#i say this without malice just with truth

[amitiel-truth]

River Maiden Pt. 10

(A/N: I call this one, The Crash-out Saga)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,

(Y/N)'s sobs echo through the damp, watery cell in Poseidon's Golden Palace under the Agean Sea, her anguish palpable. She has never felt so alone and hopeless before, trapped in this watery prison where she can barely breathe without feeling suffocated.

She's desperate to be with Telemachus, to feel his embrace and hear his comforting words.

"Why... why can't I be with him?" her voice choked with despair and sorrow.

Poseidon's booming voice interrupts her thoughts, echoing throughout the palace. "Because, my dear," he says mockingly, "you're my leverage. As long as you're here, that pesky mortal won't dare to go against me."

He appears outside her cell, a sinister smile on his face. "And I, oh, am going to enjoy this."

(Y/N) takes a deep breath, steeling herself.

"What do you want now?" (Y/N) asked, glaring at her 'Father'.

Poseidon chuckles, his voice dripping with mockery. "What do I want? Oh, nothing much. Just a little entertainment." He leans against the bars, his gaze fixed on (Y/N). "You see, I quite enjoy watching you suffer. It's oh so satisfying to see you, a daughter of mine, so hopeless and desperate."

His eyes gleam with malice as he continues, "And I love even more how that silly mortal believes he can save you. It's hopelessly romantic, really."

"Haven't I suffered enough?" (Y/N) stood up, walking up to the cell, continuing her glare at him.

"I was born from your sins, forced to grow up in darkness, and watch the only parent I know deteriorate because of you, do you know no mercy? Do you even rest? Do all you think of is implementing suffering for others!?" (Y/N) yells, tired of him.

"Mercy? Rest? Those are foreign concepts to a god like me." Poseidon sneers, undeterred by (Y/N)'s outburst.

"You think I care about your suffering?" he asks with a cruel chuckle. "I am the god of the seas, and I do as I please. Your pain only fuels my power, my dear. It amuses me to see you struggle and despair, knowing that you can do nothing to change your fate."

"You're wrong" (Y/N) challenges.

Poseidon quirks an eyebrow, intrigued by (Y/N) defiance. "Oh really now? And how exactly do you intend to prove me wrong, my darling daughter? You're trapped here, completely at my mercy."

"Because Odysseus once defied you...and won." (Y/N) taunted, a smug grin on her lips.

Poseidon's expression darkened at the mention of Odysseus's name.

"Yes, well, that blasted mortal was lucky," Poseidon grumbles begrudgingly. "But there's no chance Telemachus could pull off the same feat."

"You underestimate him." (Y/N) points out, looking at him blankly.

"Underestimating a mortal?" Poseidon scoffs, his arrogance evident. "I am a god. I am infallible. No mere mortal can stand against me."

"You underestimates a mortal once...do I even need to repeat what happened?" (Y/N) taunted, tilting her head.

Poseidon bristles at (Y/N)'s words, his pride wounded. "Enough!" he bellows, his voice echoing off the cell walls. "You forget your place, girl. I am the god of the seas, and I will not be mocked!"

"I am also a product of you, a vile, selfish man, who knows nothing but take, take and take!! " (Y/N) points out, glaring at him.

Poseidon's gaze hardens as (Y/N) continues to defy him. He hates hearing the truth spoken out loud, especially by his own daughter.

"Watch your tongue, insolent child," he growls, trying to hide the growing frustration in his voice. "You speak of taking? Do you know the power and responsibility that comes with being a god?"

"All I see is your selfishness and brazenness, a brute with no mind." (Y/N) glared at him, insulting him once more.

"How dare you!? I am not a brute," Poseidon seethed, his fury mounting. "I am a god, and I rule the seas. You, on the other hand, are just a mere girl, a mortal with delusions of grandeur!"

"Then forget about me as I forget about you!" (Y/N) screamed, holding onto the bars.

"You cannot forget about me," Poseidon thundered, his voice shaking the entire palace. "You're my daughter, my blood, and I will not let you go so easily!"

(Y/N) heart pounds in her chest as Poseidon's words wash over her, but she refuses to back down. She meets his gaze with a mixture of fear and defiance.

"Then why keep me imprisoned like this?" she asks, her voice cracking slightly.

"Because you are valuable to me, dear one," Poseidon replies, his voice soft and chilling. "You're the key to my revenge on Odysseus. As long as I have you here, that insolent mortal will do whatever I want."

He steps closer to the bars, his eyes narrowed. "And I plan on milking this opportunity for all it's worth."

Commanding the water around him, he made the watery cage around (Y/N) in the likeness of a giant bird cage, rising her up above the open field.

(Y/N)'s heart sinks as she's lifted from the ground, trapped in a water cage that perfectly resembles a birdcage. She feels imprisoned and vulnerable as she's hoisted up into the open field, the weight of her captivity overwhelming.

"What are you doing?" she demands, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

Poseidon's smug smile widens with satisfaction. "Why, my dear, I'm simply making sure you're...comfortable."

He begins to walk away from her water cage, leaving her suspended in the open field.

"Oh, and do try to enjoy the view from up there," he calls over his shoulder, his tone dripping with mockery.

Poseidon gazes up at (Y/N) trapped in her watery birdcage, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Now, stay up there and wait for Your Prince." he sneers. "Let's see how long your precious hero will take to find you."

Hermes flies both Odysseus and Telemachus towards the massive golden palace of Poseidon, its opulent facade standing out against the backdrop of the sea.

"This is it, lads," Hermes says, nodding towards the palace. "Poseidon's lair is in there, told you it won't be that much of a journey, the Lady upstairs made sure if it. Are you ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," Odysseus replies, gripping the bag of Brutus Flowers tightly in his hand.

Telemachus simply nods, his expression stoic, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation with Poseidon.

"Then I should get going now, do try not to get yourself killed, she'll gut me for sure, Good luck~." Hermes bid farewell, before disappearing.

Odysseus and Telemachus watch as Hermes vanishes, leaving them standing before the imposing palace.

Odysseus takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "Alright, Telemachus," he says, a hint of determination in his voice. "Let's go get your girl back."

Telemachus nods, his gaze fixed on the palace. "Lead the way, father."

With that, they begin making their way towards the entrance of Poseidon's palace, their hearts pounding with anticipation and a sense of purpose.

Suddenly, they heard cries in the halls of the palace, catching Odysseus and Telemachus's attention. They exchange a glance, both knowing who the crying is coming from.

"That sounds like her..." Telemachus notes, his heart filling with worry and anger.

They followed the sobs, reaching an open courtyard, they stopped in their tracks at the sight of (Y/N) standing next to Poseidon, her face streaked with tears. They watch as Poseidon continues to speak to (Y/), his back to them.

"(Y/N)..." Telemachus whispers, his heart filling with rage at the sight of her tears.

(Y/N) turns around, seeing Telemachus, a bright smile on her lips.

"Telemachus! Your finally here!" (Y/N) cried out with a large smile.

"See Father? I told you he loves me!" (Y/N) proclaims, looking at Poseidon with a smile, confusing Odysseus and Telemachus.

Poseidon hides his irritation at (Y/N)'s outburst, maintaining his composure. He turns to Telemachus with a smirk, playing along with (Y/N) claims.

"Ah, Telemachus," he greets him, feigning a friendly tone. "Welcome. I see you've come to claim your beloved back from me."

