#i fear this is common sense but apparently not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heirofnight · 5 months ago

Text

finally

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 4.6k - this one's a doozy, buckle up.

based on this request: Hi hi can I get an angsty Azriel x fem!reader fic. Basically they’re mates but they don’t have the best relationship for whatever reason. Rhysand sends them on a mission somewhere and somehow Azriels mind gets taken over and he attacks reader. She doesn’t want to leave Azriel even though he begs her to before he lost control because despite everything she did love him. Reader ends up getting hurt but was thankfully able to reach out to Rhysand in time. Rhysand then clears Azriels mind from whatever was done to him. Azriel ofc beats himself up over it, but then they kiss and makeup.

content warnings: talk of death, reader gets attacked, choking

a/n: this was a TRIP to write. for all of you requesting angst, i'm serving it on a silver platter. i hope you love it! first time writing a fic based on a request, so i hope i did it justice. let me know what you think! as always, lightly edited. pls ignore any mistakes <3

"are you serious?", you spat out, scoffing in disbelief. you crossed your arms across your chest immediately, your body language depicting just how frustrated you were.

azriel stood next to you, keeping way too much distance for a male that was apparently, allegedly your mate.

some mate, you sneered within your swirling mind. you'd both still refused to accept the bond, and if anything, it had just made the already avoidant relationship between the both of you even worse.

you were convinced that this was some sort of divine mistake, there was simply no way that azriel was your mate. we have absolutely nothing in common, another brief thought that had you glancing at him from the corner of your peripheral - just to find him standing in the exact same stance that you currently held. arms crossed, body language defensive, expression stoic.

you cleared your throat and quickly dropped your arms to your sides, straightening your spine before meeting rhys' violet gaze once more. his eyes sparkled with amusement, knowing exactly what you were thinking. whether you were that transparent, or he had actually caught you with your mental shields down - you didn't know. the wards within your mind were the least of your concerns right now.

"i am absolutely serious, i'm afraid", rhys smirked, enjoying the entertainment of watching both you and azriel spiral towards an inevitable juvenile skirmish. especially at his own hand.

azriel huffed a frustrated breath, his shadows becoming more frenzied as they ebbed and flowed around his body. you glanced at him once more, noticed the way his wings had drooped in defeat. you found yourself beginning to admire his side profile, his sculpted, pretty features calling to you in a moment of weakness. you quickly averted your gaze.

you'd never claimed he wasn't attractive, that much about him was painfully obvious. and since he was - unfortunately - your mate, there were moments where it felt as though every fiber, cell, and atom of your body were screaming for his. you'd wondered if he ever felt the same.

"rhys, this is ridiculous. there is no reason for her to join me. i never have help on missions - i never need it," his words grew more strained as he spoke, his last words ending in a near-snarl.

you rolled your eyes at his arrogance, throwing your hands up in exasperation before letting them slap against your thighs. "oh, i'm so sorry, azriel. how could i possibly offer any significant knowledge or assistance with this job, when you're already the most wisest, skilled, and capable male ever gifted by the gods? how can any of us forget - we pale in comparison to the all-feared shadowsinger," your tone was mocking as you turned towards him, cheeks reddening in exasperation.

azriel met your gaze, eyes narrowed as he deadpanned, "most wise".

you narrowed your own gaze to match his, "what?", you scoffed out.

"you said most wisest. that makes no sense. i believe you meant most wise," he stated dryly, tone emotionless.

your cheeks reddened further, expression twisting into one of pure anger. it didn't help that you heard rhys struggling to hold back a bark of laughter.

"okay, honestly, fuck yo-", you began, ready to spit pure venom straight into his veins with your words.

"enough," rhys commanded, voice booming. you froze, huffing out a breath before looking over at the high lord - he was now standing, his hands braced against the surface of his desk. his eyes held no amusement, no laughter. he was fed up.

"you are to both deploy on this mission. you are to both work together to track down this rebel group of daemati, and you are to both report back here with your findings. you keep each other safe. you work together. and you stop this childish bickering," rhys stated, his tone taking on a quality of pure nobility.

he looked between both you and azriel with striking violet eyes. "you leave tomorrow. am i clear?", the high lord questioned, and you knew he required an answer.

"yes," you and your mate replied at the same time, in the same brooding tone. rhys quirked an eyebrow at that, smirking slyly.

"great. have fun, you two," he gave a swooping gesture with his arm in dismissal.

the next morning, you and azriel departed right after breakfast. it was a shared - albeit silent - meal, and you found yourself glancing up at him behind the rim of your glass every single time you took a sip. you didn't know it, but azriel was sparing you the same glances as he ate his porridge.

the rebel group of daemati were last known to be located near the northern edge of the day court's borders - nearing the court of nightmares. the plan was to teleport close to the border itself, and you and azriel both knew that you'd more than likely have to track them from that location to wherever they were now.

you'd left from the house of wind's balcony after eating - azriel reluctantly placing a large hand on your shoulder before teleporting you both in a blanket of darkness and swirling shadows.

once the shadows dissipated, you'd found yourselves in a chilled, heavily wooded patch of forest. you blinked a few times, gaining your bearings. before your eyes had even fully focused on where you were, azriel was stalking off to your left, already on the prowl.

you rolled your eyes, jogging after him in order to catch up. "is your plan to 'accidentally' lose me in the woods?", you sneered, your legs burning as you tried to keep up with his long strides. you crouched down hastily to avoid a low-hanging branch that almost collided with your cheek. you'd been too busy glaring at the side of azriel's head to notice it.

he huffed, his boots crunching against fallen leaves. "keep up, and you won't get lost," he offered, his shadows darting out ahead of him to scout the surrounding area for traces of your target.

you grumbled, eyeing his smoky tendrils as they swirled in different directions. "prick," you said under your breath, pushing another branch out of your path.

you could have sworn you saw the corner of his lips quirk upward at your comment, an action that you would have almost found endearing if it weren't for the current situation you found yourself in. as much as you didn't want to admit it to yourself, you were nervous. you'd never been on a mission, especially not one that felt as high stakes as this one. daemati were dangerous. able to enter, control - and if trained enough, completely shatter - minds without so much as blinking. sure, as a scholar, you'd had brief knowledge on how to handle their kind, but coming across one daemati was rare - much less an entire pissed off group of them.

this could end terribly. and you did not want to be the one to sabotage this outing.

one single coil of shadow darted back towards azriel, whispering against the shell of his ear. "this way," he pointed to your right with a scarred hand, and you adjusted your path accordingly. you found your gaze following his hand as he lowered it to his side once more, and azriel glanced down, noticing where your eyes had landed.

he felt his pulse quicken, not sure what to make of your sudden interest in his hands. it was already an insecurity of his, and he knew that you'd not be shy to prey on that fact.

he cleared his throat, running that same hand through his hair in order to break your gaze. you inhaled a sharp breath, realizing you'd been caught. you opted to stare straight ahead instead, the normal silence between the both of you now feeling awkward.

should you say something? you didn't want him to think you'd been looking at the skin of his hands in disgust. it was the furthest thing from the truth. and while you weren't the hugest fan of his, you would never think poorly of him in regards to his trauma.

"i -," you started, clearing your own throat now. he glanced over at you from the corner of his eye, not urging you to finish.

"i've always thought they were beautiful - your hands," you said sincerely, voice nothing more than a whisper that you were certain a gust of wind could carry away on a breeze - never to be heard.

he took a deep breath, blowing it out through his nose harshly.

"thank you," he said softly, nodding once.

a lifeline, that's what it felt like.

my mate, he thought to himself, trudging forward.

you'd both continued on in comfortable silence for the next few hours. the bundle of nerves in the pit of your stomach was beginning to unravel, and you had to admit: you felt safe with azriel. not that you'd assumed he'd leave you for dead at any point during this mission - at the very least, rhys had commanded he return you to velaris safely. even if azriel somehow personally wanted you dead, he wouldn't defy his high lord's orders.

regardless, you were beginning to feel safe alongside him on your own accord.

a few times, you'd attempted to speak. pointing out various birds that you'd seen perched in the high branches of trees, or remarking on types of flowers that you'd walk past - many of which weren't native to velaris. azriel would notice the way your voice perked up as you spoke of them, noticed a certain kind of wistful joy that crept into your eyes, widening your pupils.

his own gaze began to soften as he observed you, finding your wholesome awe endearing. he listened carefully as you passionately explained each finding. cute, he'd thought briefly, warming up to your company. your hair whipped around you on a stray breeze, a strand catching right across your nose. his hand twitched, the urge to effortlessly brush it from your face filling him to the brim. but before he was able to build up the courage to do so, you'd beat him to it, and his hand stilled.

you were just about to point out yet another bird flying across the dusk-dusted sky when a familiar tendril of shadow approached azriel's ear.

"silence," he whispered in a hushed tone, halting his steps. he tensed up alongside you, his wings pulling in tightly at his back.

you closed your mouth, swallowing what you'd meant to say. you froze in place slightly behind him, waiting with shallow breaths for his next order.

"up ahead," he whispered, nodding his chin towards what looked to be a plume of smoke rising into the chilled air. your eyes followed the path of his gaze, and you squinted to make out the scene before you.

azriel crouched next to your still-standing form as he attempted to get a better look from a different angle.

it appeared to be a campsite of some sort - whoever was stationed there had clearly decided to stop traveling for the evening. the sun was quickly lowering behind the mountain range in the distance, and the air was even more frigid than when you'd both begun your trek. you felt a shiver wrack through your body, and azriel glanced up at you, frowning slightly.

he watched as you studied the growing fire before the both of you, his gaze lingering for just a second too long. you looked down at him, your eyes meeting for the first time all day. your breath hitched at the eye contact, and you faltered for a moment.

"so do we-", you spoke quietly.

"let's just-", he spoke at the same time.

you smiled warmly, dropping your head and huffing out a laugh.

he smirked, grabbing your wrist gently to pull you down to his level. "my shadows picked up on a few daemati tracks. i'm assuming its a small group - they must have decided to stop here for the evening. i'm guessing it's four, maybe five of them," he explained in a hushed tone, his eyes finding the campsite once more.

you thought for a moment, observing him.

"so, what's the best way to go about this?", you asked, voice soft.

he was about to reply, but his body froze, mouth poised to speak but nothing emerged.

there was a momentary pause before his expression transformed into one of pain, pure agony. he grunted, bracing his arms against the ground beneath him. his eyes were screwed shut in pain.

you startled, falling back onto your butt as you took in the scene before you with wide eyes.

no, no no no.

you supposed your brain knew what was happening before your body could react.

and that's when you felt it, a stifling, world-ending level of pain - unrelenting pain that felt so real, so true. but it wasn't your own pain. it was azriel's, through the white-hot golden bond that tethered the two of you together. until this moment, azriel had made sure to keep his emotions sequestered from you - you had done the same. out of pure spite, disdain for the cauldron's decision to fuse the two of you together for eternity.

until this moment. when azriel opened the floodgates of his own mind, letting you in. warning you.

"az," you breathed out, moving to rest a hand on his shoulder in gut-wrenching fear.

he gritted his teeth, letting out a horrible groan of distress.

"leave," he gnashed out, his voice strained. he let out another roar of pain.

you shook your head, eyes wide and pained.

"no, azriel. no. i'm not," you said sternly, voice watery.

"y/n," he forced out, nails digging into the dirt beneath him as he fought the intrusion of the daemati.

"y/n," he repeated, groaning once more, "it has me. it's going to make me hurt you," he strained, "you have to go. contact rhys, and go," he fell onto his side, wings flaring in exertion.

you scrambled towards him, placing a hand on his forehead. your heart was beating so rapidly, you were half-expecting it to leap from your throat and join azriel's form on the dampened ground.

all you could do was shake your head, over and over and over.

"no, no, no," you whispered, eyes filling with tears. you felt a fear so absolute, wholly understanding right then the pure agony that crawled into every crevice when the person on the other end of that golden rope was in danger. you couldn't leave him, you refused. every fiber of your being rebuked the thought. you peered down at his writhing form, his face pinched in pain. he was still the most beautiful male you'd ever seen.

you let out a gutteral noise of distress. you wasted so much time - so much time resenting azriel. fighting with him. throwing jabs at him. hating the gods, the cauldron, for linking the two of you. for what?

all that time wasted, and now his mind was no longer his. you would never get to express your love for the male before you - never get to experience the love that the both of you so immensely deserved.

"azriel," you choked out, pressing your shaking hands to every part of his body you could possibly touch. you glanced up, surveying your surroundings quickly. that's when you saw him, the daemati.

he'd kept his distance, but you made out the shape of his dark form within the trees. you couldn't even see his face, but you could clearly see the way his head tilted to the right, unnaturally slow. he was using his powers to fully infiltrate azriel's mind.

but your mate was putting up a fight. your strong, powerful mate.

azriel was doing everything within his power to not succumb to the daemati's will, his body feeling like it was going to split in half. the pain, the unrelenting, bone crushing pain, was enough to make him wish he could somehow force himself completely unconscious.

and still, through it all, he could not tear his thoughts away from you. a dangerous game, as he was dealing with a species of fae that was literally able to break into the walls of his mind, utilizing his deepest fears against him.

and right now, his biggest fear was losing you. hurting you.

he roared out, blue siphons blazing, vibrating against his skin.

one singular mantra stamped itself through his mind as he attempted to fight off the daemati clawing at his iron-clad wards long enough to convince you to flee, to leave him there to suffer alone - just as he always had:

my mate, fight for your mate, keep her safe, fight for your mate, keep her safe, my mate

you froze, mesmerized by the form that was tearing azriel's mind apart chamber-by-chamber.

then, it happened, and it happened quickly: azriel, now fully under its control, lunged toward you. he tackled you backwards, into the dirt and leaves beneath the both of you.

you screamed, bracing your hands against his chest. you dared to look into his hazel eyes, orbs that were no longer his own.

what you saw terrified you. pupils blown wide.

death himself.

a large, scarred hand found its way to your throat, and you thrashed wildly beneath him. he was unphased by the fight you tried to give him - he was too strong, and you were too scared.

rhys, rhys please, you chanted into your mind, hoping somehow he'd be able to hear you. it was a long shot - you knew that. you'd never once communicated with rhys mind-to-mind, but it was your only chance.

you were going to die at the hands of your mate. and it all felt so ironic, since azriel hated you anyway.

rhys, please, your pleads grew frantic, and azriel's hand gripped tighter around your neck.

the edges of your vision began to go dark, and you grabbed azriel's chin, peering into his eyes with all of the strength that you could muster. "azriel. it's me. it's y/n - it's your mate. please, az. i'm so sorry for everything," you strained against his grip, throat tightening. you wouldn't be conscious for much longer. if there was any chance that he - the real him - could hear you, you had to try to get through.

"i'm so, so sorry, az," you spluttered out, eyes growing heavy.

you sent one more plead to rhys through your mind before everything went dark.

your eyes fluttered open slowly, a groan leaving your throat before you were even fully awake. your neck ached, the skin there burned. your whole body felt tense, tight, and stiff.

you blinked, eyes heavy, trying to take in your surroundings. you recognized the ceiling above you, knew that the soft sheets pulled up to your chin were the ones adorning your bed at the house of wind.

you were home. you were alive.

the events with azriel, the forest - the daemati - came rushing back at full-speed, leaving you breathless. you tried to sit up, but your entire body screamed with the sudden movement.

fuck.

"there she is," you heard a familiar silk-coated voice. rhys. you glanced over towards the sound, and found the high lord perched in an armchair next to your bed.

"rhys," you spoke hoarsely. he stood then, approaching your side with feline grace.

he smiled down at you, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"quite a fan of the dramatics, aren't you, y/n," he teased soothingly, taking a seat on the side of your mattress gently. "you had all of us frightened half to death," he added, surveying your face as he took note of your current state.

you groaned quietly, raising a hand to feel at your throat. it was obviously bruised - you didn't need to see it to know that.

"azriel," you whispered hoarsely, shaking your head to yourself. you were safe, so surely azriel must be too ... right? the thought of anything otherwise had your stomach lurching. you felt for the bond, felt for azriel's presence, and were met with emptiness - just like you had been until the daemati attacked.

"azriel is just fine, y/n," rhys spoke gently, a knowing tone in his voice. "i heard you, that day in the forest. i arrived just in time. it took a few days, but...," he trailed off, moving a strand of hair from your face, "but i was able to completely heal az from the damage the daemati caused," he finished, letting out an exhale.

you felt tears springing to your eyes immediately, unable to control your reaction to the news. "i'm so sorry, rhys," you choked out, a shaky breath escaping through your nose.

