#i know how someone is supposed to act even though it’s not my instinct to act that way
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conversations about Ben are endlessly fascinating to me because being the only adult left out there and seeing teenage girls cannibalize their own is already insane just on its own as a concept but then you pile on that he refused to join in and at that point realized he was going to be left out of the lord of the flies situation because of it (if he didn’t just starve to death, but even then they would eat him)
I think people don’t talk about enough how odd and horrible it would’ve been if he ate Jackie. Like the fandom chastises him a lot for failings as an adult but what kind of failing would it be for him to set an example, as the adult, for them to continue eating each other? For him to eat a child he was previously paid to care for as his job?
#he was crippled in the worst situation possible and then drugged and SA’d by someone he’s supposed to be caring for#or harassed* rather?#like what a bizarre and awful situation?#and he didn’t have the full ability to take control of the situation because he was adjusting to having one leg and everything else#like misty fully took advantage of him being unable to defend himself in ways#she’s not HIS child he just was paid to work at the school#like idk that must be so insane to try and figure out especially with no adult to talk to about it#i don’t even know how i feel about him but it’s interesting seeing people talk about him#my instinct is to be frustrated about certain ways he acted but then i have to slow down and be like wait though.#yellowjackets#texts
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I think probably the only thing I’m good at is pretending I’m a mentally sane and neurotypical person
#i know how someone is supposed to act even though it’s not my instinct to act that way#if I acted how I wanted I would have even more people hate me. i would probably be diagnosed with all my shit by now lol but I would also -#-probably be put in a psych ward and deemed unfit for society#i swear I am constantly on the verge of my breaking point and just acting how my mind wants me to
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Part 7 is finally here! I only gave this a quick look over so if there are any glaring issues (like a random cut off sentence) please let me know! I was just so excited to get this one out.
Content: Brandon.
For all the power and influence it has amassed, SpecGru is a notoriously discreet and secretive operation. Mind, no one’s ever strolling down the street shouting their criminal affiliations for God and everyone to hear, but even by criminal standards, SpecGru is like a collective boogeyman. By the time most anyone knows they’re there, it’s already too late – and the rare (verbal) survivors only ever see masks and guns.
Granted, no small part of SpecGru’s prestige comes from whispered stories and unconfirmed rumors. Criminals are locker room gossips, the lot of them. Not that it’s completely unfounded. An execution is an execution, whether someone died with all their teeth and nails or not. (Usually not)
Few people know Price as more than a shadowy theoretical. (Someone must be in charge, that’s how the mafia works.) Even fewer know his face, never mind his name. It’s just good business that way.
In fact, SpecGru’s entire inner circle is shrouded in mystery. There’s not just the gray silhouette of the Don looming over their enemies’ heads. There are the lieutenants to contend with as well, acting on his direct authority, speaking on his behalf (with permission, of course) in his absence.
And then there’s Price’s right hand, the de facto boss should something happen. His heir, for all intents and purposes.
For those that have met Price in person, and by extension his few but devoted confidants, there’s always debate.
Is it Soap, loud and brash, but sharp as a whip? A decisive man, affable with a hidden mean streak?
Or is it Ghost, the quiet and calculating figure always at his side? A deadly and brutal enemy, shrewd and observant?
Kyle lets them stew in their assumptions and reminds himself that they’ll learn eventually – or they’ll be dead. He’s not fussed either way. It would suit SpecGru just fine if a few of those knobs keeled over sooner rather than later.
If only they knew that the hand that would one day grip their leashes was currently holding your purse so that you could pet a cute dog.
Not that Kyle minds; you have good taste. In purses, that is – though the dog isn’t half bad. A fluffy white and grey thing with a stumpy tail, practically crawling onto your pretty blue skirt as you coo and fawn. He started recording the minute you handed him your bag. (Price owes him for this.)
“His name is Mister Beans,” the uni girl enthuses to you.
You practically sob. “Mister Beans!”
He’s loath to hurry you along, but he’s supposed to meet up with Price for a Business meeting in only a half hour. Thankfully, you’re a considerate sort and don’t linger for long.
“Thank you so much, have a great day!” you cheer to the young woman. Then you turn back to Kyle, smiling huge. “Wasn’t he so cute?”
He chuckles. “It was. Wish I could have pet him, but white hair on this suit…”
You hum sympathetically. “I have a lint roller in my apartment.”
“I’ll scratch the next one,” he promises, offering your purse back.
You take it with your far hand and another mumbled “thank you,” then loop your closer arm through his. Don’t even seem to think about it, just accept the escort automatically. Kyle tries not to beam with pride. He used to have to prompt you, holding his elbow out at an awkward angle for you to get the hint. Now, you reach for the arm of whoever you’re with on instinct – as you should. (Another thing Price owes him for.)
“Do you like little dogs?” you ask, strolling with him for your apartment.
In the office, you’re a speedy little thing. Zooming from your desk to Price’s and back at velocity deserving of a ticket. Soap calls you a busy bee and it’s apt. Fluttering to and fro with stacks of papers or your tablet (“Reginald” you call it) everyone knows to make way at the click-click of your smart heels.
Outside, though, your purposeful stride slows to something less awe-inspiringly machinelike. Little Miss at work is a much different creature from Little Miss off the clock – but Kyle quite likes both.
“My mum had a little white dog while I was growing up. Crusty old thing,” he explains. “Prefer medium sized myself. Like a corgi.”
You giggle. “Like the royal family?”
“Oi, I liked ‘em before that.”
You just laugh harder at his defensive tone, patting his arm. He’s always impressed by how fearlessly you joke and tease him and the others. Have taken everything in stride from the beginning, didn’t even flinch when you first met Simon. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think you had no idea just who you arched your eyebrows at this morning because of a “scheduling disagreement.”
“Speaking of dogs…” you mutter, mirth disappearing.
He follows your gaze through the clear glass of the building’s entry vestibule. Your ex is standing inside, already spotted you and fluffing up like the cock he is.
“Mind keeping back, doll?” Kyle murmurs.
You make a noise of protest even as you hand him your keys. “He’s not going to do anything after what Soap did.”
There’s an ugly black cast around his hand and up his wrist. Kyle smirks at him through the door.
“Rather not take any chances,” he replies.
You huff a bit, but quietly slip your arm from his, letting him take the lead into the building. (He still holds the door for you of course – he’s not a numpty.)
“Get the fuck out, mate,” Kyle says as soon as the door opens.
Brandon looks downright taken aback. “And who the fuck are you?”
“None of your business,” you interrupt, stepping up beside Kyle.
“The hell it’s not!” Brandon replies, taking an angry (stupid) step forward. Kyle mirrors him, making a point of loosening up his shoulders. In a surprising display of good sense, Brandon stops there. “Look, bunny, a high-value man needs a high-value woman.”
Your voice comes out flat and unimpressed. “And that’s you, is it? A high-value man?
Brandon rolls his eyes but sighs, as if he’s trying to be patient with you. Kyle’s fingers twitch. His piece is burning a hole against his back.
“Obviously. I have a degree, a six-figure salary, and two properties – all under forty. I’m objectively attractive, work out regularly, don’t smoke. I’m a good catch, don’t kid yourself that you can do better.”
At Kyle’s elbow, you go very still. The type of still that precedes blood and screaming. He’s seen it in Ghost before.
“Then why are you here?” you ask, tongue dripping acid. “Since you’re such a catch.”
Brandon sighs and shakes his head, trying for fond exasperation and only achieving constipated.
“I’m not willing to just throw away two years. I’ve invested a lot in this relationship, and we can still make it work.” It actually starts to make Kyle nauseous, the way he talks about you like a business decision. “I mean, you have some things to make up for but eventually, we can go back to the way we were.”
“And what,” you say through gritted teeth, consonants sharp enough to pierce skin, “do I have to make up for?”
Kyle listens, flabbers absolutely gasted, as Brandon answers.
“You ran off to play desk bunny for a man I don’t know. God only knows what ‘favor’ you did to land that job. You’ve lowered your value as a marriable woman but there are ways to make it up to me—”
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
Kyle’s ears ring like the first time he heard his mum curse.
Brandon looks taken aback too. You don’t give either of them a chance to respond.
“I know it’s not fucking me. Because if you were talking to me, you’d be stupider than you look.”
Brandon’s face flushes with anger. He takes another step forward. Kyle takes two in return, shaking his head in warning. Unfortunately, Brandon doesn’t know how to read his face any better than yours.
“C’mon, mate, it’s common sense. A lock that opens for any key and all that.”
Kyle’s heard it before. “Women ain’t locks, mate.”
“If you don’t get out of this building right fucking now, I will ruin your life,” you snarl.
Brandon does a double take. “Is that a threat? You can’t—"
“You bet your pasty ass it is,” you reply without missing a beat. You raise your voice every time he tries to interrupt, barreling through his weak protest like a train. “Fifteen fucking minutes. That’s all it would take to destroy you, your stupid sister, your bitchy mother, your pervert father, and that fucking slag you got pregnant twice.”
Kyle’s eyebrows rise with each word until he’s fairly certain they’ve floated up to the ceiling somewhere.
Brandon, though… Brandon’s face is ashen.
“How… how did you…?”
“Get. The fuck. Out.”
Kyle doesn’t give him the option to refuse. He scruffs Brandon by the back of his bland suit and shoves him out the first door of the vestibule. It closes and locks just as he turns around, a rebuttal finally juddering to his bloodless lips. You haven’t even turned to watch him go.
Kyle approaches you feeling a bit like he does coming to Price with shit news when he’s already pissed.
He almost says, you sure know how to pick ‘em – but thinks better of it. There’s practically frost forming beneath your feet, the air around you is icy.
“Walk you up, little miss?” he asks, offering his arm.
You gently take his arm and exhale heavily. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
You invite him in at your door. Your hands are shaking a bit. He politely accepts, shooting Price the others a text that he’ll be a bit late. He’s not about to leave you in a state.
As usual, you step out of your shoes at the door, leaving you in your shimmery stockings, then pad to the kitchen.
