposter Merlin: (places his hands on his hips in Merlin's sassy way) I'm starting to think you owe me a day off.

Real Merlin, voice shaky, because they are getting nearer and nearer to the topic of magic: Twice a fortnite for as long as I've lived in Camelot... That's got to be in the hundreds by now.

Arthur, suddenly remembering all the creatures of the week that suddenly disappeared before they became a problem. He knew of about one every month or two, but he started reconsidering if his guardian angel had been taking care of threats that he perhaps DIDN'T know about: Erm... (still can't tell who the real Merlin is, because one of them is giving all the answers he's looking for and is acting exactly like he would expect Merlin to, but the other Merlin is being so damn earnest right now, as Merlin was wont to do in times of crisis) What is--what's an honest truth that you've told me that I have mistaken for a lie?

Imposter Merlin, knowing that he's being quizzed on the memories of their shared history, without missing a beat: Valiant's shield. It was enchanted with those snakes. You got into a world of trouble for confronting him about it in front of the entire court. (aka exactly the answer that Arthur was expecting from the real Merlin)

Real Merlin, with a knot in his throat and tears in his eyes because he knows he's doomed: (the first instance that came to mind was that time he saved Gwen's father from sickness using magic and Gwen got thrown in the dungeons for being an alleged sorceress--and of course that was his first thought, he is very very paranoid about the magic so it's all he's thinking about--he has to say the first one for the sake thought for the sake of honesty, even though it's damning) Gwen's not the s-sorcerer... I am. (is also making exactly the same face that he was making the day that he told Arthur about Valiant's shield, the face where he is pleading for Arthur to believe him. The imposter only has access to Merlin's memories through Merlin's eyes, so the imposter wasn't able to see what Merlin's face did that day, so he wouldn't have known)

Arthur, now even more unsure, just gapes for a moment because how fucking stupid does someone have to be to confess to sorcery in Camelot? Twice?! And it was worse yet that he still couldn't tell for sure which Merlin was the real Merlin because he'd never had to combine the image of Merlin with magic before and gods damn it all he needed a moment to process: (decided to start asking Merlin questions about himself instead of quizzing him on information that Arthur already knows) Who was your first love? (fully expecting to hear Gwen's name, although, Merlin was quite flamboyant....)

Imposter Merlin: It was Will... (blushes a little, looking flustered and matter of factly at the same time, in that awkward way that mimics merlin perfectly) You met him, in Ealdor.

Real Merlin, sneering at the imposter in the way that he did Cedric when he was bitter about replaced by a possessed man in the Cornelius Sigan incident (a/n: even though the episode I mention in this line is a totally different one. I think I mix referenced a lot of episodes in this ramble actually): H-her name was Freya. You killed her.

Arthur, alarmed: Killed her? Wh--Merlin--not Merlin--Merlin? (stammers on how to address this Merlin, tosses his hands up after 0.5 seconds) I do not recall killing any village girls in Ealdor..!

Real Merlin, shaking his head: She was the bastet. It wasn't her fault, she was cursed by a sorceress to become a bastet at night. It wasn't your fault either, you did what you had to; I don't blame you for what happened.

Arthur, suddenly remembering that night, remembering how Merlin was reaching for the dangerous feline beast as if it were only a kitten, as if Merlin was going to pet it, or shield it from Arthur, or any other number of things that also seem so very Merlin. Arthur hadn't even considered it before, but now? Looking back? Merlin certainly had been remarkably upset in the passing days after that: (more confused than ever) Wh... Where did -- where were you, yesterday? (Gaius already told Arthur that Merlin was at the tavern)

Imposter Merlin: At the Rising Sun. Gwaine took me out for a round of drinks. Something about a lucky charm?

Arthur, nodding along: (it was true that Arthur has heard Lancelot and a few other knights call Merlin a lucky charm) Hm... (turns to look at the other Merlin)

Real Merlin, with a wobbling lip: (laughs weakly, rolling his teary eyes a bit) I told him to stop using that excuse... (refocuses) I was crawling out of the mirror, if you must know. I TOLD you I had a funny feeling about it. (motions to the imposter) (he has tears in his eyes and a smile on his face, and his voice sounds exactly the same as it did that one time when he said to Arthur 'you're certainly not' after Arthur told him that no man was worth his tears)

Arthur, now watching Real Merlin more closely than Imposter Merlin, searching: Who was your favorite guest to mock at the feasts and whatnot?

Imposter Merlin: (kind of stumped bc he wasn't expecting a question like this)

Real Merlin, who is actually able to answer first after some thought: ..... (snorts) Does-- (snorts again) Would the Lady Catrina count as a guest, d'you think? Or should I--no--I'll say it was the Lady Vivian. You get this, LOOK on your face every time she sits near you at the banquet table when she comes 'round.

Arthur, jaw dropped in mock offense: Because she is rather touchy! We've been over this..! (doesn't even realized that he just responded to Real Merlin as if he were for sure the real Merlin, and momentarily forgot that there were two convincing Merlins present)

Imposter Merlin: Are you mad? Arthur, the fake me said it himself that he crawled out of the mirror and practices sorcerery..! (looks so earnest, so genuine, but it's just... not quite how Merlin would say it)

Arthur: (narrows his eyes at the imposter with slight suspicion)

Imposter Merlin: (gives Arthur a flat look, exactly like the real Merlin would do when Arthur says something stupid) Arthur, I am not a sorcerer. You would know. (a/n: last episode style)

Arthur, who had never once suspected magic, but did always know that Merlin had been keeping a secret from him (he'd always assumed it was the alcoholism, but now....): You'd think so, wouldn't you.... (glances at the real Merlin, looking a little hurt)

Real Merlin, not denying the magic at all: I was born with it. I use it for you, Arthur.

Imposter Merlin: You can't honestly--

Arthur, looking deep into Real Merlin's eyes: Swear to me, right now, that you are telling me the truth. Prove it to me.

Real Merlin: (grabs the hidden dagger out of the imposters hands, who had apparently been gearing up to attack Arthur, which is confusing enough all on its own because it made it difficult to tell which one of them was truly intent on attacking Arthur with it, and then charges Arthur)

Arthur, who normally has keen warrior reflexes but not when his enemies wear Merlin's face: (freezes up, and then watches in shock as the dagger clashes against the thin air about an inch in front of Arthur's chest, cast aside by some glowing shield that fades after a second)

Real Merlin: Why do you think it takes me three hours to polish your armor? Do you have any idea how long it takes to enchant the space between every link of chainmail? (drops the dagger at Arthur's feet so he knows it was just a demonstration and not a genuine attack, similar to the way that Arthur always aims just to the left of Merlin when he's throwing blunt objects such as goblets because he never wishes any actual harm on Merlin)

Arthur, blinking dazedly: (can't help but think of that one time that Merlin spontaneously became talented at juggling. it's such a strange thing to remember, and completely unrelated to the current happenings, but Merlin's smile was small and smug just like it had been that day, and it just--clicked)

also Arthur, looking slightly more sure of himself now: (needs one final test to make absolutely certain, but he thinks he knows just what to ask) What would you have me do, if I cannot tell you apart?

Real Merlin, without missing a beat: Arrest us both. (shrugs casually) I am a sorcerer after all. Better safe than sorry.

(And that's just it, isn't it. It was just like Merlin, to sacrifice himself like that. It was just so, unmistakenly Merlin.)

Arthur, smirking in mock offense: Better safe than--excuse you, I could take you apart with one blow!

Merlin *cough*hearteyes*cough* "Emrys" Hunithson™, the one and only: I could take you apart with less than that

(In the end, Merlin walks himself to the dungeons as the imposter is arrested, just to give Arthur peace of mind so there's no pressure to second guess his decision since even if Arthur chose wrong, there is no assassin Merlin imposter on the loose. Merlin and the imposter both spend 3 days in their respective cells before the imposter finally does some decidedly out of character shit and Arthur can have him executed with full confidence that it's not Merlin... since the guy really was very good at mimicking Merlin. Arthur didn't even realize that he'd needed it at the time, but looking back, he probably would have had a panic attack as the imposter was marched to be hanged. He probably would have doubted himself at the last second and wondered if he really did believe the right Merlin those few days ago. But thankfully, Merlin thinks ahead sometimes and is actually quite thoughtful and wise on these such rare occasions.)

[plussizeficchick]

Am I Living an Illusion? | Suguru/Kenjaku x Chubby! Reader

Summary; You’re not so sure your boyfriend is who he says he is anymore.

Warnings; smut (cunnilingus, P in V) imposter! au? cockwarming (mentioned) (loosely based on the song “runaway runaway” by Mars Argo)

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

You tried to ignore it at first. The way he didn’t have that slight limp in his walk. How he started adding cream to his coffee instead of just black. The way he suddenly started treating you.

Suguru had always been a frigid lover. He never allowed you to get too close. In fact, you often wondered if you were even in a relationship in the first place. He never held your hand, hardly cuddled with you, and talking to him was like pulling teeth. The only shred of adoration he showed you was when his hands grabbed at the fat of your thighs to fuck into you.

That’s why you know whatever is in front of you, is not your Suguru.

Because your Suguru would never hold you the way this one does, like you’re his reason for breathing, like you’re a goddess among men and he’s trying to keep you for himself. He would never talk to you like this one does, voice so soft and gentle, almost like a whisper. He would never look at you like this one, like you hung the Sun, Moon and all the stars.

And he especially wouldn't plan an elaborate dinner for Valentine's Day.

— —

“I just want to spoil you, sweetheart. I feel we’ve grown apart these last few weeks.” He murmurs in your ear. You’d been trying to come to terms with your feelings for whatever is inhabiting your boyfriend, thus causing a bit of separation.

Anytime you both were in the same room, you made an excuse to leave. It was a bit immature, sure, but you didn’t know how to cope with what you were feeling. Something clearly wasn’t right with your boyfriend, but he was also beginning to act exactly how you’ve been wanting. You weren’t sure what to do, however, after mentioning in passing how much you wanted to participate in the holiday, you didn’t really have much of an excuse to get out of this.

“I- I don’t know, Sugu. It’s been a while.” You deflect. “Didn’t you say you’ve always wanted to do something on this day? I know I’ve been dismissive before, but I want to make up for that now.” He turns you to face him, thumb caressing the softness of your cheek. It’s moments like this that remind you he’s not who he used to be, that he’s something entirely different.

“Suguru” on the other hand was struggling to hold himself back from just wiping everything off the table taking you right there.

How? How did his host go this long without fucking you?

If it was up to him, you’d never leave his cock, reduced to nothing but a cock-drunk cumdump that warms his dick.

Not to say that was a bad thing. He just wants to ravish you, run his tongue along your curves and grip your supple flesh. Sink his teeth into your pouty lips and just take everything you have to offer.

You feel your cheeks heat up under his stare, the intensity in which he’s looking at you causing wetness to pool in your panties. “Well, yes. But I just think-” He shushes your thoughts by pressing a brief peck to your lips. “Ah, ah, ah,” He tuts, moving to pick up a chocolate covered strawberry and putting the delicacy to your lips. “No thinking today, just… feeling.” He says and if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Your clit pulses at his words, so you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Without breaking eye contact, you lean down slightly and take a bite of delicious fruit in his hand. “Suguru” feels his cock twitch at the sight of the red juice dripping down your chin. He can’t help himself when he reaches out to wipe the juice, sucking the same finger into his mouth, savoring the taste of you.

And you can’t help yourself when you finally reach out and press a searing kiss to his lips, the taste of the strawberry and each other dancing on each of your tongues.

He pulls you into his lap without breaking the kiss, hands immediately finding purchase on your soft waist. He groans at the feel of you grinding down on his clothed cock, desperate for some sort of friction.

He takes pity on you and lifts you up with ease, the action causing you to squeal in surprise, arms wrapping around his neck to anchor yourself. “Do you really think I’d let you get hurt, sweet thing?” He asks earnestly, an almost hurt expression on his face. But it’s quickly wiped away as his hands run up and down your body. “With me around, you’ll never be hurt again.” It was said with such finality that you had no choice but to believe him.