"Well, here she is, all yours, I've grown bored of her." Poseidon pushed her towards him, making the (Y/N) run up to him.

"Telemachus! Oh, How much I missed you!" (Y/N) proclaims, holding his hands.

Telemachus's heart leaped at the sight of (Y/N) rushing towards him, but something about the scene felt off. He glanced at Poseidon, who had a smirk on his face, and then back at (Y/N).

"(Y/N)...?" Telemachus asked, his voice filled with a mix of relief and caution as he feels her hands on his.

"What's wrong my love? Don't you miss me?" (Y/N) asked, tilting her head.

Telemachus forces a smile, playing along.

"Of course I missed you, my love," he responds, gripping her hands tighter. "I thought about you every moment we were apart."

As he holds her hands, Telemachus subtly notes the coolness of her skin, a deviation from the usual warmth he remembered.

"Oh, How I missed you, beloved." Y/N) smiled at him, hugging him tightly, too tight.

Telemachus hugged her back, his arms encircling her as she hugged him tight. The coolness of her skin seemed to linger, an unsettling contrast to the warmth he knew her to have.

"It's alright, my love," he murmured, his heart pounding with worry. "I'm here now. I won't let you go."

Suddenly, Telemachus stabbed her back with his dagger, His heart pounded in his chest as the illusion of (Y/N) dissolved into water, dissipating the moment the dagger pierced her body.

He looked up at Poseidon, who had a smirk on his face, clearly pleased with his little ploy. Telemachus clenched his jaw, his grip on his dagger tightening as he realized the extent of the god's trickery.

Odysseus watched with a mix of surprise and confusion. "What just happened?!" he exclaimed.

"It wasn't her, her hands are too cold, and my arms don't fit right around her." Telemachus sheated his dagger, before glaring at Poseidon

Poseidon chuckled darkly, amused by Telemachus's observation.

"Clever boy," he taunted, his gaze cold and calculating. "I see you caught onto my little trick."

Odysseus's eyes widened, his expression turning serious as he realized the implications of what had just occurred. "So, where is she...the real (Y/N)?" he asked.

With the snap of the God's finger, a birdcage made of water began to rise.

Telemachus's gaze followed the ascension of the birdcage, his heart lurching as he heard the sound of (Y/N)'s sobs. Anger welled up within him as he realized she was inside.

"(Y/N)!" he called out, his voice carrying across the courtyard.

(Y/N) looks out of her cage, her breath hitched.

"You came..."

Telemachus's heart ached at the sight of her, caged and helpless.

"Of course I did," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "I would travel to the ends of the earth for you."

Odysseus stepped forward, his gaze fixed on (Y/N) in her watery prison. "We'll get you out of there," he assured her.

"Ah, ah, ah," Poseidon interrupts smugly. "Not so fast, mortals. If you want your little damsel in distress back, you'll have to play by my rules."

Telemachus's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, his anger flaring.

"Your rules?" he spat out, his voice filled with venom. "What rules? You're nothing but a coward, locking her away up there like some prized prisoner."

"Careful, boy," Poseidon warned, his eyes narrowing. "You might not like the consequences of your words."

Odysseus stepped forward, his voice firm but measured. "We're not here to play games, Poseidon. We came for (Y/N), and we won't leave without her."

"Oh, you won't, will you?" Poseidon chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what makes you think you have any leverage here? You're both just mortals, insignificant and fragile compared to me."

Telemachus gritted his teeth, his patience wearing thin. "We may be mortals, but we're not powerless," he shot back. "And we won't let you treat (Y/N) like some bargaining chip."

Poseidon's gaze shifted between Telemachus and Odysseus, his smirk faltering momentarily as he faced the two mortals.

"Is this supposed to intimidate me? A mortal with a spear and another with a bow?" he taunted, his tone tinged with amusement.

"Telemachus!" (Y/N) calls out, before throwing something for him to catch.

Telemachus caught a double-ended spear made of her tears, his eyes widening in surprise. He felt the power within the weapon, the will of the waters flowing within it.

"No way..." he whispered, gripping the spear tightly, a sense of determination coursing through him.

"We're not only mortals...we had a bit of help." Odysseus taunted, before using the Brutus Flowers, with its necter and pollen at the tip of his arrows.

With a flick of his wrist, Odysseus launches a Brutus flower-tipped arrow at Poseidon, the pollen swirling through the air towards him

Poseidon's eyes widen as he realizes what Odysseus has done. He tries to dodge, but the pollen envelops him, rendering him vulnerable

Telemachus charges forward, wielding (Y/N)'s double-ended spear. His movements are swift and precise, every strike aimed at exposing a weakness in Poseidon's defense. His heart beats in sync with the rhythm of battle, his focus solely on rescuing (Y/N) from her watery prison.

Despite being weakened by the effects of the Brutus Flower, Poseidon fights back with the full force of his trident. His movements may not be as quick and precise as before, but he compensates with sheer power and experience. Each swing of his trident sends the air rippling around him, creating small waves with every attack.

Telemachus, his heart racing in his chest, dances around each swing, dodging and parrying with his double-ended spear. The battle becomes an intricate dance of blades and tridents, with each strike echoing across the courtyard, the sound of their weapons mingling with their ragged breaths.

Telemachus, his heart racing in his chest, dances around each swing, dodging and parrying with his double-ended spear. The battle becomes an intricate dance of blades and tridents, with each strike echoing across the courtyard, the sound of their weapons mingling with their ragged breaths.

While Telemachus distracted Poseidon, Odysseus used it to free (Y/N), seizing the opportunity, grabs an arrow and expertly attaches a length of rope to it. He swiftly fires it with his bow, the arrow soaring towards the top of Egeria's cage and anchoring itself securely. With a steady grip on the rope, Odysseus begins his ascent.

(Y/N) looks at the rope before looking down, seeing Odysseus.

"Sir!." Egeria whisper yells in greeting

Odysseus glances up, his expression filled with determination as he climbs the rope. "Hang on, (Y/N)," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the battle below. "We're getting you out of here."

As Odysseus reached her, she managed to slip out of the cage with her power, as he helped her down the rope

(Y/N) clung tightly to Odysseus as they descended the rope, her heart pounding with a mix of relief and anticipation. Once they reached the ground, she turned to him with a mix of gratitude and worry.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice shaky. "But Telemachus..."

The strength of the Brutus Flowers began to wear off, and Poseidon's godly powers started to return. As his strength rejuvenated, Telemachus found himself growing tired and outfought. He tried to hold his ground, but Poseidon's power overwhelmed him, pushing him back.

With the lift of the God's trident, he sent a powerful gust of water down onto Telemachus, as he lays down onto the ground, injured.

"NO!!" (Y/N) and Odysseus yells, as they both ran towards Telemachus's side.

(Y/N) and Odysseus rushed to Telemachus's side, their hearts heavy with worry. Odysseus knelt down beside him, taking in his injuries with a grim expression.

"Telemachus," Odysseus calls out, his voice shaky in near tears. "Can you hear me?"

"No! Nonononononono!" (Y/N) panics, accessing his injuries... it's grave, his abdomen and chest feels soft, his ribs are broken.

"Telemachus, please stay with me, please!" (Y/N) begs, holding his hand, patting his cheek.

Telemachus grunts in pain, his body feeling battered and bruised from the relentless attack.