"now, now," he soothed, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. "none of that, none of that at all," he continued, eyes softening as he met your broken gaze.

"you did nothing wrong, y/n. you stayed at the side of your mate, even in the face of lethal danger. you summoned me," he paused for a moment, watching you.

"you didn't allow him to experience that alone. and while you staying there may not have been the ... most wisest ... thing to do," rhys teased, referencing your last conversation amongst the two males, "i still commend you. i, myself, have not made the smartest decisions where feyre's safety is concerned," he wiped another tear threatening to cascade onto your sheets.

you let out a watery laugh at his teasing, shaking your head.

"he hates me, rhys," you whispered, eyes finding the ceiling once more.

rhys let out a dry chuckle at your statement, sighing to himself.

"on the contrary, y/n, i think you'll find that az feels the complete opposite," he whispered, voice lilting.

you met his gaze, eyes narrowing.

just then, there was a gentle knock on your bedroom door. one that was made with the intention to not disturb your sleeping, healing form.

the door opened, and azriel crept in, wings pulled together against his back in order to avoid jostling any of your shelved belongings. he was trying to be as silent as possible, not yet aware that you were awake.

"i brought a glass of water, rhys, just in case she wak-," his words caught in his throat once his eyes made their way to yours. your opened, very awake, eyes.

"i have some very important paperwork to attend to," rhys spoke. "numbers to run, high lord duties - things of that nature," he grinned slyly, removing himself from your beside and strutting towards the door. he turned back towards you before leaving, bowing his head once. "i'm glad that you're okay, y/n. please let me know if you need anything," he said gently, before making his exit.

azriel still stood off to the side, frozen. his eyes were fused to the bruise that spanned your throat - a bruise that was in the shape of his own hand.

"hi," you whispered hoarsely, clearing your throat.

"i'm so....- i am so fucking sorry, y/n," azriel whispered, stunned. his grip tightened around the glass of water in his hand, and you were momentarily concerned that it may splinter under the pressure.

"az," you began to speak, scooting your body up against the row of pillows propped behind you. "we both know that none of this is your fault. you fought it, i saw-," you pleaded, eyebrows cinched.

"no," he cut you off, voice stern, but quiet.

"no," he repeated, stepping towards you. "i should have never allowed rhysand to send you out on a mission this dangerous. there is no excuse. i could have killed...", he trailed off, approaching you almost hesitantly, as if he were scared to get too close. "i could have killed you," he finished, voice strained and full of regret.

you shook your head, reaching for him now, and he approached you. a moth to a flame. he set the glass of water down and allowed you to take his hand. the same one that was wrapped around your neck just days ago.

"this hand, a hand that i find so beautiful, this hand that belongs to you - my mate - would have never done this to me. and i know that," you whispered, tearing up once more.

he dropped his head, wings drooping - the very tips touching the floor.

he squeezed your hand once, sitting on your bedside dejectedly.

"i heard you," he whispered after a short pause. "i heard you begging me to stop. i just couldn't -,"

"i know," you cut him off, not wanting him to spiral into a pit of despair that would engulf him entirely.

his shadows began to lazily twirl around him, a few breaking away from his body in favor of worrying over you instead.

he loosed a deep breath, staring at the floor for awhile. you allowed him to ponder, think through all of the horrible events of the last few days. as awful as your attack was, you couldn't begin to imagine the toll it took on azriel. his mind was infiltrated, ripped apart, and his body was no longer his. you could not even fathom it.

"the daemati made me attack you because he knew we were mates. he sensed the bond. and ...-," he trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief, "he knew how important your safety was to me. he got into my head, and into my thoughts. he saw how important you are," he whispered, finding your eyes.

your eyes shut, a tear escaping from the corners. he reached out a hand, a sure hand.

he wouldn't allow another moment to pass where he wanted to touch you, but held himself back.

you felt him wipe the tears away, his touch so gentle, it made your chest ache.

"i am sorry, you know," you whispered, sniffling. "i'm sorry for all the shit i've given you. i truly never resented the mating bond as much as i let on. it was just-...", you shook your head, eyes fluttering open once more to find his honeyed gaze. "it was a defense mechanism, because i knew you didn't want the bond, didn't want me, and i didn't want to look stupid - pining after a male that was ashamed of me," you rushed out, cheeks tinting pink at the confession.

his brows furrowed, and he huffed out a breath as he shook his head slowly, "y/n," he started, letting out this dry ghost of a laugh - although it lacked any humor. "no, that's not it at all. i was ... elated, to learn that you were my mate. but i thought that you wouldn't want me. after all this time, i'd come to terms with the fact that i would never ... never find my mate. our paths wouldn't cross, or i'd somehow get myself killed before i could find her," he paused for a moment, shaking his head. "but, no. i was ecstatic. especially because it was you. so full of fire and strength. beautiful - agonizingly so. your excitement for life radiates from your very core. i was, and still am, so proud to have been paired with you. i couldn't have chosen anyone better," he admitted, his eyes soft and full of adoration.

you were absolutely crying now, and your grip on his hand tightened as you let out a soft sob.

"we're such idiots," you croaked out, a hand coming up to cover your eyes.

he let out a soft laugh then, his own eyes becoming watery.

"perfect for each other. two idiot mates," he offered, a real, true smile spreading across his dimpled cheeks.

you laughed along with him, bringing his scarred knuckles up to your lips to nuzzle along them softly. the action made azriel still for a moment, and you felt an overwhelming wave of full, adoring emotions and bright, fizzling warmth hurdle directly into your chest. his emotions. he'd opened his side of the bond once more, but this time, for a very different reason. your wide eyes found his, and you returned the sentiment. you sent every ounce of love, unbridled and true, right into his chest. his breathing became ragged, his bottom lip quivering at the feeling. he was so loved, and gods, so were you.

you tugged on that golden string that was directly connected to the pit of his chest, tied right around his heart. he leaned towards you on instinct, and he knew at that moment that he would follow wherever you led him.

"my mate," he whispered, reaching down to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

you tilted your head up slightly, your full lips finding his own.

"finally," you whispered against his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to his waiting lips.

a/n: well, this one took 3 hours and cracked me in half along the way. if you made it this far, pls lmk what you thought! thanks for reading <3

#acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #azriel fluff #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x you

1K notes · View notes

seonghwaddict · 9 months ago

Text

to taint your soul — choi san

in which apparently even the daughter of an exorcist is not safe from the corruption of an incubus.

incubus!choi san x exorcist’s daughter!fem!reader. genre. smut, angst, southern gothic vibes. warnings. barely any plot, religious themes, religious guilt, swearing, explicit sexual content mdni, corruption, loss of virginity, masturbation (f.), referenced dacryphilia, fingering, referenced oral (f.), manhandling?, multiple orgasms, rough and gentle, big dick!san, creampie, marking, nicknames (angel, pretty girl, sweet girl, sweetheart). wc. 7.3k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. i should do more mythological characters!ateez cuz i enjoyed writing this and the lamb and the wolf. the demonology book/text here is partially from The Encylopedia of Demons and Demonology by Rosemary Ellen Guiley, but i made up some parts for the sake of the story. THIS FIC DOES NOT REPRESENT ANY OF MY OPINIONS AND I DO NOT INTEND TO OFFEND ANYONE.

listening to. burning desire, lana del rey // gibson girl, ethel cain // lilies, ethel cain & mercy necromancy // ptolemaea, ethel cain // heaven, taemin

masterlist.

you were cursed from the moment you were born.

the idea of being cursed or haunted by anything isn’t one you think about often, considering yourself protected by your father’s profession. at least one dusty bible on every bookshelf in the colonial monstrosity that is your home and crucifixes hung all around, it seems to be common sense that an exorcist’s home would be the safest place to hide from the dark.

unaware of it all, you used to let yourself be tucked into your lace-trimmed bedsheets as he pulled you to sleep with stories. tales of fallen angels and possessed souls became the lullabies of your childhood. admittedly, you were quite terrified of it all, but as you grew older and wiser, you realised there was no way they could get to you. but really, it was wishful thinking.

you weren’t aware of who your father used to be, nor were you aware of the debt he owed to a particular demon.

the dreams started the night after your twentieth birthday, vivid and unsettling. a man haunted them, equally as terrifying as he was handsome. tall and clad in dark silks, his whispered words and hungry eyes intrigued you. his touch, though a figment of your imagination, sent shivers down your spine, foreign yet infinitely alluring. you’d wake up with a jolt, panting, flushed cheeks and tingling skin as the dream stuck to you like cobwebs. your father passed the repeated dreams off as nightmares and you failed to notice the flash of fear cross his features.

one night, however, you were changing in your room. dimly illuminated by multiple candles you set around since you didn’t like how bright the large chandelier was, you held a dress in each of your hands, standing in front of the mirror as you held the clothing to your body in an attempt to figure out what to wear. you didn’t notice at first, but a figure lurked in the shadows of the bedroom. you didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere or the flicker of the candles.

but soon, a soft sigh sounded through the room, so soft it could’ve been mistake for a whistling breeze outside your window. goosebumps prickled at your skin as you tensed, refusing to move at the oddly human sound. staring at yourself in the mirror intently, you caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the reflection of your mirror. your breath hitched as you fixed your eyes on him, afraid that if you blinked, he’d disappear.

you watched him. watched him take slow steps towards you as he smirked at the sight of your wide, fearful yet infinitely pure and innocent eyes. you convinced yourself you were hallucinating, the disturbingly realistic sounds of his footsteps as much of a figment of imagination as his being. but as he stood right behind you, a coldness swept over your skin and you flinched as his breath fanned against your bare shoulder. whipping around in surprise, you yelped softly at the sensation. but he was gone, and you were alone. breath erratic and eyes stinging, you scrambled to move a wooden cross stand from the top of your dresser to your bedside table.

after that you grew paranoid, always looking over your shoulder, sleeping with at least two safe and reliable candles lit. each time you walked through the hallways of your own home, you kept your gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to look at the portraits lining the dark walls as you thought they were watching you. the tiniest of sounds made you flinch and break a sweat, squeezing your eyes shut and muttering prayers, only to find out the sound came from either of your parents.

the constant state of fear and anxiety left you tired, deciding if your father wasn’t going to do anything about it, you would. on quiet feet, you crept through the halls at noon (you were too scared to go to that room at night), a rosary wrapped around your hand with a dainty little cross hanging from your clenched palm.

you father really was a well-known exorcist, often to go on trips within and beyond the country to treat what doctors couldn’t; demonic possessions. as a symbol of his successes and a means to prevent others from coming in contact with whatever a demon may have attached itself to, he brought home trophies and locked them in a little storage room in the basement. of course, he took many precautions—crucifixes all over the inside and outside, sprinkles of holy water here and there, he’d have your local priest come over and bless the area himself. despite all this, you never once stepped in, partially because your father advised you not to, mostly because you were completely and utterly terrified.

as you descended the creaking wooden stairs, a chill ran through you, the hairs at your nape standing in alert. maybe you were scaring yourself more than the room scared you. the dust tickled your nostrils, making you force down a sneeze as you cleared your throat. the wooden floorboards extended into a narrow hallway, lined by cobblestone walls. you rarely came down, in fact, you couldn’t remember the last time you were there, the surroundings seeming so foreign. there were only two doors, one leading to a storage closet and the other to a slightly scarier storage closet.

you stared up at the ominous door, standing tall and intimidating, a golden cross embossed right in the centra, doorknob dark and rusted. with shaky hands, you fished a copper from the hidden pocket of your plaid gown. it half-hearted a few sloppy attempts until you got the key in, squeezing your eyes shut as you force yourself to finally turn it.

another chill ran through your body as you push the door open weakly, cracking an eye open to look inside. had you come at night, you wouldn’t have been able to see anything, the only source of light being an elongated shirt window lining the top of the right wall, an inch below the ceiling. three shelves. one on the right, one of the left, and one down the middle of the room. the middle and left one were lined with various objects. you walked between them, looking but not daring to touch. the objects were quite diverse, you realised. dolls, clocks, little statues.

you took your time to get to the shelf you needed. along with these objects, you father also locked away any books he had that were related to demons in any way. most of them were confiscated from cults, some of their were from his personal collection. he claimed they were to protect you, and you didn’t completely disbelieve him. taking a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh, looking at all the titles. your fingertips ran over their leather bound spines, feeling the wrinkles and grooves. you knew there would be a lot, but as you looked upon the entire shelf, you estimated a good hundred-fifty books.

he organised them by categories. summoning, excommunication, identifying. identifying. that’s what you needed. you took a closer look at the section, nervousness fading briefly to be replaced by a faint taste of hope.

the encyclopaedia of demons and demonology.

deciding there had to be something in there, you pulled it out. the book itself was simple, bound in black leather. the cover was nothing special, just the title and author. by the looks of it, you’d be here for a while, seemingly at least three hundred pages long. you looked around the dark room, a small wooden desk was tucked into the corner though not a chair in sight. with a soft sigh, you walked over on weak knees, apprehensive about what you’d find in the book.

despite your father’s profession and all the bedtime stories, you never came in contact with demons or the spirit world. setting the book on the desk, you opened it to the index, having to squint to make out the text. but the next time you lifted your eyes off the page, a brass candle holder was tucked into the corner of the table.

you blinked. there was no way that was there before, but maybe you had just missed it. the pale yellow candle stood half melted, the hardened wax forming veins that ran down the sides and pooled in the brass bowl.

you held your breath momentarily before beginning to read through the a to z list of demons and other dark entities and their descriptions. you only skimmed, lingering on any that mentioned appearing in nightmares only to dismiss them when the rest of their descriptions didn’t match with your experience. surprised by just how much there was to read, you felt just a little curious, occasionally stopping to read extracts that had piqued your interest. it wasn’t until you got all the way to section i where something actually seemed to be helpful.

‘incubus—a lewd male demon who pursues women for sex. the incubus and his female counterpart, the succubus, visit women and men in their sleep, lie and press heavily upon them, and seduce them.’

you nearly missed it, continuing your skimming until the description registered, scrambling to turn back the page and reread it.

“oh.” you breathed at the realisation. that seemed to be the most accurate thus far, your finger tracing over the name as you furrowed your eyebrows and continued reading. the next paragraphs detailed how they’re conjured and where the name came from. you read some more.

‘incubi are especially attracted to women with beautiful hair, young virgins, chaste widows, and all “devout” females. nuns are among the most vulnerable and could be molested in the confessional as well as in bed. while the majority of women are forced into sex by the incubi, some of them submit willingly and even enjoy the act. it once was a common belief that women were more likely than men to be the sexual victims of demons, because women were inferior to men and less able to resist temptation.

incubi have enormous phalluses that—’

slamming the book shut, your eyes widened and a deep blush settled over your features, just staring at the cover for a moment as you collected yourself from the sudden vulgarity of the writing. after a moment, you cleared your throat and reopened the page, strategically skipping over the next paragraphs that detailed accounts of intercourse with such a demon.

‘an incubus may form attachments to those whose minds are occupied with dark and inherently sexual desires, those that are impure. one also can be summoned for coital gratifications, or a deal in which one’s first born is ommonly offered to repay their sevices (see: dealing with the demons, page 218).’

but that couldn’t be right. you always made sure to be a good girl, always helped at home. you volunteered to read to children at a local orphanage, always helped with charities and donations, always assisted people where you knew you could, stayed soft spoken and always began your requests with please and ended them with thank you. you kept to yourself most of the time, would never dare to raise your voice at anyone, never had any romantic interest, let alone sexual ones.

admittedly, the dreams involving the man— the demon had you waking up with an uncomfortable stickiness between your thighs. but before that, you never indulged. after that, you never indulged either, instead jumping from your bed and taking an ice could bath to calm yourself from the strange feeling. the temptations were always there and were always strong, but your want to be immaculate was stronger. to be free of sin.

a deal in which one’s first born is offered.

it seemed impossible, almost. you knew your father was a righteous man and your mother a pure woman. but where your mother happily shared stories of her childhood as heart-warming anecdotes, your father only dropped tidbits of his memories despite considering you two to be extremely close. you always chalked it up to him being a little boring or generally not very open. but maybe there was more to it…

“there you go, sweetheart.”

you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice, pushing the book away from you as you turned around a little too quickly, your knee knocking against the edge of the table.

there he stood, barely illuminated by the singular window as he took slow steps towards you much like the other day.