He carries you to your shared bedroom, once cold now full of love. He carefully lays you on your silk sheets, taking his time to undress you, almost like a present for himself.

“Suguru” can hardly contain his appreciation for the sight before him. You were quite literally everything he was looking for in a partner, and he couldn’t believe his luck when he picked a host that had exactly what he needed.

With that thought in mind, he rids himself of his clothes, eager to make a mess of you. “You’re so pretty, baby. You look so good laid out for me like this.” He sighs, running his hands up and down your thighs. You try to squeeze them tight to prevent him from catching sight of your wetness but it’s fruitless; he can practically taste you on his tongue.

He manages to pry your legs apart, the sight of your sticky folds enough to make a grown man weep. He doesn’t hold himself back anymore, immediately diving into your soaked cunt.

You gasp as he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue laving over the bundle of nerves as you grind into his face. “That’s it, baby. Use me. Use me to get off, you deserve it.” And you know what? You fucking do.

So you do as he says, pressing his face further into your pussy as you get off on his mouth. He’s moaning into you, hands grabbing at whatever he can as you whine and gasp at the overwhelming feeling.

It doesn’t take long before you’re cumming, cunt spasming around his tongue as he uses it to fuck you through your orgasm, your body twitching at the intensity of it.

He presses one final kiss to your clit before pulling away slightly, hands rubbing comforting circles into your skin. He leans up to your face, pressing a deep kiss to your lips before pulling away to look at the softness in your eyes.

“Ready for more?” He asks, pressing sweet pecks to your chubby cheeks. You’re coherent enough to nod in the affirmative, and that’s all “Suguru” needs to get to work, running his hard dick through your soaked folds to lube himself up.

The glide into your cunt is easy, the head of his cock nearly nudging your cervix with every thrust.

He’s beating your poor pussy up, dick slamming into your g-spot and he’s not faring any better. Your moans and the squelch of your pussy is music to his ears, and the way your cunt clenches every time he makes a particularly deep thrust has a shiver running down his spine.

As he nears his orgasm, he realizes he has to feel you cum on his cock. It’s a must.

He reaches up and pinches each of your nipples, licking into your mouth when you open it to moan for him. “Cum for me. Cum on my fucking cock.” He demands, slamming into you in quick succession. All it takes is one, two, three more thrusts and you're spilling all over his cock, drenching him in your release. It’s not long before he’s right behind you, holding you flush against him as he spills his seed deep in your womb.

You’re panting against each other, holding each other as you catch your breaths. It’s a few minutes before “Suguru” pulls away and leaves the room and you’re worried things will go back to the way they were before. But then he comes back with a wet cloth, a bowl of the chocolate strawberries and a bottle of water. He hands you the fruit and water, before running the wet towel through your soaked folds, careful of your sensitivity.

Once he’s finished he tosses the towel onto his nightstand to be dealt with later, then pulling you flush against him as he feeds you more of the strawberries. You sigh in content as you let yourself be cared for.

Once you’ve finished the fruit and drank a good portion of the water, “Suguru” hugs you close to him once again, your back against his front, as he rubs his hand over your plump tummy. You think about this. About the intimacy he provides, the safety you feel with him.

“I know you’re not what you once were Suguru,” You start, and you feel him stiffen behind you. You place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers. “But I don’t care.”

He breathes out.

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @cherries-c0la @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon @c0pkiller

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

Except Peeta, probably due to how he was raised, dosn't seem to see himself as cool 🙁

There’s a lot of things that I love about the hunger games but one of them is that the main romance, at its core, is the ‘weird girl/cool guy who’s obsessed with her’ trope

[theoxenfree]

IMPOSTER

possessed scholar!husband x reader |3.9k| 18+

In an unforeseen act of self-preservation, your family marries you off into an exorbitantly wealthy family, to a reclusive and reticent scholar who provides you little affection. He is suddenly called away for the handling of his late uncle's final will wishes and estate. He returns to you not himself, and with unquenchable lust.

warnings; dead dove do not eat; extreme dubon, explicit sexual content, mentions of (not explored, not described): orgies, heatplay, robbing a mortuary & drug use, masturbation w/ metal dildo, mirror sex & masturbation, hypnotism, power imbalance, murder, body horror, gruesome imagery, classism, detail & prose heavy, roughly proofread.

this is a concept piece, possibly preluding a full story! if you have any interest in having me build a larger piece out of this concept, PLEASE reblog + interact and let me know! I'm only going to go forward with it if folks express interest!

read to the end for author's notes!

In the airless dark of your bedroom at night, you knew the man lying next to you under covers was not your husband. Once he had been, but now he no longer was.

The revelation had come to you before noticing the stillness of his broad frame in bed, certain stiffness which seemed more alike to rigor in a days old corpse rather than a man wrapped in the comforting spell of deep sleep.

His breaths were silent, if he even breathed at all, reminding you of childhood where the floorboards wouldn't creak so loudly if you sucked all the air out from your lungs into your throat, snagging it, holding it firm. Suddenly, you'd be lighter; effervescent; floating across the wooden slabs towards the kitchen past midnight, or out the front door during the years where testing your parent’s patience and fraying the head maid’s nerves was your favorite thing to do.

You’d learned later on, after the loveless vows and complicated legality behind joining your two families, that your husband had a knack for slipping away at night as well. Only, he wasn't at all the sort for flirtatious gallivanting and loquacious rendezvous with secret lovers in dim rooms, smells of mildew masked by a numbingly sweet, perfumey fog.

He was reclusive and reticent; one of those outstandingly brilliant scholars who believed the rest of the world was below him because he hadn't found an equal in conversation or thought. Social obligations—no matter the occasion or person—pained him to where he intentionally brought you as a buffer between himself and whomever was trying to speak to him.

Some of the talk was so astronomically beyond you that parroting the long-winded answers he spoke softly into your ear back to his audience made you burn under the collar from embarrassment and his proximity to you. His peers could not understand why he simply wouldn't talk for himself; meanwhile, they also wondered why someone without their level of formal education had even accompanied him.

At night, he became one with darkness and retreated to the depths of his study across the massive house you shared together. It was part of one of his family’s various estates dotted across the country and his favorite, due to its location near the university where he worked (at his leisure), and its closeness to his only relative he actually cared about.

“My uncle—he has passed. Of complications caused from tuberculosis, I've been told. I was the only family member placed in his will, therefore it falls to me to settle all remaining affairs he may have overlooked,” he said, letting you help him into his heavy, wool coat he left on a hook near the front door. At his side was a hulking suitcase; one he often used for trips that were days—weeks away from home, from you. “He was a far more private man than I, so there's no telling what I'll come across while I'm there. I cannot tell you how long I'll be away. I'm sorry.”

You expected nothing less from him. This man who had only ever touched you once, on your wedding day. He did everything that he was supposed to: tonelessly regurgitate scripted vows he committed to memory, hold your hands, and kiss you at the altar for more than two seconds but less than five, and then gently lead you away once both families were pleased with the performance.

Right after, now as newlyweds, he poured bourbon into exquisite crosshatch crystalware and examined the glistening amber under wan lamplight. He apologized for kissing you, that he wouldn't have had at all if it hadn't been so important for your families.

At the time, it made you feel very ugly and undeserving of the silk and ornate lacework decorating your body. The gold band fitted around your finger was a lofty symbol of acquired wealth, heavy and unforgiving.

“Write to me every once and a while,” was all you could think to say at present, managing your composure well enough as he gripped the handle of his suitcase and leaned into its heftiness on that side. “It'd just be nice to know how you're doing. If you find anything interesting. When you'll be coming home. It gives me something to look forward to.”

“I'll try to,” he said, but looked through you, pierced you, as though trying to see something else. You saw this look most often at events or parties where he'd fixate on a specific point (usually you) and seem to recede inside himself, into his thoughts, perhaps trying to dissect them or make them congeal into something linear.

“Uncle was an eccentric man. There's no telling what he's left behind for me to find. I must go. Be well, my dear.”

Once again, he left you behind without remorse.

Four months passed with agonizing, gripping slowness from the crisp mornings of late autumn into the icy vise of winter and a shimmering white-blue landscape outside your windows.

In those days, you occupied yourself as best you could with guests and alcoholic merriment, whisked yourself away to parties and dinners after wringing out the invitations from friends, and spent many sleepless nights sprawled across the floor beside the fireplace coveting self-pleasure.

You imagined it was your husband there with you, immediately a renewed man after his return and finding you boundlessly desirable, fucking you with his cock rather than the freezing metal dildo you thrust inside yourself.

Even once you were finished, fucked out by your own hand and the object gaping you wide, you kept masturbating until you lost sensation, the motions and metal numbing you inside—until the intimacy and thrill of self-discovery had lost meaning to you.

Sometimes, you were found the next morning by a maid like that: thoroughly debauched with the phallus having rolled away nearby or still shallowly pressed inside. You only needed to threaten her livelihood once for her to never speak of it, pretend each time she hadn't witnessed a regrettable case of personal depravity.

It'd eventually become a frequent enough sight to her that she knew better than to look directly at you when she entered the room. Rather, now, she carried a laundered pair of trousers in with her. They were draped neatly over a bent arm, along with a warm and soapy rag in her hand, which she used to lightly clean you of dried fluids. Afterward, she helped you into the new garment.

“You have received a letter from the Master,” she said unexpectedly one morning, after fastening your pants and tucking your blouse inside them. “It's strange, though, because it doesn't feel like a letter. Not enough… substance. Shall I open it for you?”

“No! No, that's alright.” You took the long, pale envelope from her once she revealed it to you, realizing that she was right. There was nothing to it. Light as a feather, but completely sealed on the back with his personal emblem hastily stamped, or more appropriately, smeared, with red wax dribbling away from center towards the bottom of the envelope as if sudden jerkiness had unsteadied his focused pour.

You flipped the thing front to back several times, testing the way the opposite ends fluttered from nothingness within, and glanced aside to your maid.

She looked to be just as thrown.

“You're sure this is from him?” you asked, bemused. “Who delivered this?”

“Why, a courier on horseback, of course!” she said with conviction, so you knew she wasn't lying to you at that moment. It wasn't her habit to weave tales to get a rise out of her employers, anyway. “I even spoke to the courier for a while because I made a comment about it being so light. He wasn't sure about it, either, but the description of the man who hired him matched the Master almost exactly.”

You had found a letter opener on the desk nearby and made a quick cut under the wax to break the seal without ripping the envelope itself.

“Almost? What does that mean here?” you raised the intact flap with the messy seal attached, freeing all of the residual tracks of wax from the paper so that they fell to the hardwood below like pebbles shaken out of a shoe after a stroll through the yard. “The man was either my husband or he wasn't.”

The maid tried to subdue her intrigue of the envelope, turned, and moved onto bunching up the soiled sheet you'd spread out on the floor last night. “Please don't misunderstand. It was him. But, the courier described him as ‘a very interesting and friendly fellow to converse with’.”

“What?”

You were responding to two things simultaneously right then: what your maid had just told you, and the fact that the only content inside the envelope was a single shred of paper torn from an unlined journal.

The maid fluttered back over to your side as you plucked out the slither of paper, letting the envelope fall freely from your hand to the floor. Leaning into your proximity, she read aloud the same three words that your eyes skimmed:

“Father Marius DuMonde.”

Just as you had done before with the envelope, you flipped the scrap back and forth as though trying to magically flip something into existence. Your husband's handwriting was recognizable in the lettering, but it was impatient; scrawled across a page in one journal in his vast collection like he hurriedly walked past, and then ripped it out.

Nothing else was revealed to you in the seconds after, nor in your long, contemplative stare.

“Who is that?” you asked the maid to alleviate a fast yawning gap of uneasiness beginning to make you fidget and fluster. “A priest?”