"I...I'm alright," he croaks, managing a small smile despite the pain. He looks up at (Y/N), the worry in her eyes making his heart ache.

"No, you're not! You're mortally wounded!" (Y/ screams, trying to keep him awake.

Odysseus clenched his jaw, his expression turning grave. The severity of Telemachus's injuries was clear, and time was running out.

"Telemachus, you have to stay with us," Odysseus urged, his voice firm but tinged with desperation. "We can't lose you now."

Telemachus sees the panic and desperation in (Y/N)'s eyes, and he reaches up to gently touch her cheek, trying to offer some reassurance in his fragile state.

"Don't...don't worry about me," he says, his breathing labored. "I...I'll be alright."

(Y/N) looks at him in distraught, he's the one mortally wounded and yet, he is still worried about her well being, making her clench bee teeth.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry I never told you who I truly am, I never told you because... because I thought you wouldn't accept me for who I am, the part of me that I hate, the part of me I rejected all my life." (Y/N) admits, crying heavily as she looks at Telemachus's critical state.

Telemachus gazes up at (Y/N), his eyes filled with love and understanding. He reaches up to wipe away her tears, his touch tender and gentle despite his fading strength.

"My sweet, beautiful (Y/N)," he whispers, his voice weak but steady. "You don't have to apologize. I don't care about who you are or where you come from. I love you for you."

He coughs weakly, pain flooding his body as he tries to speak.

"I...I would never reject you..." he gasps, struggling to speak with every word. "You... you're my world... my heart... my everything."

Tears stream down (Y/N)'s face, her heart breaking at the sight of Telemachus, the man she loves, lying so helpless and vulnerable, whispering his last words to her. She grips his hand tightly, holding onto it like a lifeline.

He slides his hand up to caress her face, his fingers brushing against her skin, wanting to feel her warmth for as long as he can.

"Please...please don't cry," he pleads, his voice growing weaker with each word. "I... I hate seeing you like this..."

Tears stream down (Y/N)'s face as she listens to Telemachus's words. She grasps his hand tightly onto her face, her heart breaking at the sight of him struggling to hold on.

"Please...please don't leave me," she pleads, her voice choked with emotion. "I can't lose you too. I love you so much."

Telemachus weakly continues to touch hee cheek, his hand trembling with effort. His touch is gentle, his fingers tracing the contours of her face, committing the feel of her skin to memory.

"I...I wish I could stay with you... forever," he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper now. "But... I'm so tired..."

(Y/N) sniffles, taking a deep breath, before finally accepting it, knowing that Telemachus will only suffer in pain from holding on for her, she raised one of her hands, stroking his hair.

"Rest now, my Love, I'll see you in the morning" (Y/N) says softly, kissing his lips.

Telemachus's breath hitches slightly, the taste of her kiss bittersweet. He looks into her eyes, his gaze filled with sadness and love.

"Will... will I dream of you?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

(Y/N) looks at him with a bitter sweet smile, trying to give him at least a smile he could remember of her despite her tears.

"Yes, you will, always." (Y/N) reassures, trying to keep it together.

Telemachus manages a weak smile, his body growing increasingly still. He weakly moves his hand, brushing back a strand of (Y/N)'s hair, his touch tender despite his fading strength.

"Good...that's good," he murmurs, his voice fading further.

Odysseus, witnessing the scene unfold before him, feels a mix of sadness and admiration, knowing that Telemachus will die in the arms of his beloved.

"Rest now, My love, I'll see you in the morning, I love you." (Y/N) presses her forehead against his with a smile, despite her tears falling onto his cheek

Telemachus's eyes flutter closed, and a weak smile plays at the corners of his lips as he feels (Y/N) warm touch on his forehead.

"I...I love you..." he whispers, his voice barely audible now.

His hand, still weakly holding onto (Y/N)'s, begins to go slack, his body finally succumbing to the damage and exhaustion.

The silence is heavy, broken only by the sound of (Y/N) stifled sobs and Odysseus' ragged breaths. Telemachus's hand, now slack in her grip, falls limp to his side, his chest no longer rising and falling with each labored breath.

Odysseus stands nearby, his expression a mix of grief and anger. The reality of Telemachus's death is almost too painful to bear, and he clenches his fists, fighting back the urge to shout in rage and frustration.

(Y/N) looks at Odysseus, her eyes so full of tears. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry." (Y/N) begs for forgiveness, as she gently placed Telemachus body onto Odysseus's arms as he sat on his other side.

Odysseus looked at (Y/N) with a mixture of sadness and understanding. He shook his head softly.

"It's...it's not your fault, my dear." Odysseus assures her. "Telemachus's death is a consequence of a battle we had to fight, and he fought bravely for you."

(Y/N) looks at the sight before her, Odysseus, holding his son's body, as she begin to break at the scene, kneeling onto the ground, and screaming in pain, tears endlessly flowing from her eyes.

Odysseus only looks at her, his heart breaking for her loss. He holds Telemachus gently in his arms, his own tears flowing freely grieves with her. The courtyard is filled with the sounds of their shared sorrow, with (Y/N)'s heart-wrenching screams echoing in the air.

Poseidon, now having regained his godly powers, let out a mocking laugh, relishing in the scene before him.

"Ha! Look at you all weeping over the fallen one," he says, his voice full of arrogance and cruelty. "The great Telemachus, defeated by a single blow. What a pity!"

"You really thought you could defeat a god with a mortal's strength?" Poseidon sneers, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. "You were all just playthings to me, nothing more than insects to be squashed under my heel."

He looks down at Telemachus's lifeless body in Odysseus's arms, his taunting tone growing more cruel.

"And now, look at the prize you've lost. How does it feel, hero?"

"Your tears. Your sorrow. They are nothing to me," Poseidon continues his mocking tirade, taking pleasure in Odysseus's grief. "You are all so weak, so powerless. You thought you could defeat me, a god, with your mortal struggles? How naive."

He looks over at (Y/N), now on the ground, her grief too overwhelming for her to hold back.

"And you, hybrid. Do you think your tears will bring him back? You are both pathetic."

Suddenly, the air stills, as (Y/N) sat up from her kneeling, shocking Odysseus at what's happening to her, but Poseidon couldn't see as her back was turned to her, the spear made out of her tears that Telemachus had dropped in his defeat, dissolved, and snaked it's way onto her, slithering on her back to her hair.

Droplets of water began floating around them, as (Y/N) stood up, her once (H/L) (H/C) turned into water in the shape of snakes, similar of that to a Gorgon, as she slowly turned her head towards him, her eyes glowing white, too bright, with endless amounts of tears flowing from her eyes, as the droplets began pelting Poseidon.

"What is this... what are you doing?" Poseidon demands, his voice taking on a hint of panic.

Each hit felt like a rock, completely surrounding him, as it ended (Y/N) was now in front of him, winding back her arm and sending a blast of water in the shape of snakes towards towards him, sending him flying across the courtyard.

Poseidon quickly regains his composure, looking up at (Y/N) with a snarl.

"How...how are you doing this?" he demands, clearly shaken by her newfound powers.

(Y/N) ignores his question, her gaze fixed on him as she continues her approach, each step sending tremors through the ground underneath her. The howling wind sounds like her screams, creating a chilling chorus of anguish and determination.