“so, you’ve finally figured it out, huh?”

each time he took a step, his muscles visible through the loose black silk, you inched away until the top of your thigh hit the wooden table, your hands bracing themselves on it to keep you from collapsing in fear. the closer he got, the more you realised just how attractive he was. broad-shouldered and radiating confidence, his feline eyes roamed over your figure. depite wearing a white gown that reached all the way down to your ankles, you felt so exposed.

tongue swiping along his bottom lip, drawing your attention to the action. he towered over you, making you feel weak and small as he trapped you against the table. your heart pounded against your ribcage and you feared it would break free and fall into his hands, unsure if the warmth on your cheeks and ump in your throat came from how utterly petrified you were or the way his breath fanned over your face like a whisper.

“your dearest father isn’t who he says he is,” he pouted mockingly, coming to a stop inches in front of you, letting his gaze settle on your quivering lips for a moment, “and me? well, you know what i am. and you also know we can have lots of fun if you allow it.”

your lips parted to speak but no words came out, instead opting to press them into a thin line and squeezing your eyes shut as you shook your head. you weren’t completely sure why you wer shaking your head, but if it would stop the incubus from tainting you, it was worth a try.

“don’t kid yourself, princess. i can smell how wet you are.” as if to emphasise his point, he inhaled deeply, leaning forward to ghost his nose over the slope of your neck without touching you.

it wasn’t until he said it that you notice you had been squeezing your thighs together, feeling warm all over and you stomach twisted in knots at the sound of his deep voice. something ached in your lower regions, but you tried your hardest to resist the thoughts.

but a little voice in the back of your head urged you to tilt your head back, to give him permission, to let his hands explore your untouched body. maybe just this once you could allow yourself to give in, to let your knees go weak and worry about begging for forgiveness later.

“all you have to do is drop the rosary.”

you gripped it tighter at the reminder of the protective object tangled between your fingers, fighting to keep your sanity intact. your breath hitched as you felt one of his fingers run along the beads, not daring to come close to the little silver cross or your skin.

“c’mon, pretty girl. drop it,” you heard the smirk in his voice, “let it go and i’ll take good care of you, i can make you feel things you’ve never thought of… i can make you feel alive, wouldn’t you love that? don’t you want to feel the desire? taste the lust?”

“n-no,” you gasped finally, finding your words, “it’s not right.“

he laughed, a low rumble from his chest, “i promise you’ll love being ruined by me,” he said, withdrawing his hand from yours, “i swear to all your precious little holy symbols, i know i can get you to want me.”

he moved closer and for a maddening moment you thought he was going to kiss you. faintly, you wanted him to. to feel the push of his lips against yours, to let his hands snake around your waist or grip your hips to pull you closer. there’s a ring on his index finger, you noticed, silvery and sharp, a symbol you didn’t recognise yet imagine him pressing it against your throat, branding your neck anew until it’s red and faithful. and maybe you crave for him to undo all the things in you that are holy.

“just drop it, pretty,” his breath teased your lips and you almost leaned forward in curiosity, wanting to see how just one kiss would feel, “i know you’re a good girl.”

those words. they’re almost enough for you to give in. how did he know those would strike a nerve, hit you where he knew it would work? not only did all your efforts ultimately lead to the same goal—purity, goodness—but you couldn’t deny the satisfaction you felt from reassurance. if you were an animal, you’d strive to be the priest’s favourite sacrificial lamb. to hold so very still and to bleed so prettily when the knife final comes down, to be reborn and be chosen all over again.

“don’t you get it?” he whispered, “i live inside you the same way you’re bound to live inside me. we’re a moebius strip, a never ending cycle of a snake eating it’s own tail. maybe it will end in destruction, but that’s your dear father’s doing. mutually assured destruction, maybe; you say yes, i’ll ruin you for everyone else, blacken the wool of your fur coat. you say no to me, i will suffer the consequences of not fulfilling a deal. you wouldn’t want someone to suffer because of you, hm?”

your grip on the rosary loosened and let your eyes finally flutter open. from this proximity, you could see every detail of his face and the image seared into your mind.

something in his eyes darkened as his lips curled, a playful smile, a predatory grin. the way he looked at you made you want to combust into flames, to fall to your knees, you skin rubbed raw on the ground as you beg him to make you feel.

“you don’t look so innocent anymore, you know? you’re docile and sweet, yes, but you’re not as pure as you think you are, there’s a little dirt in your pristine heart, a little lustful stain you can’t erase.”

“y-you’re wrong!” you protested, trying to convince yourself he was lying, “i’m good and i’ve always been good and i always will be good and i will not for the devil’s influence.”

“oh, but i’m not,” he pouted mockingly, moving his head back just an inch, looking down at you, “you’re practically shaking, so close to giving in… you’re the most pious girl here, yet you’re so close to sin, so close to me.”

you opened your mouth to continue your protests but flinched as you heard familiar heavy footsteps, looking up at the little window to see the familiar boots of your father about to enter the house after a long day of work. he was out, casting out malicious spirits and demons, and here you were, about to let one deflower you. the realisation seemingly made you come back to your senses, clenching the roary in your hand once more and looking for a way past him.

but… what would you even do afterwards? confront your father, the town’s devout exorcist, for making deals with the incubus in front of you? would he call you crazy, deny everything and treat you like just another one of his clients?

the footsteps were now above you, you could faintly hear him saying something to your mother though you couldn’t quite make out what it was. you’d never been as afraid of anything as you were of your own father, standing right above you, acting like he hadn’t damned you from the day you were conceived.

as if he could read your thoughts, could sense your panic that was completely unrelated to him, the incubus stepped back. his face was unreadable as his glazed over eyes fixated on you.

“don’t worry, sweet girl, i can wait. the longer you resist, the better it’ll feel when you finally surrender,” he gave you a small smile, different from the previous grins and smirks, as he nodded towards the window, “go.”

you could’ve run away the moment he stepped back, yet you didn’t move until he gave you the permission. you didn’t dwell on that fact as you slipped past him and reached up, shaky hands undoing the latch and opening outwards. you attempted to climb up, your arms burning as you tried lifting yourself, only to give up, panting softly from the effort.

“let me help you.” his voice offered, prompting you to look back at him. the seductive glint in his eyes was no longer there, taking a small step forward. “just… put it down, i promise i’ll help you and leave.”

you stared at him for a long moment. there was something so different in the way he looked at you now, suddenly soft and with good intentions. the voice of your father calling your name snapped you out of your stupor, nodding hurridely as you placed the rosary on the grass outside carefully before turning to look at him.

he gestured for you to turn away, your hands finding your hips as you did. the contact made you breath hitched, despite your layers of clothing between your curves and his hands, your stomach tickled with swarming butterflies as he lifted you up. the heat of his body behind yours distracted you for a moment, taken aback at how real he felt, how human he felt, even as he lifted you with ease.

you braced your forearms on the ground, pulling yourself up the rest of the way as he spoke.

“whisper my name three times, and i’ll be summoned wherever you are, ready to fulfill your needs.”

you stayed quiet for a moment, just sitting on the ground as you looked down at him, now able to see his full face clearning from his proximity to the window. “what’s your name?”

“san,” he smiled, “choi san.”

you loked away, up at your house as your father’s concerned voice called out your name again. “i should get going, but–,” you looked down to thank him, only to find an empty room and a sealed window. your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, voiced trailing off, “thank you…”

the first time you touched yourself, it was san you were thinking about.

late at night, your parents fast asleep, a storm ragin outside, but all you could do was think about him. you tried, you really did. you tried to go back in the house and pretend everything was fine, that you had just been on a walk and your flushed face was from the excercise. secretely, all you could think about was him. how you wanted him to show up again—wanted him to make your breath hitch and your heart jump. wanted him to soothe whatever it was that ached inside you; the burn in the pit of your stomach, the spot where your waist met your hips, but most of all between your legs, were it had never ached like this before.

you excused yourself from dinner earlier, went to bed, and tried so desperately to fall asleep. whether it was to forget about it all, or to meet him in your dreams again, you couldn’t tell. you really tried, but haunting thoughts of how his hands held onto you rolled into your mind with images of all the things he could do to you. the raspy lilt of his voice, sometimes soft, sometimes commanding in a way that made your limbs feel like jello at the mere thought of it. his sharp eyes and sharp jaw and such tempting lips. he could have a kind face if he wanted to, yet his toned body, visible and obvious despite trying to hide behind his clothing, screamed sex appeal.

flashes from your previous dreams raced through your mind too. fragments of images where you could feel his hands all over you, his dark hair sticking to his sweat forehead, eyes rolled back from the pleasure he gave himself while you were forced to watch. you never quite gave in in the dreams either.

you tossed and turned in your bed, thighs pressed together so tight you worried you’d have long bruises down your inner thighs the next morning. the new feeling felt much too large for your fragile mind, overwhelming you, making your loose clothes feel suffocating. it wouldn’t leave you alone, wouldn’t let you sleep. mostly because you didn’t want to give the feeling a name, you refused to speak its name, even in your mind, even if it could identify this feeling.

pent-up and strained, coiled into yourself in a foetal position, you could only roll onto your back and let your hand trail down your body, hiking up the long skirt of your nightgown before letting your fingers dip between your thighs, spread at the knees. you let out a shaky gasp as you felt the wetness pooled beneath your undergarments, clamping your other hand over your lips. after feeling around experimentally, your fingers found a quick pace, rubbing over your clit, more desperate than they had ever been. your hand muffled your gasped out moans and whimpers, tears pricking at your eyes—partly from the guilt, mostly from the pleasure. you felt your heart beat all over your body, most of all right below your moistened fingertips.

shaky breaths and muffled needy cries were covered by both your hand and the storm outside your window. if hurts a little, your clit swelling as more and more slick coats it and the knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter. but you don’t mind the pain, you think you deserve it, because after all, it’s forbidden and it’s not supposed to feel good. san is not supposed to make you feel so good. a demon was the one thing that wasn’t supposed to be on your mind, especially not in this way.

the thought of him made your hand move faster and suddenly your breath was stuttering and your core pulse as you finish quickly, biting down on your lip, hard enough to cut through the skin, to muffle your cries. when you came down from your high, you lay there for a few moments longer, heart racing as you glance at the door to make sure it was still closed. and when you realised what you had just done, shame clouded your lungs as you slipped your fingers out of your panties and raised them to your face.

your hands came away sticky. transparents webs of your pleasure linking your index and middle fingers together as you stared in horror before finally collecting yourself and jumping from your bed to scrub the sin from your hands in your bathroom.

you scrubbed until your fingers turned red and your palms raw, losing sensation from the ice cold water, the guilt sinking deeper and deeper the longer you took to cleanse your body. you hadn’t noticed the tears running down your cheeks until you stared at yourself in the mirror, sniffling and glossy-eyed. your body might be clean, but were you? if you wanted to be immaculate, how could you let yourself do such a thing?

it was his fault, really. him and his midnight eyes and electric touches and words that would drive you to madness, damnation.

you changed your panties and nightgown, burying them in your laundry basket as if you were burying the evidence of a crime. once done, you wanted nothing more than to sink into your bed and fall asleep. but as you stared at what you once thought was comforting, you could only think about your soft whimpers and shaking thighs. so you stripped your bed naked to decorate it anew with clean sheets and blankets and pillows, shoving the previous ones under your bed before finally falling into a deep sleep.

shame followed you like a pest for the next days, unable to properly smile because all you could think about was what you had done. and what you wanted to do. a heavy melancholy washed over you in these days, confining yourself to your room when ou didn’t have to come down for meals. if your parents picked up on it, they didn’t say anything. maybe they knew. what if they know?

maybe they didn’t say anything because they knew about san. perhaps they thought it was fate, that you would give in sooner or later. despite cracking a bit, you stood by your conviction that you wouldn’t, no matter what, summon him.

but… was he really so bad? had you not seen a moment of softness when he helped you? demons were, after all, fallen angels. could it really be so impossible he still had a sprinkle of previous angeilc qualities? silently, you were thankful he hadn’t showed up on his own again. if he did, you were afraid you’d throw away all sense of faith and throw yourself into his arms, let him kiss you and lick you and suck you and bite you and everything in between.

despite all this, despite not wanting to summon him, you couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling weighing you down with each step. it had been there before—before whatever happened in the basement—dragging your seemingly heavy limbs through vacant hallways. but when he touched you, when his fingertips brushed against yours as he touched the shiny black beads of your rosary even though he didn’t mean to, when his hands lifted you into the air and helped you escape, the way he talked to you, his words and tone, that unsettling feeling had been lifted off your shoulders.

you noticed, for a brief moment, when you spent that short amount of time with him, you had no desire to think of god or rules or expectations. even if it was for a split second, it happened, and perhaps that what terrified you the most. just wanted to be, something you hadn’t been allowed for so long.

so when your parents said they’d be out late for some dinner you had no interest in attending, you paced around your room, deep in thought as your typical long nightgown tickled your ankles. millions of thoughts raced through your kind but, at the core, they were all the same. san, san, san. you felt like he had attached himself to your very soul, and you’re not quite sure how it happened.

without thinking, you stopped your pacing, glancing at the crucifix on your bedside table, a reminder. you couldn’t take it anymore, reaching out to take the wooden symbol and hide it in your closet. was it really wrong if it was still there, only trapped behind the wooden double doors, nestled between your skirts and shirts and gowns and gowns? out of sight, you felt less bad about what you were going to do.

your eyes squeezed shut and you did as he told you to, lips parting to whisper his name thrice. almost instantly, a gust of wind blew through your room and you knew there was someone else there with you. your eyes remained shut until you heard footsteps stalking towards you, his familiar voice filling the eerie silence of the room.

“hello, angel,” he grinned, borderline menacing, as he backed you up against your dresser. much like before, you were trapped, the back of your thighs pressed against the wood. only this time, you weren’t afraid, “i knew you’d give in sooner rather than later.”

you didn’t reply, didn’t know how to reply, only breathing shallowly, fingers curling into the edge of your dresser as you glanced from his eyes to his lips repeatedly.

“you need to give me permission, you know,” he chuckled, tilting his head to the side, “there are rules for deals such as these.”

“please.” you breathed, somewhere between a whisper and a needy whine as your round eyes looked up at him so desperately.

as soon as the word left you, his lips were on yours. hungry, devouring you, sucking on your bottom lip like it’s a candy as you can’t help but melt and whimper against him. his hand found your cheek, the touch surprisingly soft compared to the madness of his kisses. your heart rattled against your ribcage like a bird wanting to escape its confines. his saccharine saliva seeped into your mouth as his tongue broke past your lips, running over your teeth and the roof of your mouth as you let him do whatever he wanted.

his hands are all over you and yours are all over him, grabbing at each other because there was no way to get any closer like this. your thoughts, unlike before, are completely quiet, head empty and drunk on the sloppy kisses, mouthfuls of teeth clashing against each other. he was supposed to be gentle, he wanted to be gentle, yet now you’re pressed against the dresser and he’s kissing you hard.

it was wrong, but it felt too good. that was clear from the moment your kisses turn open-mouthed, lips clinging and tongues dancing. you shivered as both his hands held you by your hips once more, lifting you to sit on the edge of the oak furniture, caressing your hips bones through the thin fabric of your dress.

your hands rug at his shirt lightly, a silent plea for him to remove it, wanting to see and feel every inch of his divine body. he complies, separating his lips from your to reach over his shoulder and grip the silky shirt from the back, pulling it over his head, tossing it aside. your hands explore his naked torso, fingernails scratching along his skin as he loses himself in the taste of your kisses.

his hands dragged the long skirt of your gown up your legs, fingers ghosting over the supple skin of your calves and thighs before letting the cloth bunch up at your hips, winding your legs around his waist before lifting you off the dresser. you cling to him the way the thought of him cling to you for so long before this as he carries you. he lays you down gently, your head spinning as he kneeled on the edge of your bed and leaned over you, moving his lips from yours to mouth at your neck.

his hot breaths dance along your skin, across your collarbone, neck, pressing wet kisses down to the fabric covering your chest. you gasped softly as he brushed his teeth against your skin, a reminded that he could really break you if he wanted, but the feel of his lips against the curve of your neck, testing out the waters of your shoulder, made the intimidating thought vanish.

he teases the skin just above your neckline with nibbles that have you throwing your head back with soft whimpers, only encouraging him as his left hand kept one of your legs hitched up against his hips and his right undid the ribbons at the back of your dress. the fabric loosens and slips around, one sleeve falling over your shoulder slightly as he sat you up a little and pulled the dress over your head, discarding it and leaving you in your white ruffled bra and panties.

you’re dizzy, delirious with thirst—for his touch, his kisses, for everything his sharp lips could give you, for him to relieve the ache between your legs. you shiver as you’re left bare, nipples peaking through your bra, undergarments barely hiding your most precious parts. you try covering yourself with shaking arms, despite the little fabric still be there, but his hands move them aside, pulling them to rest on his bare chest. his eyelids flutter for a moment at the contact, your hands so much colder than his.

he leans back to look at your, hand at your back winding around to massage a handful of one breast, watching your breath hitch. “such a pretty girl, and all for me.”