The maid beamed in awe of your fast deductive skills and nodded eagerly. “It would seem that way! The city has more places of worship than it does homes for the hungry and sick. Although, I suppose a church offers some of those services.” However, the lightness sank out of her face when you didn't reciprocate that enthusiasm whatsoever. “You’re unhappy? What's wrong?”

“My husband is a scholar. A rigid man of science,” you said, bending over to pick up the discarded envelope to closer examine the disastrous wax seal. “He denounces faith in all forms. Why did he write a priest's name to me?”

That maddening thought followed you for days afterward, sufficiently distracting you from all the regular vices you'd come to rely on to fill the void of your husband's absence. Fulfill the needs he'd never tried to meet even while he was around.

You spent your days brooding in the window seats in whichever room was warmest, molding against their domed shape while leaning a cheek flush to frigid glass, eyes bloodshot and watering against the sun’s searing neon reflecting off of a lawn of undiluted, glittering white.

Seldomly, a finch or small vermin would come into your view—hopping or lunging through the snow, making tracks, digging holes, disturbing your beautiful wonderland and almost arousing you into unreasonable outbursts which then inevitably became the servants responsibility to contend with, should any be nearby to provoke you.

It was the early evening during one of your normal watches, just after dinner and a glass of red wine, when a great clamor carried swiftly to you from the foyer of the main entrance. The servants’ voices were a feverish amalgam of nonsensical babbling, high-pitched, and accommodating in a way that made you think of groveling dogs with flattened ears, wagging and tucked tails, bellies upturned to their masters.

“Come! Come quickly!” called your maid from the sitting room door, her shrill, excitable voice a violent jostling in your head, scrambling your thoughts and anger with it. “Master has returned! He's asking for you.”

You delayed the reunion, waiting several minutes after she had gone before standing. You realized that the anticipation you felt swelling in your chest, rising like growth—a malignant tumor into your throat, thickening your tongue and fouling your taste and smell, was because you were uneasy, haunted by the cryptic message he had presumably sent you weeks ago.

A while later, you entered the foyer to see most of the staff had already dispersed and the ones left behind were your husband’s most loyal. There among them, speaking so unremarkably, so casually in a way you'd never witnessed, was your husband. His good spirits and animated gestures as he handed off all his things to many hands were an odd sight, staggeringly unlike his typical dour.

So, the rumor was true. There was something discomforting in that.

Whatever topic he'd been engaged in fell wayside once he took sight of you: standing, waiting, subtly shifting your weight, picking your overgrown cuticles to remedy how nervous you truly felt in that moment. You'd always been a little uncertain of how to deal with him as he was hardly affable, but this—

“Oh my… there you are, my sweet!” his voice was exactly the same, but his way of speaking was too jarring, almost lilting. Unnatural. No one else seemed to notice. “I was worried you may have been cross with me for being away for so long. As it turned out, uncle had far more beneath the surface to find than I once thought. But, all is well! The old man has been laid to rest forever. The estate is in the right hands. I've come back to you.”

Could this man really be your husband?

He came to you in brisk strides with a certain clumsiness to the way he moved, somewhat off. You thought about seasoned drunkards who could walk along a path, but never on a straight line without gently swaying on and off of it. Mostly in control, but never so well to appear normal.

But, you didn't detect that stiff, hot, fermented reek of alcohol on his breath nor any subtle odor sticking to his clothes as he gripped you tight in an embrace. The only one he'd ever given you. Where you should have been over the moon in joy at his profound change in heart, the little sweetness was like an anchor—arms of a sinewy willow pinning you to an even stronger trunk.

“God, you're breathtaking.” He even sounded winded as he spoke, lifting your face up with both hands to see his dark, dark gleaming eyes. You startled from his cold touch, fingertips pinpricks of pure frost and ice as they pushed into your skin, but you felt trying to reach much deeper than that. “Come with me, my love. Let me show you just how much I've missed you.”

As if fantasy had become real, he fucked you relentlessly that night next to the fireplace, consuming you so completely that every orgasm made your insides churn in agony.

He laved at you with his entire mouth, tongue and teeth hardest at work while his hands bruised and fondled you, fingers thrusting up into your tight hole oozing his saliva and your arousal. It was shameful to think that it took this sort of handling from another person to get you off, squeal like a sow.

He fucked you however he could, wherever he could. Rutting you from behind and against furniture, pressing your bare chest flush to frosted over window panes to make your nipples erect and ache from the cold biting them.

Then, you were settled on his lap in front of a mirror hanging adjacent across the bedroom, his thighs spreading you wide open before your own reflection where you watched his cock plunge deep, filling you to the base of his shaft, balls slapping your sticky skin.

“Touch yourself, darling.” His throat rumbled, turning over stones and shards of glass, overall sounding very husky. There was something of wheeze that trailed the end of his every word, like he’d been patched for a long time. “Touch yourself. Watch yourself while you do it. Fuck yourself like the whore you are.”

Although the things he said were horribly uncouth, unbefitting of a man of his status and who you'd known him to be, there was great allure in hearing him, obeying his wants. You'd only had one glass of wine that evening, but your head and body warmed and buzzed like you'd had several.

His voice was a raspy whisper in your ears, seeping deep into your mind; spreading; fitting the grooves of your brain like the slow sprawl of sap through the gaps in bark. You were hardly yourself those minutes, those hours onward where you witnessed your reflection stroking throbbing parts, moaning, weeping, cumming until it hurt, and then doing it all over again.

The person in the mirror seemed to be someone completely different, whether simply disassociation from yourself or some hallucination evoked by exhaustion and ecstacy. Your husband had faded into the background, his voice creating sounds and noises, holding the cadence of language while seeming entirely unprobable, unknowable to you.

You couldn't understand him, yet you could, and the things he said were vile and disgusting and moralless. He told you of every way he'd like to fuck you, watch you be fucked; but, mostly, he wanted you to fuck yourself with the bulbous bedposts, the metal phallus held under lashing flames to be inserted next to his own cock.

He suggested orgies where the servants could take turns with you. He had almost convinced you to call for your maid so he could watch you suck on her breasts and lick her clit, while he rammed you from the back. He suggested drugs and whores, robbing the mortuaries, and worse and worse and worse and worse…

The next morning, you were stiff and immobile, bedridden unless two servants came into your room to help you squat on the commode. Your abdomen was tender and your genitals were untouchable, forcing you to lie in bed without undergarments to alleviate the raw chafing that could happen with fabric.

“I'm sorry, my darling. I—I lost control of myself. I got carried away,” your husband confessed later on, his sallow complexion keeping a weird, waxy sheen to it. A mask that fits, but not quite perfectly. Some of his former somber nature had returned to him as he sat on the edge of your bed, caressing the side of your face. He was still ridiculously cold. “Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I didn't realize just how desperate I was to see you again until you were in my arms. And then—and then, it was like it was all a dream.”

You thought the very same. You could believe he forgot himself in an uncharacteristic blaze of lust, as men were never taught to be any other way, and most men couldn't fathom the level of restraint he’d had until last night.

Everything else, you'd wanted to believe, was simply imagined after drinking more than you once thought and getting inside your own head full of sinful indulgences.

Still, one thing bothered you: Father Marius DuMonde.

“I need you to go to the city and find him. And show him this paper. Explain to him everything that you know, you hear?” You'd handed your maid the old envelope and scrap of paper, and handed her a generous bag of coins from your own safe.

She looked at you, everything else, in bewilderment. “Don't ask questions. If you're able, bring him back here. Beg him if you must. If it's all nothing, he will simply be an honored guest we feed well, house, and send off gracefully the next day. Should it be something…”

“Are you afraid of him? The Master?” asked the maid, perhaps out of faithfulness to him. Perhaps out of devotion to you the most. “What do you think happened at his uncle's estate?”

It would all be speculation and unjustified gossip without proof, of which you had none. So, you told her that you couldn't be sure of anything right now. “Wait until sundown. Take the old pony in the stables, the one that usually lags behind all the rest. Be silent. Be careful.”

The maid did as you asked and left right before the final light was extinguished by indigo nightfall. You were able to move to one of the windows, seating yourself gingerly, watching her lead the sluggish old pony into cover of tree tops and then nothing else.

But, five days later, the maid hadn't returned from her mission, nor had you received any correspondence from her, nor the priest that she was supposed to retrieve.

A week after that, it was revealed to you that neither she or the old pony had made it out of the woods. The details of the old pony were so gruesome you couldn't bear to remember them.

But, the maid was found nearly decapitated, head twisted around to face backwards, her pale skin hideously purple and black and swelled where it had been stretched like a strap of wrung leather. It was mentioned she had been disemboweled as well, but you promptly burst into tears and ran from the room before the visiting coroner could finish speaking, leaving him to discuss the rest with just your husband.

That night, you lay next to your husband in bed. The deep silence of night filled your ears with static and crunching cotton, whereas a hum resonated inside your head, your chest, seeping into your bones like a cold blanket of rainfall.

The black air took on weird shapes: imagined appendages curling, reaching across the ceiling towards the bed, towards you. Your eyes couldn't focus enough to ward them off, nor the depth of dark your husband's silhouette had at your side.

He was faced the other way, his clothes back to you, completely unmoving. You ventured closer to listen for the thin breathing of sleep, the automatic rise and fall of his body, and yet he could've been mistaken as one of the dead. As dead and gnarled as your maid.

“Who are you?” you asked him. Asked the swirling nothingness in the room. “Where is my husband?”

“You've nothing to worry about, my sweet,” he said readily, so clearly anticipating to have your voice ring out at some point in the night. “He is here with me. Such a selfish, unlovable man. I am the one worthy of this vessel and you. Not he.”

Then, he rolled on top of you and kissed you deeply. Your bedclothes were shucked from your bodies and he pushed your thighs apart to seat himself inside of you. He took you with greedy thrusts, face fitted against the arch of your neck where his breath left a moist film across your skin, but the rest of him was freezing.

Your whimpers of pains were dwarfed by his hot moans into your flesh, teeth suddenly sharper and sinking deep when he bit into your neck. You were trapped staring at the ceiling, wrapped in agony and pleasure, feeling his body under your fingertips beginning to distort and change into something far more monstrous.

a/n; this is heavily inspired from me reading the exorcist, recently. the section with the maid's head swiveled around was a nod to the scene with director having "fallen" from a height and dying similarly. a lot of my most recent reads have been extremely graphic, so my writing has been reflecting that and it's been interesting!

quick q&a!

is father marius dumonde the same father marius from your vampire priest fic? yup! if I go forward with writing the longer story, father marius will be a central character later on, and father shaw will make a reappearance as well.

what would the main differences be in a full story vs just this piece?

a) the husband would be given a more solid identity, appearance, and name. he'd have more depth to build an emotional rapport with his character.

b) existing scenes would be expanded, smut scenes grittier and more graphic, more development between mc and the husband, the maid would have a more important part and given an identity. essentially, most elements from this price would be fleshed out and expanded.

c) I intend to add a "mystery" element to this where mc tries to unveil what happened during the husband's stay at his uncle's estate.

d) I would open up multiple polls to help influence different aspects of the story such as the husband's name, appearance, overall disposition, whether the majority would vote for a happy ending with the husband vs the ending with the demon.

if you're interested in seeing a full story, make sure to reblog and share your thoughts with me!! I'd love to hear feedback on this to know what you'd like to see in the future!

[prael]

Perks

Kinktember Day 10: Mirror

Twice Mina x male reader smut

words: 4,108 Kinktember Masterlist

Do you ever look in the mirror and see someone who isn't you?

It was a simple question—if a rather loaded one.

"No," said Mina. "No, I don't think so. Not in a bad way, but maybe in disbelief of who I've become. Sometimes I expect to see the same person I was almost ten years ago. A simpler me. Maybe a more nervous and afraid version of me. That sort of thing."