"What have you become?" Poseidon finally manages to say, his usually mocking tone now tinged with fear.

She couldn't even hear him, all she could hear was...Telemachus.

"I would never, ever let anyone take me away from you"

"You are more precious to me than any Princess or wealth could ever be."

"I'd have stayed in that river with you forever, if I could."

"No one else can have me. I'm all yours."

"My beautiful nymph."

"You're too good for me, love..."

"You are... intoxicating,"

"Please...please don't cry"

"You... you're my world... my heart... my everything."

"I...I would never reject you..."

"Will I see you again?"

"I...I wish I could stay with you... forever"

Imagine being so full of grief and rage, that you force your divine half to take over.

Amidst her anguish, a new title is bestowed onto her.

(Y/N), Mistress of the Waves.

Goddess of the Sea, Earthquakes, Storms and Snakes.

She continues to attack him, every form of water are in the shape of snakes, as if to remind him of his past mistakes, of her mother, Medusa.

Poseidon's fear and disbelief grow as (Y/N) continues her relentless attack, every bit of water shaped like a serpent, tormenting him with the memory of Medusa.

"No...no, this can't be happening," he mutters, struggling to maintain his composure.

Each attack lands with precision, causing Poseidon to stagger back, the pain and fear from his past haunting him once more. (Y/N), fueled by her grief and fury, is a force to be reckoned with, her power growing with each passing moment.

Odysseus struggles to maintain his balance as the wind intensifies, the gusts becoming stronger and more tumultuous. He holds Telemachus tightly in his arms, trying to shield his body from the elements, but the force of nature proves overwhelming.

"(Y/N)..." he calls out, his voice barely heard over the howling wind. "(Y/N), please, you have to stop!"

But (Y/N) didn't listen, or she simply couldn't hear him in her grief, as she continues to attack, in his fear, Poseidon even tried to hit her with his trident, as she caught it with her bare hand, snapping it in two and throwing it to him, making him stumble.

As she throws the broken weapon back at him, the reality of his situation becoming all too clear to him. Poseidon, the mighty god of the seas, is being bested by a woman consumed by grief and rage, her powers beyond anything he could have anticipated.

(Y/N) pants as she glares at him, as behind her she forms a giant snake made out of water, brandishing it's fangs towards him, threatening to attack, an imposing sight that only adds to her already fearsome presence. It glares malevolently at Poseidon, its fangs gleams in a threatening manner, as if ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Poseidon's face goes pale as he stares at the snake, realizing that he's facing a force he can't easily overcome. His fear is evident as he takes a step back.

(Y/N) raises a hand, preparing to send it down onto him, biting her lip so hard that it bled, as she was about to send it down, a familiar embrace stopped her, hugging her gently, with a hand on her cheek, snapping her out of her rage filled state, her pure white eyes returning back to normal, but her hair is still remained made out of water in the form of snakes, gasping as the giant snake made of water drops into nothingness, as she leans onto the familiar, comforting hug.

Hera, the goddess of marriage and queen of the gods, holds (Y/N) tightly in her arms, a mixture of concern and sympathy etched on her face.

"It's alright, child," she whispers gently, brushing a hand through (Y/N)'s hair, which is still in the form of water snakes. "You don't have to do this."

Hera looks over at Poseidon, who stands there, stunned by the sudden turn of events, a mix of fear and confusion visible on his face.

(Y/N) cried out, burying her face onto Hera's shoulder, as she held onto her purple peplus tightly, crying as she screams, and dropping to her knees, with Hera following suit, unable to form any sentence, filled with heartbreak

Hera holds (Y/N) tightly, her own eyes filled with sympathy and compassion. sitting on the ground and continuing to hold her close. The goddess gently strokes (Y/N) hair, her touch soothing and comforting.

"Shh, it's alright," Hera whispers, her voice soft and tender. "Let it all out, my dear."

(Y/N) is inconsolable, to the point Hera has to force her to stop biting her lips so much that it bleeds, as she continues her anguish cries.

(Y/N)'s sobs are heartbreaking, her grief overwhelming and unceasing. Hera, holding her tightly, tries to soothe her, gently chiding her to stop biting her lips.

"You need to stop, my dear," Hera says softly, wiping some of the tears from (Y/N) cheeks. "You're only hurting yourself more."

Despite her attempts, (Y/N)'s anguish only seems to deepen, drowning herself in her heartache and sorrow.

"I...I lost him!" She cried out, burying her face onto Hera's chest, barely being able to keep herself upright.

Her words, filled with despair and heartache, hit Hera hard. The pain in her voice is palpable.

"Shhh, I know, darling. I know it hurts," Hera whispers, holding her close.

Hera gently runs her fingers through (Y/N)'s hair once more, trying to soothe her, but the tears continue to flow, unstoppable in their intensity.

"Please, help me, I'd do anything to give him back to me" (Y/N) begged, gripping onto Hera's shawl

Her pleas pierces through the air, her desperation and pain palpable. Hera's heart aches as she holds her, feeling her anguish.

"My dear, I wish I could bring him back to you," Hera says, her voice trembling as she fights back her own tears. "But even I cannot reverse the hands of fate once death has claimed a soul."

She tightens her embrace, holding (Y/N) close, offering whatever solace she can.

"I'll do anything, please" She begs, holding her hand, unstable.

"I'll give you anything of mine, please, anything but this, anything but him! I can't lose him, I can't lose him like this" (Y/N) begged hysterically.

(Y/N)'s pleading is heart-wrenching, her desperation driving her to make any bargain, surrender anything to reverse the inevitable.

Hera, with tears in her own eyes, tries to console her. "My dear, your pain is understandable, but there are limits to what even I can do. I cannot bring someone back from the dead."

"Please, anything of mine, anything! Just take it! Anything but this, anything but him" (Y/N) begged, burying her face to her Aunt's shoulder.

Hera's heart heavy as she witnesses the extent of her grief. As (Y/N) begs for any solution, even offering any part of herself in exchange for Telemachus's life, a thought springs to mind.

Hera pulls back gently, looking deep into (Y/N)'s tear-filled eyes.

"(Y/N), my child, listen to me. There...there may be a way."

"Please, I'll do anything." (Y/N) begged, looking at her, pleading.

Hera took a deep breath, her expression a mix of hesitation and hope.

"I cannot promise anything," she warned, her voice almost a whisper. "But there is one possibility. You have both mortal and divine blood in you, a unique combination of both worlds."

Hera paused, her eyes never leaving (Y/N)'s face.

"You could...give up your divinity."

(Y/N) looks at her in shock, as Odysseus watches the exchange.

Odysseus stood watching the exchange, his thoughts swirling with worry and disbelief. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

He silently observed, torn between hope and caution. On one hand, he desperately wanted to see Telemachus alive again, to hold his son in his arms and bring him back to life. But the thought of (Y/N) giving up her divinity, her very nature, filled him with dread.

As he watched, his mind was a whirlwind of emotions, contemplating the implications and consequences of such a sacrifice.

"I will also offer you my protection, and being mortal, you will cut your ties with Olympus and Poseidon himself from being his daughter, do you accept the terms, my dear?" Hera asked, shocking Poseidon

As Hera made her proposal, a gasp escaped Poseidon's lips, his eyes widening in disbelief. The thought of (Y/N) renouncing her divine heritage and severing her connection to him was both unexpected and jarring.