“Tea?” you ask as he follows.
“I haven’t the time, doll, I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re alright before heading out.”
You turn, expression softening. Just like that, you’re back to your usual self, sweet as honey.
“I’ll be alright, I think,” you reply, sighing. “That was a long time coming.”
He leans his shoulder in the doorway, unable to help chuckling at the memory of your ex’s gobsmacked expression. The corners of your mouth curl up in shy amusement.
“Seemed like it,” he replies. “We should weaponize those f-bombs you dropped.”
That coaxes a giggle out. “Graves would be first on my list.”
“The boss’s too.” And oh, Kyle can’t wait to tell Price about this. (As if he needed another reason to hate Brandon and adore you.)
“Christ,” you groan, “you’re going to tell him about this, aren’t you?”
He’s at least able to muster an apologetic grimace. “You know I have to, sweets.”
“Suppose I’ll get the really good tea tomorrow,” you muse.
“He liked those pistachio scones from the corner café, too.”
You light up. It just so happens that they bake your favorite muffins too. “Good idea.”
“I’m full of ‘em.”
You snort, but there’s a fond smile on your face. Regretfully, he notes the time on the stove clock behind you.
“You’re sure you’re alright here by yourself?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” you promise, crossing to give him a warm hug. “I lock the door and windows like Simon told me.”
“Atta girl,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, yeah?”
“Seven sharp!” you chirp.
He pauses at the door, “You call if there’s any trouble.”
You poke your head around the corner. “You don’t sign my paychecks; you can’t tell me what to do.”
He points right back at you. “That’s from the bossman direct.”
“Then he can tell me himself.”
He arches his brows. You blink.
“Don’t tell him I said that.”
He chokes back a chuckle. “Sweet dreams, little miss.”
“Get home safe, Kyle!”
As far as business meetings go, one with Los Vaqueros is almost pleasant. Sure, they always try to overprice their products, but haggling them down is practically a game between Price and Vargas by now. The shipping agreement between them and SpecGru is long established by now, a major link in the international arms market.
“Negotiations” are relaxed enough that Rudy and Valeria are playing cards with Ghost and Soap at the sitting table, whiskey glasses at their elbows. The plan for the next six months is all but set when Price suddenly jerks. In an instant, his face goes dark, shoulders tense.
“Something wrong, hermano?” Vargas asks.
“I’m getting a call.”
Soap and Ghost snap to attention.
There are only a handful of people that can reach Price during a meeting. All but one is in this room.
As he brings the phone to his ear, Kyle sees your name on the screen.
“Yes, love?” he answers.
Even from a couple feet away, Kyle can hear your voice through the receiver – high and panicked. Kyle’s already reaching for his keys.
“He fucking what?” Price barks.
Soap and Ghost jump to their feet, cards and drinks forgotten.
“Barricade the door, get a knife. We’ll be right there.”
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#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#mafia boss price#mafia!au#assistant!reader#oddly wholesome for a mafia au#brandon the crash dummy
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— help me hold onto you • aaron hotchner
fem!reader, unprotected vaginal sex, a bit of angst.
He knew he would be in trouble whenever he turned those keys. What he wasn’t expecting was how big the trouble would be. He had no idea he would open the door to three bags full of clothes and other things he left at your place as the months passed, waiting for him.
“Darling? What–What are these?” He asks even though he knows the answer, hoping you want to at least talk about it before making any harsh decisions. You’ve been in a relationship for almost a year now and it works. It always worked.
Normally you wouldn’t drink before an argument, still when he gets to the kitchen he sees you calmly sipping on a tall glass of wine, fingers tapping on the table, hair up, face clean but red, you were in your pajamas already, nothing like you probably looked hours before.
“What’s the only thing I asked of you, Aaron?” You don’t move, don’t glance up at him, eyes focused solely on how the purplish red liquid moved in your glass, taking a big sip right after.
Aaron sighs in frustration, he didn’t want this to become a fight. He was so tired. “I know, I’m sorry–”
“Answer the question, please.”
“Don’t make promises I can’t keep.” He takes his tie off quickly, suddenly feeling suffocated by the fabric surrounding his neck. That’s why your relationship worked, you knew he was busy and his schedule was unpredictable, so very early on you accepted it as it was, saying you wouldn’t be mad at him as long as he didn’t break any promises. If you’re not sure, don’t promise me you will be able to make it.
First months he wouldn’t promise you anything, too afraid to break it, to disappoint you.
He watches as you take the wine in a mouthful and refills the glass, the bottle now empty and starts getting frustrated, you’re a loud drunk and you’re surely already getting tipsy.
This was the first time he slipped up, it didn’t need to be such a big deal, it didn’t avail to having his things right at the door as if he was getting kicked out. All the other times he promised he could take time off, he did it. Just–Teens were getting kidnapped, the team needed him.
“We saved two girls today.” Low blow. But it was true, he wasn’t back in time because of that, he got on the jet instead of staying back to do that. To save two thirteen year old girls. Not some futile reason. It had to count for something.
“I’m proud of you for that, Aaron. Are you proud of me? For the promotion we were supposed to celebrate with my boss? Or are our accomplishments only worth it when it’s about saving someone?” You raise your voice only slightly, the alcohol from the sweet wine getting to you slowly and then all at once.
You always tried your best to keep your voice down when arguing with him, simply because he never raised his, and it could be an endearing feature if it didn’t look like he did it to look like the rational one, the right one.
“That’s not what i said–”
“I know what you said. You want to make the fact you let me down okay because you did a wonderful thing someplace else. That’s not how it works.” You open the second bottle of wine of the night, feeling his eyes on your back. “I want you to leave.”
“You know this is ridiculous, you’re acting like a child.” Sore spot. You were a few years younger and that had never been a problem. But he couldn’t go back now, he could see the anger darkening your eyes, your knuckles turning white by the strength you’re using to grip on the edge of the table.
“How am I a child?” You begin slowly and keeping your voice down, you get up finally from the chair you had been sitting, facing him directly, his instincts make him try to touch your arms, but you dodge it quickly. “We had an agreement. You broke it. Am I a child for not giving you permission to hurt me again?”
He knows you’re about to snap, your chest coming up and down in rapid breaths, and he doesn’t feel particularly in the right, he knows he screwed up and he’s sorry, but your reaction is out of proportion to him, an exaggeration made to make him feel more guilty than he already does. “I said you’re acting like a child. The one time things don’t go your way and you’re packing me out?” Aaron almost feels the sharpness of a slap but he’s quick enough to grab your wrist. “See? proving my point.”
“How many times do I have to accept you screwing up so I can be seen as mature?” You yank your arm out of his grip and go back to your drink, “Same times as Haley? How many times did she forgive you so you could go around and do it all again?”
Lower blow.
Hotch feels it right in his core and he’s angry at you for bringing up but more so angry at himself because you were right. Still, it is anger nonetheless that guides his next actions, quickly and firmly walking up to you, caging you against the table in sudden movements.
Your breath hitches from the surprise, and your attempt to move is stopped by his roughed hands on your chin, firm but never close to hurting. “I’m not leaving.” You wince, not in fear of him, but of how easy he can make your mind go blank when he’s that close.
His eyes go from your eyes to your lips, he notices your failed attempt to conceal the way you licked your lips, he glances at your chest, heavy breathing under your thin pajama shirt, nipples hardening against the fabric.
Damn you for choosing wine.
Hotch reads your mind almost, but his smirk doesn’t last too long displayed on his lips, your hands pulling him by the neck, a low groan followed by a “Fuck this” leaving your wine tasting lips just mere seconds before gluing to his.
Eager to get your forgiveness, he is quick to follow your lead, both hands sneaking under your clothes, one down the waistband of your shorts, grabbing hard on the flesh of your ass, the other drawing soft circles on your nipple.
You melt into the kiss, his lips, his hands, his scent, him. And you have no time to feel bad about it, pulled up to sit on the table, legs around his waist, you can feel how hard he is against your wetness.
A pained whimper leaves his lips when you use the new position to grind onto him, needing something, anything against your clit at this point.
Aaron sinks his teeth into your bottom lip to get your full attention, earning a loud moan in response, his hands travel your thighs and you pull his shirt out his pants so you can feel his skin under your fingertips, not bothering to unbutton them and working with what you got under it.
His lips travel your neck and your collarbone, “I love you, so, so much”. His declaration comes in between kisses and the sucking of your skin, “Please don’t make me leave after this.” It comes in a whisper now, but he doesn’t stop, pushing your shorts down and sliding it down till it drops to the floor with your help.
“Just shut up and take your pants off.”
“You know I can only do one of those.” It makes you laugh and you sink your nails to the bit of fat on his side, the tiniest bit of annoyance at how easy he had you in the palm of his hand and how he didn’t even seem to know it truly.
On the edge of the table sliding his hard cock into your folds was an easy feat, pants, shoes and his boxers long gone, his socks stayed on almost making him lose balance as he feels just how wet you are. He drops his head, forehead on your shoulder
“Fuck—Oh my god, you are so wet, you’re always so wet for me.” It isn’t arrogant, it’s appreciative almost, you move his head so you can look at him, hot, sweaty already, cheeks so red as his eyes were glassy, the mix of lust and love and regret clear in his dark caramel irises.
You kiss him once more, sweet, forgiving and he takes this as his sign to continue, pushing you down the table, Hotch holds your thighs for support, plunging his cock into your wet cunt with ease, bottoming out at the first thrust. You enjoyed the stretching pain and you never had the patience to wait.
Lower lips between your teeth, you slide one of your hands to your clit, two fingers working your arousal, quickly replaced by Aaron’s calloused fingers. You arch your back and moan loudly, “Fuck, yes, and move.”
It feels like an order and for Hotch it is one, he is delighted to oblige, maintaining the same finger moves on your clit and beginning to fuck your pussy, strong, firm and precise at first.
“Honey, fuck—Please…” His begging is meant to warn you that if you keep clenching around him he won’t be able to control himself, you almost don’t listen, fingers working on your own nipples enjoying the high he is always able to get you in.