“san…” you whimper aimlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“such an angel,” he teases again, thumb circling over your clothed nipple lightly, grinning at how helpless you looked, “supposedly protected by your father, by god, yet here you are, practically begging for a demon to fuck you.”

he presses himself closer and you can feel the thick and heavy weight of his cock smudge against your core, gasping softly as you eyes roll back, his tip prodding against the fabric covering your sensitive clit. his name falls from your lips once again, like a softly uttered prayer as you back arches. he takes the opportunity to undo the clasp of your bra, slipping the item off you before continuing to tease your perked nipples, leaning down to lick and suck at them as his hips grind against yours. you weren’t sure when he took off his pants, but you didn’t quite care, not when his impressive girth covered your core so well. sometimes the tip would dip into your entrance before leaving just as quickly, your toes curling as it stretched you and your panties.

he moans into your neck, grinding against you at just the right pace, his precum smearing all over you already-drenched panties. the feeling of his tip prodding at you clit so continuously makes you come quickly, and much harder than the other night when you touched yourself. you writhe beneath him, shaking and crying out his name as your back arches from the bed.

“hm, you’re so much prettier like this, angel, succumbing and throwing away any desire of virtue,” he mutters against your jaw, having sucked dark marks onto the skin right below it, his deep melodic voice.

angel. the way he calls you that makes you shiver. how could he do that? call you an angel while plucking out the feathers of the wings you’d once had?

when he enters you, it’s slow and deliberate, leaning down to whisper into your ear as he presses your hands into the white mattress—”heaven itself could not make you feel like this.”

“i’ve never… you know…” you had admitted shyly once you came down from the first orgasm he coaxed out of you.

he only chuckled, caressing your cheek. “i know. virgins always smell the sweetest.”

you pleaded for him to be gentle, and how could he say no when you were begging so prettily? now his length is barely halfway inside you and you’re already shaking, drenched and deprived pussy squeezing him tightly as he swallows down your broken moans, holding back him own. you feel abnormally good to him, unable to remember the last time he fucked such a perfect pussy.

as he reaches previously untouched parts of you, his tip brushes against a spongey little area that has you clenching, your breath hitching followed by a gasped moan as you come again. stars flood your vision, feeling like your body was on fire as your hands tightened under his. his tongue licks up every one of your sounds, smothering you as he pulled back a bit to press against the spot some more.

your moans soon turn into soft whines, twitching from overstimulation before he fially continues to enter you. it’s a tight fit, but he bottoms out eventually.

“fuck- you take me so well, you’re so perfect.” he groans, looking down at where he can see his tip bulging through your stomach.

you never imagined just how full you would feel, the stretch burning yet somehow still pleasurable as you squirm beneath him. he doesn’t wait, retracting and fucking into you slowly, letting you feel every curve and vein of his perfect cock.

he loses track, but he thinks he’s made you finish 4 times already. he’s not surprised, virginity leaves most people sensitive, and the fact he’s been teasing you in and out of your dreams for months likely didn’t help. san revels in it though, basks in the sounds you try to hold back so desperately. he isn’t lying when he says you’re pretty, hypnotised by your face contorted in pleasure and your body, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. they somehow still have an innocent glint in them, even as he manoeuvres you into different positions before finally easing you into your back once more.

you arousal is smeared all over yourself and him and the bedsheets. clear and sticky, glistening in the candlelight. at some point he slipped out of you to lean down and have a taste, groaning as you mewed above him. when his teeth grazed your abuser clit, you finish once again and a moment later he’s back inside you.

eventually, his hips stutter and a newfound pace takes over. “shit, angel, i’m gonna fill you up so good. would you like that?”

you can only nod frantically, brain turned to mush, jaw dropped to let out your lazy whimpers. you’ve lost track of everything but him; his touch, his voice, his influence. if you parents walked in or he disappeared, you’d only be able to lay there, completely helpless.

he never really stops, taking his time to worship your tight hole, knowing he’ll only be able to stop when he comes. though, by the looks of it, it’ll be sooner rather than later.

his groans and moans sound blissful in your ears, holding your name between his teeth with a low whimper. he spills his tick warm cum into you, the new sensation making you shake and squirm as you feel your insides being filled. another orgasm washed over you, though a little weaker, drunk on his scent and his saliva and him him him.

he kisses you, bruisingly, slipping out of yoh and letting you feel his seed seep out of your hole and run down your thighs, pussy coated in milky white. he slumps against you, detaching his lips from yours to gaze down at your barely open eyes.

it’s tiring, you can’t deny that, but it just feels so good. all your disgusting, fucked up thoughts were because of him. and now your most intimate parts will always be tainted by his hands. he calls you ‘good girl,’ yet you know you’ll never be good again.

choi san: voice like silk, touch like satin, incubus, demon. you’d think demons kill people, but your purity was his only homicide. he murdered your virginity. murderer.

but you do wish for him to kiss you again.

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet @atzhouse

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

fic taglist. @ta3baee @juyofans @sourkimchi @desirehorizon @revepixy @yungilia @cntlyv @mcendpoet @kimseungminsprincess @cookiechristie @bluesunpurplestar1117 @vnessalau @k1ttym0nkey @kyeomooniee @aarzoo-2 @pinkgirly-18-blog @yourfatherlucifer @puddingjongho @futuresoffantasies @reallywingedland @spenceatiny18 @im-def-not-ok @hwapou @a1sh1teruu @lover-ofallthingspretty @arabelleum @hoshiseon @guggu6gvai @seongsbf @honggatito @deltamoon666 @yunhoszn @1-800-fuccthisshit

#cromernet #wonderlandnet #cultofdionysusnet #pirateeznet #atzhouse #ateez #ateez x reader #choi san smut #san x reader #san reactions #san imagines #san smut #san fluff #san angst #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez fluff #ateez smut

2K notes · View notes

ceilidho · 28 days ago

Text

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl.

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head.

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint.

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew.

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent.

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence.

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent.

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time.

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission.

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from.

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful.

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?”

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words.

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare.

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation.

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig.

“It’s not about that,” you croak.

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours.

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly.

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden.

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out.

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her.

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance.

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers.

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction.

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers.

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening.

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head.

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much.

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe.

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence.

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously.

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal.

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway.

But he does have a scent.

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing.

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm.

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.

Something is very wrong.

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door.

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now.

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours.

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold.

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height.

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

#ceil writing #cod x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you

595 notes · View notes

cattatoir · 1 year ago

Text

Hey is someone gonna explain

i think rich ppl should stop buying mega yachts and mansions and other boring shit and instead they should funnel money into their own production companies to make quasi-pornographic gay romance shows starring themselves as the leads

#this cannot be common knowledge #I gather he’s some guy making BL Korean shows but???#honestly going where Tosca musk fears and yearns to tread I think is what I am getting here #are there enough of these people for an alignment chart #tumblr #**apologies correction this is apparently about Thai dramas #which does make more sense

11K notes · View notes

crescenthistory · 11 days ago

Note

Hello, may i request a prompt "are we friends?" between f!reader and the slytherin skittles? Where the reader used to attend Ilvermorny but had trauma from it (like bullying and fallout with friends). So she doesn’t want to intrude on the friendship that the skittles already have. Oh and they’re all in their sixth year. Thank you 🙏

hi lovely, thank you for this cute concept<33 i didn't explicitly emphasise what your past at ilvermorny was to leave it dubious and open to every reader

Prompt: F.3 "Are we friends?"

Words: 2.2k

Warnings/tags: gn!reader, use of y/n, ilvermorny!reader (no specified nationality), implied troubled background at ilvermorny, mental illness/insecurity shown through reader's pov, odd friendship dynamics, found family, intended as platonic!slytherin skittles x reader but can be read as romantic if you want<3

You weren't entirely sure what happened.

One day you were being thrown into what felt like a wild zoo filled with any and every kind of person you could possibly imagine, clad in dark robes and chattering around in hundreds of different accents, and you were decidedly determined to isolate yourself away from the masses and live a solitary life at Hogwarts.

The next, you were sitting in the library and the same group of Slytherins that sat with you yesterday – and strangely the day before that, and the day before that – plopped down around you and made themselves at home. As if this was simply the norm, as if it was a given that their seat was the one beside you.

You weren't offended or uncomfortable, necessarily, but you were certainly... confused. You didn't mind them being there, yet their presences were strange to you and you could not make sense of this disconnect in your mind.

When you arrived at Hogwarts a month ago, you had felt nothing short of publicly humiliated when you were brought up to the Sorting Hat after the ocean of 11 year-olds had been passed through it for the past hour. It was apparently not a common occurrence that students transferred in from other schools, especially not Ilvermorny, and there was no protocol for how to handle it. Instead of taking your Ilvermorny house into consideration and putting you in the Hogwarts house that most closely resembled it, Dumbledore himself had decided that this jittery 7th year student go through the same process as everyone else.

McGonnagall had pitied you enough to grab your shoulder before you went up to whisper to you, "The hat is your friend, not foe, Mx. L/N. Do not fear it."

With entirely too many eyes on you, you climbed the steps and gingerly sat down on the seat. Unlike with the kids, the Sorting Hat fit you rather snuggly, leaving you unfortunately without the much sought after shelter of the brim.

You solved the solution by looking down in your lap, trying not to visibly startle when a voice spoke in your mind.

Transfer student, huh? Haven't had one of you in a while. Most certainly interesting...

You reminded yourself friend not foe and closed your eyes, trying to will the hat to be merciful and grant you reprieve. To put you in a house where you can get what you need – solitude, privacy, quiet. It was just a year. You could go through a year if you were just left alone.

To your shock – though perhaps it shouldn't have been – the hat responded to your thoughts.

What you need, you say? Well, I do believe I can help in that regard. Keep your mind open, dear one.

The next word the hat spoke was out loud, not in your mind – it yelled out "SLYTHERIN". At the time, you didn't know whether to be relieved, confused or terrified. Unbeknownst to you, a certain group of 7th year Slytherins sitting at the end of the long table had shared curious looks and wide grins upon the announcement.

Those Slytherins were the very same strewn around you today, on various furniture all surrounding the same large oak table that was almost invisible beneath all your parchments and books.

You were sitting on one end of a settee, legs crossed and wrists resting on the table, somewhat jittery. On the other side sat Regulus Black in a similar position, his face as impassive as ever and turned down into a book that you were quite confident was not in the curriculum. Opposite you on a similar sofa, Barty Crouch Jr. laid upside down, with his legs thrown over the back of the sofa and his neck craning in a way that simply could not be comfortable where it rested on the seat. Pandora Rosier was sitting cross-legged on the ground beside Barty's head, braiding a dozen tiny braids into his hair, mixing black and acid green strands together absentmindedly. Her twin brother Evan Rosier was pretending to ignore whatever Barty was talking about as he did his homework, but you could see how his ears were perked up. Lastly, Dorcas Meadowes sat on an armchair beside the settees, twirling her wand and looking every bit like she was thinking of something she shouldn't.

You would be the first to admit that they were interesting people. In another life, perhaps you would even spend time together on purpose – but now, above all else one might want to know about them, you wanted to know why they were here.

It had started by them making space for you on the Slytherin table that first day, and afterwards they always left an open space there. Not asking, not demanding; it was as if they were just assuming you would sit there. And you didn't know where else to sit, so you did. Then the same thing happened in your classes – you sat down at an empty table, and before you knew it, one of them was taking the empty seat beside you.

There was never any proper introductory conversation, never any invitation into a friendship, yet they found you everywhere. It was not as if they didn't talk to you when they were there, though; from the very beginning, they were cracking jokes with and around you and roping you into their odd conversations. Learning more about you as you went instead of interrogating you on the spot.

It was sudden and unexpected and you didn't know what to do about it.

"Then I told him precisely where he could shove it and– are you even listening to me?" Barty cut himself off to look accusatory at Evan, whose eyebrow was now quirked up while his eyes remained trained on his parchment.

"Hm?" Evan asked absentmindedly, though you were almost entirely sure it was just to rile the other boy up.

Evan was usually successful in such endeavors, and this was no exception, judging by the shrieking gasp that escaped Barty. "You absolutely bloody wanker, how dare you– this is a good story!"

"Maybe," Evan drawled. "But it lost its charm around the third time I heard it."

Barty whipped his head sideways to stare daggers into Evan. "Salazar's soggy balls, this is a new story, I swear." He then rolled his head backwards to look at you upside down, pinning you to the seat with the same accusatory tone. "You were listening to me, right Treasure?"

You made a reluctant face. "Sorry, I didn't realise you were talking to me."

Barty let out a theatrical huff and threw his hands up in the air for effect, nearly hitting Pandora on the way, causing Evan to give his wrist a slap, still without looking. "Of course I was talking to you – I'm talking to you all. By Merlin, you're all awful friends."

Though Barty continued on with his grumbling, you felt frozen in place by his last word. Before you could think more of it, the words tumbled out of your mouth. "We're what now?"

Dorcas tilted her head to the side, looking between you and Barty. "Oh, he didn't mean it Y/N, he's just a loudmouthed arse. You're still getting used to it."

"I resent that." Barty pointed at Dorcas as he spoke before he grabbed one of Evan's parchments, curled it up into a ball and threw it at Dorcas. "I'll have you know, I'm a fucking delight."

You were unaffected by their banter, eyes still narrowed at the lot of them, trying to decipher and understand what the hell was going on.

"You're thinking hard." Regulus remarked from your right, finally looking up at his book. At his rare contribution to conversation, Evan and Pandora seemed to perk up as well, and you suddenly felt entirely too much like you were being stared down. It was worse than the Sorting Hat.

"I–" you began, but cut yourself off and pressed your lips together with furrowed brows. "You think we're friends?"

Whatever they expected your answer to be, that did not seem to be it, based on their empty gazes. Dorcas reared her head backwards just a little, while Barty did a full body spin to land him in a mostly-upright position on the sofa – this time Evan yanked Pandora out of reach of Barty's swinging legs.

"What do you mean, do I think we’re friends?" Barty questioned then, almost offended. "Don’t pull my leg, why else would we be here? Either way, what I was trying to say–"

Barty's rant was once again cut off, this time simply by Dorcas holding up one hand in his direction while her eyes remained dutifully trained on you. "Love, did you not think we're friends?" she asked. Her voice was so painfully gentle, so caring, that you wanted to shy away from it, to pack up your bag and run and hide.

You realised that that was not a possibility. Instead, you tried to shrug as casually as you could and not let your emotions show. "Well, why would we be? We don't know each other, do we?"

You dared a glance sideways to see Regulus looking at you with a seemingly unimpressed expression, but you saw the twitch in the corner of his mouth. Evan opposite you, though, was not hiding his wide grin whatsoever. "Don't we know each other, love?" he asked then, seemingly partially smug.

"Yeah, if you don't know me, that is because you lot of wankers never listen. But I most certainly know you, L/N." Barty gestured with his finger in your general direction, as if he was preaching, which Evan yet again slapped away – though in favour of pulling Barty closer into his side.

"You don't know me," you tried, voice shaky yet growing somewhat frustrated with the situation.

"Of course we do," Dorcas intercepted. "I know you loathe breakfast but adore dinner. I know you prefer tea over coffee, I know that you like the sweets from back home better than those from Honeydukes."

"And I know that you're ridiculously patient, both with randos you're paired up with in class and with us, your friends," Barty added with a deadpan. "I know your real laughter is a very cute snort. I know you dislike being pranked but enjoy watching them play out, which is why we never play them on you but always around you."