"No...no, you can't do this!" Poseidon spluttered, stepping forward in protest. "You can't take her from me, she's my daughter!"

"Take it" (Y/N) quickly answers, making both the Gods look at her in disbelief

"I'd rather live a single mortal life with him than live an eternity without him, please, Auntie...." (Y/N) begs, looking up at her with tearful, pained eyes.

"Take it" (Y/N) begged with her broken voice.

Poseidon's protests go unheard as (Y/N) accepts the offer. He stands there, stunned, watching as his daughter willingly agrees to relinquish her divinity.

Hera glances at Poseidon, a look of determination in her eyes, before turning back to her. "Are you sure, child?" she asks gently, her voice carrying a heavy weight.

"Divinity is something many sought after, are you willing to trade it away for his life?"

"How could I ever continue living...without him who truly makes me feel divine?" (Y/N) asked with a broken smile.

(Y/N)'s words hang heavily in the air, her emotions on full display. Her pain is palpable, the love she holds for Telemachus consuming her very being.

Hera gently places a hand on her shoulder, her touch a mix of sympathy and understanding. "I know, my dear, but you must be certain. Once this deal is made, it cannot be undone."

Hera looks over at Telemachus's body, lying motionless on the ground, and a pained expression crosses her face.

"I understand, Auntie, I'm only saddened that I'll never get to see you again" (Y/N) admits with a frown.

(Y/N)'s words hit Hera like a dagger to the heart, her frown deepening. She looks down at student, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and pride.

"You are a remarkable young woman," Hera says softly, her voice heavy with emotion. "Your compassion and depth of love are admirable."

Hera gently cups (Y/N)'s cheek, her touch tender. "I shall miss you, dear one," she whispers, her voice thick with sorrow.

"Thank you...for everything." (Y/N) smiled at her, grateful for raising her.

Hera smiles sadly as tears fill her eyes. She's both proud of (Y/N)'s strength and saddened by the loss of her divine heritage.

"It was an honor to watch you grow, my dear," Hera whispers, fighting back her tears. "You are a gift to this world, and I shall always cherish our time together."

She holds (Y/N) close, her embrace filled with bittersweet emotions.

"You have a great heart," Hera adds "and it pains me to see it ache like this. But remember this, My Student, and don't forget."

Hera gently lifts (Y/N) chin, meeting her gaze with a mix of sternness and love. "Even as a mortal, you'll retain lessons learned and traits gained from your divinity. Hold onto your strength, your resilience, and above all, your capacity to love."

She brushes a strand of water hair away from her face, her touch gentle yet firm.

As Hera gazes at (Y/N), memories flood her mind. She sees the little girl she once raised, the one she took under her wing, and the woman she has become.

Hera's eyes well up with tears, and a bittersweet smile plays upon her lips. Her heart aches for the loss of their bond, but she is also filled with pride.

Hera takes a deep breath, steadying herself as she prepares to undertake the process of reviving Telemachus. She closes her eyes, her mind focused and resolute. A soft energy emanates from her fingertips, and her voice takes on a incantatory quality.

"Let the threads of life once more become unbroken. Let Telemachus's path be illuminated by the light of the living."

She holds her hands above Telemachus's corpse, channeling her divine power.

As the process ensues, (Y/N) can feel a subtle change within herself. It's as though the threads of her divinity are unraveling, loosening their hold on her being.

Meanwhile, Telemachus's lifeless body responds to Hera's intervention. Color slowly returns to his cheeks, and a faint pulse can be discerned. The process is gradual, but the resurrection is taking effect.

Odysseus, witnessing the scene, observes the changes taking place. He watches as color returns to Telemachus's cheeks and a pulse appears, a sign of life returning to his son's body.

At the same time, Odysseus's attention is drawn to (Y/N). He notices a subtle change in her demeanor, as if something within her is shifting.

(Y/N) noticed Telemachus's slow return, as she runs to him, desperate to see him alright.

"Telemachus! Please wake up!." She begs, as her hair is slowly going back to normal.

Telemachus's eyes slowly flutter open, his consciousness returning. He feels disoriented and weak, but the sound of (Y/N) voice and her touch ground him.

As his vision clears, Telemachus looks up and sees (Y/N)'s face, filled with worry and relief.

"(Y/N)..?" he whispers, his voice hoarse and frail.

As Telemachus gazes up at (Y/N), confusion and awe wash over him. Her hair, made of water in the form of snakes, dances around her head, a striking and unique sight. Yet, despite the Gorgon-like appearance, Telemachus can only focus on one thing - her captivating beauty.

"You...you look astonishing," Telemachus manages to utter, his voice soft and filled with admiration.

(Y/N) looks at him in shock, as Telemachus continues to describe her mesmerizing beauty.

Telemachus's gaze remains fixed on (Y/N), taking in every detail of her appearance. His eyes trace the curves of her face, the way her hair sways around her head like a crown of serpents.

"Your beauty... it's like nothing I've ever seen," he whispers. "The way your hair moves, like a living river... it's mesmerizing."

He reaches up, gently brushing a strand of her snake-like locks away from her face, his touch filled with reverent wonder.

Telemachus chuckles softly as the water snakes surrounding (Y/N) head react to his touch, nipping at his hand playfully. He watches in fascination as they seem to recognize him, their movements becoming more curious.

"They know me," he observes, a hint of amusement in his voice. "They're... they're quite spirited, aren't they?" Telemachus chuckles, looking at (Y/N) with a mix of amusement and fondness. "It's as if they enjoy my touch."

(Y/N) smiled at him as she shook her head, her hair going back to normal as her divinity completely leaves her, pulling him into a hug.

"Welcome back, my beloved." (Y/N) mutters with a large smile.

Telemachus was taken aback by the sudden change in (Y/N)'s hair, returning to its normal state, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it. As she pulls him into a tight embrace, he melts into her arms, relishing the touch he thought he had lost forever.

Hera watches the scene with a small, knowing smile on her face. She can see the tenderness and love between Telemachus and (Y/N), and she feels a sense of satisfaction for having facilitated this reunion.

She watches as Telemachus and (Y/N) embrace each other, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. It's clear that they were destined for each other, and that their bond is stronger than any divine power.

She steps forward, clearing her throat to draw the couple's attention back to her. She waits until Telemachus and (Y/N) breaks apart, their arms still around each other, before speaking.

"Telemachus," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "You have been given a second chance at life, thanks to (Y/N)'s sacrifice."

"What? What did you sacrifice?" Telemachus asked, checking her, counting her fingers and toes

"Telemachus, I gave up my divinity" Telemachus's mind struggles to process the gravity of her sacrifice, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

"You... gave up your divinity... for me?" he repeats, unable to believe it. He gazes at her, his eyes wide and teary, trying to understand the enormity of what she had done. "Why?"

"Because," (Y/N) raised a hand, caressing his cheek, "I would rather die, than grow old without you." She professes, pressing her forehead against his

"Because eternity without you...is torture."

Telemachus's heart melts as (Y/N) speaks, her words cutting deep. He can feel the sincerity and the depth of her love radiating from her every word.

He gently cups her face with his hand, his touch tender and full of longing.

"You're a fool, you know that?" he chuckles softly, his voice full of affection. "Risking everything for me..."

She chuckles, tearing up. "I guess, that makes us fools in love." (Y/N) smiled at him, tears streaming from her eyes.