“Aaron—I’m… Fuck, don’t stop, you’re so good.”
The praising, the guidance, the reassurance, it makes the moans leaving his lips seem like whining, he enjoys it too much.
“Yeah? Like this?” The way your hands try to grab him is enough answer to him, along with how tight your pussy is throbbing against him, you’re almost there, he can feel it.
His movements on your clit get sloppier, the sight and sound of your wetness against his digits making him go insane. Your back arches once more and your whole body begin to squirm, the tight coil in your lower belly finally ripping, “Yes, fuck—“ You’re breathless, weak, but you still have it in you to edge him in, “Aaron, baby, cum for me, please.”
He would be crazy to do anything but, so quickly you ask him and his hands are hoisting both your legs over his shoulders, getting a new, deeper position, it doesn’t take long for you to feel him filling you up, “I can’t live without you, you’re so, so good for me” His lasts broken words before letting himself go.
You don’t move and neither does he, his dick softening inside you, his hands caging you in the table and his head dropped to his chest, both just trying to recover.
“Aaron?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“You can stay.” He looks at you with nothing but love and happiness and gratitude, “But if you screw up again do not try fucking me into forgiving you, I’ll chop your dick off.”
“You like it too much to do that.” His grin is sincere, feeling finally free to joke around you, he gets out of you and you whine at the loss. “See?”
“Bite me.”
“Gladly.”
#lari writes sometimes#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#hotch x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner smut#hotch smut
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Thinking about a first time Whumper x veteran Whumpee...
When they first meet:
"You don't seem nearly scared enough. This isn't your first time is it?" "You seem weirdly nervous. Is it yours?"
"Ugh! Out of everyone in the city I could kidnap I had to get stuck with someone else's leftovers!"
"You used to belong to so-and-so, didn't you? Ah! They're my idol! Oh! This is exciting. I get to study their masterpiece up close!"
"WHY AREN'T YOU SCARED OF ME?!!!"
"Oh. You've never done this before." "Stop judging me. I have a knife."
"How is it you know exactly what I like?" "You torturers are all the same." "You've done this before??"
"I won't kill you, but I need you to cooperate. I am new to this, just so you know." "Yup. I'm going to die."
"Mmmm, I love how you move when you're in pain." "Thanks! I've been practicing for years."
"Who taught you to scream like this?"
Whumpee helping Whumper figure out the basics:
"Why are you on your knees?" "Oh sorry. Do you not like that? The last guy liked me that way. I just assumed…" "No, no. It's a good idea. Keep doing that. I just… never thought of it."
"So, what are the rules?" "Rules?" "Yeah, dumbass. Your rules for me. Do you want me to call you sir? Master? Or can I keep calling you jackass?"
"Do you want me to put up a fight or should we skip straight to the submissive stage?" "Oh... uhhh... don't fight too much. I don't trust myself not to accidentally kill you." "Oh, yeah. Good point."
"What kind of scream do you like?" "There are kinds of screams?" "Yeah. The last guy liked it when I ugly-cried. But I'm pretty good a bloodcurdling and whimpering like a kicked puppy. I can try to stay quiet but I can't make promises there..." "Hmmm... try all of them. I'll tell you which I like best."
"You cleaned??" "Yeah? Was I not supposed to?" "I didn't know you could make captives do that?!" "For the record, I didn't do it because I'm scared of you - your arm gets tired after giving me like three lashes. I did it because I'm going to be spending a lot of time bleeding on this table and I doubt it occurred to you to disinfect it."
Whumpee teaching Whumper how to whump:
"Show me what they used to do to you."
Whumper studying the scars on Whumpees body to learn the best places to cut/stab.
"Oh no! A knife? How original!" /s
"If you stab me right there you'll kill me. You have to go one inch to the right. Yeah, right there-AHHHHHH! …yup. Right there."
"I'll make you a deal. Let me have a solid eight hours of sleep and I'll show you where to pinch the nerve that will paralyze my left arm."
"You can't leave me tied up like this!" "I can do what I want!" "Yes. Okay. True. But like, you've either got to tie my knees to my chest or let my feet touch the ground. Otherwise I'm going to asphyxiate."
Whumper having an inferiority complex:
"I CAN DO ANYTHING THEY COULD DAMMIT!" (They = Whumpee's former Whumper)
"WHUMPEE! YOU'RE NOT BETTER THAN ME!" *Whumpee trying not to laugh when Whumper fucks up something really basic.*
"You must think I'm so pathetic." "NOo! Of course not! You're doing amazing! Really you are! I'm so fucking scared of you right now. I promise."
"I'll never be as good as the person who hurt you before." "You'll get there! I promise. I was like his fifth victim - I'm your first. Be kind to yourself!"
"How the fuck did your former Whumper do it?" "Yeah... you're not getting that out of me..."
Whumper being paranoid that Whumpee is manipulating them. Even though they hold the power they feel like Whumpee has more control over the situation because they know more.
Also...
Whumpee knowing just how to manage Whumper. They instinctively know when to be a little defiant and when to do exactly as they are told. They know just the right tone of voice to speak in, and just how to move, scream, to keep Whumper as pleased as possible. The sooner Whumper is satisfied the sooner it will stop.
Whumpee pretending it hurts worse than it does, lying about which places/tortures hurt most, acting more sick or tired than they really are to get rest/food, acting more scared than they really are… It's not like Whumper could know better.
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I was rewatching Merlin S5EP9 a little while ago and I noticed a little detail which, albeit doesn’t add anything to our understanding of the plot, really portrays Arthur as a character that has been both trained to kill from birth and someone who has faced several betrayals from the people he loves.
I’m not sure if anyone has pointed this out before, after all the show ended over ten years ago now but if that is the case, then I guess I’m adding my piece to this discovery:
In every single scene where Arthur and Gwen are together and he’s pretending he doesn’t know that she’s enchanted, he’s either defending himself or is ready to defend himself.
For example, I’ll start off with the obvious:
Arthur doesn’t eat or barely eats when he’s around enchanted Gwen.
Logically, Gwen’s probably not poisoned the food because one she’s already tried that and two I imagine the castle was on high alert for any poisoned food so soon after Arthur actually was poisoned. Even so, he can’t bring himself to eat the food because how can he be sure she hasn’t? She managed to poison him effortlessly before. He is going to let his guard down now he knows that he can’t (temporarily) trust her.
That said, he might not be eating because his wife has been ensnared by Morgana and any worry he is feeling is likely also ruining any appetite he might have. It’s up for interpretation I suppose.
Secondly:
In this scene, Arthur picks up a dagger and starts fiddling with it.
Subconsciously or not, his training and instincts have kicked in and he’s ready to defend himself if Gwen suddenly drops the ruse and attempts to kill him. Now obviously, Arthur wouldn’t dream of killing Gwen but, like I said earlier, he is a warrior who has been trained from birth and has also suffered numerous assassination attempts and betrayals from people who he has loved.
Now do I think Arthur initially struggled with reconciling enchanted Gwen and his wife? Of course, it’s only natural, but as we see here:
Arthur seems to realise that the wife before him is still the wife he loves and that any evil that was residing in her heart was not hers but Morgana’s. He seems to come to this because Gwen, though she is pretending, sounds remarkably sincere when she asks Arthur if she had done something to offend him. Which I feel is a very painful echo of something Gwen would say to Arthur had she not been enchanted. Which is why he promises that there is "nothing he would not do" for Gwen. He really wants his Gwen back.
All in all, I really like these details because I think it really fits Arthur’s character because it just reinforces how he has grown up. With the show’s comedic element, it can be easy to forget where these character have come from, especially Arthur who is more often than not shown to be a bumbling idiot with the emotional intelligence of a brick wall.
I also think it is the staple of good acting when an actor is able to embed unspoken quirks and mannerisms within their performance. It is the sort of dedication and detail which brings the characters to life.
#if there’s one thing I love… it’s finding new details about tv shows that ended years ago#merlin#bbc merlin#gwen#merlin bbc#arthur pendragon#arwen#guinevere#gwen pendragon#merlin gwen#bbc arthur#king arthur#arthur#bbc gwen#arthur bbc#gwen bbc#character analysis
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summary: you and spencer spend a night together—watching scary movies and sharing kisses
cw: female!reader, established relationship, kissing, fluff, cheesy writing, sexual innuendos, mentions of blood and gore, 871, spencer reid x reader
<3
the room pulsates with the eerie glow of the tv screen, casting elongated shadows that seem to sway with the suspenseful music. the air crackles with tension and anticipation as the horror movie unfolds, each gruesome scene capturing your attention and eliciting gasps from the figure beside you.
"jeez, why is this movie so gory?" spencer, still reeling from the last shock, mumbles. he instinctively curls up under your shared blanket, seeking refuge in the crook of your side. as another character meets a grisly fate on-screen, blood spraying across the tv, Spencer flinches and pulls the blanket up to his face, inadvertently pressing even closer to you.
you can’t help but smile at his reaction, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. your fingers continue to run through his soft hair as you playfully remark, "spence, honey, you do realize this is better than what we see at work, right?"
"it's different watching it on a screen, okay?" spencer replies, peeking out from behind the blanket, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and curiosity.
"do you want me to turn it off?" you tease, a playful glint in your eyes.
"no, no, I'm fine," spencer insists, though the tension in his shoulders betrays his unease.
"are you sure?" you continue to tease, lifting an eyebrow. "I think you're looking a bit pale."
"and I think you're enjoying this a little too much," spencer shoots back, a mock glare in his eyes.
"can you blame me?" you grin, gently ruffling his hair and giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. "You're so cute when you're scared."
spencer groans, throwing him head back against the couch with exasperation, but there is a playful twinkle in his eyes. "but i'm supposed to be the one to protect you. i'm supposed to put my arm around you. that was the whole point of watching a horror movie." spencer explains with defeat in his tone.
spencer had eagerly anticipated a night spent with you nestled in his arms; it was his turn to offer you the comfort and security you deserve. he wasn't voicing any complaints, for he cherishes every moment spent with you, but tonight he wanted to be the one to provide solace. knowing the hardships you had faced growing up in an abusive household, spencer believes you deserve someone who can envelop you in comforting arms during tough times, someone who can be there when you need it the most. and he is determined to be that person for you.