"My therapist told me that was imposter syndrome," you said. "It's common, but it's pretty fucked up, the way we act like we're lying to ourselves."

"Have you thought of seeing her again?" Mina asked.

"God, that'd be awkward, don't you think?" you responded.

Mina paused, holding a glass midway to her mouth as if thinking, 'Between you and her or you and me?' Then she seemed to decide and smiled to herself, "Right."

Mina never erred into the intrusive or tactless. It's why you never have the impression that she is nosing around your life, because she gives you all the leeway to share only what you wish to share. And maybe that's why the both of you have lasted this long; in this arrangement, you found this unique level of trust, and you dare say it makes you damn good together.

"Our friend over there at the end of the bar looks like he can't take his eyes off you," you told her without looking up from your drink, not to draw attention. Mina chanced a discreet glance from the corner of her eye.

She quirked an eyebrow at you, "So? Feel threatened?"

You laughed into your drink before taking a mouthful of it, and then you told her, "I was about to get up, but you know that as soon as I do, he's going to come over."

"Of course, he will," Mina grinned into her own glass, then tipped her chin back to get at the last of it. "You go ahead to the room, I'll let him down gently." She patted at the front of your suit coat, above your breast pocket. It was a playful gesture. She had barely touched you all night until then.

"Early morning tomorrow, Mina, don't waste too much time now."

Mina smiled her "oh-shut-the-fuck-up" smile, before tucking a strand of stray hair behind her ear and running her fingers through the thick long black strands. You smiled to yourself and signalled to the bartender.

It's been a long day, and tomorrow will be longer still. Hotel bars had become a sort of ritual for you and Mina, you share a drink the day before you close a deal, half in premature celebration and half as a good luck charm.

And the thing is, Mina is a flirt. Through and through. Charm and wit. It works on clients, and it's an asset. The only problem is, it worked on you. It wasn't difficult to recognise your attraction for what it was, and she obviously took notice of it too. And you, well...

You're a professional, so you would never, ever let yourself act on it. This is why you returned to your room, alone, and why ten minutes later you heard the door open to her (conveniently joined) room. You're professionals, if you're going to fuck, at least you try to hide it.

The adjoining door opens. Oops, did you leave that unlocked? How silly of you.

"Sorry about the wait. Didn't want to seem rude, you know." She leans against the doorframe.

"How long after I left?"

"Barely a minute, he did the whole 'You-look-familiar' bit, so I humoured him..." Mina cocks a smile of arrogance. "For a minute. Before, you know... Letting him down gently."

"Did he go quietly, then?"

"He tried to ask me if I was sure I wanted to be alone." She shakes her head slowly as she saunters forward. "I was sure. Sure about coming up here and riding you senseless. Didn't tell him that, of course, just up and left. Anyway, for tomorrow, I was thinking—"

"Let's rewind to that part about riding me senseless, shall we?"

A playful smile takes to the corners of her mouth. "Let's."

You climb up from the bed, your shirt hangs loosely from your body, no tie at the neck and untucked from your trousers. "So, would you say it's going to be more of a—"

"If you are going to finish that with some terrible sex metaphor, I will kick your ass so hard." She kicks off her heels at the door. That long black dress she wore earlier is long gone, replaced by the lightest of sheer black chemises and a pair of little lacy black underwear.

"Kick my ass," you tell her, placing a hand on each of her hips. "Sure."

"Be quiet." She whispers it before she kisses you, deeply and softly. The sort of kiss that makes you forget yourself. Your arms circle her waist, and her arms rest on your shoulders. You savour it, the smell of her perfume, the taste of her tongue, the feeling of her hands trailing across the skin at the nape of your neck.

But in due time, that kiss breaks apart. Her hand trails down the front of your dress shirt, button by button, she has undressed you so many times now that the motion seems so familiar, and practised, but she still takes her time in doing it, as though with every undone button her anticipation is built upon.

You place your hand against the curve of her hip, thumbing gently, with feather-light touches along the black fabric, her small waist and wide hips, firm and round and so shapely in just her lingerie—your hands could have found no better resting place.

As you slip out of your shirt, Mina slips the delicate straps off her shoulders and the skimpy piece falls away from her body like petals around her feet. Mina is bare for you, save for her panties. Her tits might not be as big as her ass but your mouth still waters at the sight of them.

"Look at me." You love it when Mina demands that, love how she smiles with smug confidence when you have nothing to do but oblige her. Mina turns herself around, and your hands slide down, down the generous arch of her back and cups around her round, firm ass.

"Oh, come now," you can't help but tease her, "How very complacent of you, to think my eyes would look at nothing else but you. You know that I am a man of refined culture." You knead at the ample flesh in each palm, so soft. "I am very clearly an admirer of the finer things in life."

"How very romantic," she laughs, sliding down her underwear with a shimmy of her hips before placing her palms flat against the wall. "Go on then. Enjoy the art, like the cultured man you are."

There is something intoxicating about watching her there, propped against the wall, naked for you, your cock uncomfortable in your trousers. You unbuckle the clasp of the belt, then, in the pause, you approach, letting a single finger trace up the arch of her spine, leaning closer to her neck to whisper, "Not right here. Look over there, the mirror."

A floor-to-ceiling mirror, to be specific. She smiles a devilish little smirk. "And what of it?"

"Mina," you tell her, pressing the front of your trousers against the curves of her body, against the supple flesh of her ass. "I want to see all of you when we fuck. Every beautiful detail."

Mina purred, content. "Spoken like a poet..."

You land a solid and deliberate smack against that big ass of hers, and she lets out a groan. "Don't let it go to your head."

Mina let out an effectual moan, knowing fully how it tempts you. You roughly press your body against hers as she does it. Hooking both your arms around her naked form, you pull her to where you want her, right over to the mirror.

"That's it, take me like you want to." She presses her hand flat against the mirror, pushing back those delicious curves against your body once more. You force down your slacks and underwear until the cool air envelops you, at least until you push against her body once more. You cup both your hands at her full ass, slipping your stiffness between the cheeks and rocking back and forth. Mina is biting her bottom lip as she looks back at you in the mirror, and you look at nothing else but her deep dark eyes, her face framed by that long, dark, glorious hair.

"Your ass. This. This beautiful, beautiful thing of yours, drives men wild, drives me wild," you breathe out as she rocks herself back into your groping hands and your hard cock grinds between her cheeks, slow and methodic. "Drives me a little bit insane."

She deepens her bend, lowering her shoulders level to her ass, and her face presses against the glass. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip again, peering over her shoulder, a shameless erotic, willing for you to take her in the most raw and depraved way. You can't deny the effect it has on you, and it has you raising your right arm, palm poised to land another satisfying spanking to her ass.

The crack rings out through the room, and she lets out a soft, sweet little, "Oh!"

You wrap a hand around her, over her stomach and down between her legs, reaching for her sweet, slick cunt, and find her soaked, wet with arousal. Wet for you.

"Fuck, you're so horny," you utter hoarsely. You drag your fingers through her juices as you drive your stiff cock over her tight asshole, so much teasing, maybe too much, perhaps too tortuous. You groan into the shell of her ear. "You get so wet for me. So wet. You need it so badly."

She moans, grinding back against you and circling her hips as if it could ease her pain. Half teasing, half goading, she says, "Maybe you should stop fucking playing around and do something about it."

She hisses when you drive your two slick fingers inside her without warning, pushing deeper in one smooth motion, as you mutter into the crook of her neck, "Impatient, aren't we, Mina?"

"Just fuck me."

In response, you slowly withdraw your fingers. She gasps against the mirror, the palm of her hand curling flat into a fist. Her words get you harder as she tries to wiggle her ass and spread herself, desperately trying to draw your dick to the slick pink centre of her sex for you. She doesn't care anymore what this does to your discipline, doesn't care at the prospect of you breaking, turning this into a savage, ravaging of her body; what matters only, at this very instant, is that she gets filled and fucked, fast and hard.

Finally, you give her that. Draw your cock out from between her cheeks, sliding the tip down between her legs, feeling the moisture that glistens on the swollen lips. You don't bother to strap up, or even ask, it's long since established that raw is how she likes it.

Slowly, you push forward. Mina sucks in a breath through her teeth. You know by the arch in the small of her back, the little trembles, that it is taking all her concentration and willpower not to throw her hips back, to force you to the hilt.

You bite the edge of her shoulder, and a shiver travels down Mina's entire body. You pull out, a little, before driving forward a little further.

"You feel..." you groan, your cock feeling like it was engulfed by satin. You sink a little further. "Fuck."

"Mhm, go on," her eyelashes flutter as you begin to take her, in this raw, animalistic way. "Tell me how it feels."

"Every time is like the first time," you continue, sliding in slow, then deeper, bit by bit, until you're all the way in and her big, round ass is pressing hard against your abdomen and her thick thighs against your legs. "You feel warm and slick and tight and wet, and oh, God..."

A sudden thrust forward as her greedy cunt squeezes the length of your shaft. A delicious whimper that sends blood to your head. A long, shaky groan slips from the both of your lips. You buck hard into her ass and watch as it ripples at the contact. "Ah! There, yes. Fuck," Mina moans.

There are two of her, perfect reflections, two Minas taking a rough pounding from behind. Each little expression on her face, each beautiful feature is visible in the reflection. And behind that her body ripples just like the one below you, and she whimpers, helpless as you penetrate her over and over.

"F-faster." She whines. "Harder. God, fuck, fuck me harder."

Mina has always liked it a little on the rough side, so you grab a handful of her hair, ball it in your fist, and pull. "Tell me, how does it feel?" You rear her head back so she has to look at herself in the reflection and tell it to herself. You pick up the pace, beginning to relentlessly pummel her from behind as you bury yourself into her tight heat as deep and hard as you can.

"So... Ah! So good." You yank her hair again, making her ass tense, making her gasp. She pants hard, short and fast as the force and strength of each thrust get stronger. "I love it when you... fuck me like this." Her chest begins to heave up and down. She raises her ass even higher for you. "When you—God, ah! Ah!—make me want to scream..."

You feel that incredible warmth building and swelling in your abdomen as her sex drips around your shaft, and it is so hard to slow yourself down when her ass slaps against you in perfect sync with your every motion, when Mina's knees shake, when her desperate moans urge you to never, ever stop. Still, you would like to do a little something before she orgasms all over your cock.

You roughly jerk out of Mina, pulling away abruptly with no warning.

"No, no! Don't stop!" She cries out immediately, her greedy body already missing yours. The flush at her neck spreading, blossoming down—her shoulders pink. "No!" She whimpers as she tries to throw her pussy back against you.

She cries out so pathetically that she doesn't protest when you roughly turn her around and lift her by her thighs, allowing her to wrap her legs around your hips and sink her to the hilt onto you. You sink her down and up and down again and again, bouncing her on and off of your aching cock in front of the mirror, gritting your teeth to keep yourself from finishing the moment her tightness wraps and flexes around you.

"I'm gonna cum so hard, I swear, I can feel it," she gasps in time with your rough pounding, arms holding onto your neck tightly, fingernails digging into your shoulders. "So close, don't you dare stop."

The harder and faster you go, the louder and harder she screams, eyes rolling back and mouth falling open. She digs her heels into your back, pushing down against you so there's nothing left for either of you but pleasure. You pound hard and heavy into her, chasing her orgasm, and when that perfect heat grips all around you and consumes you entirely, there is nothing in the entire world that compares to it—to this. The thought that very soon you will be cumming inside Myoui Mina.

It is that pure bliss, that power and sense of total control, of giving her such pleasure that you're left moaning along with her, revelling in this wonderful mess. Your bodies are sticky and tangled and you just start to let it go. Filling her pretty cunt as you have so many times before.

You grit your teeth and struggle through the overstimulation, taking satisfaction in how the trembling in her legs persists, her breathing ragged and body shaking. Doing your best to fuck your load into her—she's just so into that sort of thing—you don't think that there's anything, truly, that is better than this.