Telemachus can't help but smile at her words. "Fools in love," he repeats, savoring the sound of it.

He gently wipes away the tears streaming from her eyes, his touch gentle and filled with tenderness.

"Well, if we're fools in love, then I'll be a fool with you," Telemachus murmurs, his voice soft and affectionate. "Until the end of time."

(Y/N) pulls him into a kiss through her tears, holding him tightly.

Telemachus melts into the kiss, his heart overflowing with emotion. He wraps his arms around (Y/N), pulling her close, as if trying to erase all the time they had lost.

Their kiss is filled with longing and desperation, a physical manifestation of the love they share. The world around them fades away, leaving only the two of them in a tight embrace, their mouths locked together as if they can't bear to part.

"Alright, break it up, you two, she's not the only one who was crying over you." Odysseus calls out as (Y/N) pulls away with a smile, letting Odysseus hug his son.

Telemachus breaks apart from (Y/N) with a gentle yet reluctant smile, turning to see his Father, Odysseus, standing nearby.

As Odysseus calls out to him, Telemachus feels a surge of emotions. He can see the relief and love in his Father's eyes, and he knows that his return has not gone unnoticed.

Telemachus rises to his feet, meeting Odysseus's embrace with equal force. They hug, tears streaming down both of their faces.

"Father... I'm... I'm sorry for worrying you," Telemachus whispers, his voice choked with emotion.

Odysseus holds Telemachus tightly, a mix of relief and joy on his face. He can feel the weight of his son's body in his arms, his heartbeat reassuring and real.

"You damned fool," Odysseus mutters affectionately, his voice thick with emotion. "You gave me quite a scare, you know that?"

He pulls away from Telemachus, still keeping a firm grip on his shoulders, and looks into his son's eyes.

Telemachus smiles sheepishly, a hint of guilt on his face. "Yeah, I guess I may have overdone it a bit."

Odysseus shakes his head, chuckling softly. "A bit? You were dead, Telemachus. Dead. Do you have any idea what that did to this old man's heart?"

Telemachus's smile falters a bit, realizing the true gravity of his actions. He looks down, shame coloring his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Father," Telemachus says quietly. "I didn't mean to cause you any pain. I was just... desperate, I suppose."

Odysseus regards Telemachus with a mix of empathy and understanding. He knows all too well what it's like to be driven by desperation and love.

"I understand," Odysseus replies, his grip on Telemachus's shoulders softening. "You were willing to do anything for (Y/N), even if it meant risking your life... I get it."

He paused, a nostalgic glint in his eyes.

"In fact, to be honest, I'd probably do the same for your Mother." Odysseus admits

Telemachus's expression softens, realizing that he and his Father are not so different after all. Despite their differences and their clashes, they share the same capacity to love selflessly, to risk it all for the people they hold dear.

"Maybe we're both fools in love then," Telemachus says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Odysseus sighs, a mixture of resignation and affection. "Maybe we are. But love has a strange way of making fools of us all."

He pats Telemachus on the back. "Just try not to do anything that stupid again, will you?"

(Y/N) watched with a smile as the father and son converse, and turns her head back to Hera with a large smile.

"Thank you, Auntie"

Hera looks at (Y/N) with fondness, her gaze lingering on the young woman who was like a daughter to her.

"You're welcome, dear one," Hera replies with a gentle smile.

She reaches out and places a hand on (Y/N) shoulder, their connection evident in the warmth of her touch.

"You know, I never expected to see you sacrifice your divinity for anyone," Hera chuckles light-heartedly

"I have no other use for it other than to see you." (Y/N) smiles at her, before frowning, looking at the Goddess sadly.

"Will I...see you again?" She asked with a hopeful smile.

Hera's expression softens as (Y/N)'s question hangs in the air. She gazes at her with a mixture of fondness and melancholy.

"I wish I could promise you that we'll meet again," Hera says, her voice heavy with a sense of finality. "But the truth is, I cannot. You no longer have divinity running through you, and that puts us on different planes. It means that our paths will diverge, and the chances of us ever meeting again are slim, if not impossible."

(Y/N)'s heart sinks at Hera's words, a sense of loss and sadness washing over her. She had hoped for more time, more moments with the Goddess who had once been like a mother to her.

"I see..." She mutters with a frown, looking down on the ground, before looking up at her again with a sad smile.

"I guess...in another lifetime will do, Auntie?" She asked sadly, tilting her head.

Hera's expression softens, her heart heavy with the weight of (Y/N)'s words. She reaches out and places a gentle hand on her cheek, her touch tender and comforting.

"Yes, my dear. In another lifetime, perhaps. In another lifetime we'll meet again and may your path be a kind one this time."

She smiles bittersweetly, her gaze holding a hint of sadness and hope. "Until then, cherish every moment you have with Telemachus."

She leans onto her hand, smiling "Thank you, for everything, once more." (Y/N) mutters gratefully, before hugging her tightly.

Hera smiles warmly at her, her heart full of affection for the young woman who had grown into a force to be reckoned with as she hugs her back, running her hand through the young woman's hair.

"You're most welcome," Hera says softly. "And remember, even though we may be on different paths now, I will always be proud of you. You've become the kind of woman I always knew you would be."

(Y/N) smiled at Hera, before catching Poseidon's eye, bringing a frown on her lips, who is still slumped onto the ground.

Poseidon looks at (Y/N) with a mixture of anger and hurt in his eyes. He can't believe that she had chosen a mortal over him, a god.

"You chose him," he mutters with a sneer, his voice laced with venom. "A mortal."

"Better than you, a selfish god." (Y/N) answered, frowning at him.

"One who I can never call my Father."

Poseidon's face contorts with anger, his eyes darkening at (Y/N)'s words.

"How dare you," he fumes, his voice booming across the room. "I am a god, the God of the Seas, and you dare to compare me to a mere mortal? You ungrateful child!"

"Ungrateful?" She retorted, her voice filled with anger.

"You're the one who never gave me never gave me anything, I was all alone, even as a child, you never saw me or cared for me, heck you didn't even know my name, The one who found me nearly dying of starvation at the ripe age of 3 was Auntie Hera, but you, still didn't care, and now that I've found my happiness, you intended to destroy it?." (Y/N) sighs, shaking her head.

"Fine, if that makes me ungrateful, then so be it." (Y/N) pulls out her arm bracelet, throwing it to Poseidon.

"This is yours, I don't want anything of yours in my new life."

He catches the bracelet that she throws at him, gripping it tightly in his fist.

Poseidon glares at (Y/N), his expression a mask of anger and bitterness. He feels stung by her words, but also guilty, knowing deep down that she's right.

"You were nothing but a burden to me," Poseidon seethes, his voice filled with venom.

"Then let me be your burden, and forget about me." (Y/N) didn't even bother turning around to face him, as she walked back to Telemachus and Odysseus, Hera gave him a warning glare, before following her.

Poseidon's eyes blaze with fury, a mix of anger and hurt that he can't quite admit. He feels her defiance in his bones, and he can sense the love that she has for Telemachus.

But despite his anger, he knows that he has lost her. He had never treated her as a daughter, and now she had chosen Telemachus over him.

But he can't bring himself to admit his past faults, and instead, he grits his teeth, glaring defiantly at her back as she walks away.

All he could is clench the bracelet tightly in his hand, a memory of another woman flashing through his mind.