"clearly that backfired," you reply with a playful smirk, earning a defeated frown and watery eyes from spencer. your teasing words linger in the air, but as you notice the vulnerability behind spencer's eyes, your own softened. it becomes apparent how much this act meant to him, the significance of reversing roles and offering you the warmth and protection you deserve.
a tender smile plays on your lips as you gently place a hand on spencer's cheek, your touch conveying unspoken gratitude and understanding.
as you lean in, your lips press softly against his forehead, and spencer's eyes close, savoring the tender connection between you, “spence, you don't have to protect me," you reassure him, tracing circles on his back with your fingertips. "it can be a mutual protection."
“okay.” spencer responds in a hopeful tone before the movie on the screen in completely ignored and spencer sits up only to lean is head down for a soft kiss.
his lips are so soft, his kiss is so sweet, and when his fingers gaze the edge of your shirt, gently brushing your exposed skin, you gasp and spencer smiles. you feel the genius’ cheeky grin against your lips and you can’t help but want to kiss it away.
"besides, you're my boyfriend.” you mumble against spencer’s lips, “you can have your arm around me no matter what movie we're watching," you add, leaning into him and wrapping your arms around his neck.
“yeah?” spencer responds with growing confidence, and you hum in response before your lips are back on his.
just as spencer leans you back against the couch, the door swings open, and in walks derek morgan, sporting a wide grin and carrying a bucket of popcorn like he is about to enjoy a blockbuster movie. “forgot you had company?” derek smirks, realizing what was happening before he walked into the room. you and spencer’s faces flush as you situate yourselves back into presentable positions and morgan chuckles as he sits himself on a chair next to the two of you.
the movie continues and spencer’s arm falls across you shoulders, rubbing small circles across your shoulder blade and back.
"next time we're not inviting morgan over," spencer mutters under his breath, making you giggle.
"oh, shush," you whisper back, playfully nudging him. morgan, catching the mention of his name, turns towards the two of you with a questioning glance. spencer flashes a sweet smile, and you send a thumbs up his way.
"maybe you should go over there and put your arm around him," you suggest, amused.
"absolutely not.”
masterlist . spencer reid masterlist . taglist
thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!
alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.
#my works ──★ ˙ ̟🎀 !!#masterlist#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid criminal minds#dr spencer reid#spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid drabble#criminal minds fanfic#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid comfort#spencer reid fic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid scenario#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds#blurb
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Kneel
Summary: Negan reminds you what you’re supposed to do whenever you see him in the Sanctuary
Pairing: Saviors Era Negan x f!reader
Tags: !NSFW!, power play, dominant Negan, swearing, intimidation, erection, pet names
Word Count: 1.8k (this was meant to be under 1k but I once again forgot how to stfu)
“My oh my, where are your manners?”.
Shit. You knew this would happen eventually. It feels as though Negan has had his eye on you for weeks now, just waiting to pop the question. Because obviously, six wives isn’t enough for one man and he’s in need of another.
You, more specifically.
You’re in the middle of pushing crates piled on to a small trolley when he approaches. He smirks, baring his teeth as he casually swings Lucille by his side. As if the odds are stacked against you, the hallway is empty, leaving only you and Negan. Alone.
“You’ve been here, what, two months now?” Negan acts as if that’s just a guess and he hasn’t been keeping track.
You stand tall beside the crates, making it abundantly clear that you won't be an easy target for him. Your eyes are steady, a defiant gleam in them as you hold his gaze.
No matter how charming or beneficial being with him would be, you refuse to be some damsel he can have for his own twisted amusement. After all, you’ve taken care of yourself for this long in the apocalypse, why rely on someone like him now?
“I have” you confirm, not wanting this conversation to draw out longer than it needs to. Even if you’re on his good side, it’s hard to feel relaxed with Negan’s attention on you.
He hums in response.
You watch as Negan's gaze shifts, his features becoming more stern as he stands there. It's as if a switch has been flipped, transforming him from the charismatic leader to the cold and dominant figure you know he can be.
“So you gonna do it?” he questions, the sharp edge to his words sending a clear message: he’s not asking, he’s telling.
You can feel your jaw clench. Is he expecting you to just throw yourself at him? Or thank him profusely for allowing you to stay here?
Feigning innocence, you gesture towards the crates. "Do what? My job?" you retort, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you intimidated. You go to move the crates again when you feel it - the silent warning of Lucille’s sharp tips resting gently on your shoulder.
Negan maintains a stoic expression, letting Lucille display his authority. His voice is low and gravelly, resembling a growl more than anything else. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, just cause I think you're pretty fuckin’ hot, and ask again" he explains.
Hearing Negan's flippant admission, the way his voice drips with lust as he mentions his attraction to you is enough to send a thrill down your spine. It's a complex feeling to know that a man like Negan is attracted to you. It's thrilling, dangerous, and undeniably exciting all at once.
You hold your breath, expecting Lucille to scratch her way across your face at any moment. But instead, Negan takes a breath and asks again “Whenever I decide to grace your fucking presence, what is it you’re going to do?”.
You feel as if you’re back in school, after getting asked a question by a teacher who knows you weren’t paying attention. You’re unsure what would be worse; to answer incorrectly or to not answer at all.
Slowly, Negan starts to increase the pressure, Lucille’s spikes digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. She prickles at your skin, the feeling thankfully being more uncomfortable than outright painful.
Instinctively, your legs buckle and you sink to your knees before him. “You kneel.” Negan drawls as you go down “There you go. Not that hard, is it?”.
Negan eases the pressure, the painful stabs from Lucille's barbed wire gradually lessening as you comply. You breathe a silent sigh of relief, hoping Lucille didn’t break your skin and leave puncture marks in her wake.
Despite your best efforts to maintain a defiant expression, you can feel a flutter of something in your stomach. It’s subtle, but undeniable. You stare up at him with a determined glare, refusing to acknowledge the confused mixture of disdain and arousal coursing through your body.
Negan lets out a low, guttural groan, his head tilting down to meet your gaze directly. His expression is equal parts hunger and satisfaction as he takes in the sight of you kneeling before him.
"Goddamn," he murmurs approvingly, "now this is a view I could get used to”. Negan's signature cocky smirk returns, the brief display of dominance seemingly fulfilled for now.
It’s easy to feel somewhat distracted in your current position, your head level with his crotch. The temptation to look is strong but you’re aware of what his reaction might be and so you quickly push the thought aside. Fighting with your inner urges, you subconsciously nibble at your lip, accidentally fuelling Negan’s amusement.
He sees straight through you and you know it.
Moving the bat from your shoulder completely, he lightly taps it against the crates. “You come to me if you ever want a change of lifestyle,” he coaxes “I got some real sexy dresses upstairs that haven’t been claimed yet”.
The tension between you both is palpable. There’s no denying that you feel a throbbing sensation between your thighs, the logical side of your mind growing hazy and clouded by lust. Your response catches you off guard, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I think I’d look better without them on," you hear yourself say, the words daring and suggestive.
Are you really flirting with the man who just forced you to kneel!? Damn him.
Negan immediately picks up what you’re putting down, “Oh is that so? Think I’d need to be the judge of that, sweet thing”.
Bringing his free hand down to your face, Negan surprises you with his soft touch. You can feel his fingertips tracing along your cheekbone before gently cupping your face in his hand.
The contrasting sides of this man are striking and downright annoying to put up with but you don’t fight against it. It’s hard to decide which side of Negan you actually prefer; the dominant leader that forced you on your knees to satisfy his ego or this charmingly soft man who calls you pretty pet names.
Unable to resist the temptation, you steal a quick glance forwards. You only sneak a brief look but sure enough, there’s an obvious bulge right there, a mere inches away from your face.
A part of you wants to whimper at the sight but another part of you wants to scoff and get up, stopping this game of cat and mouse no matter the consequences of ‘disrespecting’ his authority.
“Well, damn" he practically groans as you look back up at him "I don't see why we should wait until you try on one of the dresses." His words are direct, the implication clear that he's craving you just as much as you're craving him.
But the ball is in your court now. Negan keeps his hand on your face, staying deliberately still, leaving the next move up to you. He's put his cards on the table, making sure his desires are known. It's up to you to respond, to show him that you want him just as badly.
A thought flickers through your head. How bad would it be if you did hookup with Negan? You know you’d have a good time but there would be consequences. Even though Negan seems casual, there’s no doubt he would push you to become another wife. Once he sinks his claws into you, he won’t simply let go after a hookup or two. Why would he when he can have an unlimited number of wives just for himself?
Before you can make that decision, movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. You snap your head in their direction, watching as a figure hesitantly comes closer, uncertainty laced in each step.
Joey — or, Fat Joey, as he’s so graciously called by Negan — steps closer, nervously wringing his hands together.
Negan follows your gaze, letting his hand drop from your cheek as he huffs. “Fat Joey! Holy fuck, who knew you could sneak… or cockblock” he exclaims, putting on his bravado act.
Taking advantage of Negan's momentary distraction, you quickly stand up, using the opportunity to distance yourself and get back to work. The feeling of embarrassment washes over you as you realise what that must have looked like for Joey, who just stumbled across you both.
Negan shoots you a quick look. It's not an angry glare but rather a pout, as if he had expected you to patiently wait on your knees until he’s done talking to Joey.
Joey speaks up, his voice a bit shaky as he tries to sound professional. "Boss, Simon wants to talk to you, he said it’s important" he says, attempting to mimic a soldier's stance "He tried contacting you on the walkie but didn't get an answer".
Negan reluctantly gives Joey his attention, a hint of annoyance in his expression. You swiftly begin to move the crates, deciding to take Joey’s interruption as some kind of divine intervention that’s telling you not to give into Negan so easily.
“Simon already rounded up the other lieutenant’s, so they’re just waiting for you, sir” Joey rambles on as you pass by.