Not when Mina whimpers as she weakly presses her nails into the skin of your shoulders and when she knows not how to stop trembling. Your limits are worth pushing for a woman like her.

But even then, limits are ultimately undeniable. Her full weight in your arms, your knees weak, your legs tire beneath you and finally, as you plant a series of gentle kisses along her neck and shoulder, her mouth gasping, her nose against your cheek, you give in and fall to your knees. Mina's back leaves a mark of where it was once imprinted against the glass.

"So..." she laughs breathlessly into your ear as you sit with her on you. "Do you think management has any idea how often we fuck during these trips?"

"I imagine that if they found out it would be both of our jobs on the line." You hold a hand on her lower back, keeping her upright and then place your mouth on one of her breasts. Her nipple is firm, you suck on it and run your teeth over its delicate surface. Mina keens with her mouth falling open and her lashes fluttering, a small quiet "ah" escaping from the back of her throat.

"Guess we better stop," she jokes, breathing out in a chuckle and gently, pushing your forehead away from her chest.

You chuckle dryly into her neck, wrapping both arms fully around her naked body to pull her closer. "Something tells me you won't really be able to help yourself."

"Punishingly handsome, smart, a sense of humour—" She reaches down to where your half-soft cock is planted within her cunt. "—Great cock, excellent fuck" As though it were some sort of sales pitch. "No. No, I can't help myself."

"Is this about next week?" you ask.

"They never split us up, we're a team, so why would they send you with her instead?" Mina rocks her hips slowly on your lap. You groan into the crook of her neck.

"It's a one-off, Mina. In two weeks we'll be travelling together again." You wrap your arms around her soft, warm skin and run them down her back. "Another hotel, another set of adjoining rooms."

"Yeah," she sighs as she lazily continues her grinding. "Or, we could... See each other outside of work, you know. Like normal people do."

"We're far from normal, Mina." You let out a soft sigh as you start to harden inside her again. You pull at the small of her back, urging her on. "We're having our fun, right? It works. What reason is there to rock the boat?"

Her arms move up your chest and onto your shoulders. With that same teasing voice of hers, "There's always room for more fun. More sex." Mina pushes hard on your shoulders, and you fall back into the soft carpet. Mina is above you—over you—all-powerful beauty and you want nothing more than to grab her hips and drive up, and into her. Her hair falls over her shoulders and down her arms. Her pert little tits beg to be held. Her face, with flawless skin and those few prominent freckles, is decorated with a filthy smile.

"Two weeks, Mina, two weeks and we'll be back to doing this." You caress the silky soft curves of her sides. "Two more weeks, and then it's a real long trip. Just me and you."

She's visibly more excited, and she rides you harder now than just a gentle grinding and you hear the little wet sounds of your cock plunging into her cum-filled pussy over and over again. Her breasts bounce beautifully, and finally, you do cup one in a hand. A playful glimmer dances in her eyes, along with the lust haze. Mina's wet thighs slap against your hips, the sounds are vulgar in the best way.

"I'm going to fuck you every single morning and night for the whole trip," you tell her, and her grin widens. "Then you won't want for a thing."

Your words only seem to encourage her more, to fuck you harder and harder. She's riding your cock wildly but never has her eyes left yours. She fucks like she does everything else; with every fibre of her being, her passion is unbridled and intense. And oh, when she whimpers, it makes a hot current run straight to the end of your spine, it gets the heat in your head pulsating. That's just what Mina does to you.

"Two weeks without me. You're going to be so frustrated, Mina, so needy. You're gonna make me a promise."

"Mhm?" she gasps.

"You're going to wait for me," you say. "After tonight, for whole two weeks, no cumming."

"No," she says through clenched teeth. "Absolutely not."

"Yes, Mina, absolutely."

You clasp your hands on her hips, slowing down her speed. "Promise me."

She almost struggles to find her voice. "No way. I can't!" Her hips fight against your hold, she fights to drag her cunt over your cock and just feel the pleasure you're denying her. Mina grits her teeth, and the pain is evident on her face. "Okay! Just please fuck me now." She twists her body, trying to release from your hold.

"Promise."

"I promise. I promise. I promise!" Mina squeals, nearly shrieking as you soften your grip and thrust up into her quivering, wet heat. You let her fuck you again and she picks up right where she left off—frantic and wild. She leans in to kiss you deeply, and a little whimper spills from the corner of her lips. "Fuck. Cum inside me again."

The eagerness with which Mina rises and falls on your cock, her pussy taking in all of you, demands only one thing. Cum—the mess of you both—spilling over and running out, all over you and the floor and ruining the hotel's carpet.

"Yes," her voice cracks, high and soft, "Oh fuck. Fuck. God, I'm gonna cum."

It's good, your hands gripping her body firmly, matching her pace, and taking the chance to look behind her, at the mirror, where you can see your cock bury in and out of her again and again. Slipping up below her ass that ripples beautifully every time your hips meet.

Mina cums not even ten seconds later. With an eruption of screams louder than you've ever heard, shudders all over, and more fluid spilling between you both. She's struggling and you feel it. You slap her ass and follow with a groan of words halfway between an instruction and a plea. "Don't stop."

She doesn't stop. She sits up and throws herself back, reaching for something to balance on. A hand against the mirror, her legs spread and her body present to you, she fucks that pretty pussy down onto you so fast, she's struggling to maintain the rhythm but her nails are curling against the glass, her brows are pressed so tense together, her body shakes all over and a cry comes again from that lovely mouth.

She cums again like this as if it's a show for you and what a fucking show it is. Her legs tremble so hard they lose purchase and you begin lifting yourself up into her and the sight, the sound—her sounds—and her perfect body is making you buck and press harder into her. You've become so mindless, so desperate and hungry for her body. You can hardly keep yourself from spilling into her for a second time. But not yet, you think. Not yet and not there.

Mina's leg buckles. She fights for air. "Can't," she chokes out, breathless and shallow. Nothing left to give you. She slips from her perch, collapsing to the floor, leaning against the mirror. Her dark hair matted with sweat, her pale skin gleaming. Her expression is dreamy. "On me. Just finish on me."

On Mina, a work of art. Over her pretty face, or those luscious tits, or that soft tummy. Over that thick, firm and oh-so-perfect ass, or those equally tasty thighs. Maybe even just glaze over her messy cunt. Her eyes flicker as she looks up at you, and you have a decision to make.

"Anywhere. Cum wherever you want."

[hyperfixatinator]

Where is the line?

In the comics, Tim Drake's moral code is an enigma to me, particularly his stance on the Batclan's no-kill rule. For all the fans who say he's always one step away from full blown villainy, there are even more saying he's a strict goody two-shoes who could never stoop that low.

Then there's the different takes on where Tim draws the line between these two extremes. Personally, I find that line hard to pinpoint. Digging for canon demonstrations of his morals has lead me to more questions than answers. My biggest question right now is:

What counts as breaking the no-kill rule in Tim's eyes?

Luckily, the Robins 2021 comics shed some light on this. In issue #3, "Tim", or rather an imposter of him, said that choosing not to save someone isn't the same as killing them, and that letting a villain die can be a way to get justice. Normally, this point would be moot since it's not Tim himself who said it. However, at the end of issue #6, the real Tim clarified that what the imposter said WAS his real opinion on the matter.

Not only that, but Tim has shown this belief through his thoughts and actions before. Twice.

The first time goes all the way back to Robin 1991 #5. During the fight against King Snake, Tim kicked him through a nearby window, fifty stories above the ground. As King Snake's life hung in the balance, Shiva appeared and commanded Tim to kill him.

Tim refused. He walked away, leaving King Snake entirely at Shiva's mercy.

What gets me is that Tim made no move to save King Snake from falling. And he made no effort to stop Shiva from committing the murder, either. His only thought as he heard the man's scream was "Fifty stories is a long way to fall."

The second time was in Red Robin 2009 #26. Tim orchestrated a whole plan to manipulate Captain Boomerang into getting killed by Mr. Freeze. The whole time, Tim blamed Captain Boomerang for making all those bad choices, despite Tim being the one raising the chances of them being made. Tim believed he was innocent because he wasn't directly participating.

Tim then stopped that plan, but not for any noble reason. He decided that he couldn't let anyone else kill Captain Boomerang but himself.

Tim couldn't bring himself to do that, either. So he had to spare his father's killer in the end.

This seems pretty cut and dry so far, right? Tim believing that letting villains die is alright as long he doesn't do the deed himself? I'd think so too, if there weren't other moments contradicting this.

In Robin #35, Steph insisted on leaving an enemy who got buried under the snow to die. Tim chastised her for it.

Neither of them were responsible for the snow, or for the enemy getting trapped in it. Plus, that guy tried to kill them with a chainsaw moments prior, so he's not exactly an innocent damsel in distress.

Maybe it was because this enemy wasn't a big enough fish to fry. We didn't really get confirmation that this guy has actually killed before, and he's around goon status at best.

But then in Robin #46, Tim chose to save another enemy who got himself into a deadly situation. That enemy was a murderer known as Young El. This time, Tim wasn't telling anyone else why they should save a murderer's life out loud. These were his private thoughts.

Notice how Tim's inner monologue sounded kind of on-the-fence. He contemplated justice finally catching up with Young El as the floorboards gave way, bringing a support beam down on him in the process.

However, Tim immediately switched gears to rescue Young El from under that beam before the water rose too high.

But Tim, as he told Young El the reasons he's saving him, asked himself "Do I even believe what I'm saying?" He could be asking this about two different things he said here. A) "Maybe it's not too late for you to learn something, Young El.", or B) "Death's easier for you when it's the other guy. Death's never been easy for me."

For Tim to doubt his belief in either of these statements is very interesting. He could be questioning if Young El is already too far gone for redemption, or he could be questioning if seeing someone die has never been easy for himself. For all we know, it could be both.

Unfortunately, Tim never got to see if his choice to save him would pay off. Tim wasn't strong enough to lift that beam, and Young El drowned.

There's a question on my mind as I read these pages. What makes this murderer's death different from when Tim let King Snake fall to his "death"? Sure, King Snake didn't actually die, but Tim didn't know that until later when the man came looking for revenge in Gotham.

Tim was once able to simply walk away from what he was certain would be a killer's demise. But then he's consumed by guilt over not being able to prevent a different killer's death down the line, to the point of hallucinating.

On top of that, what changed Tim's mind later? Red Robin #26 and Robins 2021 #3-6 still happened in the future. The only significant difference I can tell is that these two comics involved the killer's of Tim's parents, making it personal. But if the Imposter from Robins 2021 got his beliefs from his profile before his mother's killer got involved, then does that still hold up?

Maybe we should put a pin on it for now. There are other things Tim's done that brings the details of his no-kill rule into question.

Such as that one time Tim actually killed someone with his bare hands.

In Robin issues #51-52, Tim accidentally killed Lady Shiva while drugged on amarilla, a plant that enhances the user's speed beyond human limitations.

It may be argued if the amarilla altered Tim's mind enough to excuse him of fault or not. However, I want to focus on what happened after Shiva was revived. Here's another question to go with the first one:

Does Tim believe the kill still counts if the victim was revived afterwards?

From what I've gathered, yes and no. It's kind of complicated.

After Tim killed Shiva, he was understandably distressed about it, about how he can never take it back.

But after Shiva came back to life? Nothing. He didn't dwell on the fact he broke the vow to never kill. For something that devastating to happen in his life, it's odd that Tim didn't bring it up ever again, privately or otherwise. Especially considering what happened later in Robin #123, when Tim thought he killed Johnny Warlock.

Tim was utterly inconsolable. He lost all faith in his abilities as Robin, and in himself as a whole. It also contributed to his decision to quit being Robin after his dad found out. In general, he seriously dwelled on that "kill" for a much longer time than he had after killing Shiva. The difference being that he knew Shiva was resuscitated immediately afterwards, while Tim didn't know Johnny survived until issue #141.