As (Y/N) approached Telemachus and Odysseus, she grew nervous looking at the older man. "Sir, I'm so sorry about-"

before she could even say anything, Odysseus pulled her into a hug.

Odysseus wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. He holds her for a moment, his eyes soft and weary.

"Don't apologize," he replies, his voice gruff but gentle. "You've done nothing wrong."

He pulls back and looks at her, a small smile on his face.

"I can see how much you care for my son," he says quietly, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and concern.

(Y/N) hugged him back, "But...I got him killed"

Odysseus sighs, his grip on her tightening slightly.

"Yes, you did," he replies bluntly, his voice firm but softened by a hint of understanding. "But you also saved him. You gave up everything for him."

He pauses, his expression turning thoughtful.

"I have to admit," he admits, looking at her with a small frown. "I had my doubts about you at first."

"I thought you might just be toying with my son's feelings, or using him for your own gain," he continues, his voice tinged with a hint of protective fatherly concern.

"But seeing the lengths you've gone to for him... I can see that you truly love him."

He gently cups her chin, looking into her eyes with a mixture of approval and wariness.

"Just promise me one thing," he implores, his voice serious.

"Treat him right. Don't break his heart."

"I won't, I promise, Sir." (Y/N) tells him seriously.

Odysseus gazes into her eyes, searching for any hint of dishonesty. But he sees nothing but sincerity and love. His expression softens, and he relaxes his grip on her.

"Good," he says gruffly, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction and acceptance. "You better keep that promise, young lady."

Odysseus looks at (Y/N), a warm smile on his face. He can see the love and affection in her eyes as she gazes up at him.

"You know, you don't have to keep calling me 'sir,'" he says gently. "You can call me Father if you'd like."

(Y/N) looks at him in shock, tearing up, before blinking away the tears with a large smile.

"Alright, Father."

Odysseus smiles fondly at (Y/N), his heart swelling with affection for her.

"There's no need for tears, my dear," he says gently, reaching out to pat her on the head. "You're part of the family now."

"Ehem." Hera coughs to let her presence be known

Odysseus and Telemachus quickly kneel before Hera, paying their respects to the Queen of the Gods.

"My Lady Hera," Odysseus greets her with reverence, his head bowed.

"Your Highness," Telemachus echoes, his voice filled with awe in the presence of the divine.

Hera chuckles at their display of respect, amused by their formality.

"Rise, rise," she tells them, her voice warm and amused. "You make me sound like a tyrant, no need for kneeling."

Hera glances at Telemachus, her expression gentle. "Take care of her, Telemachus. She has given up a significant part of herself for you."

Telemachus looks at Hera, a determined expression on his face.

"I will, Your Highness," he replies, his voice filled with conviction. "I will take care of her, and cherish her for the rest of our lives."

Hera nods, satisfied by Telemachus's answer. She can see the determination in his eyes, and she can feel the sincerity in his words. She knows that he truly cares for (Y/N), and that he will do everything in his power to keep her safe and make her happy.

She glances at the two of them again, her smile turning a bit sly. “And don’t keep me waiting too long for grandchildren.”

"Auntie!" (Y/N) exclaims, blushes deeply.

Telemachus's face goes beet red as he glances at his Father, who bursts out laughing.

"It seems the Queen has spoken," Odysseus says, still chuckling. "You had better get busy, Telemachus."

"I forgot, you've been busy." Odysseus corrects, as the two blushes harder

Hera chuckles, finding great amusement in the young couple's shyness.

"Oh, come now," she teases, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "You've been through much together, and yet you still get flustered at the mere mention of grandchildren. It's adorable, really."

Hera chuckles at (Y/N)'s embarrassment, enjoying the young woman's reaction.

"Oh, don't be shy, my dear," she teases. "You two make such a lovely couple, I can't help but look forward to seeing what kind of little ones you'll produce someday."

"Auntie, please," (Y/N) protests weakly, her face still burning red.

Telemachus manages to regain his composure, though his cheeks are still tinted pink. "We'll...keep that in mind, Your Highness," he says, his voice a bit shaky.

Odysseus pats his son on the back, grinning widely. "Don't worry, Telemachus, it's perfectly natural to be a bit flustered when it comes to these things."

He chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. "You'll get used to it in time."

Hera laughs at them, before looking fondly at Telemachus.

"Take good care of her for me, Young Prince."

Telemachus nods, his expression solemn and determined.

"I will, Your Highness," he says firmly. "I promise you that I will take care of her and make her happy, for as long as we both shall live."

Hera's lips curve into a small smile as she watches the scene unfold. Seeing Telemachus and (Y/N) finally together, with Odysseus by their side, warms her heart.

"Hermes," she says, her voice firm and clear. "Take them home, won't you?"

Hermes, the fleet-footed god of messengers and boundaries, nods at Hera's command.

"Of course, milady," he replies, his voice as swift as his wings.

He turns to Telemachus, (Y/N), and Odysseus, a sly grin on his face. "You three ready for a little ride?"

"Cousin!?" (Y/N) exclaims in shock, he was watching them the whole time.

Hermes chuckles at Egeria's surprise. He grins at her and shrugs.

"You didn't think I'd miss all that drama, did you?" he teases her. "Of course I was watching."

"That's right, little cousin," he says with a wink. "I couldn't help but keep an eye on you and your man here."

He looks at Telemachus, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "And you, Telemachus, you're a lucky fellow to have snagged this one."

Telemachus couldn't help but chuckle at the God's words.

He puts his arm around (Y/N)'s waist, pulling her closer to him. "I'm very lucky," he says, looking lovingly at her. "And I have no intention of ever letting her go."

(Y/N)'s blushes heavily, a sheepish smile on her lips.

Hermes grins at (Y/N)'s blushing expression, finding her reaction amusing and endearing. He chuckles to himself before speaking again.

"Ah, young love," he sighs dramatically. "It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?"

He looks at Telemachus and (Y/N) with a cheeky grin. "You two are too sweet. I might just get a toothache from the amount of sugar you're giving off."

"Isn't that right, Old Friend?" Hermes turned to Odysseus

Odysseus chuckled at Hermes' question. He knew the messenger god too well to be offended by his playful tease.

"You're one to talk, Hermes," he retorted with a grin. "Last I heard, you had more than a few admirers of your own."

"But not as sweet as this one, It's making me a bit jealous" Hermes sighs

"But what do you know? You have your Penelope anyway"

Odysseus smiles fondly at the mention of his wife. "Yes, I do have Penelope," he says, his voice filled with love and affection. "She is the light of my life."

He glances at Telemachus and (Y/N), his eyes filled with a mixture of happiness and fatherly pride. "But our Telemachus deserves his own love and happiness as well. I couldn't be happier for him."

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the lovey dovey, time to finally get you all home, especially you, Old Friend" Hermes taps Odysseus's nose

Odysseus chuckles at Hermes' affectionate pat, amused by his friend's playful banter.

"Yes, I am more than ready to go home. I've been away far enough and for too long."

Hermes grins widely, his wings flapping in anticipation.

"Then let's not waste any more time," he says, his voice eager and excited. "Hang on tight, everyone. This is going to be a quick ride!"

He wraps his arms around Telemachus, (Y/N), and Odysseus, holding them close. Then, with a swift and sudden movement, he takes off into the air, soaring towards Odysseus's kingdom.