Just as you're about to make your exit, you pause, unable to stop yourself from making a snide comment. You turn to Joey, purposely avoiding Negan's gaze. "Oh, Joey," you say with a hint of sarcasm, "don't forget to kneel. He likes that."
Joey, completely oblivious to the sarcasm behind your words, takes your reminder as sincere advice. He immediately drops to his knees, a look of panic on his face as he hastily apologises. "S-sorry, sir!" he stammers "I didn't mean to forget!".
Negan takes a step back, his hand instinctively going to cover his bulge now that someone else is so close. ”Yeah, sure, just get the fuck up,” Negan grumbles.
As you walk away, you throw a playful goodbye over your shoulder. "Bye, sir," you say with a smirk, feeling a small sense of victory at having left Negan standing there with Joey, who’s still babbling on.
Negan stays silent, mulling over his thoughts. He can hear Joey drone on but he isn't interested. There's only one thing on Negan’s mind.
You’re definitely a keeper.
#negan#negan fanfiction#negan smith fanfiction#negan smith#negan twd#negan x reader#jeffrey dean morgan x reader#negan x you#twd negan#jdm x reader#negan x female reader#the walking dead negan#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead fic#negan imagine#negan smut#negan oneshot#twd fanfiction#twd fic#jdm fanfiction#jdm oneshot
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Hiding Spot [chaptor 2]
[UTMV FIC] Contains: platonic Fresh & Nightmare, cuddling, possessive Nightmare, Fresh eating someone :-] [~2,000 words]
“I suppose, since you are looking so…” “Deserving?” “Pitiful,” Nightmare finished. The tone he said it in was warm, like he was talking about a rare bird or beautiful sight he’d seen. “I can see if I have anything for you.”
Fic under cut! or on AO3 [here's chaptor 1, on ao3, or tumblr]
Fresh woke with a startle, the feeling of air against its ankle sending warning signals through its head. It was exposed.
A sleepy catalogue of its surroundings calmed it, marginally. It was warm, and damp, but to the levels it usually liked it. The air smelled like Nightmare’s magic, heady and too sweet to be appetising. The scent was intense, too, but maybe that was because it had slept in it for a night. Must have been in the guardian of negativity’s castle… not the best, but not the worst.
The airflow that had woken it up was just its ankle sticking out of where it had hidden, something it easily remedied. It snuggled into the warm crevice with a contented click, now fully concealed.
It would need to find Nightmare later, see if he’d noticed it was in his territory, perhaps see if he had anything for it to eat. The guardian was always happy to treat it, for a price.
The shifting of its sleeping spot put all those thoughts on hold, however.
“Done cuddling, pet?” Smooth, cold, holding the barest hint of amusement.
“Nightmare?” Flinching back, the movement only made it get tangled in what it had finally noticed to be Nightmare’s tentacles.
The previous night filters back to it in an instant. The hunger, the scuffle, creeping into Nightmare’s room for the night. It could feel its cheeks heat with embarrassment. The moments had been tinged with the desire for peace and a comfortable place to sleep, but now, in the morning, the actions felt different.
The guardian pulled it closer, pressing its face to his chest and winding tighter around it: the feeling was akin to wedging oneself between the knots of a tree. His single cyan eye rolled, “calm down.”
Fresh didn’t really feel like ‘calming down,’ but the artificial hide Nightmare’s tentacles were making made that near impossible. The darkness of the room sealed its fate. If it could go back in time, it would make sure the stupid octopus never learned that trick. As it was, the weakness just stung.
“Just a bit surprised bro,” Fresh mumbled, losing steam and relaxing, slightly, into his hold. “Not everyday a dude wakes up to your unique mug.”
Nightmare hummed an acknowledgement, petting along its spine like Fresh was a very large lapcat. “If either one of us has the privilege to feel ‘surprised,’ it is I.”
It arched slightly, trying to be discreet to keep its cool, stoic air. “Nuh-uh dude.”
He gave it a flat look. It stuck its tongue out.
Nightmare signed, like air through a dead tree, “and here I was, about to ask if you wanted something to eat…”
Fresh squeaked, backtracking immediately. “Wouh, no need to be hasty bro!”
Nightmare hummed, looking unconvinced. There was a spark of amusement in his eyes though, slimy.
It huffed, knowing how he wanted it to act. “Really cramping my style.”
No answer.
Sighing, large and dramatic, it nuzzled a little against his chest and let itself fully relax into his hold. The final step, it looked up at Nightmare with the most pathetic look it could manage.
That got it a reaction: Nightmare smiling. It looked mean.
His hands reached gently around its mandibles, curling under its jaw. The tips of his claws tickled its vertebrae, the hold possessive. It did not pull back, even as its instincts rankled at something so threatening near its neck.
“I suppose, since you are looking so…”
“Deserving?”
“Pitiful,” Nightmare finished. The tone he said it in was warm, like he was talking about a rare bird or beautiful sight he’d seen. “I can see if I have anything for you.”
It let out a pleased churr at that, giving a genuine nuzzle into his hold. It always knew how to get what it wanted.
Nightmare seemed similarly pleased with its actions, if only for a moment. He shifted slowly, gently releasing it and pushing it off his lap.
Fresh let itself be manhandled once more, languidly stretching on Nightmare’s bed and making itself comfortable. If it could say anything about the king of negativity, it was that he did not skimp out on the bedsheet budget. Maybe it could find more excuses to nap here in the future…
Movement pulled it out of its musings, Nightmare standing. The guardian looked much too good to have just woken up. Perhaps that was the perks of being the main villain; he always looked put together and sly.
It was unfair in Fresh’s opinion, but it pushed any jealousy aside. It had already deduced long ago that any of the things interested in it hadn’t become fans due to its appearance. It would have no use for looking pretty.
“You wait here,” Nightmare commanded with a careless wave of his hand, “if I see you elsewhere upon my return, consider your meal forfeit.”
“Aye-aye bossman. I’ll just vibe in your crib till you get back.”
It was a pursuit hunter at heart, always enjoying tiring out its prey and falling upon them once they tired, but sometimes that wasn’t in the cards. Ambushes were just as effective, if more boring. It had spent many a night camped out in snowdrifts waiting for prey to stumble close.
Compared to that, lounging around on Nightmare’s lavish bed waiting for food to be delivered to it was downright heavenly. And the only price it had to pay being that it had to thoroughly scare its prey as it devoured it? It could be convinced it was dreaming if it hadn’t known Nightmare couldn’t appear in such things.
The lavish bed made a perfect nest, and the only thing keeping it from drifting off was how high it was raised, leaving it feeling too exposed without Nightmare.
It never got the monster and human obsession with lifting your bedding off the ground. If it had its way, Nightmare would have furnished under his bed with as many soft pillows and blankets as the top. A perfect little hide for it.
It had fallen a comfortable doze when Nightmare returned.
“Pet,” Nightmare cooed as it sleepily blinked at him, “I’ve brought you breakfast.”
‘Breakfest,’ yelped at that, squirming hard against Nightmare’s restraints. It was no use against the king of negativity. Anything they were trying to say remained muffled by a tentacle gagging them.
Fresh eyed up the presented skeleton; scars and sharpened teeth implied fell, or something close, and the size pointed towards a sans. Not as plump as they usually were, it noted with disappointment; it guesses Nightmare didn’t feed his prisoners much.
It was a bit too hungry to be all that put out by their state. Food was food, afterall, and Fresh did like skeletons.
The constant squirming in Nightmare’s hold was making it hard not to pounce at them right away, but it didn’t want to seem too desperate. Nightmare had enough leverage, it couldn’t be hasty, no matter how hungry it was.
The guardian lifted it a bit higher and shook it around a little, like one would to entice a cat with a bag of treats. Embarrassingly, it almost worked.
It had resolve, standards, and knew if it gave Nightmare an inch he’d take a mile. It couldn’t show weakness. So, Fresh made no move to get off the bed, instead doing grabby hands towards him.
“You can leave the bed Now, stop being a pest.” Nightmare huffed, growing impatient.
“C’mon man, I’m comfy. Plus, breakfast in bed sounds like the thing to beat. You getting me?”
“I will not have you sullying my bedsheets with blood.” The captive skeleton seemed a bit faint at that. “On the floor with you.” Like a dog.
Fresh whined, “I can be clean! Squeaky clean.” It wasn’t some beast for Nightmare to tame.
He made a disbelieving huff.
Fresh stuck his tongue out, crossing his arms. Acting the part of petulant brat was an easy way to piss the king of negativity off, but it knew it was also a fast-track to getting him to give up. Dealing like Fresh likes this was way more than it was worth.
While Nightmare was stronger than it, Fresh still held more bargaining power. It could leave whenever it wanted, could find food elsewhere. Nightmare knew this.
“Fine. If you dirty my sheets you’re the one who’s going to clean them.” He tossed the skeleton onto the bed.
The poor thing didn’t have even a moment to beg for its life before Fresh was on it. There was no mist, no cloud of magic; Nightmare liked to watch.
“Wait! Wait-wait wait wai-“
It pried their eye-socket open, fingers curling under the orbitals. They struggled under it, and even if both were hungry, nearly starved, Fresh still had the advantage of size and a good night’s sleep. They didn’t stand a chance.
“Ple-please-“
They were eye to eye, nose-bridges nearly touching. Begging turned to a choked off whimper, then one last panicked gurgle before it had gotten all the way inside. It tried to be quick, the feeling of air against its soft body sickeningly panic inducing. That probably didn’t help the skeleton’s peace of mind though.
It’s old host went slack on top of its new, and it hastily got its functions in order enough to shove the body off Nightmare’s bed before it dusted. It had out-lived its usefulness.
Pops and cracks filled the air as it shifted the body into something more it’s style. The process would take a few more days to complete fully, but for now it just looked a bit smaller than usual. Good enough.
It let out happy little hum, splaying out over the bed and enjoying the feeling of sweet, new magic enveloping it. The sound of clapping made itself known, the haze of food lifting.