But there's the fact that Shiva really did die. Her heart and breathing both stopped. So are we to believe Tim moved on from that so easily because she's alive now? What happened to never getting that back?

Come to think of it, not long after Tim killed and revived Shiva, there was someone else who landed in that same boat. Dick.

In Joker: The Last Laugh #6, Dick brutally attacked the Joker after believing he killed Tim. Dick ended up accidentally killing Joker instead, before the clown was resuscitated.

Here's the thing. While Tim was trying to comfort Dick, saying that it's ok because Joker's alive now, Dick didn't believe so. He was still distraught that he killed someone. The fact Joker came back to life afterwards didn't matter to him. To Dick, it still counted. So what does that say about Tim?

Before we move on, there's another person Tim knows who also died and came back from the grave. Jason.

Tim openly acknowledged Jason was killed before coming back, too. Multiple times. For example, when they met up in Red Hood and the Outlaws 2011 #8.

Tim hadn't shown any signs that he thinks Jason's murder doesn't count anywhere, except for maybe once.

In Knight Terrors: Robin #2, Tim and Jason had a heart-to-heart, and Tim said something strange.

"You survived."

Except Jason didn't survive. He died. To say Jason survived that night would've meant he never died to begin with. Him being alive now doesn't change that. Was this Tim telling a white lie to make Jason feel better? Or does Tim see being revived after death as "surviving"?

Ok, now we can move onto the next question. Or rather, bear with me as we go back to the first question. It's a broad topic with plenty more to talk about.

What does Tim count as breaking the no-kill rule?

We already asked how Tim feels about bringing villains back from the dead after killing them. And we asked how Tim feels about leaving a villain to die without getting directly involved. However, we still don't know how much involvement Tim needs to have in an enemy's death before he'll take responsibility for it.

We can confirm he won't mercy kill in Red Robin #21, even if it means giving someone a fate worse than death. No exceptions.

Tim also doesn't allow anyone he's actively teaming up with to kill, especially if he's the one in command. He's been amicable with known killers before (Huntress and Pru, for example), but only when they remain non-lethal while working alongside him.

Apart from that, though, it becomes less clear. However, I think this is a good place to expand on when Tim blew up a lot of League of Assassins bases in Red Robin #8.

I'm not going into whether or not those explosions actually killed anyone. I've seen evidence supporting both sides of this debate, so I'm just going to say it's up to interpretation. What I AM talking about is whether or not Tim would've felt responsible if they had killed someone.

Before overloading every generator in the LOA database, Tim gave a warning to the Wanderer. He told her that he couldn't be held responsible for what would happen to her if she didn't leave.

After initiating the explosions, Tim warned the White Ghost that they had fifteen seconds to leave before it was too late.

Fifteen seconds. That explanation on the mistake of letting him in might've taken roughly another fifteen to twenty seconds. Did the other bases even get a full minute head start? The way some of the people were already running away could imply they at least got a warning, but it's possible they might not have.

Even if everyone in every base received a warning, would that be enough for Tim to avoid holding himself accountable if they didn't make it out in time? Tim's the one who rigged the bases to explode, but I guess giving someone a warning means it's now their fault for not heeding it?

We can't be sure he even considered the possibility of those explosions killing anyone. Tim knew they were dangerous enough to bring the whole Cradle down, and the other ones we saw looked pretty powerful (except the ones in Ra's hideout). But Tim also called Ra's a murderer right after that happened, which would've been very hypocritical if Tim himself thought he committed murder.

So, my guess is either A) Tim relied on sheer luck for those explosions not causing any casualties and chose to believe they hadn't, or B) Tim didn't believe the deaths of anyone caught in them would be his fault.

Again, this isn't about whether or not blowing up the LOA bases killed anyone. It's about how willing Tim was to take that risk, and if he would've blamed himself for anyone getting killed from it.

Either way, it's canon that Tim had no guilt for the explosions he caused, or for anything he did before Red Robin #22. Just ask the Sword of Sin.

This is an exerpt I got from the Fandom DC Database on the Sword of Sin:

"The Sword of Sin can be ignited with the mind of the wielder, if the person is powerful enough. The sword has the ability to conjure in the mind its victims all of the sins for which they are guilty or have not atoned for."

When Tim was stabbed with this sword, he was immune. The Sword of Sin decided he was innocent. Although, I have to ask how reliable this sword was in making that judgement. If the sword is judging others based on its own set principles, then something's not right here.

The Sword of Sin was also used on Dick, and he wasn't immune. It dug into Dicks subconscious and unearthed memories he'd long since repressed. Memories of himself watching a boy get beaten to near death, and then doing nothing. He just walked away.

Now, tell me why the sword brought this to light, but not the time Tim left King Snake to die!

It wasn't an accident. Tim deliberately chose to leave instead of trying to save this man from the murderous Lady Shiva. Sure, Tim was no match for Shiva and he might've not been able to stop her, but the same could be said for an eight year old Dick not stopping a group of much older kids. Neither of them tried to stop the attackers.

Tim didn't atone for it, either. When King Snake returned in Batman #469, Bruce told King Snake that it wasn't Tim who left him to die. We know that's a lie, but Tim never corrected this. He let Shiva take all the blame.

We have two instances of a boy choosing not to prevent someone from having a near death experience. One guilty, and one innocent.

Did the Sword of Sin think Tim was justified because King Snake was corrupt? That doesn't sound holy to me.

Was it because Tim didn't feel any guilt over it, while Dick did? Can the sword's judgement be thrown off by the victim not feeling any shred of guilt over their actions, even subconsciously?

That could make sense given what we know Tim did in the past: King Snake falling, the vandalism (explosions), and ALL the lying over the years (Tim reviving Shiva might count as atonement, so I'm not including that). If the sword based its judgement on God's will alone, then odds are high it would've picked up on one of these.

Even so, I'm not going to sit here and say this is definitely the case. I'm not familiar enough with how the sword effects other characters to make that call.

If this is indeed false, then did the DC universe's version of God decide to pardon Tim of his sins when he prayed earlier that same issue, despite him not believing he had any? I mean, who knows, right?

You can probably see why there's more questions than answers. The point is Tim didn't have any guilt for the things he did before Red Robin #22. Tim was canonically convinced he had nothing to atone for.

So then why did he say the opposite later in Knight Terrors: Robin #2?!

In the heart-to-heart between Tim and Jason, Tim tells him this:

"You have a lot to atone for...We all do..."

Tim knows that the words "we all" include him, right? By saying this, Tim admitted to also having things he needs to atone for, right?

Is this another white lie to make Jason feel better? Is it one of those slight changes the New 52 made to the canon? If not, then why did he change his mind? Did his no-kill rule change and make him feel guilty for some past actions? Is it not the no-kill rule, but something else?

What changed?!

Where does Tim draw the line?

I don't know. We've narrowed it down to a general area, but it's kinda hard to see a line when it's so blurred it could be a gradient.

Tim baffles me. He acts as a steady moral compass for others when he can't even seem to stay consistent with his own. You're free to call it poor writing (and honestly, fair), but I find his hypocrisy fascinating.

That's what it is, isn't it? Tim's a hypocrite who's completely oblivious to being one. And it's not like this was never mentioned in the comics before. Damian called him out on it!

In Batman & Robin 2011 #10, Damian confronted Tim about his near-murderous reaction when Fist Point killed Artemis (Teen Titans Vol 4 annual #1). Damian then accused Tim of constantly rejecting him because they have more in common than Tim's willing to admit.

It's debatable how accurate that accusation was, but Tim had a pretty volatile reaction to it.

"I believe in every choice I make!"

Does he? I don't think someone who's so sure of what he believes in would contradict himself to this extent. Especially if he wasn't doing it on purpose.

He wouldn't vehemently push Bruce's no-kill rule onto others and berate them for bending that rule, only to go and bend that same rule himself when the Batclan isn't around. He also wouldn't exploit what he thinks are loopholes, decide later that those loopholes broke the no-kill rule, and then earnestly claim he never broke it.

Why is he like this?! He's had arguably the most normal childhood out of the whole Batclan before becoming Robin! What could've made him so fickle about this?!

Where does he draw the line? And how will he know when he's crossed it?

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Dawn Daydreams | Azriel x Peregryn!Reader

Summary: While visiting Dawn Court with his High Lord and Lady for political relations, Azriel finds himself falling for you, Thesan’s sister, from a distance, only for the bond to snap in the middle of the High Lord’s meeting.

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: Mentions of passing out, mentions of sex, mating bond, nothing bad

Minors, do not interact!

A/N: I feel like this isn’t my best work but it might just be imposter’s syndrome attacking me, thanks to anon who requested this, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Azriel had seen you before, at the High Lord’s meetings, always right by Thesan’s side when his mate wasn’t there. You were his sister, and also the best messenger in all of Prythian because of your lightweight and swift speed, even for a Peregryn you were fast.

He’d never thought much of you further than that, his shadows simply whispering of your potential working for the Court or in an alliance, or of the rumors surrounding you.

That was until today, one of the annual High Lord meetings after the war, to sort everything back out, held at Dawn Court. No one would want to use Under the Mountain as a meeting place anymore, so it only makes sense that it was held here.

He saw you, in pants and what was just a training bra but covering a bit more, sparring with a lightweight blade against some of the males in Dawn. Your speed was unmatched, and you were surprisingly muscular for how tiny you also were.

When the male you’d been sparring against was on the floor, you finally turned and noticed the High Lord and Lady of Night Court, flanked by the General on the left and Spymaster on the right and offered a grin and a little wave. Rhys let out a huff of laughter, and Feyre smiled, waving back. You’d always been friendly with them, even when political alliances were tight.

“Distracted, brother?”

Cassian asked with a smirk, enjoying his minutes of freedom before having to deal with all the insufferable High Lords, the only ones that were awful were Beron and Tamlin when in a bad mood.

Azriel gave him a withering look.

“No.”

He lied, though his brother saw straight through it.

“Pftt, you’re totally in love.”

Cassian said with what resembled a giggling laugh, clearly amused at the usually stoic shadowsinger falling head over heels for a High Lord’s sister. A light flush crept onto his cheeks. Before he opened his mouth to speak, another citizen, also watching the female train, spoke, probably overhearing them.

“You don’t have a chance with that one, she’s got males and females begging for even a glance their way.”

The older Fae spoke, his voice a bit raspy as if parched. He shook his head, before walking away. Azriel noticeably slouched a bit, Feyre seemed to notice and gave him a little nudge with her elbow.

“You aren’t just any other male, I’m sure she’d love you.”

Her soft voice tried to reassure him, at which Rhys smirked, glancing over at his Spymaster.

“Oh, she’d love him all right.”

He said, not giving any other explanation of what that was supposed to mean, before strolling into the Dawn Court Palace, Rhys smug as usual, Cassian and Azriel mostly neutral, and Feyre amused.

*********************************************************

Even after all these years, you still couldn’t get used to how long these meetings dragged on. It ruffled your feathers, quite literally.

After finishing up your training, you’d hauled ass and gotten cleaned up, changed into some acceptable pants and a loose button-up shirt. You had long ago given up adorning the itchy, scratchy dresses that hurt your wings or made them uncomfortable, at this point, the fitted shirts you had were better, and you didn’t give a damn about what the other High Lords had to say.

You took your set to the left of your brother, mind already wandering off as the Lords began arguing and fighting over any and everything. You felt something nudge against your foot, snapping you out of your thoughts as you glanced down, eyes widening as you saw shadows, living shadows swirling at your feet, before quickly retracting.

You followed them all the way up to their owner, who was glancing at you.

The shadowsinger.

You’d heard rumors of him, though most of which you ignored, as rumors weren’t always true. His scarred hands remained at his side as he sat, leathery wings with what looked like scars running down them at his back, tucking neatly. His dark hazel eyes observed you, and you were a bit comforted that you weren’t the only one paying not enough attention to the meeting, but then again, he was staring at you.