"You're kind and you're bloody bright," Evan said with a nod, as if this was a natural conclusion. “Your best subjects are all of my worst ones, which is a joy. Watching your passion for them is the most enjoyable, though.”

"And you're peculiar just like us." Pandora finally spoke up with a smile on her lips and a glint in her eye. "That's why we go so well together – we're the same."

At some point in their conversation with you, your mouth fell open as you listened to them recount everything they had picked up about you over the past few weeks. The moment didn't feel real, it felt fabricated by some awfully optimistic and naive six year old still living in your mind, one that was readily crushed long before your transfer. You didn't realise they had noticed you so much.

You're brought out of your stupor by Regulus' quill being poked into your side, demanding your attention. You turned your head to find the twitch of his lip had turned into a small, knowing smile. "Even if we don't know everything about where you've been, we know who you are. You don't need to tell us anything for us to understand that."

"Yeah, what he said!" Barty exclaimed with glee, kicking his feet up onto the sofa as he leaned his entire weight on Evan.

“Even before we knew anything about you, we were friends.” Pandora was looking out through a window, seemingly in thought and awfully happy at being so. “In a way, we’ve always been friends, I suppose. When it just works like this.”

You weren’t always sure you understood what Pandora meant, but this time, you felt it in your heart.

"Sorry love, but you're kind of stuck with us now. Should have sat with someone else on your first day." Dorcas shot you a wink at that, and something in your chest seemed to snap into place.

Even when you were asking an awkward question, the atmosphere never changed – there was no pity here, no judgment, just... kinship.

Friendship.

At last, you let a smile begin to bloom from within you, one which you immediately saw reflected back at you in your five new friends.

"No, actually, I don't think I should have."

355 notes · View notes

redflagshipwriter · 10 months ago

Text

Hot Ghouls in your area ch 6

Masterpost

Danny felt like something scraped off the pavement. Through an act of absolutely heroic willpower (and outright fear of Jazz trying to help him rebalance his workload) he made it through his morning classes.

He staggered away from campus, brain buzzing tiredly over numbers and formulas and also his accidental concubine.

Nope. He shook his head rigorously. “I need a pick me up,” Danny decided. He ignored the common sense that said ‘coffee isn't going to fix this.’ Sure. That was true. But it wouldn't hurt, would it? And he was way overdue for the first meal of the day.

He shouldered his way into a café near campus. This wasn't one of the most convenient ones or one of the trendy ones with different seeds or organic whatever baked goods on rotation.

Nah. It was dark, mostly empty, and multiple tables were along the wall with nice views of the windows and door. The only other customers he had seen in this place were 50+. Well, there had been a high school girl inside once, but she'd clearly come in because her grandmother was the owner. Danny beelined to his preferred table and unloaded his backpack onto the spare chair before he gratefully collapsed.

Ah. Dark. Quiet. He slouched onto the table a bit.

“You look tired,” said the owner.

Danny lifted his head just enough to give her a cheesy smile. “Can I get a coffee, please?” He croaked. “And- is it still lunch hours?” They stopped doing lunch at two, didn't they? Shoot. What time-

“I can do lunch,” she reassured. She scribbled something deftly onto a pad of paper. “Roast beef sandwich set?”

“I will protect you with my life,” Danny vowed.

She laughed and turned away, but he was for real for real. Danny forced himself to sit up enough to look around his surroundings. He wanted to stay awake. He had just one more class today - a 4 to 5:30 lab. Once he got through that, he could go to bed.

Huh.

He accidentally made eye contact with a young guy holding up a book. Danny lifted a single wave and then looked away awkwardly.

‘Wait a second.’

Danny did a double take.

Yes. Yes, that fucker was holding up a copy of a book from the library in Pariah's keep. It had ghost writing on it.

The guy slowly, pointedly lifted an eyebrow. He was- he was hot and huge and Danny had seen him lift like 200 lbs of books like they were nothing at all.

Danny flushed bright red and buried his face in his hands.

Okay. Okay, so that was Jason's face. How had he found Danny??? That was absurd. …Was it a threat? It felt kinda threatening. Was he in like, danger? Danny pulled his hands away from his face and squinted as subtly as he could at his hellion of a ghost spouse. What kind of sick mind game was it to lurk along his daily route and passive aggressively remind him that he should be working on their divorce?

Worse than that. This was the fastest anyone had ever found his personal identity. Fear and confusion trawled around his gut. How? Literally how? Danny raced back through his memory of their conversation and kicked himself over every misstep he could remember. Clearly, Jason had been prodding him for enough information to trick him into doxxing himself. It was a betrayal, honestly.

Wait. The burner phone. Danny didn't know how, but Jason must have been able to track it. It was a trick.

Danny gave him a nasty look when he figured that out.

Jason pretended to be absorbed in his book. The bastard!

Danny got tenser and tenser, the tendons in his hand flexing into visibility on top of the table.

He felt guilty about not dropping everything and then resentful that apparently Jason wanted him to. He had other things to do, okay? His school life was important.

“Here's your coffee.”

“Thanks,” Danny said automatically, and moved his hands to free up space for the cup and little container of cream. He immediately spooned in sugar and dumped in all the cream. He was way too grateful for something to do with his hands. He breathed in steam and then took a careful sip. It was a good chance to steal another glance at Jason through his lashes.

Jason was still pretending not to pay attention to him.

What was his deal?

His plate came. Danny ate mashed potatoes and gravied meat with more viciousness than usual, casting dark looks at Jason over the vividly orange carrots he speared into his mouth.

The sugar, caffeine, and confused anger hit his nervous system and converted itself helpfully into energy. Danny buzzed with energy. He was going to tell Jason to back off, he decided. The guy still hadn't moved other than to sip at what had to be ice cold tea by now.

“Do you have a problem?” Jason drawled. For the first time, he shut the book and fixed his green eyes directly on Danny.

“I was wondering what your problem is, actually,” Danny shot back. He gave a pointed look to the book. “Real funny bringing that out in public.” His gaze tracked back up to make eye contact and then his brain stuttered.

Holy cow. That was an ecto sheen on his eyes.

‘... I've already contaminated him?’

“It's just a book,” Jason said, voice full of fake confusion. As if he hadn't brought it there to make a point!

Yeah, okay. Danny scoffed. “Whatever, asshole,” he dismissed. He dug money out of his wallet and slapped it on the table to cover his lunch. He barely remembered to grab his backpack through the haze of anger. “I'm sure I'll see you soon.” He took the time to aim an ugly face at Jason on the way out, pulling his lower eyelids down and sticking out his tongue. He barreled out the door while Jason was still sputtering in his fake ass shock.

Boo! That jerk!

#red hot ghouls #dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main #jason todd #danny fenton #Jason fails to enjoy a nice cup of chamomile

624 notes · View notes

revelboo · 4 months ago

Note

Your ongoing Starscream thing is SO GOOD literally you write his inner conflict so well. Chefs kiss. I desperately crave a happy ending, but for now I’m content to see the sadness drag on.

Also, reader has friends (sort of?) now! Yay! Kinda wanna make low effort art of the cassettes showing Starscream a shitty PowerPoint presentation about how humans are sentient hmm. It’s written in cybertronian comic sans and has all the animation effects between slides

Thanks! Go for it, cause that sounds awesome 😆 And yes, reader now has friends/ terrible influences that are most likely, definitely, going to get them in trouble.

Everything is Alright pt 16

Starscream x Reader-unraveling

• Starscream’s only dimly aware of his fellow Decepticons moving out of his way as he stalks the halls. Of the looks. Those might be because his weapons are charged and humming or the rictus of a smile stretching his lips in a denta baring snarl. Let them be afraid. Whoever has stolen from him certainly will be before it’s over. He’s coming apart at the seams, held together with hatred and fear.

• Apparently word that he’s on the war path is spreading. The deeper he moves into the warren of halls and corridors, the fewer Decepticons he’s seeing. And the more unstable he feels. He’s walking a thin line now, processor snarling with scenarios custom designed just to hurt him. Teetering between fury and crippling anxiety, his wings are the only thing giving away the latter. That stupid tremor he can’t stop or control.

• There ahead. Voices. Soundwave’s cassettes? Lazerbeak swoops out of a hall leading the little group of miscreants, but it’s Frenzy his optics land on. The cassetticon’s hand firmly wrapped around a fragile little wrist to pull you along with him and the others as they run. It’s the smile on your face that freezes the energon coursing through him. You’re not only smiling, you’re laughing. Had your expression ever been that open and warm for him?

• Stopping suddenly in front of you without warning, you smack right into Frenzy’s back with a yelp. You shove away from him angrily and realize all the cassettes are still. Quiet. Skin crawling, you turn to see what’s got them on alert and- oh. Starscream. And he looks furious. Your breath catches as you just stare at him, a rabbit confronted with a hungry coyote. Common sense is screaming to run, because that anger is aimed right at you, but your body isn’t on board with the plan.

• And then Frenzy’s hand lands in the middle of your back. “Sorry, squishy,” he says, shoving you toward the Seeker as he and the other cassettes just bail. Abandoning you to Starscream. You stumble forward and fall down, palms and knees smacking the hard, metal floor. You keep your head down as he stalks forward, feeling the faint vibration of his steps. Then he’s just standing there over you. Intimidating and furious, and you can’t make a sound. Can barely breathe.

• You still won’t look at him and it’s twisting inside him into a seething miasma of confused anger. He wants to lash out, but doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s alone. You’re his. You hate him. He needs you anyway. Venting roughly, he kneels to carefully curl his servos around your unresisting form to lift you. You’re trembling and that fear unravels him faster as he cradles you to his chassis and heads back to his quarters, denta grinding.

• Why isn’t he yelling? Almost afraid to move in his careful but firm grip, you risk a glance up at his face. There’s definitely going to be yelling, his denta are bared in a grimace as he walks. He doesn’t look at you, though and that just makes you feel more jittery with anxiety. Had you finally pushed him too far? That dark, furious silence smothers you as you shiver in his grip.

• He carries you to the berth, his servos flexing around you. Tightening. And that kicks the panic into high gear, because you’re not sure what he’s going to do. Gasping, you go wild twisting and clawing to get free. Anything but be crushed. “Stop,” he growls, that furious edge just making you more frantic. “I said stop.”

• “Please stop.” That breaches the panic, those angry and so tired words. A request not a demand as he presses you to his chassis alongside his canopy and you can suddenly breathe again. Can feel the barely there tremor in his servos. “I thought you were gone.”

• Cheek pressed against his canopy, you crane your neck to try and see his expression, because this is new. Raw and painful and you need to see his face. It almost sounds like he does care. That you’re not just a pet or a possession. Something more even if you have no idea in what way. His palm shifts against you, keeping you pinned and unable to really see his face as he lets his head fall back against the wall the berth is against. You can hear him venting, that rough rhythm slowly evening out. Calming and you can’t hold onto your own anger at him, can feel it slipping through your fingers, because as awful as he sometimes is, he needs you. You don’t really understand it, but you do understand that you’re as trapped by whatever this is as he is.

• His venting hitches as you lay a tiny, soft palm against his canopy. “I’m not going anywhere.” The words are soft. And even if they might be a lie, he needs them. He needs this even if it can only hurt him.

Previous Next

#transformers #starscream x reader #idw starscream

308 notes · View notes

animasolaoriginal · 6 months ago

Text

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️FOUR

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE FOUR FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

He's given her a gift, but she's too ungrateful to fully cherish it. Time for him to teach her a lesson that will get her back on track, back onto the road to submission.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Anal sex. Creampies. Spanking. Praise kink. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 4.9k

THREE 🟥 FOUR 🟥 FIVE

She's confused, and that's putting it mildly. Her head is racing, various thoughts tumbling over each other, blending together, nothing makes sense anymore.

She sees herself in the club, dancing to the music, enjoying her life, her eyes moving towards the bar, to him. And then she approaches him. And he takes her away, she wakes up in his bedroom. To fulfill a common desire? Or so she thought. She wanted to be one of the girls he's always hooking up with, she wanted this. Right? Wanted his attention, told him she wanted his cock in her cunt (his words, not hers). She wanted him to take her virginity. Because why not.

But she didn't want to be used like this, forced to wear a butt plug, forced to masturbate on her own, forced to suck him off? But she wants to please him, wants to be called a good girl, needs his praise more than she needs oxygen, apparently. But all the things in between? Having her pussy assaulted by a vibrating toy, pushed to the edge only to be abandoned right in front of it? Being choked on his cock and having her ass filled with his cum, plugged up to keep it there?

She doesn't want that. But it's part of the deal, isn't it? Strange deal, though. Doesn't feel like a deal. Feels like... he's just using her. Keeping her here for his own entertainment. She has panicked when she's realized that (long before all the other stuff that made it even more obvious), hiding in his closet, her mind as clear as ever. Too clear for her liking. She doesn't like the doubts, the fear, the uncertainty. And she doesn't like to worry, to second-guess herself. She's wanted this, right? Wants him?

She has to focus on that, on the handsome man, on his wealth, all the opportunities he could give her, the experiences, sensations. He's a catch, and she'd be stupid to fight this. Right? And as long as he wants her too, everything is just fine. She has to keep it that way. Because she knows he's holding himself back, she's felt the shudders, the restraint in his grip. He's already been rough with her, but not to the point of pain, just discomfort because it's all new to her.

And she knows he could treat her very differently if he wanted to. He's strong, so much taller and bigger than her, older too, knows stuff, moves her like a doll, as if she wasn't a person, just a body. A body to use, to fill up, to mold into whatever he wants her to be. Which is what? She doesn't know. Doesn't want to think about it.

Exhaling loudly, she shifts on her side, feels the slight ache in her throat, the taste of him on her tongue, that strange warm feeling inside her, held in place by the plug, that awful hard thing, something foreign, that doesn't belong there, that she wants to get out. And the more she focuses on it, the stronger the urge grows to just pull it out. She's tried before, in the closet, but it wouldn't budge, and she was afraid to hurt herself. He's made it look (and feel) so easy when he's pulled it out to shove his cockhead into her (which has also been something she didn't think was possible but he's just done it, made it fit).

Just pull. Can't be that hard, eh?

Listening to the noises on the other side of the door (he's walking around, his voice echoes through the room, she can't tell what he's saying, but he's probably ordering food like he told her), she shivers, visibly shaking as she makes up her mind and slips from the bed, blanket trailing behind her before she loses it in front of the bathroom. Just pull.

Breathing heavily, she stands in front of the large mirror and looks at herself. Her eyes are still reddened and swollen, lashes clumped, cheeks splotched with red spots, lips raw and trembling, hair messy. A horrible sight that almost makes her cry all over again. She twists and turns slightly, tries to see her backside, her hand moving between her cheeks, shaking badly, fingers brushing against the knob. It's shimmery, like a jewel sticking out of her butt. A strange sight, an even stranger feeling.

She pulls on it, carefully, feels her muscles gripping it as if they don't want to part from it. Clenching her teeth, she pulls harder, feels it giving way, and it's a strange release when it plops out, a tension gone, only to be replaced by another sensation, something dripping out of her, and she can't stop it, can't hold it in, it just seeps out, with every involuntary clench of her muscles. She drops the plug in her panic, it clatters loudly onto the tiles, her hand between her cheeks, something warm and sticky coating her fingers. She's both disgusted and horrified.

Looking around, she stumbles to the toilet and rips off some toilet paper, wiping at it, feeling mortified and ashamed as she feels it running down her leg. A whimper escapes her because it keeps coming. Because he kept coming.

In her panic, she rips down her panties and unclasps her bra, then steps into the shower and turns it on, eager to wash away her shame. The water sprays around her, and she is so focused on seeing the thick creamy stuff flow down the drain that she doesn't hear the door being opened, doesn't hear the footsteps coming closer, only notices the shadow looming behind the steamed-up glass door when it is too late.

“What are you doing?” his voice rings over the loud spray of water.

She gasps, freezes, looks up at him with wide eyes, a primal fear settling in the pit of her stomach. “I... I...” she stammers, backing up until her rear meets the wet tiles behind her, her hands moving up to cover her breasts.

He looks angry, eyebrows furrowed, eyes darker than before, his hand curling tightly around the door he's holding open. “Speak up,” he orders.

“I... I felt... dirty...” she admits, biting her lip.