Nightmare. It was Nightmare who was clapping. A pleased smile stretched across his face, too wide for even a skeleton’s grin. “I’ll never get tired of that show.”
Something in Fresh fluttered at those words. A show, a good one. Its goal everyday… it wondered if the ones watching found it as interesting, as delightful, as Nightmare seemingly did.
“You flatterer.” It grinned.
Nightmare approached the bed in two quick strides, carefully avoiding the dust pile it’s old host had left behind. At that distance, he could wrap his hands around its cheeks, gently petting its face with his thumbs. It leaned in, a purr starting up.
It would push him off, had already gotten everything he had to offer, but it was sleepy from the switch. And, well, maybe feeling a bit generous now that it had eaten.
“Can you blame me?”
“Yes and I will,” it mumbled, yawning.
He laughed at its lackadaisical manner, claws gently tracing its cheek. He was too good at that, really.
“I’ll have to get to doing actual business, now that it’s morning,” Nightmare said, “but you may stay here for as long as you like.”
Score. It, if possible, melted further into the warm sheets, not even minding how exposed Nightmare’s bed felt at this point.
Another laugh, warm and soft, almost the exact opposite of what Nightmare was known for. He leaned down to give it a gentle nuzzle on the forehead before leaving. Not a single more word.
It knew he’d be back later. For now though, it enjoyed getting back to its nap.
#fresh#fresh sans#fresh!sans#nightmare#nightmare sans#nightmare!sans#fresh & nightmare#canabalism#cw canabalism#utmv#undertale multiverse#puppywrites#fic
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HERE ARE SOME DADDY!PRICE/BRAT-ISH READER THOUGHT FOR U BABE <3
- price who scruffs reader and drags her to his office when they mouth off to him. like full stop, she is NOT allowed to do that.
- price who takes care of his girl & pampers her when she acts like a good girl. she’s his princess, even though she obeys him she has him wrapped around her finger.
- price bending her over his lap and spanking her just because she’s pushed him just a /litttllleeee/ too much this week. it’s not even a punishment, this is just her warning.
- i am such a big fan of pussy inspections. i’m so sorry, but i cannot help it. price making sure you haven’t been playing with yourself because you KNOW you’re not supposed to. just opening your legs and prodding around for a while, sometimes he does it just to be mean and tease you.
- getting too drunk & needing to have him take care of you. clinging to him while he focuses on driving, maybe even crying a little about how much you /need/ him.
RAHHHHH THIS CAME IN LITERALLY RIGHT BEFORE I PUBLISHED MY PRICE DADDY KINK FIC SO YOUR TIMING IS UNMATCHED
i am so so head over heels for soft daddy price who is obsessed with pampering his darling girl. even when you're bratty, he thinks that you're just adorable. this man is whipped for you
definitely the fuck around and find out type tho in a way that is honestly so intimating! all he has to do is level you with one of those stern, furrowed eyebrow looks and if you have any kind of self preservation instincts you'll be tossing that attitude of yours out the window.
he's so so patient with you, but there's a limit to everything and you learn how far you can push him. i feel like one of his big limits is being a brat in front of other people. in private, your prickliness and audacity is treated in the same manner as someone might react to a tiny kitten baring its claws. he thinks it's cute, and will watch with amusement as you try to get your own way
but in public? oh, girl. don't even try. it's not worth it
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Fishbride hcs? 👀👉👈
The long awaited……
Fishbride Headcanons!
Nina fell first, but Bride fell harder
Both of them tried really hard to suppress their feelings for each other. The Bride suppressed since her last long term love related fiasco (she had several hookups/situationships throughout the years). Nina suppressed since she didn’t know the first thing about being in a relationship and any love related attempt quickly went south.
Bride had confessed about her feelings to Phosphorus who constantly teased her about it. Everytime Nina passed by, he’d elbow Bride playfully and try to be her wing man (which she did not appreciate)
“Hey Nina, cute shirt, is it new?” “It’s the same prison shirt I always wear?” “Yeah well Bride said that you looked really good in it, huh Bride? “I’m gonna kick your ass so hard your flames are going to extinguish.”
Nina told her feelings about the Bride to G.I. Robot who unfortunately/accidentally told the Bride all about it.
“Hello, commander! I was just discussing with Nina about new strategies and tactics to kill Nazi enemies! But she did not seem to have much interest in our conversation. All she could speak about was how lovely you are and how she cares for you deeply. Even more than a friend. I find it quite queer that someone could be so disinterested in slaughtering Nazis. I hate to suggest the notion, but do you suppose… she could be on their side?”
Bride confronted Nina about this and she was the first to admit her feelings. She was a nervous wreck throughout it.
Bride very nonchalantly replied to Nina that she had been feeling the same way about her.
Their first “I love you”’s and kiss were on a mission.
It seems as if the battle that was set before them could have been their last ones so they stayed very close the night before. Bride opted to sleep on a cot next to Nina’s bath bed.
After they said their goodnight, Nina softly whispered “I love you” while quietly sobbing. The Bride sat up and Nina did the same instinctively.
The Bride reached her hand towards Nina’s wet face and pulled her in for a gentle longing kiss.
Also Bride likes to sneak Nina out so they can go on dates during their downtimes on missions. Nina always protests, but ends up having a wonderful time.
Bride also likes to kiss Nina’s helmet when she’s wearing it even though Nina finds it silly to do so.
As I mentioned before, Bride is incredibly protective of Nina (especially since her “incident”). Nina will tell her to lay off every now and then, but she does admit she loves all the attention she gives her.
Bride calls Nina “babe”, “my Nina”, or “cariño”.
Nina calls Bride “love” or “my Bride”.
And ofc, “fish” and “softie”
They don’t use pet names very often, especially not in public. They’re usually reserved for private more tender moments.
Bride’s love language is acts of service, gift giving, and words of affirmation.
Nina’s love language is quality time and gift giving.
Bride and Nina eventually were able to bunk together.
Nina secretly longs for a domestic life with the Bride… but she knows she’ll probably never get it due to their circumstances. But she daydreams about it constantly. Living together, filing their taxes together, marrying each other, having a family…
Bride hadn’t felt this kind of love in decades and Nina is excited yet anxious to jump into this kind of love for the first time with someone she cares about so much :’(
So I’m a big fankid fan and I like the idea of them having their own biological kids somehow, but in my personal headcanons, they “adopt” a monster kid
Basically she’s a little gargoyle girl that’s like 6-7 years old that they rescue from a mission. (if you’re interested in learning more abt her, pls lmk cuz I wanna share her so bad)
Part 2? 👀 You let me know! And don’t be afraid to share your headcanons too!
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on the topic of peafowl play, would/do peafowl enjoy those pet puzzle toys? would they have the patience or interest to complete 1 outside of food motivation? i don't know why but i always imagine peafowl as the brilliant but lazy types and i wonder if that headcanon of mine has any plausibility lol
I gave my peafowl one of those chicken treat puzzles (this one) which they are supposed to peck/scratch at and roll around, which drops scratch grain slowly on the ground and gives them something to do until it is empty. It's basically two yellow bowls bungee-corded together by a single cord on the inside, anchored at that little black nub. You fill one half, and then "seal" it as a ball- but it's not clipped together or anything, just bungee tension holds it together.
I set it down for Aris for the first time, and rolled it so she could see it had scratch in it that would fall out. She pecked it once, examined it for roughly 10 seconds, and then grabbed it by the little black nub, and shook the hell out of it, bursting it open and flinging scratch all over the pen. She dropped it and everyone went about their business eating the scratch.
I taught Eris how to press buttons to "speak" to me; she had a few treat buttons, a food button, a water button, and some Word word buttons like "want" and "Eris" and "yes" and "no." She used them to argue with me and make fun of me for forgetting to put water in her wet food one day.
I gave Bug toilet paper rolls with holes cut in them, stuffed with paper towels and superworms. She learned to pull the paper towel out almost immediately. She gets a bowl of fresh foods when she goes into her pen in the mornings, and it started with me walking in and coaxing or carrying her in. Now she goes and waits on the perch where I put the bowl. I give anything leftover she didn't eat to the barn crew, so when I go to collect her in the evening, Polaris and Opal are usually waiting on the table where I put the bowl.
I bring Artemis indoors to do paintings with her, and she knows the order is indoors->bath->dry off->painting+treats, so if I bring her in, and she gets a bath, and I wait too long in the drying off, she will start scolding me until we start painting.
If I let the birds out of their pens, they get free range time while I'm outside. When I call "hup hup!" loudly and repeatedly, they all start walking back to the coops. Many of them know up commands. Artemis and Bug have both learned to put their trains up if I ask (and that's a no-treat trick, they just do it). Beep knew "ask nicely" when she wanted something (which is what led to me training Eris with the buttons), so she would scrape her beak on me if she wanted something. Beep also played with a lot of different toys.
I guess the point is that they are pretty smart birds, given a chance and good circumstances. They can be incredibly stupid, too, but the majority of them are pretty smart most of the time. But they don't have a lot of patience for things that are not either immediately rewarding or that they choose to focus on. Beep once spent an hour trying to get the button off my jeans, but if you offer Bug a mouse and move it away before she can get it, she'll usually just stop caring. If you give a treat to one bird, they might snub it, but they'll kill a man for it if someone else gets it and acts like it's good.
So COULD they become interested in a pet puzzle and possibly solve one? Maybe? It really just depends on what's in it for them, and/or how interested someone else is, and/or if they think it's their idea. They don't really have a lot of grabbing strength in their beaks, so that factors in, too. They do NOT like to peck hard things.
They DO like to destroy stuff though. If you could make an edible tissue box, they would absolutely lose their shit about it. Every peafowl I've ever owned LOVES tearing tissues out of a tissue box and ripping tissues to shreds to try to eat. Don't know what that's about. Leftover raptor instincts to disembowel things, I guess.