It didn’t help that he was hot, either.

As soon as that thought ran through your mind, a warmth bloomed in your chest like a brick to the face, eyes widening just like his as you felt it weave a connection, unbreakable and eternal, between the two of you. A mating bond. Right here, right now, in front of all of the other High Lords and their Lady’s.

Don’t make a scene, don’t make a scene, don’t —

Your brother cast you a concerned glance, soft worry in his eyes as his hand brushed yours, the touch only further making you think of the Spymaster, how his touch might feel on your-

No. You were not going to go there.

You gave a barely perceptible nod, head swimming. You needed to touch him, needed to be closer and feel him so badly it felt like torture to stay in your chair. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, biting your tongue to keep from saying anything.

You managed to rip your eyes off, settling on Beron and Eris. The thought of that horrible pair should’ve been enough to conjure up so much disgust you couldn’t focus on the shadowy figure cloaked in Night.

But it wasn’t, and your head was spinning, you were nauseous, and —

*********************************************************

Azriel watched with strained breathing as you passed out, collapsing from your chair onto the floor, wings draping over your form.

It took every ounce of self-control he’d built up over the centuries to stop himself from helping you, fixing you, and making sure you were alright. Thesan was already picking you up as the other High Lords watched, most in curiosity or slight boredom.

Rhys noticed his rigid body, and with a glance at Cassian, both of the Illyrian warriors were fully aware of their brother’s stress. It didn’t take Rhys long before Azriel felt a mental brush against his mind, and he lowered his shields just enough to shoot one message to him.

‘She’s my mate.’

He could feel Rhys’ surprise and concern before he pulled away, his brother’s eyes narrowing, Cassian and Feyre’s face betraying a bit of shock before snapping back to normal as he must’ve shared the news.

Azriel’s shadows couldn’t stop swirling beneath his chair and on his skin, some even darting after Thesan to make sure the female was okay.

‘They’re taking our mate to a healer. She isn’t harmed.’

They whispered to him.

‘What is her name?’

He silently asked the shadows. A moment of pause, before they whispered back, equally infatuated as him with the female.

‘Y/N.’

*********************************************************

You woke in the healer’s room, as she lived in the Palace alongside you and your brother in case any medical issues arose. You heard the low voice of Rhysand talking with your brother. They must’ve cut the meeting short.

Your attention was immediately pivoted to the quiet figure sitting at your side, dark and beautiful as he’d been sitting in the chair earlier. His eyes were full of concern and affection, though the latter probably influenced because of the bond.

“Hi,”

You managed, smiling weakly. Passing out was tiring work, apparently. He tried a smile back, though it looked forced. You hadn’t ever seen him with any other expression than his stoic look.

“Hi.”

He spoke back, softly, as if afraid you would shatter if he spoke too loudly. The feathers of your wings were puffed up, and he seemed to notice. A sign of your slight embarrassment at the situation. His hand rose from his lap, and he glanced down at your hand, hesitating and starting to fall away.

You didn’t let him, your soft hand enclosing around his calloused, scarred ones, thumb rubbing gently over all the ridges in his hands. He seemed surprisingly emotional at the gesture, swallowing.

“Are you…alright?”

He asked, concern evident in his tone as he examined your body, making you a bit flustered despite him being completely respectful. If you were in his position, you weren’t sure you’d be able to do the same.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

You answered, moving to sit up, your body aching as you did so, sore from training. At the slightest sign of distress, his hand slid from your grip and moved to your back, his shadows gently easing you to sit up, helping you. You sighed at the feeling of his hands on your skin, the relief it gave your body, and the craving for more.

“Thanks.”

You mumbled, your hand snatching his again, embarrassingly quick as soon as it was back within reach. His gaze softened as he felt it, shadows slithering onto the bed and hesitantly touching you, their whispered touches cold against your skin.

“How do you feel about…everything?”

He then asked with a hint of anxiety in those dark eyes. You knew what he was talking about. The bond. You thought before replying.

“I think you’re a good male. If it doesn’t cause any political problems I wouldn’t mind getting to know you.”

You answered honestly, anxiously watching him. The soft smile that then graced his lips, genuine, made your heart melt.

“I feel the same about you.”

He confirmed, just as Thesan and Rhysand walked into the room. Your brother looked concerned, but happy for you because of your little smile. Rhys looked smug as usual but seemed pleased to find the both of you bonding. The two had probably been listening in on you. The bastards.

“Well, I take it you two have gotten along well?”

Rhys drawled, at which after sharing a glance, the both of you nodded. Both of the High Lords seemed relieved at that. Azriel had a gleam in his eye, determined to see you again, to spend time with you, as he looked at his brother. He would beg on his knees if it meant he got to see his mate.

“Would anyone object to our feathered messenger visiting Velaris?”

He then asked, violet eyes examining you, your brother also watching you.

“I..wouldn’t mind.”

Azriel’s rigid body relaxed instantly at those words. You were willing to spend time in his home, with him. You shifted to sit up, and he was immediately at attention again, helping you every step of the way with a painfully concerned look that both Thesan and Rhysand noticed.

“I’ll go pack. Can he stay?”

You asked, giving a pleading glance to both of the High Lords. Rhysand gave a little shrug, and your brother nodded, just happy to see you happy. Not to mention the alliance it would make between Dawn and Night Court.

He followed you to your room, hands twitching at their sides as the shadows eagerly followed as well. You could’ve sworn they were speaking, in little tiny whispers you could hear but couldn’t quite make out.

His eyes scanned everything, your jumbled room full of a variety of things, mementos, pictures, a few weapons, letters…the list went on. As you reached up on your closet to grab a bag to shove a few things in, standing on your toes, he spoke.

“Here,”

He said quietly, easily grabbing the bag and handing it to you. It was then that you noticed the height difference between the two of you, not to mention the general size difference. Sure, you trained and had a few muscles on you, but he was somehow both lean and muscular, a mix that complimented him beyond well.

You smiled as you took it from his hands.

And you began packing.

*********************************************************

The next few months were filled with you being introduced to his family, and slowly moving into the House of Wind. You moved into a room right across from Azriel’s, even though after getting adjusted to each other, you were sleeping together more often than not.

Not to mention the training he began giving you. Peregryn’s and Illyrian’s had very different training styles and methods, which you learned extremely quickly.

He began learning more about you, of your little habits like the way your feathers puffed up when you were embarrassed or aroused, or how you would wrinkle your nose in disgust at bad smells, or how sensitive your ears were….the list went on. You began picking up things about him as well, and the both of you slowly began opening up to each other.

He told you of how he got his scars, of his brothers and biological family, you told him of your biological family, their kind behavior contrasting his bio family’s awfulness.

When the time came to accept the bond…it had been a whole mess.

Rhys had offered to let you stay in the cabin in Illyria, something you had gladly accepted. You had been in for a shock once the frenzy had begun. Sure, you’d had sex before, but you’d never known just how many times someone could have sex in a row, or all the different positions and options there were…you felt more like a student sometimes with Az.

After nearly two weeks, it finally dwindled to a close, with both you and him lying together in a sweaty embrace.

“That was…a lot.”

You murmured to him, voice hoarse from screaming and moaning throughout the mornings and nights.

He chuckled against your skin, pulling you closer to his warm chest. His scarred hands were around your waist, one leathery wing draped over your body, brushing against your soft, sensitive feathers, ones he had stimulated so much that even the tiny touch made you squirm now.

“I know, but I quite enjoyed it.”

He murmured back, the smirk on his lips evident in his tone. A smirk you’d come to love. You smiled back, shifting up to look him in the eye, kissing him on the forehead, one he closed his eyes at while you did it, savoring it, before peering back at you with a sleepy gaze.

“We should really sleep, you know.”

You suggested, now yawning as you thought about it. His shadows tightened around you in a possessive and protective embrace, as they always did while you slept. He yawned after seeing you yawn, nuzzling his head into yours.

“Mm..goodnight, angel.”

He said, tone more noticeably tired now that you’d called him out on it. Your eyes began to drift as you mumbled back.

“G’night, Az.”

[hana-no-seiiki]

WHAT’S UP DANGER?

— [ CH 01 ] WITH GREAT ABILITY COMES GREAT ACCOUNTABILITY

pairings: yandere! various (batfam, spiderverse) x miles morales! reader

tw/cw: no yandere themes for this chapter, characters get aged up later on but are teens to young adults now, reader is gender neutral but characters refer to them with masculine terms (hijo, man, dude), spoilers for spiderverse movies. but ofc since this is a crossover it won’t be completely the same.

status: unedited

[masterlist] [next]

REPLY TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

“Mama, stop you’re covering me with your saliva—!” You groaned as you made a half-assed attempt at pushing your mother away.

It was the first day of your attendance at Gotham Visions and you weren’t the least bit nervous. Not at all. Totally. It wasn’t as if you were just thrusted into this situation with no choice whatsoever in addition to the pressure of your family’s wholeass livelihood on your shoulder. No. You were completely cool with this situation. In fact, you were so cool that you’re almost late to your first day of classes.

“But you look so adorable, mi hijo!” Your mother rubbed her face all over yours, messing up whatever you decided to put on.

“Papa what are you doing? Arrest this woman at once, for gross misconduct or whatever—“

“You do look adorable, and if I do I’d have to be fair and arrest you for vandalism.”

You freeze at your father’s not so subtle call out, before swiftly slithering away from your mother’s bear-like grip.

“Augh! I’m going to be late! Hasta luego!”

It was August. The start of a new school year for you. A new life away from your family and friends.

Gotham Visions University. A campus filled with elitists; fancy rich people. The cream of the crop. Your future school. Being a scholar there would have been fine, amazing even! If it wasn’t something you won through a lottery. You felt like a thief, an imposter. Going to a school for prodigies and rich kids as an average old joe is one thing, going to a school for prodigies and rich kid as a poor lottery student is another.

“[Y/N]! How you doing man? Lookin fancy. The uniform so fits ya.” A kid hangs his arm around you. If you were being completely honest you weren’t sure about his name, but you hung out often for basketball and other activities around the neighborhood. With the amount of people that knew you around the community, it was difficult keeping all those faces in your head so you often covered it up with nicknames.

“Psh. See ya next friday for shawarma?” You winked, cringing a little inside for your actions.

But to your utter surprise, the kid in turn blushes before giving you a massive grin. “You bet. My treat!”

And just a few seconds afterwards, he hits you at the back of the head before leaving, “Hey! Ow.”

“[Y/N]! Good luck on school dude! We’ll miss ya! Don’t be a stranger okay? We’re still friends even if he isn’t here.” He waves you goodbye before returning to your mutual posse of friends.

You wave back at them, your expression slowly turning into a solemn one. “I’ll miss ya guys too.”

Grabbing your trusty wireless headphones, you make your way down the block. Sticking random name-tags you drew this morning to distract yourself from the overflowing anxiety in your system.

Unfortunately, it never is a good idea to be so distracted when walking by yourself.

“Contra!” You hissed as your body hit the pavement. No doubt ruining your uniform that your mother painstakingly agonized over getting perfect and neat for your first day.

Then, the sound of a police siren entered your ears.

Can your day get any worse?

“What did I tell you about not looking both sides twice before crossing the streets?”

Your father’s sermon began.

This . . . was going to be a long ride.

“That I shouldn’t do it.” You replied, completely uninterested in the conversation and looking out from the window.

“You’re lucky it was me y’know! What if some deranged man decided to run you over?”

Your faced smooshed on your hand as your elbow rested on the window sill. “I’d send my cop of a father after them then.”

“Don’t act cute with me [Y/N].”

“But it works oh, so, well.”

Your father sighed, “It does.”

“But with great ability comes great accountability!

“Yeah yeah, that isn’t how the saying goes! . . . It was my bad it won’t happen ag…” Right as you were about to tune out of the interaction with your father once more you notice a bunch of people looking towards your direction.

People you knew.

And now they were taking pictures.