His eyes narrow, the muscle in his jaw twitches. She feels particularly small and vulnerable under his scrutinizing gaze, prey backed into the corner by the predator staring down at her. He keeps looking at her as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, shrugs it off his shoulders, toes off his shoes and socks, then unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants and underwear down. He's so quick in undressing she barely has time to really look at him, to process what is happening.

And suddenly he's in the shower with her, that hulking form next to her, broad shoulders, long legs, strong thighs, toned chest, bulging muscles and tight skin. His cock angrily bobbing against his lower stomach. He grabs her arms and pulls her towards him. She almost slips, falls against his hard torso. His hand is on her waist when he spins her around, presses her front to the tiled wall. She shivers, unable to do anything but let it happen, whatever it is.

She's too shocked, feels bad, guilty, shameful. He's put his seed into her, and she's gotten rid of it the first chance she had. That is a reason to be angry, right? She leans her cheek against the wall, hands flat on either side of her shoulders, breathing frantically through her nose when he glides his hands over her curves, cups her rear, kneads her flesh, pulls her cheeks apart. His fingers dip between them, and she flinches when he pokes at her tight hole, teases it.

“Dirty, huh?” he whispers, leaning closer, his breath hot on her ear. She only whimpers quietly. “Let's clean you up then...” he adds menacingly, and she yelps when he pushes his finger into her ass, pumping it in and out without even acknowledging her distressed noises. It hurts, her muscles are too tense, he's not very gentle either. Then he adds another finger, stretching her more, pushing deep, in and out, to his knuckles, forcing his way into her.

It's not helping that she tenses up even more under his assault. Her noises are swallowed by the rush of the water, but the squelching sound of his fingers slipping in and out of her is loud enough for her to want to die in shame. It feels wrong. Uncomfortable. Like punishment. And she deserves it... doesn't she?

He switches his fingers, that tiny moment of reprieve not enough to calm her. The fingers are back, from his other hand, while he grabs the shower head off the wall. She squirms slightly, her legs trembling, as she watches him out of the corner of her eye. He scissors his fingers, stretching her tight hole, forcing the muscles apart. A pained whine escapes her, but he holds his digits like that, holding her open, and then he puts the hard stream of water to it.

She cries out, writhes against him, her knees buckling when she feels it filling her up. “No, please!” she whimpers, but he doesn't stop, only moves the powerful jet back and forth in a sickening rhythm.

“You wanted to be clean, didn't you?” he hisses, hooking his leg around hers to keep her upright as she threatens to slip.

Eventually, with her mind reeling and her body shuddering, he pulls his fingers out and puts the shower head away again, and she pants, feeling the water flow out of her, a worse sensation than when his cum dripped from her. It feels wrong. It all feels wrong. This is not what she wanted. Tears sting in her eyes, the hot air making her feel even more lightheaded. Sniffling pathetically, she leans against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, heart thundering inside her chest.

But it's not over. His hands are on her waist, long fingers curved around her body, holding her as he steps behind her. He pulls her up a little, so she's on her toes, and it makes her focus on not losing her balance instead of the other things happening behind her. Like his cock pressing between her cheeks. He grinds against her, moves his pelvis up and down, a warm and strong force towering over her.

“You know,” he says suddenly, leaning closer, his breath fanning over her cheek. “I didn't want this, not yet. I thought you weren't ready. But you leave me no choice, you know that, right?”

She frowns, eyelids fluttering open as she tries to look at him. Whatever confusion clouded her mind is gone the moment she feels him lining his cock up with her clenching hole. He doesn't take it slow either, just pushes and pushes until she feels him slipping in, her muscles a little bit more lenient, but not enough. He's too big, stretching her more than his fingers.

And he keeps going, fills her more than just the tip, pushes and prods, forces his way deeper into her ass while she wails and whines loudly, clawing at the tiled wall, legs shaking badly beneath her. The stretch, the tension, the friction, it's all too much. Water squelches out when he rolls his hips against her, deeper, deeper, and she feels so full, a strange sensation she's never felt before.

Her muscles work around him, tensing, clenching, trying to counteract the intrusion, but he doesn't care until he bottoms out, his thighs pressing against the back of hers, balls pushed against her folds, all of him inside her tiny body.

She feels sick, can barely breathe, only whimper helplessly, her head spinning. His fingers dig into her hips, knead her soft flesh, holding her against him with a firm, almost painful grip, even pushing her up the wall a little until her feet are off the ground, breasts squished into the tiles, her hands uselessly clawing at the grooves. He actually lets her adjust to the new experience, to him filling her out so much. His cock in her ass. She can't wrap her head around it. Wrong, wrong, wrong! her mind chants while her stomach tenses up more with each rapid heartbeat.

It's the same pace he sets when he eventually leans back, his hands slipping lower to hook under her shins, pulling her up, as he slips back and forth, in and out, scraping over tense muscles, a strange burning growing within her. A moan escapes her and another, the sensation slowly turning from a low throbbing pain to heavily thumping pleasure, the more he moves, the better it feels – and it shouldn't, right? It shouldn't feel good when he takes her like this. But it does, and the conflict pulses through her clouded mind like little electric shocks.

He holds her up, bounces her against him, pushes deep and pulls back out, fast and hard, skin slapping against skin, wet squelching noises overpowering everything. She whimpers with every deep thrust, clinging to the wall, completely at his mercy, a frail little body held up and used, pummeled and filled. He's grunting behind her, muscles tensing against her, his thighs strained, hands tight around her legs, bruising her soft skin.

There's cotton in her head, something thick and filling, letting no coherent thought through. An almost freeing sensation. There's only that feeling of his cock slipping in and out of her ass, hard thrusts, a deep pounding, fast snaps of his hips. It's overwhelming. She's limp in his hold, gasping soundlessly, unable to do anything but take it.

He groans loudly into her ear as he leans against her, hammering his pelvis into her rear, faster, deeper, harder, desperate almost. His hands slip from under her shins, and she sinks down the wall, away from him, unsupported now, the tension is gone for a moment, her muscles clenching lazily, searching for that intruder that has felt so treacherously good. He grips her waist and pushes her onto her hands and knees, one arm around her stomach as he slips back in, easier than before, and continues pounding into her.

There's one change though, in addition to the lowered position: his fingers rub along her folds, ghosting her neglected pussy, then push against her clit, tease it, pinch it, making her whine out in a sudden onslaught of sensations. She feels her knees and arms shaking, but he holds her up, and she leans into it, trusts him to hold her, as she squirms, leaning down to rest on her elbows. The cotton inside her head catches fire, and a strange heat fills her body, her stomach tenses up, muscles contracting, thighs twitching uncontrollably.

He keeps assaulting her clit as he keeps slamming into her ass, rutting her like a feral dog from behind, bent over her, strong legs caging her in. And suddenly it all explodes, she freezes before she cries out, a wail of pleasure tumbling out of her throat as her body starts spasming beneath him, and he grunts, holding her closer as he pushes deep into her and stops, her muscles tight around him, a bright light engulfing her, making the edges of her vision fuzzy, the whole world seems fuzzy, his noises are muffled, that feeling of his throbbing cock a faint little thing (despite him not being little at all) as he fills her with his cum, warm and thick and so much she feels even fuller, if she would still be able to feel anything.

It's not nothing that she feels, it is all at once, a tidal wave of pleasure that numbs everything else. A moment like floating, suspended mid-air, free, easy, light. No worries. Just bliss.

She sinks into herself, a limp body held up by strong arms, impaled by a twitching cock that slowly slips from her warm depths. He's breathing heavily into her ear as he pulls her to her feet, and she still feels like it's not her body that he manhandles out of the shower and leans against the vanity. His hand glides up her inner thigh, smearing something warm and sticky, then his finger pushes into her gaping hole, her muscles too loose to resume their original form just yet. She feels him circling the ring, teasing it, and she wants to clench it but can't, a strange feeling among the vertigo that holds her hostage.

A sudden slap echoes through the steam filled room, and she yelps when she realizes it was his hand on her ass cheek. He spanks her again, again, and another time, and she writhes, squirms, cries out and sobs under the unexpected pain that pulls her out of her bliss with a violence she finds cruel. Bent over the vanity, she can only take it, legs trembling, tears flowing freely over her hot cheeks. One more clap, and he suddenly leans down, picks up something that makes a clanging sound on the tiles.

She feels his arm next to her, water running, her blurry eyes can't focus but it looks as if he cleans something under the faucet. Then something cold and wet and hard slips between her burning ass cheeks. A gasp escapes her as he nudges the plug back into her ass, her muscles tensing around it, holding it tightly. She whines pathetically. Back to square one.

After he's dried her and himself off, he's put her in a new set of underwear, pink panties with baby blue flowers on them, more fabric than the thong, no bra, but a loose T-shirt that smells like him, and she feels herself being wrapped up by his scent and warmth and strength as he carries her out to the living room, gently setting her down on the couch.

Her butt feels tense, a strange ache she's never felt before, both inside and out, so she rolls onto her side, curling up. He nudges her legs when he sits down next to her, back in his fancy suit, and somehow she ends up in his lap, between his strong legs, seeking his warmth, head resting on his thigh, a little ball melting against him. He caresses her damp hair, a soft and unexpected touch after what just happened in the shower.

She deserved that, huh? How he treated her? After what she's done? That's why he pumped his cum back into her ass. Take what he gives you, she thinks, swallowing hard, a little gulp against his leg. Ungrateful, isn't she?

“Are you hungry?” he cuts through the conflicting thoughts in her head, and she looks up from under her lashes, seeing him look down at her, his face eerily calm.

Not really, she wants to say, her body still feeling a different kind of fullness that seemingly bulges her belly, at least it feels like it. Or maybe it is hunger that sits heavy inside her. Just another thing she's confused about, so in the end, she just nods, biting her lip.

He pulls her up then, sits her on his lap properly, sore butt on his hard thigh, feet tugged under the other, knees pressing into his stomach. He wraps one arm around her and leans forward towards the coffee table where an opened pizza carton sits, a smell she's barely noticed in her dizzy state. She leans into his chest as he holds a slice in front of her lips, watching her closely. Meeting his eyes, she opens her mouth and takes a bite of it, then watches him take a bite of his own as she chews.

It's a strangely intimate moment, how he feeds her, how they eat together, so domestic somehow. She barely knows this man, no matter what they've already done together, what's on the horizon, and yet she feels warm in his embrace, safe, despite it all, well taken care of. Another thing she's never experienced before.

They finish most of the pizza, his bites bigger than hers, and she's grateful he's not forcing her to eat more. He is, however, offering her his greasy fingers once they're done, and to her own surprise and slight shame, she grabs his hand and eagerly pulls his fingers into her mouth, one after the other, licking them clean. It's almost a natural thing to do, normal. He watches her as she does, his eyes dark, an intensity inside them that makes her shiver.

When he deems his hand clean, he wipes it on her shirt, lazily palming at her breasts with a small smile on his lips. It's a sight that mesmerizes her. He's so handsome, despite the vile things he makes her do. She doesn't want to think about the darkness lingering behind those deep eyes, the cruelty under his full hair, what makes him tick, what makes him so intriguing. Maybe it is the darkness that draws her in, makes her stare at him, take in everything about him.

There certainly is something about him that caught her eye, on that one night as she saw him for the first time, leaning against the bar, watching the dance floor. It isn't his wealth or influence or looks. It's like an aura, strong, confident, dominating, all-consuming. Holds her hostage (not just literally), keeps her close, makes her gravitate towards him, no matter what he does to her. It feels impossible to step away from him. And she knows she won't do that any time soon.

She is here now, with him, and nothing else matters. It's almost a freeing thought. Head empty, no worries, just him, a trust fall into a stranger's arms.

They're back in the bedroom, she's curled up on the couch, watching him change through the open door of the walk-in closet. The city lies dark behind the large windows, the extravagant chandelier above her tinting the big room in a warm glow. She has pulled the oversized shirt over her knees, her bruised butt sinking into the soft cushions, she still feels the soreness within and on her tense skin, but it's getting better. She's learning to distract herself.

The sight of him undressing is not new, but so much better under different circumstances. He's no longer that intimidating businessman in his suit, or the angry man glaring her down as he stepped out of his pants, he's just a man now, slipping into sweatpants and a shirt similar to hers. He's still tall and slightly daunting when he approaches the couch, but when he holds out his hand to her, she takes it without hesitation and lets him pull her into the bathroom.

Not another punishment under the shower, just a domestic little scene, handing out toothbrushes and mouthwash, standing next to each other in front of the vanity, meeting gazes in the mirror, getting ready for the night. It feels very surreal.

She's only reminded of their unique situation when she feels his hand slipping under her shirt, tracing her curves, down around her rear until his fingers dip under her panties and between her ass cheeks. She gasps when he tugs at the plug, pumps it in and out for a moment while she curls her fingers around the edge of the sink, pressing her lips together, before he pulls it out with a slightly wet pop.

Breathing deeply to calm herself, she feels a little drip into her underwear, but he doesn't seem to worry about it, only pulls it back into place, lets the fabric absorb what he wanted her to keep. It feels a little uncomfortable, damp and warm. He places the plug base down on the counter, watching her in the mirror.

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly.

She licks her lips. “Okay,” she says, not daring to lie or whine about what she feels. It is okay, for the most part. She'll live.

“Tomorrow, you'll get a bigger one,” he then says, nonchalantly, as if talking about the weather or what's for breakfast, not about how to stuff her ass with more toys and gadgets. She shivers. “Alright?” As if she has any right to say anything against that. Cruel man.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, lowering her gaze.

His hands are on her shoulders as he leans down to her, his warm lips brushing against her earlobe. “Good girl,” he breathes, his voice a low thrum in the air that makes goosebumps break over her skin, and when she looks up, she meets his amused gaze in the mirror while she blushes deeply.

He kisses her cheek and leans back, grabbing her hand to pull her into the bedroom. It's then that she fully realizes that this isn't normal. She's about to share a bed with a man she met yesterday, who took her away (she still has no idea about the exact circumstances, that memory will be lost forever), and who's apparently keeping her here for an undisclosed amount of time (why else would he buy clothes for her?).

But it's her own fault for not asking more, for wondering how this is going to go, why he's keeping her, why she stays without even trying to walk through his door. The latter is probably the thing that bugs her the most: why does she allow this? Just because he's rich and handsome? Is attraction and infatuation enough to let herself be treated like this, to allow him to use her however he wants? Maybe it is...

When she stands in front of the bed, watching him turn off the light, sinking them into darkness, she feels nervous. Her eyes adjust slowly, the dim glow from the streetlamps far below them the only light source now. Her heart beats faster. He's next to her then, guiding her onto the bed, under the covers, before he slips in behind her, his tall frame folding around her smaller one as he pulls her against his chest.

He's warm, his body hard but soft enough to be comforting. A solid wall of muscles pressed against her, and she snuggles into him, searching that heat and strength. His hands slip under her shirt, finding her breasts, lazily groping them as he settles behind her. She breathes deeply, biting her lip to keep her noises down.

“Do you still want me to take your virginity?” he then asks huskily into her ear, breath fanning over her jaw.

After everything he's already done to her (his cock in her throat, his cock in her ass), to ask this question, borders on insanity. But she's glad he does, to confirm their initial plan, the reason why she's here. She needs a reason, a plan, something to work towards. She doesn't want to be just a toy for him, to use, to fondle, she wants something back. Even though she isn't sure what that is. Pleasure? She's felt that before, mixed with pain, but still. She wanted a hook-up, be one of the girls he's taken into the back of the club. What else does she want other than his attention?

She doesn't know. But she'll figure it out. “Yes,” she says quietly, turning her head back a little to look at him over her shoulder. “If you still want it?”

His laugh is soft, a deep hum in the air. “Oh I want it, I want it so much, darling, I want all of you,” he whispers, nibbling on her earlobe. “You are such a good girl for me, and I am not done with you yet...”

His words make her shiver, a little sharp inhale as he sinks his teeth into her skin, one of his hands sliding down over her stomach right under the hem of her panties, fingers cupping around her mound. A whimper escapes her.

“W-wait... r-right now?” she asks in a breathy whisper.

“Whenever I want, baby,” he says, his voice vibrating in her head while his fingers slips between her folds. “That's why you're here, remember?”

She gasps softly, squirming against him when he dips two digits deeper, entering her, the stretch making it hard to breathe for a moment.