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"i think i've always loved you" (jungwon x reader)
genre: fluff word count: 0.9k requested by @miukityy-deactivated20230802 ♡
masterlist
The hallway is unusually silent as you walk through the empty school with an injured Jungwon hanging on your neck. It's an irony, really, that you, out of all people, have been chosen as the one to walk him to the nurse after he'd hurt his ankle in a result of bumping his head with one of his teammates and falling down roughly.
"How's your leg?" You ask to somehow fill the silence, hand gripping his waist tightly.
He shoots you a pointed look before scoffing with slight amusement. "Not the best," he hums, finding humor in your shy words. "I think it might be twisted."
"That would suck," you murmur quietly.
This finally gets a laugh out of him. "Why are you still so awkward around me?" He chuckles, pinching your side playfully. "You really have no reason to be, after all those years. Makes me think you hate me or something."
He's teasing, you know that. But still, his words make you squirm a little because they couldn't have been farther from the truth.
You know it's weird that you're still so tense around him even though you've been, more or less, friends for such long time. But you like to tell yourself that your behavior is absolutely excusable. Because how else is one supposed to act around their long time crush without blowing their cover?
You lower your head, deciding on an honest answer this time. "Funny cause I always felt like you're the one who hates me."
Jungwon snorts from your ridiculous thought. "That's crazy. C'mon, everyone knows I've always liked you." His confession does little to pacify your already pounding heart and just when you think about letting it slide, he goes on almost as if someone treated him with an honesty potion. "No, scratch that. Actually, I think I've always loved you."
The quiet, almost embarrassed mumble just can't go past your ears this time, completely disregarding Jungwon's deepest wish that you didn't actually hear his words. Your body tenses up as you halt your steps, head shooting to the side to cast a shocked glance at Jungwon.
Did you hear that right or are you just this far gone into your delusion?
"What?" You manage to stumble out. His arm wrapped around your shoulders all of sudden leaves a nearly burning trace behind and you shiver slightly. "You really must've gotten it hard in the head, huh?"
Jungwon strangles a groan that bubbles up in his throat, knowing well that this slip up was no one else's fault but his. Oh God, he's really doing this. Running his free hand over his face, he unsuccessfully tries to shake off the sudden nervousness spreading over his system like some kind of a parasite.
"No, what? I wasn't- Okay, fuck, whatever," he breathes out quickly, stumbling over his words and slightly loosening his grip on you to face you better. "I'm in love with you. I mean it. I've been ever since you barged into my class and hit Riki's head with this brick-ass notebook of yours."
You flush at the mention of the memorable momentum from over four years ago. With ears burning, you forget about his injury for a hot moment and step away from his touch, the sudden movement catching Jungwon off guard and causing him to stumble forward with a whine, right back into your smaller frame.
"Shit, I'm so sorry," you rush out the apology, arms instinctively finding their way around his middle again, keeping him steady.
You're left breathless, feeling absolutely each and every emotion striking your heart one by one. And in this moment, looking up at his ever so pretty face, cheeks slightly flushed with pink and eyes wide with nerves; you decide to show your answer through actions rather than words.
So you raise to your tippy toes and capture his lips with yours without even a hint of hesitation. Even if Jungwon's heart literally jumps out of his chest, all hair rise up on his arms and world nearly halts to a stop – he never lets you know any of these things as he dips his head down, allowing you to get more comfortable and settle back on your feet, kissing you twice as intensely as he finally lets go of all the pent up tension in his body.
He presses his lips deeply to yours, drinking every quiet sound that you make as his hand makes its way up to your face, fingers brushing your skin so gently in the total contrast to his relentless mouth biting and bruising yours.
And fuck him for not growing the balls to confess to you sooner.
You let his desperate lips do anything and everything to yours right now, ignoring the tingling that guarantees they're gonna be swollen and burning after he pulls away. But you're way too infatuated and greedy to loosen your grip around his neck.
You're unwillingly forced to break the kiss when your lungs feel as if they're about to collapse, so with one, two, three more pecks to his wet lips, you take a step back, yet not far enough from him to not feel his heavy breath on your face.
"I might like you a little too," you can't help but tease quietly, now finally content with your feelings and watching giddily as a fond smile makes its way to his red lips.
He hums, hands moving to your hips. "Only a little?"
"A tiny bit," you keep the banter up, squirming with a squeal when his fingers dig into your sides in a tickle.
permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi
#enhypen#enhypen imagines#enhypen x reader#enhypen fluff#jungwon imagines#jungwon x reader#yang jungwon#jungwon drabbles#enhypen drabbles#jungwon fluff
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Just curious, why do you ship Megastar?
[long post incoming, apologies, you activated my sleeper phrase]
Short answer: I like these characters and their potential. I like the idea of them, and I made up new versions because I want to see their dynamic and subtext taken seriously, and not flanderized/made into a meanspirited joke by media that is supposed to be "mature"
Long answer:
when i was watching transformers as a kid i was really interested in the dynamic of two characters who are mean and jaded and instinctively push eachother away, but work extremely well together. i didn't really understand coding yet, but in my interest in the decepticons as an entity with an ideological identity that wasn't just "bad guy" (transformers was like. the first time i really started thinking about deeper meanings and propaganda in media, which probably explains why i am as obnoxious as I am) I was always sad with how megatron and starscream never really got the chance to have their dynamic approached in a different way. in a lot of ways those two are the heart and soul of the decepticons, and I've always thought that putting more care and attention into their relationship and not just writing it off as a cruel plot device would be the first step in having a more nuanced view of the Decepticons as a whole
personally I believe that, in a similar way to batman and the joker, those two have always had a dynamic that kind of blurs the lines, and at times is outright suggested. unfortunately though, like batman and the joker, over time an unwillingness to engage with the reality of that uncomfortable, sort of meanspirited coding just led to the near-sighted stereotyping becoming crueler and more abusive. acknowledging that it exists at all means acknowledging there was that bias, so the "joke" was just repeated until it became the only thing their interactions were really known for. it's an act of flanderization, and that makes me sad
i guess my case in point is--they have a lot of potential that just isn't realized. even in places where their relationship is given depth there's still almost always this really tonally dissonant violence to their interactions that's never unpacked, not really, because how are you going to sell toys of that? moreover, how are you going to make megatron "redeemable" after that? what could be considered strange, poorly executed slapstick in its origin became aesthetically worse and worse, but was never given serious thought--and I think that makes the story, overall, worse! "maturing" the brand didn't make it smarter, it just made an elephant in the room, and now Transformers is so locked in to its decided status quo that we haven't had a different perspective on any of these characters since Animated.
I apologize for the rant, but it's something I think about alot and your question is somewhat related to that. I'm frustrated by how dismissively these characters are written in versions of Transformers that are supposed to "smart" and "mature", I'm frustrated by how that negatively impacts the story, and I'm frustrated by how the people who like these characters can be dismissive of it. I think there's a lot of story potential and thematic insight into the decepticons that can be gained by looking at these two as characters with a history, and not just a bad joke! I think that you can have all the best parts--the sabotage, betrayal, bitterness, and the irony of someone you refuse to trust who still manages to know you better than anyone else, and have that shown through actions and character development, and actually written instead of having to be overscored by unintelligible violence for the sake of being "dark" and reaffirming, in the cheapest way possible, that you're looking at characters who are evil! I want to see that in a story!
my work is honestly not really about what I think transformers IS, or HAS to be, but what I think it has the potential to be, and what my interpretation of the themes means to me. I want to see all of the Decepticons viewed with a different lens, and these two are probably the most important Decepticons, both on a story/thematic level and a cultural one. transformers was the first piece of media I was really consciously critically thinking about, entirely by chance, and in the interest of art and human expression I want to make something different that is interested in being more thoughtful
anyway, sorry again for rambling. I might delete this later to keep my page clean, but I appreciate the question! I'd give more specific examples of why I like the stuff I made up but those would be spoilers.
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Not Having a Good Time
-Heartslabyul Version
Note: Hey, everyone. So I've had these stories on the back burner for quite a bit, and I do have intentions to work on more than just this one imagines series. I hope you guys like this one nonetheless first <3
Riddle Rosehearts
As much of a stickler Riddle is for keeping the peace, unless it's necessary not to, he can tell when someone is not in the mood for nonsense in the exhausted sense of the word. He will ask to speak with you in private, away from any snickering and gossip.
"Queen's Rule #568: Grievances must be shared over a cup of lavender tea and the griever's favorite treat."
You and Riddle will enjoy this occasion in the quiet side of the garden, where Riddle allows you to rant about your issues as he listens with open ears. Riddle always had Trey and Chen'ya who would listen to his problems, so it was only right as a Housewarden to act upon his position with you, even if you aren't his house student.
He knows it's not the permanent solution, but, while also warning not to tell anyone that this happened, he gives you a hug of comfort, lifting your spirits just a little.
Trey Clover
You have your head to the floor, so you don't notice Trey approaching when you accidentally bump into him and step on the tip of his shoe. Already distressed enough as it is, you apologize profusely. Trey smirks as he replies:
"It is just a shoe, not my mother's flower garden. Why don't you walk with me?"
As Vice Housewarden, the solver of the majority of the dorm's problems and the mediator of all squabbles, it is Trey's natural instinct to approach you the moment he sees the frown on your face. He allows you to express your grievances as you walk through the campus garden.
Trey believes the best way to release stress is a nice baking session. He even lets you do the kneading and taste testing steps.
Cater Diamond
Even though you just want to be alone in Ramshackle Dorm, prior to your return to your dorm, Cater couldn't help but notice how stressful you've felt all week if your account is proof of anything. He couldn't help but send you a DM on MagiCam.
Your latest pic is looking pretty gloomy. If you wanna talk, spam me as much as you like. -CayCay <3
You gladly take the offer since you felt comfortable ranting not face-to-face. You can tell that Cater is reading them by reacting to each message you send with an alternate sad or a heart emoji.
As a peacemaking offering, Cater tells you that if you are ever interested in doing a "Cay Cay pampering session," he'd be at your dorm in half a finger snap to help clear the stress from your mind.