“Wow, aren’t you the popular kid?”

“Mier — Can’t you run the red light or shout at them or something? My poor privacy is being invaded!” You desperately tried to hide yourself with your hands but to no avail. The sounds of clicking only grow louder, and your father’s pace on the car slower.

“Yeah yeah~ not this cop.”

“Papa!”

Suddenly, the attention is ripped off of you as a loud crashing noise resounds from above. “Woah.”

Your dad flicked his tongue in annoyance as he checked the damages. “Those vigilantes! Red Hood is one thing, but that Spider-man partner of his. I swear. He just swings by without a care in the world. I just got this repaired last week!”

“I think he saved you from having to get yourself fixed as well. You know, in a hospital. The place with all the bills that just tears holes into your wallet.” You checked the situation outside, confirming the lack of interest in your situation as people crowded spider-man’s fight. “And myself from a mob too. That man’s a whole multitasker and a half.”

“If you ever get a sibling, remind me not to teach them cheek.”

“That if depends on you, yknow.” You gave your dad the smuggest grin you can muster.

Hey, if he’s going to make you face hell for the next few years you might as well give him a portion of it while you had the time.

The car halts, signaling your arrival at the aforementioned hell. “Study well. Our future depends on you, [Y/N]. Love ya.”

“I know.” You groaned, struggling a little to pull your baggage outside of the vehicle and leaving as soon as you got it secured within your grasp.

You are only able to take a few steps when your dad interrupts with the police car’s loudspeaker.

“Where’s my ‘I love you too, papa’ huh?”

“Papa! Seriously?” You screeched, unimaginably embarrassed beyond belief.

“I love you.”

“Right in front of my future peers?”

“I loovveee youuu.”

“On the first day of class?!”

“Mwah mwah—“

“I LOVE YOU TOO!” You relented. Making a sharp turn from facing the originator of your future bully’s material, towards the entrance of Gotham Visions.

Once you get in you make an attempt to greet the people there, but is cut off by their mocking voices referring and imitating the situation earlier.

The embarrassment fills you up once more and you fail to notice your path intersecting with another.

Directly bumping into people seriously knocks the wind out of a dude. That’s probably why those people in those ‘mangas’ he always made you read fell in love at first sight. They were just so light-headed that they couldn’t think clearly.

“P-pretty girl—“

“It’s nice to meet you too.” said pretty girl as she steadied your form. Noticeably less affected by the impact “You’re quite the looker yourself.”

“Ack, sorry! I just get nervous around- yeah.”

She giggled. Oh lord, even her laugh was pretty. “Lovely papa you got there.”

“Augh, you don’t have to remind me.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, slowly regaining your balance.

The bell rings. The real hell has officially begun.

Once pretty girl made sure you were alright, she began running off.

Wow, even the way she ran was pretty.

“W-w-wait, what’s your name?”

“Gwen!”

You sighed as left you behind in the crowd of students.

This wasn’t so bad, you thought. You made one acquaintance at the very least. Maybe your new life at this school would be better.

Your new life at Gotham Visions was, in fact, not getting better.

You were fumbling through the motions like a newborn thrown to the wolves. If you hadn’t built a relatively tight knit friendship with Gwen you were sure you would have ran away by now.

Everyone always ignored you when you greeted them. Your dormmate didn’t even see you as someone worthy to interact with and would often stay awake at ungodly hours doing whatever the hell he was doing on his laptop while you suffered from his ‘background music.’ Your parents only ever talked to you about academics when it was the last thing you wanted on your mind at weekends. You were always, always late to class.

You were practically falling apart at the seams.

You just . . . wanted everything to end. But you couldn’t bring yourself to defy your parents and so you brought it up to your studies. Purposely failing exams so you’d be kicked out soon enough.

“A zero. How terrible. A few more of those and you’ll have to kick me out huh?” You looked at your Physics teacher with a loosely smug look on your face. You hated Physics, the sciences and mathematics the most out of all subjects. Everything second you spent learning about it could have been spent drawing or doing something you actually adored.

You shrugged, “Maybe I’m just not right for this school.”

“If a person wearing a blindfold picked the answers on a multiple choice exam at random do you know what score they would get?”

“. . . Around 25%?”

“That’s right!” She flicked her pen towards you face before pressing the butt end of it to your paper.

“The only way they would get all the answers wrong . . . “ She then twirls around, marking your grade from 0 to 100 by placing the respective numbers to each side. “Is to know which answers are right.

“You’re trying to quit, and I’m not going to let you.” The smug look only your face slowly dissipates and transfers to her own visage. “Now I know you’ll probably try to worm yourself out of this which is why I’m calling in back-up.”

“Wayne.” The woman moved her gaze to your classmate. A strained smile on her lips as she stared him down.

You didn’t know the billionaire’s son that well, or any of your peers but Gwen for that matter. Just that he was as stuck up as his gelled up hair. Always sneering at you whenever you had to sit beside him with those uncannily pretty green eyes of his. You thought that it may have been your smell or something. Maybe he could tell how poor you are in comparison by your scent. But judging by the fact that he was just as much of a loner as you were if not more, you’re beginning to think otherwise.

“I’m assigning you two an essay, not on physics but on yourselves. What kind of person you want to be. I know you two are quite different in terms of personality and backgrounds, but I have a feeling it’ll all work out.” She walked behind the two of you, roughly placing her hands on both of your shoulders before squeezing you closer together. “And no, Damian. I’ll know if you decide to finish it all yourself. Don’t test me.”

“You two are dismissed!”

Damian takes one look at you and you can tell he’s listed a thousand things he disliked about you already. He re-secured his backpack prior to giving you one, heftily stern warning. “Listen, we’re going to meet at my house this weekend. 6pm. Don’t be late.”

“Sure! Where’s your . . .” and before you could even complete your question, he was gone. Just like that. “. . .house. . .”

You grabbed your own belongings with a moan; betting that the trust fund kid’s own probably costed a hundred if not a thousand more times than yours.

You swiftly go to your room. Mind completely empty and disassociated before an idea crosses your head.

You dial in the numbers on your phone before you could even think properly.

“Hey, Unc. Mind if I come over?”

No matter where you went. The route to your Uncle Aaron’s house was always in the back of your head. He was your true home. The only man who understood you — who made the effort to understand you.

You spot him on his couch, looking as cool and swag as ever with his legs spread a little bit apart. He laughed as you smooshed your face to his window before opening it and letting you tumble into his abode.

You lazily dropped the bag you brought filled with spray paint.

He patted your head and massaged your scalp, the stress you felt already noticed and acknowledged. “Sup little dude. You lookin’ down. Is this about . . .”

“What? No. I’ve already moved on—“You shook your head. In all honesty, the only good part about Gotham Visions was that it kept you distracted from grief. But before you could continue you spot a familiar image settled in a frame. Emotions started crashing down upon you like a tidal wave. “You . . . kept the picture.”

Aaron rubbed his thumb across your cheek as your eyes began watering, “You know I can bring you over to visit him. It’s pretty close by y’know.”

“I- I think I’m good. I came here to just chill out, y’know?”

“Let’s go, I know a spot we can let some of that pent up art juice out.”

A smile. A real one. Not one you forced on yourself whenever you met with your classmates, Gwen or your parents started to make a reprise on your face. You almost don’t remember the last time you did it because of your emotions and not due of the façade of being okay.

“See ya.”

You take one last look at the photo before rushing out with your uncle.

“Mig.”

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[water-to-drink]

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Back when Genshin Impact first came out, a lot of folks compared it to The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. (Some even thought Hoyoverse was directly copying Nintendo, if you can believe it) This little nugget of info was stored away in my head for some time, and now it's finally borne fruit!

SAGAU universe, bc ofc it is, where Creator!Reader would turn off the Genshin music and instead listen to Zelda tunes as they play! Nobody in Teyvat knows where these songs come from, but the Vision Holders who have heard them believe these melodies to be of holy origin. Something that connects them to their Creator, and is either shared to the masses or kept amongst themselves...a secret that only those blessed to be the Makers Vessels are to know.

If we're going the Imposter SAGAU route, it could be that our poor Creator is awaiting to be executed by the Genshin Cast. In an attempt to comfort themselves, they hum one of the songs that they love from the Zelda games (Zeldas Lullaby is always a favorite of mine personally) and the Acolytes overhear them. Whether this leads to more harm or to the Reader getting help, I'll leave that up to you.

Divine Melody

(Synopsis): After being transported to one of your favorite game you’re a accused of being an imposter but a melody changes the minds of Teyvat

(Tags/Warnings): Reader is treated as an imposter, reader almost dies, (if I missed anything lmk)

(Word Count): 770

(A/n): I remember that era, it was a ridiculous accusation to throw, and I hope this fulfills your expectations

A bright light shines in your face causing you to open your eyes

You find yourself in a grassy field and laying in the shade of a large tree. Odd you don’t remember falling asleep outside, this area looks pretty familiar. After a few seconds of trying to figure out where you are, you looked to see a statue

The statue looked absolutely majestic, walking to the front of it you saw that it was holding a glowing teal orb and the statue is in the likeness of Venti

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks

You’re at Windrise, you’re in Genshin

Excitement fills you and instantly began to run to Mondstadt City

Being transported to your favorite video game is supposed to be an amazing experience. Experience the world first person, interact with the characters, all that good jazz. That’s what you expected when you step foot in the city

Instead of the kind smiles you would normally see from behind your screen you were met with the people whispering amongst themselves whilst looking at you

Odd, you kept walking around the city until a knight came up to you and pointed his sword at you

“Halt, foul imposter!” The knight spat out. “How dare you come here wearing their holy presence.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just woke up like-” You were cut off by the sword coming closer to your neck

You looked around to see a crowd gathered around waiting for you, the intensity of the situation only grew and so without much hesitation you ran away from the knight and the crowd

You ran until you bumped into a person, looking up you see Kaeya

“Oh thank god! Kaeya please explain to these people that they got it all wrong, I’m not an imposter!” You pleaded

But why did he look at you with such contempt and disgust? Without a word from him he restrained you, his grip ironclad threatening to leave bruises to your arms

“I got them!” Kaeya yelled at the crowd

The mob gathered around you and bound your hands behind your back and the two knights lead you to a jail cell that had long been abandoned

Why were they treating you this way, you’ve done nothing wrong. Hopeless you curled up into ball on the floor and began to cry uncontrollably

You don’t know how long you spent crying when a knight came to get you from your dingy cell. She took you outside and you the moment you were out the sun blinded you. As you were lead through the street the people pelted rotten fruit at you

All that was going through your mind was “why”

Why are they doing all of these awful things to you, the yells of contempt was a stark contrast to the friendly smiles you’re used to seeing

As you got closer you saw the stake that you’re about to be tied to and set alight, the reality hit you and in a desperate attempt to calm your mind you begin to hum a melody that you would listen to while playing the game

You hum loudly to drown out the chants from the crowd. Strangely it comforted you, perhaps in your last moments finding solace in familiarity pushes the situation out of your mind.

You hummed loudly that someone heard you

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” A familiar voice yelled, quieting the crowd

You look up to see it was Venti who was standing before you. He gets down on his knees and looks you in the eyes

“That melody, sing it again.”

You kept humming the tune and the vision holders all had horrified looks on their faces, they all drop to their knees and bowed before you

“Your Grace, please forgive us for our grave mistake.” Jean said

“W-what are you talking about?” You asked confused beyond comprehension

“Your Grace, do you not realize that you are the creator of Teyvat?” Eula said

You ended the story and looked around at the faces of the children gathered around you. A story that is long behind you and now you dictate your time in teaching future generations the lesson

“What was the song you sang, your Grace?” A girl asked

“It was a song that the vessels would hear when I would pilot them, here let me hum it to you.” You began to hum the melody and as the song progressed you saw the children slowly get lulled to sleep. Finishing your tune you stood up from you chair and whispered “Goodnight, my sweet children.”