“Isn't that so, hm?” he whispers, licking along her neck as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of her. When she doesn't reply, he stills his fingers and brings his other hand to her throat, squeezing lightly. “Aren't you here for me to fuck you whenever I want?” he says pointedly, a dark edge to his voice.

She stiffens. There's a cold shiver rushing down her spine. At the same time, something clicks into place in her head. Purpose. Her purpose.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, a response that comes almost automatically, an instinct to say these words, to be polite, submissive, to agree with him no matter what.

He inhales deeply, his lips brushing against her jaw. “That's right,” he coos, kissing her cheek, turning her head towards him until he captures her mouth, slips his tongue between her lips. She moans into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut, leaning into him. He resumes fingering her, slowly, meditatively, a steady motion, something warm and hard inside her, and she feels herself slipping away, and there's nothing in her mind that wants to stop him. “That's my good girl,” is the last thing she hears as she drifts into a deep slumber, smiling softly against his lips.

THREE 🟥 FOUR 🟥 FIVE

End notes: Don't you just love these extreme smut scenes that end up in cozy fluff sequences? I sure do, so I hope you forgive me for making our girl suffer so much. It's for her best, right? (Yeah, the gaslighting/manipulating is strong in this one...)

Also remember: this is fiction! I do not condone this behavior IRL! Surprise butt sex should not happen like this. But this isn't a how-to-guide, my dear readers, it is fiction, things I made up in my mind! Be better people than these two!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

#ao3 original work #dead dove do not eat #dom/sub #d/s dynamic #older man younger woman #size difference #praise k!nk #modern au #joel miller smut #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #arthur morgan smut #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #original fiction

177 notes · View notes

lmaowhatt · 16 days ago

Text

utterly obsessed? - five

summary: actress y/n I/n has recently skyrocketed into stardom after her breakout film 'castaways' alongside sarah cameron, kevin hart, chris evans and chris hemsworth. weeks after the movies premiere, she drops her debut single, further cementing her place in the spotlight. as millions of people around the world begin to idolize her, and as she struggles with her own demons, she catches the attention of rafe cameron, who doesnt shy away from becoming utterly obsessed in what seems to be the cutest way possible.

main masterlist | series masterlist

four - five - six

hellraisermovie

liked by youruser, rafecameron, jbr and 827k others

hellraisermovie out now! thank you to everyone who contributed on this project including our amazing directors @/davidbruckner and @/jbr. and a big thank you to the amazing actors who brought our vision to life.

youruser YAY!

rafecameron im so hot.

➯ user hes so self aware

➯ user some would call it cocky

brandonflynn BOW BOW BOW

user they fadiddled?!?!

➯ user using common sense isnt a thing apparently

user SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

adamfaison WHOO.

user shes so 😍😍😍

➯ user RIGHT? like fuck rafe shes so 🤤

msjamieclayton thanks for this opportunity!

user that entire scene had me like 😧🫣🫨

➯ user real

rafecameron

liked by youruser, sarahcam and 1.0 million others

rafecameron hellraiser out now!

sarahcam ur so gross ew.

➯ rafecameron puhlease im obviously the better sibling🙄

➯ jbr i beg to differ

user seriously somebody sedate me

user i js know its rough

jbr why are you always bald

➯ rafecameron thats it, where are my clippers

popeh you're getting it tn

➯ cleopatty im right here.

➯ rafecameron so?

user raw, next question.

user guys.. i fear that 'i love you' maybe didnt sound scripted

➯ user she had a line after.. it was scripted 💀

user body so tea, both of them

➯ user seriously unfair 😔

user some ppl need to be put down😧

youruser

liked by rafecameron, sarahcam, jjmay and 928k others

youruser hellraiser, out now! hope you guys enjoy!

sarahcam YES HAWT MAMA marry me

➯ jbr i object.

➯ youruser overruled.

jjmay WOOHOO.

*liked by creator*

user dont sedate me just put me down.

kiekie yo.. forget my man i want YOU

➯ jjmay something tells me he would not approve nor be ok with this. a hunch

➯ user hmm...

jbr love you!

cleopatty someone check my vitals

user the rafe likes are getting too frequent and i fw it.

popeh no cs this ate i fear.

➯ youruser you fear it ate? im appalled.

➯ popeh you can spell appalled? IM appalled.

your phone

two days into the new year, and you were navigating through the bustling airport in los angeles. you'd just returned from a brief trip to england, and while part of you was relieved to be back in your city, surrounded by your friends and the familiar chaos, another part of you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to stay longer. you had initially planned for an extra week, but life had a way of pulling you back. dressed in a matching grey tracksuit with the hoodie pulled low over your head, you gripped your phone, pressing it to your ear as it rang, waiting for jj to pick up.

"you here yet?" the mans voice was heard from the other side of the phone. you nodded, fumbling around with something in your bag before you answered. "yeah, landed about a half hour ago," you spoke, weaving through the small crowds of people as you tried to venture toward the airport entrance. "im almost there just hang tight, a'ight?" you hummed, muttering a quiet goodbye before hanging up the phone.

you continued to weave through the tight airport crowds, muttering small apologies when you bumped your shoulder or elbow into someone else. as you rounded a corner into a different hall, you harshly bumped into a younger girl who looked to be around sixteen years old. "oh my- honey im so sorry. are you okay?" you quickly muttered out as you held her hand to pull her back up. however, she didnt seem phased in the slightest, her eyes widening once she realized who you were.

"holy shit. y- youre y/n, right?" she stumbled on her words, smiling even brighter as you nodded your head with a sheepish chuckle. "uhm, sorry. c-can i get a picture, please?" she asked you nervously, constantly glancing between you and her phone as she fumbled around with it. "yeah sure," you smiled, watching as she excitedly passed her phone to her mom who was stood a few feet away, mumbling something about taking a picture.

after taking around three to four pictures, you turned to her again. "you sure you okay?" with concern etched on your face, a small smile still managed to make its way onto your face as you watched her nod profusely. "y-yeah. im okay. uhm, thank you." she smiled at your beofre muttering a quick goodbye, ruhshing away to grab her phone back from her moms grip.

you smiled to yourself, gathering your things once more as you felt your phone vibrate from its place on your backpack. "yeah?" you pressed the phone up to your ear, supporting it with your shoulder as you continued your walk towards the entrance. "im here," jj called through the phone, "lucky for you, its too busy i think you can just come out normally." you let out a small sigh, nodding gratefully. "ill be right out," you stated before hanging up.

jjmay

liked by youruser, kiekie and 1.1 million others

jjmay mi vida

jbr im offended. the only pic im in and its blurred.

➯ jjmay blame @/youruser photography skills

➯ popeh im his fav. i look hot in mine

user HELLO?? hardlaunch???

➯ jjmay oops?

youruser jj?? inspirational?? like i didnt send you that pic?

kiekie would just like to say jj was no help in winning the pool game!

user everyone SHUT UP. jj posted!

cleopatty boy knows two words in spanish and ran with it

sarahcam the shirley temples ate down tbh i wonder who made them..

➯ jjmay girl–

➯ youruser this one has a lil sass to it

➯ kiekie lets keep it

�� jjmay im sorry, IT?

➯ jbr did they stutter?

user i love their friendship

user chat did anyone peep rage..

➯ user real like.. i didnt think they were close with him

➯ user rafe is literallly sarah's brother??

your phone

taglist: @xoxo-ada

psa: anyone else who wants to be added to the taglist, let me know!

a/n: so sorry for the very vey late upload but i slacked off 😔 its ok tho!!

58 notes · View notes

iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 year ago

Text

Why We Never See Elendira's Story

In a story that emphasizes the human or otherwise sympathetic aspects to its focal characters, it’s very intriguing that Elendira remains an enigma right up until the very end of her story.

We receive some tantalizing hints that there is much, much more to Elendira than what we’re explicitly shown – asides from her apparent sole interest in witnessing the end of the world (to which she'd prefer to see Knives' chosen ending, but is prepared to act herself if he fails), she looks somewhat resigned when saying that nice men “die so easily”, that no matter what Vash does, humans will “ruin it”, and so on and so forth.

[ID: Two screenshots from Trigun Maximum Volume 11. In the first, over a rocky ground, Elendira says "I liked you better when you had nothing to lose. What a shame." She looks down, somewhat resigned, and continues "I don't like nice men. They die so easily." In the second, she stands, frowning and saying "No matter what Vash the Stampede does... there will always be those..." On a close up of her right eye, she says "...who ruin it." End ID.]

Elendira seems to have little to no faith in humanity, and in that sense, she seems a lot like Knives. Knives, who aims to become more and more powerful, and in the process, severing all meaningful ties he has with others on his quest to ensure no one can take advantage of him or use him. We know, of course, that Knives doesn't quite succeed here... but Elendira has. She is the peak of human (or part human? We never get an answer to her unexplained abilities) capability in speed, skill, and strength. The only reason Livio stood any chance in that fight was due to his incredible regeneration.

(As an interesting aside, she also has an interesting commonality with Vash - what comes to mind is her telling the kids to bury Livio because he "died" trying to protect them. Why does she care about that? Why does it matter? None of the other GHGs do this. This is not important to the point I'm making here but it's just interesting to me. There's very few characters who explicitly make a point of burying the dead.)

The point being, Elendira is the height of strength... and at the top, she is alone.

[ID: A panel from Trigun Maximum Volume 13. Elendira is in the action of dropping her white coat, which she has taken off to reveal an underarmour suit that is almost skeletal in appearance. She looks confident. End ID.]

In a story where characters' motives and pasts are told through their connections with others, through their memories with people they cared for, and through the eyes of the people who care for them...

Vash's story is eventually told in pieces to humanity through Meryl, through Luida, and through his sisters. Rem survives in Vash's memories, and we see the part of her story that young Vash saw, just as we also see his own past from this recollection of her.

Milly is a clarifier and communicator who sees so strongly the sides of Meryl and Vash that they suppress, all that grief and fear, for the sake of remaining steadfast. She is the one whose eyes we see through. It had to be seen to be told. Wolfwood does this too.

The rest of GHGs get some elaboration also. Hoppered is defined through his loss of the woman he cared for in July. Midvalley is defined by his fear and contention with Knives. They also have a dynamic between them that few of the other GHGs shared - and it's likely for this reason we received more elaboration on the two of them than many of the others. But even characters like Rai-Dei, for whom we don't get very much at all, has at least his sunk-cost fallacy explained through the memories of the people he's killed to get to that point.

Chronica's story, though largely removed from the people of No Man's Land, is given definition and stakes through the loss of Domina, and we are told about her incredible determination and strategy she has through her reputation with the Earth fleet.

Legato, desperate to play a singularly important role in Knives' story, tells his own through that lens and that lens only. The moment his life changed was the moment Knives entered it, and that is likely the most important memory to him - Knives is the only meaningful bond he has (sadly for him, this was not reciprocated). Well, an argument can be made for the contentious dynamic he builds with Vash too.

Even Knives, for all that he tried to separate himself from others, is known and seen through his connection with Vash - and his acceptance and unwillingness to fully lose this connection is not only what eventually saves him, but also the reason we, as the audience, know his story so well.

We see characters' stories in Trigun mainly through the bonds they share with others - never the whole story, but the sides that others knew of them.

So, who does Elendira have? Every interaction she has is shallow, dismissive, and exceedingly temporary. Through her dislike of Legato, we get that she may be somewhat bitter about his important status to Knives... but there is no elaboration, because it goes no further than that. Knives calls her directly on the phone, and she is very invested in his vision for the end of the world and intrigued by him... but it goes no further than that. He does not really seem to care about her beyond her effectiveness, and she does not offer any information about herself. Even her allegiance is kind of flimsy. She's only there because she wants to be.

During their final fight, Wolfwood lives on through Livio, through his actions and resolve. It is the teamwork between him and Razlo, in the spirit of Wolfwood, that eventually overpowers Elendira. Amusingly (at least to me), Livio is quite literally never alone, because he always has Razlo - and now, Wolfwood too.

"Yer too strong... and that's why yer gonna lose."

[ID: A screenshot from Trigun Maximum Volume 13. Livio narrates over a shot of his eye, Razlo's eye, and finally, his whole face, with Wolfwood's final vial of serum between his teeth. "...to me... to Razlo... and to him." End ID.]

Elendira has succeeded in separating herself from everyone – she is the most powerful of the GHG, and every battle with her is basically one-sided – but she’s alone, and that’s not only why she loses… it’s also why we never get to know her in any meaningful way.

Because no one knows her. She has no personal connection with anyone. Her motivations never get any clarity. We don’t even know who did her modifications or how she gained her power. Even if she did have someone she cared for in the past, she apparently does not hold onto their memory. And maybe that's the reason she told the kids to bury Livio - not out of respect, but because to her, that is where the past belongs - dead and buried, soon to be joined by the rest of the world and humanity as it all comes to an end.

We never see Elendira’s story… because there is no one from whose eyes we can see it in any capacity.

#storyrambles #just my two cents lmao i'm sure there are far simpler explanations such as 'the author just didn't write it out' hdfbvdsh #but i like this one thematically #elendira is so cool. she's one of my favourites fr #trigun #trimax #trigunbookclub #elendira the crimsonnail #trigun meta #call me ace detective the way i am ace. and also a detective.#can i get all my analyses done before october ends? let's find out! (aaaaaa)

409 notes · View notes

kanguin · 1 month ago

Text

You know it deeply saddens me how much of an echo chamber Terfs are in. I'll be on desktop and I'll go into the notes of a post, see a shit take from a blogger with a glowing red username, go to their blog, and it's just. 10-30% normal posts, the rest nonstop Terfarama going on. Click on one blog, and all of a sudden there's a free blacklist the more I scroll through. Like, idk, I do not understand people who can dedicate so much of their life and their free time to hating other people. I hate bigots of all varieties, from your common conservative to the libertarian horde to ecofascists to the common Acolyte of Rowling, but this is the first post I've independently made about them because, I don't know about you, as much as these people actively work to make my life and the lives of people I love miserable, I just generally do not want to think about them in my spare time? Idk, I like being happy, I struggle to be happy, so why would I spend so much of my time dwelling on how unhappy a group of people make me?

But idk, maybe they're just keeping themselves in a different environment than I am. I used to consider Tumblr hellish, but ever since I've started curating my dash through selective following and liberal blocking, it's just been so much more peaceful. I come here now to relax, to hear about global events, and to share interesting posts I find, be they fandom or science or what have you. Life in general is rough as it is, why would I ever want to spend more time dwelling on that reality when that doesn't change anything?

I honestly don't think terfs know nor care that all they're ever going to do is push people away, isolate themselves, alienate the world, and harm the people they care about. They're an interesting hate group, one that isn't solely a group in power at the top punching down, but one that is largely comprised of cis women who are scared and shaken by the pain and suffering inflicted upon them by misogynistic society. But fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to teaming up with all the other people who hate just as strongly as you to feel powerful. But that feeling of power is only ever going to be a feeling. Terfs neuter their capability to effect actual change because instead of actually going after men who abuse their power, instead of nurturing their communities to grow past the need for toxic masculinity and the degradation of women, they direct all of their focus on attacking trans women, policing other women, gaslighting trans men, pushing cis men as far away as possible, and throwing everyone else under the bus to get there.

This is such a stupid strategy that even if trans women were actually secretly men and bioessentialism was true, trans women still wouldn't be men with any actual power because they neither claim masculinity, act it out, benefit from it, nor are welcome among it. Cis men regularly attack and abuse trans women en mass, deny them human rights, and deny them positions of authority. It is so, so apparently clear that trans women are below cis men in the social pecking order, so even if someone is so wrapped up in 8th grade science class biology that they can't see trans women as women, it STILL wouldn't make sense to devote so much of your energy and hate toward a group of people who objectively do not hold any societal power over you instead of the ones that do.

I sincerely hope that this epidemic of faux-feminists who court neonazis when it's convenient for them becomes a footnote in the history book someday. Ace exclusionism was largely nipped in the bud years ago, though there still are some shitheads who've never left it, but I've seen hategroups come and go. This one has had staying power thanks to JKR and other prominent figures championing it alongside the global movement mobilizing against the increased rights of trans people, but it can't last forever. I hope all the blogs I've blocked so full of hate get deleted one day when their owners can't stomach the hate poured into them anymore. It probably won't happen, they'll probably still be here until the site goes under, but I still hope. Everyone is capable of change with the right incentives, so hopefully someday soon it will be more rewarding to love trans women than to hate them.