Ace Trappola
When you're not feeling your best, the last you need is someone or something to make it worse. Ace didn't get on your best side as he pulled off the "dunk your face into your lunch" prank today. He didn't react so nicely when you told him off, but after realizing what had gone on prior to that prank, he finds you during flying class to try to make things up for what he did.
"Yuu...what happened at lunch today, I'm sorry. I should've just said, "Hi," and asked how you were doing. I didn't know you were already mad. Please forgive me. If you can't, let me make it up to you somehow."
If Ace wasn't sincere, you supposed he would've waited until after class was over to apologize. Now that he was listening, you let out everything that had been going on before Ace pulled off the prank. You also express the "I message," which Ace is more than willing to accept.
With Vargas busy with...whatever Vargas is doing, Ace offers you to go on a flying ride with him. A little entertainment screaming would do you some good to make you forget about your problems...even just a little.
Deuce Spade
Deuce finds it odd that you've been less chatty as of late. You barely even spoke when the professors pointed to you for answers to their questions. He catches you after class and asks what's happening. He's all ears to hearing you out. That's when you finally respond, and he feels the pain with every word that comes out of you.
"Ah geez, Yuu. I'm really sorry. I think I've been feeling it, too, and when I'm feeling that way, I need a Blastcycle ride. Wanna go on one right now?"
You don't find that to be a bad idea, so you guys head out and take a campus ride to let the issues out of your hair. The island is lovely enough for its wind to brush it right out.
#twisted wonderland#riddle rosehearts#heartslaybul#heartslabyul dorm#imagines#imagine#game#trey clover#cater diamond#ace trappola#deuce spade#disney twst#twst riddle#twst ace#twst deuce#twst trey#twst cater#twst heartslabyul#disney#anime#prompt#twst housewardens#twst#twst wonderland#stories#short stories#riddle twisted wonderland#riddle twst#trey twst#trey twisted wonderland
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a kiss to gain something, for amadis/illario? 👀
This one really spiraled out of control and I could not stop myself, some pre-game trysting of my favourite messy couple who are definitely not in love do not @ them. It did not escape my notice that the Rook background event that separates them from their faction happens approximately at the same time as Lucanis is presumed dead
Amadis de Riva / Illario Dellamorte | 1778 words
If Amadis were a good little Crow she would have been packing. She would have been obeying her Talon’s direct order to take her things and get out of Treviso ‘with immediate effect.’ She would have followed along like the perfect soldier she was supposed to have been.
Good little Crows don’t find themselves in a rented tavern room next to a man that same Talon has told them to stay away from who refuses to tell them his name. Good little Crows fall in line and obey no matter how little information they’re given. No, Viago had made it clear to her how much she was not, in fact, a good little Crow after her actions against the Antaam and so any attempt to be one hardly seemed to matter.
The sullen face of a once-good little Crow stared back at her from a dingy mirror as she ever so carefully traced her lipstick over her lips and tightened the tie on her robe.
Illario was distracted tonight. Even when his clever hands were on her body his mind was somewhere else entirely, traveling the peaks and valleys of her flesh by rote and muscle memory, guided less by passion than by experience and yet seemingly just as bent on losing himself in her as she was into him. Did he know what had happened? Did he know it was her who had ruined the Talons’ plans and her who would be so unceremoniously exiled?
Worse yet, where did his allegiances truly lie? It was a desperate thing to suspect a Crow of treason and yet not improbable, especially when he had cultivated a mystery around himself the way he did. It was becoming tiresome that he still refused to name his House. Trust was already an expensive commodity in Antiva and could not support further suspicion.
“Something on your mind?” she prodded gently, taking a seat beside him on the bed, curling one bare leg beneath her and laying the other across his lap. He accepted it with an aimless drift of his fingertips across her calf, but looked away for a moment too long before responding.
“It’s nothing,” he said with his liar’s smile, his expression shifting into the softened mask of a lover that had been absent a second prior. The finesse of it always amazed her; she mentally noted it with professional appreciation. If she had had a closer relationship with the truth herself she might almost have called it natural.
“Contracts don’t usually spook you.”
“It’s not a contract.”
“Ahh so it is something,” she said with a dangerous smile, leaning closer to him until her shoulder bumped gently into his, rocking the two of them ever so slightly off balance until she settled against him. “House business, then?”
He huffed a harsh breath from his nose and the top corner of his lip curled cruelly, faster than he could catch up to the expression to crush it into an intimate unconcern, a smile free of conflict. He hadn’t managed his eyes though, not completely, not well enough for her scrutiny, not enough for her to be able to mistake the desire for reassurance, for justification, of some act he was reticent to speak of.
“Something like that.”
Some instinct within her cried danger, growing louder and spilling into her guts as she searched for answers that she knew she wouldn’t receive in those eyes that seemed nearly black in the dim light. He continued to play the lover but she knew better, she knew him like she knew her own limb, they had never needed names for that.
Who or what she couldn’t tell, whether herself, her country, or someone wholly unconnected to either, but she knew beyond any doubt that some betrayal was an inevitability, and knew just as strongly that whatever happened she would guarantee that she would not be anywhere near the fallout of it.
Still, their game played on. He had one more chance to end it, whether or not he knew it. One chance for the honesty she had no true expectation of.
“And am I still not allowed to know which House?” she asked, looking up at him through her long, dark eyelashes and allowing an errant curl to fall in front of her face. “Still worried that we may be mortal enemies?”
Illario’s smile turned wickedly sharp as he took the offered bait and smoothed the hair from her face, cupping her cheek and lifting her chin toward him.
“If I’m not already your mortal enemy I will be very disappointed,” he said, the warmth of his breath prickling on her skin.
You are, she thought as she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his, pulling him close against her and holding tightly to him. You can match me, you may be my weakness, but you will not be my undoing.
She banked the smell of him within her memory, the sincerity of the sweat on his skin overlaid with the artificiality of his chosen cologne. There was no small chance that this was their end now, and it would be for the best. But for a moment, for just one single moment, she could pretend that this was all there was, that they were happy, and that neither would ever feel the sting of the other’s betrayal. All a fiction, certainly, but she couldn’t resist the indulgence of it even still.
Backing off, she broke away from him, her resolve steeled. The weight of their secrets and their untruths had simply become too heavy; there was no other option than this. Perhaps it had always led here. Perhaps Viago had had the right of it when he warned her away, though the thought of validating that stung more than Illario’s deflections.
He followed after her with his hands, resting an arm around her waist; for him too, it seemed, it was easier to bury himself in whatever this was than to face whatever had him so preoccupied.
“I’m leaving Treviso,” she said flatly, reclaiming her leg from across his lap and setting it on the floor. She might have shrugged out of his grasp completely had he not tightened his grip on her as she spoke. “I don’t know when or if I’ll be back.”
“Why?” he asked, straightening up with what seemed to be genuine surprise. “Where? I may be traveling soon, I could meet you.”
Not this time, she thought, more wistfully than she had imagined she would when she’d run over the ways this conversation might have gone beforehand. She had not thought that he would look at her like she was the sun and had banished him into shadow. He ought to have been grasping, scheming, he ought to have been his usual conniving self. Not this earnestness that nearly threw her off course. She could recover though, she must now.
“A contract,” she lied. “And no, I will not tell you where. You’ll enjoy yourself well enough wherever you are without me,” she teased with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. She didn’t mind; though he had on occasion followed after her for a post-contract holiday they had never been anything near to what might have been called exclusive.
“Will you tell me if I am very, very nice?” Illario purred into her ear, pulling her closer to him and nuzzling his nose into her neck.
Amadis tilted her head back, leaning shoulder to shoulder, a hair’s breadth from his lips. “You have never been very, very nice a day in your life,” she said in a low voice, kissing him once more, biting gently at his lower lip before separating again. “And I would hate for you to start now.”
He laughed and the vibration through his chest rippled through her own.
“I could also be terribly-” he began, voice smooth as velvet, nipping at the tip of her ear. “Incredibly-” he continued as he slipped a hand into her robe and worked it slowly downward. “Not nice at all,” he finished, his fingers teasing the top of her hip bone.
Another day perhaps he might have tempted her to let go and meld into him. A small, easily crushed notion in the back of her mind wished it might have been that day. It was not. It could not be.
“There is nothing you can do to convince me, mio caro,” Amadis said with a wicked little smile, lifting his hand away and placing it on his leg. She ran her fingers over his as she let go, giving them a single squeeze. They were slightly cold to the touch; his circulation was slowing. “Not when you have secrets of your own.”
“We all have secrets, we’re assassins,” he said, seemingly more sharply than he’d intended. The slightly frantic expression in her eyes told her it was taking effect; his taut control over his tone and himself had loosened. Bit by bit his mask was falling and it seemed all he could do to force neutrality on his features. Just one moment more, that was all she needed.
“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” she pushed , one final chance after the last one. One more moment to seal his own fate and by extension theirs.
“Then I suppose we’ll both remain a mystery,” he said firmly and she put the possibility of the antidote she carried out of her mind.
One hard blink, then another, and then the muscles in his neck started to go slack. Blearily he attempted to push her away but only succeeded in falling into her shoulder, his movements sluggish and slow as though he were moving through water.
“You did this,” he accused through slurred words as she laid him down softly onto the bed. She was gentle, smoothing the hair from his face and lifting his legs off the floor.
“I don’t know what it is you’re planning, but I don’t want to be anywhere near it and I’m afraid I can’t risk you following me. You’ll be alright in a few hours.” Picking up a handkerchief from the nightstand, she wiped her lipstick away thoroughly and precisely, as she had been taught by the expert poisoners of House de Riva. “Dream of me,” she said quietly, her voice a low rumble, and pressed a last, untainted kiss to his brow.
“I’ll dream of your blood on my knife.”
“But at least you’ll still be thinking of me,” she told him as his eyes fluttered closed and he faded away into unconsciousness.
Perhaps there was something of a good little Crow in her after all.
#rook x illario#illario dellamorte#rook de riva#amadis de riva#esh you're both enabling each other's mental illnesses you're both perfect for each other never change never involve anybody else#i have descended into madness but that's fine it's a nice place to be
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