#kanguin original #trans #transgender #transfem #trans girl #trans woman

65 notes · View notes

rocorambles · 1 year ago

Text

Final Girl: Act I

Pairing: Daichi x Reader x Kuroo

Tags: NSFW, Yandere, Non-Consensual Drugging, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Daichi and Kuroo being grade A creeps

Summary: If only you hadn’t been so focused on intently staring at the ground in an attempt to avoid those piercing hazel eyes, maybe then you would have noticed the momentary smug cold gleam in those deceptively kind brown eyes as the two men exchange a glance.

Link to Final Girl: Act II

You are a complete moron. Torn between screaming and crying, you let out a strangled sound between the two as you furiously clench your fists around your now useless steering wheel. It’s almost laughable how cliche the situation you find yourself in is. You can even see the imaginary script in your head.

Scene: Girl in broken down car, cell phone out of battery, stuck in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road, torrential downpour

You’ve always rolled your eyes in annoyance at the dumb damsels in distress you’ve seen on screen, all in predicaments easily avoided if they had used a single ounce of common sense. And now here you are, just like them, all because you had stupidly scoffed at the numerous warnings about the inclement weather.

What harm could a little more rain than usual do? Apparently, a lot.

Weighing your options, a brick of disbelief and hysteria swells and sinks inside of you. There’s no way you can stay in this car. Even if you wait out the flash floods and stormy nightmare outside that looks to have no end in sight, you’ll still have a broken car and dead cell phone with no city or town anywhere near walking distance. You’ll need to venture out into the forests that surround you on either side in hopes of stumbling upon a cabin with kindhearted folks who’ll help you out.

It’s not a long shot that you’ll find some nearby residents. Despite this area being off the beaten track, you know there are plenty of people who’ve migrated here in search of a quieter and more remote life. You yourself had ventured out here for a long weekend solo getaway to rest and reset (the premise of this whole unfortunate scenario). But that doesn’t stop that same stereotypical script from playing in your head as you anxiously exit your car and delve into that intimidating expanse of greenery.

Scene: Girl walks into the woods, disappearing out of view from the road, only the stillness and silence of the forest left in her wake

You grimace as mud squelches under the weight of your steps, as floods of water stream down your face. Your one saving grace is that at least there’s still daylight to guide you, but even that is quickly dwindling as the sun continues to set. Anxiety laced with fear begins to claw at you as darkness begins to spread.

How long have you been searching? How far are you from your car? Do you even know where you are? Are you lost-

Your body stiffens in shock as your frantic eyes see a glow of light up ahead and your frenzied thoughts are cut short by adrenaline as your legs scramble forward before your brain can catch up, stumbling towards that literal ray of hope you see in the distance. Relief washes over you as the sight of a cabin becomes clearer the closer you get to your destination and primal instincts take a back seat as you slow down, cautiously assessing your surroundings.

It certainly doesn’t look like a murder house. In fact you’re almost in awe at how chic and charming the “cabin” in front of you is with its sleek black rustic yet modern structure nestled among a gorgeously curated landscape. The inhabitants certainly had taste and money, but you know better than to immediately equate to being “good”. Do you take the risk of ringing their doorbell?

Life makes that decision for you and your heart pounds in terror at the feeling of a hand grabbing your shoulder, head spinning to locate the source only to be locked in a staring contest with sharp hazel eyes.

“My, my. What do we have here? A little chick separated from her flock?”

You shudder as the low slow drawl of his words slither unpleasantly against you, an interested predatory lilt in every syllable. This was a mistake, you need to get out of here, run-

“Kuroo, what’s taking you so long- Who’s that with you?”

So distracted by the sudden stand-off, neither of you had noticed the cabin door opening or the approaching figure of the man now curiously observing the two of you.

Kind brown eyes worriedly look at you, a crease of concern furrowing between brows as the new stranger takes in your drenched state and before you can utter a word, a warm hand gently but firmly wraps around your wrist, leading you inside.

You know it’s foolish to let yourself so easily be swayed, but even if you were to run, you doubt you could outrun the two seemingly fit men. Not to mention how your gut is screaming that “brown eyes'' is a far safer option than the man whose hazel eyes are now staring in annoyance at the two of you, not unlike a cat whose prey has been snatched from him, as he glowers and trails behind you causing you to subconsciously hover close to your savior.

If only you hadn’t been so focused on intently staring at the ground in an attempt to avoid those piercing hazel eyes, maybe then you would have noticed the momentary smug cold gleam in those deceptively kind brown eyes as the two men exchange a glance.

Scene: Girl enters a stranger’s house

Daichi (brown eyes) and Kuroo (hazel eyes). You now have names to match with the faces. Childhood friends who had decided the hustle and bustle of city life wasn’t for them and had bought and renovated this property together. Freshly showered in a set of Daichi’s spare t-shirt and shorts, basking in the warmth of the fireplace, stomach filled with a delicious meal cooked by the two men, a glass of red wine in your hands, you wonder what you were so scared of. Even Kuroo seems harmless, if infuriating, as Daichi and him teasingly bicker with each other about their mutual friends and shared memories they had growing up together.

The weather had knocked out most of the power in the area leaving you without wi-fi or a way for you to charge your phone and with the roads as flooded and inaccessible as they were, there was little hope of a tow truck being able to take care of your car anytime soon. But you don’t mind the idea of having to stay a few days longer in this cozy cabin if this is how you’ll be pampered. Taking another generous sip of the ruby red liquid in your glass, you wonder how you can repay the two men. Maybe you can help them cook tomorrow…

Scene: Girl accepts a drink from a stranger

Ever the gentleman, Daichi is there to catch you as your body goes limp.

Kuroo snorts at the chivalrous display, but it doesn’t stop him from eagerly drawing near as he follows the broader man who bridal carries you up the stairs to the guest bedroom.

There’s no need for how gentle Daichi handles your body as he lays you on soft sheets, not with the dosage Kuroo had slipped into your wine. But he’d always been more careful with his toys, unlike the man next to him who is practically clawing off your clothes, his long lean frame already pinning you beneath him.

He can’t really blame his companion though. How long had it been since the last warm body they’d shared? The last foolish prey who’d naively walked right into their trap? So he just patiently watches as Kuroo eagerly partakes of you, only making warning comments here and there when the taller man is close to leaving too many marks that won’t be easily explained tomorrow. And when he’s done, your essence dripping from his mouth, your nipples and clit perky and begging for more attention, trails of Kuroo’s cum littering your body, it’s Daichi’s turn and he carefully savors you, relishing in how sensitive and responsive your body is even if your mind is far, far away, blissfully ignorant of your current predicament.

Scene: Girl is taken advantage of.

You groan, head throbbing, the daylight sneaking through the curtains doing nothing to alleviate-

Wait, daylight?

Momentary panic sets in as your mind whirls to remember what had transpired, eyes taking in the strange room you’re occupying.

Had you…drank too much? But you could have sworn you only had a couple of glasses… Maybe it was just the exhaustion from the trying night you had?

Your thoughts are interrupted by knocking on your door and you instinctively tense up as a head of spiky black hair peeks out at you. Despite the questionable first encounter the two of you had, you had convinced yourself that it was just a misunderstanding, that Kuroo was just a little more crude and rough around the edges than the average person. After all, if someone as kind as Daichi was close to him, surely Kuroo couldn’t be so bad, right?

But now that it’s just the two of you again, no Daichi to act as a comforting barrier, apprehension freezes you as Kuroo ambles towards your vulnerable figure still tucked underneath bed sheets. You swear there’s hunger in those hazel eyes and you shudder under his gaze, feeling it rake across your body, shivering at how small you feel as he towers over you when he reaches you, his legs pressed against the bed frame, upper body teasingly leaning over you.

“Some water for Sleeping Beauty.”

Technically he’s not touching you, but that thought does nothing to comfort or protect you from the heat of his body or the vibrations of his words as he practically cocoons you, going out of his way to almost embrace you as he uses the act of carefully placing a glass of water on your side table as an excuse. But before you can even react, he’s already pulling away, a self-satisfied smirk splayed on his face.

“Prince Charming is making breakfast. Come down when you’re ready.”

As your thoughts race with the conviction that you need to do everything you can to escape this place, Kuroo hisses in satisfaction, calloused hand palming the growing bulge in his pants outside your closed door. Fuck, if only you knew how delectable you look, trembling, scared, at his mercy. He can still taste you on his tongue, his cock twitching as it remembers how perfectly your walls had wrapped around it. And he wants more.

Time to wrap this little play up.

End of Act 1.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere daichi #yandere daichi x reader #tw: rape #tw: somnophilia #tw: drugging #kuroo smut #daichi smut #haikyuu smut

433 notes · View notes

missmeinyourbones · 1 year ago

Note

L, pro athlete atsumu and reader for "the only kind of girl they see is a one night or a wife" has me THINKING

ONE NIGHT OR A WIFE (a. miya)

a/n: pro athlete atsumu, implied woman identifying reader -> slight talks of womanhood and slut-shaming, atsumu is trying so hard he has the spirit he’s just ken

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

When the front door clicks behind you, you're greeted with the back of a messy blonde mop peeking from above the lip of the couch. Atsumu doesn't have to turn around to know it's you coming through the door, but you don't even give him a chance to guess with the immediate interrogation flying from your lips.

"Why are we trending on Twitter?"

Amused, Atsumu turns around to catch a glimpse of your panicked face before he smirks, turning around and redirecting his attention back to the television.

"Oh, they think I proposed to you again."

His words oddly bring a wave of comfort over you, and when you exhale and plop down on the cushion next to his sprawled-out limbs, he lets his hand gently run through your frizzy hair.

And you don't pretend to ignore how it's weird that this calms you—that enough people on the internet typed and searched and chatted about the two of you to get it trending. How many people need to talk about something for it to trend worldwide? You think about googling it, but that's a headache waiting to happen.

Instead, you slump into his touch and try to keep your tone humorous when you ask, "On what grounds this time?"

Atsumu is now far from affected by the newlywed allegation, as this isn't the first (or second) time the media thinks he's popped the question to you. You always feel a bit warm when remembering the first time the rumor spiraled. How flustered he was, how he couldn’t meet your eye when opening the app for weeks, how it led to your first actual conversation about a future together.

Now immune to the gossip, he casually fishes for his phone in his sweatpants and lazily pulls up a paparazzi photo of the two of you leaving dinner a few nights ago.

"Here," he hands the screen to you, borderline yawning. “This picture from the other night,” he has the audacity to point knowingly, like it’s common sense when he says, "left hand is hidden in yer jacket pocket."

You guess he is right, your left hand is tucked away into your coat in the photo, but that's because it's almost winter, and you're human, despite what some may argue.

The photo itself isn't even anything crazy—a candid shot of the two of you walking to the car. Atsumu's hand is on your back, seemingly guiding you as you walk along the curb. Your right hand rests on your purse, and your left apparently hides a flashy diamond ring in the suede of your pocket.

Atsumu hears you scoff at the stupidity, "So naturally that means I'm your wife now?"

He smiles and scratches your head with loving fingers.

"Yup," he pops the last part of the word before looking over to you with a grin. "Apparently the rock was so big, it had to be hidden in fear of blindin' the paparazzi."

He’s teasing, it’s lighthearted, but your eyes don't leave the photo when you softly furrow your brow.

"Why do they keep assuming we're engaged?" you lowly mumble, to him or yourself, Atsumu doesn't know, but he hears it all the same. Your voice almost wavers when you weakly exhale, "This is like the fourth time."

Carefully, as if you’re suddenly made of glass, Atsumu pulls the phone from your grasp, and you don't put up a fight when he easily swipes it and shimmies it back into his pocket.

"Dunno baby,” his voice whispers as his hand finds your shoulder. “People like to talk. I can't even begin to name the craziest rumors I've heard about me."

You hum to let him know you're listening, but when you don't elaborate much more than that, Atsumu knows something isn't quite right.

Not one to let his thoughts spiral, he thinks for all about two seconds before deciding that he’s getting to the bottom of this.

He tries to act like a normal person, stretching his arms and casually asking, "Does it bother you or somethin’?"

You're quiet for a moment like you're thinking extra hard about what to say. And when you do take a deep inhale and open your mouth, Atsumu feels a bit queasy.

"In a way," is all you allow to come out.

In a way? Atsumu doesn't know what to do with that. That could mean a million things. In what way? A good one? A terrible one? A way that makes you mad at him, at the world, at yourself? He needs more from you, but he’s too afraid to ask.

You think a part of you breaks when his big brown eyes water a bit, but the tears are quickly blinked away through long lashes when he shakes his head.

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way."

You shift to sit up on your knees a bit, gently touching his jaw that's clenched to the touch. "Hey, hey no,” you watch him tilt his sour face away from you when you coo, “Not like that, don't apologize."

With the slightest pressure on his cheek, you're able to get him to face you again, where you're met with a grouchy pout and some slight hostility.

You feel his jaw twitch and unclench when you place a delicate kiss on the carved bone. Your voice is soft, cautious when it rises to elaborate.

"People thinking we're married isn't what bothers me," you gently breathe. "We've talked about it, right? We're just not ready yet."

True, he thinks, logic returning to his clouded thoughts. Atsumu nods at your words, though his eyebrows are still downturned with stress.

"Right. So what does bother ya about it?"

He watches you open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find the right way to say the right words, but there really isn't a tailored combination for the sticky conversation at hand. He almost thinks you give up until your hand tenderly rubs his stiff neck and your voice comes out barely a whisper.

"It can be tough sometimes," your voice wavers with uncertainty, "y'know, being a woman associated with someone like you."

Atsumu turns his head to you in confusion, but he doesn't say anything. Because he trusts you—he might not understand, but he trusts that you do, that you're aware of something he might not be, and that you can explain it in a way he might be able to grasp.

He watches you shy in the slightest, struggling in silence with your tongue.

"I'm either slut shamed for being someone just fucking you or written off as your property. There's never really an in-between, y’know?" you choose to shrug.

Atsumu shoots you a sympathetic tight-lipped smile because though he'd never agree, he's not stupid. He knows what people can say about you, sees the headlines and hashtags every now and then.

"Y'know," his voice comes uncharacteristically soft, "one time I read that I flunked out of high school."

Your eyebrows raise at the turn in conversation, "Did you?"

"No," he scoffs. "Wasn't a nerd or anythin' but I graduated like everybody else."

You hum in thought at his confession, but it doesn’t seem to get his point across so he continues. "One said I was on steroids, another said pills."

He takes a small amount of pride in the way your frown slightly quirks up at the corners.

"Please,” you huff out a breathy scoff, “you pout like a baby when you get your blood drawn and can barely keep up with your daily vitamins."

He fights off a smile, ignoring the teasing and resting his head on yours as he goes on.

"My favorite was that one theory that me and 'Samu switch lives regularly. Sometimes when I look a little pudgy, they claim it's him with bleached hair, so we can both live out the Olympic dream."

You actually laugh at that, a real one, and Astumu thinks the sound itself could make flowers bloom and storm clouds disperse.

"Well that one can't be true, you can't cook for shit," he hears you mumble against his neck.

"Hey now," he gently smacks your thigh at your fresh words. "The point is that people say things all the damn time and I know it's not really the same as what they say about you, but..."

His tongue falters at the touchy subject, a hill he knows he’ll never conquer but is willing to die trying to defend you on.

He thinks for a moment before saying with certainty, "But we both know what's true and what isn't, right?"

You angle your neck to look up at him with sarcasm. "And what's true? That you're a healthy high school graduate with a twin brother who doesn't play Parent Trap with you?"

"What's true," he whines a bit, flicking your forehead before placing a small kiss on it, "is that I love you, and I'm absolutely marryin' you, just when the time is right."

You melt, both at his touch and his words, and for once in his life, Atsumu knows he's said the right thing when he feels you lean onto him a bit more. He takes on the comfortable weight like an Olympic medal, one he’d proudly wear everywhere if he could.

And as Atsumu goes on and on, your night gets that much better, and the silly rumor from some stupid tabloid doesn’t seem nearly as important as it did when you first got home.

"And yer ring is gonna be bigger than whatever the paparazzi imagined. And they'll be pissed when they find out we eloped and they missed the ceremony pics. And when we actually trend on Twitter for the right reason—"

#L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!#atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu miya x you #atsumu fluff #atsumu miya fluff #atsumu angst #atsumu miya angst #atsumu fic #atsumu miya fic

884 notes · View notes