Hera watches them take off with a fond smile, happy that her dear student had found her happiness.

"Why did you help them?" Until a gruff voice ruins the moment

Hera turns to Poseidon, her expression hardening at the sight of him.

"Why does anyone do anything, Poseidon?" she replies coolly. "Compassion, kindness, a desire to see two people who care deeply for one another reunited. Is that so hard for you to comprehend?"

Poseidon glowers at her, his anger barely contained.

"Compassion? Kindness? Don't make me laugh, Hera," he spits out. "You know very well the trouble that girl caused me. And now you're just letting her and Telemachus prance away happily ever after? It's enough to make a god sick."

Hera turns towards him, frowning at him.

"Did you not notice anything when she was losing control on you earlier?" Hera asked, looking blankly at him

Poseidon's expression flickers with a hint of confusion, but he quickly hides it.

"What are you implying, Hera?" he grumbles, his suspicion clear in his voice.

"She had control over everything you had dominion over, while you didn't." Hera points out

Poseidon's face twists into a scowl at Hera's words. He knows she's right, but he's too stubborn to admit it outright.

"What's your point, Hera?" he growls, his irritation growing. "Are you trying to say she's more powerful than me or something?"

"No, she's not more powerful than you, you lost your dominion over the seas, storms, and earthquakes at her moment of grief." Hera reveals, shocking Poseidon.

"Oh, I'm so proud, she's my student after all." Hera praises herself

Poseidon is stunned into silence for a moment, his mind racing with the implications of what Hera has just told him.

"I...lost control?" he finally manages to sputter out, disbelief and anger mingling in his voice. "How is that even possible? I am Poseidon, the god of the seas and all the power they hold! How could a mortal have taken that away from me, even temporarily?"

"Because, she's your daughter." Hera reminded him, as she walked past him.

"And I know that girl like the back of my hand, with that intense of a grief, it would have been trouble for all of us." Hera sighs, shaking her head.

Poseidon's expression darkens even further at Hera's words. He already knew that Egeria was his daughter, but hearing it said aloud by Hera still stung.

"So you protected her from me because she's your student, huh?" he snarls, his resentment and anger bubbling to the surface. "And because she has the potential to be a threat to everyone, including me?"

"No, not really, I only expected her to be a demi god, with her kind and peaceful nature, only wanting to live for herself, but you just have to push her to the brink of destruction, that's why I had to step in, to remove her divinity and bring back your dominion to you." Hera explains, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You should be thanking me, really."

Poseidon scoffs at Hera's words. He's still angry, but a part of him knows that she's right.

"Thanking you?" he huffs. "Why should I thank you when you only intervened because you were afraid of what my daughter might become?"

"She had the power to destroy the world, Poseidon, that's why." Hera points out with a serious frown

Poseidon's expression darkens even further as he processes Hera's words. The thought of (Y/N)'s power being strong enough to destroy the world is both awe-inspiring and terrifying. He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine. I'll admit that you had a good reason to intervene. But that doesn't make me feel any better about the situation."

"Then I'll just see myself out while you lick your wounds, and do clean up after yourself, we wouldn't want another case the same of my student once more." Hera orders before leaving with a purple mist.

Poseidon watches her leave, a mix of anger and guilt swirling within him. He knows that he played a part in (Y/N)'s grief, but it's a tough pill for him to swallow.

He lets out a deep sigh, his mind filled with conflicting emotions. He can't shake the feeling that he's lost something important, something valuable, and it's not just his broken trident.

[pseudowho]

You could have walked to the café to meet Nanami Kento alone; you'd have preferred to, in truth, walking slowly in slow drizzle.

Instead, He walked you there, pushing through the tinkling door that He held for you, begrudgingly, as if you should be grateful. You could not look up to meet Kento's eye.

When you did look up to see Kento, stood waiting for your pre-mission meeting, He pulled your gaze back with a scowl, and a grab of your jaw.

Kento caught whispered berating; mumbled pleas.

"--just a work meeting...please--"

"--you remember to text me. You'll do well to remember you're mine."

You jolted from His pat-slap to your cheek, too sharp to be affectionate but too weak to turn heads. Still, humiliation festered on your face, putrefaction laid by His hand.

Kento remained unmoved, passively unthreatened by His filthy glance before He retreated from the shop. Something dark stirred in Kento's gut. The malice was not meant for you.

You sat at the table, wordless, your cold hands wrapping around a coffee which seemed to be, curiously, your exact order. Already here. Already waiting. Just for you.

Kento pulled his own chair out, sitting opposite you, one long tan-trousered leg crossing over the other. You looked down, your eyes cast in shadow. Kento looked to the insidious, gloomy drizzle outside, his sharp features cast sharper by the midday lamplight.

Eventually, achingly smooth, his voice called you home.

"What does 'mine' mean to you?"

You looked up at him, blinking. Your brain ticked.

"I don't...I don't know."

Kento was quiet again, leaning back in his armchair beneath the arching lamp, regarding the rain as though it watered his thoughts. He spoke again; you hung onto every word.

"When I was a boy, my grandfather left me a diamond."

The coffee shop buzz dimmed, and slowed, and muted. Kento captivated you so easily. The world fell away. Here he was. Already here. Already waiting. Just for you.

"It was...exquisite-- the diamond. The best and the brightest. A beauty amongst beauties." Kento took a deep breath in through his nose, feeling your cold little heart slow. "I didn't deserve it. It was...a privilege, to call it mine. A mantle that I bowed my head to bear."

Your fingers loosened around your coffee as Kento continued. His voice strained, aching for something.

"I could never be enough for the diamond, so I...I would build my life around it. Not in spite of it, but because of it. I hesitate to say I possessed it; it was no painting, or ivory box. Its beauty was far too timeless to be owned, for this diamond's beauty would outlive us all. If not in body, at least in memory."

The air felt light in your lungs, and you with it, as if you floated on helium, high and sweet. You yearned to reach for what was not yours. Your little voice spoke up, braver in Kento's ambient warmth.

"Tell me...tell me more."

Kento obliged. "On days when my diamond was dull, without its shine, I'd polish it more. I'm...gentle. I know it better than my own skin, and by the time I'm done, it sparkles."

Your eyes drifted closed to trap your sorrow. Your head bowed down, as if to be a diamond in daydream.

"On days when it shines-- and, god it does shine-- I can only step back and admire it, while it takes its time in the sun. They...deserve each others' beauty, the sun and she, and I would wither and rot if I kept them from each other. My diamond...my diamond deserves the world, and it deserves her."

Kento leaned forwards, now. His ambient warmth kindled higher until you burned as though he were the sun, and you yearned to blossom.

"I fear its loss; I am only, of course, a man, and I couldn't expect others not to covet such treasure, and so I keep it close. I would bring it to my bed, if only it would let me. I'd hold it in my sheets, if I did not fear I would sully it by my proximity alone."

Your lips parted so briefly, your objections snagging on your teeth to remain upon your tongue. Your heart weighed down with mercury and lead. Kento's voice could not be more than a whisper, and yet, with the steam-arm shrieks and the tamping chatter muted to insignificance, you could hear him.

"I would surround her with other beautiful things; not costly things, not necessarily, as if material goods were needed to enhance her. But rather, those things, and only those things that compliment her as she compliments them, be they wildflower or fairytale or fine wine."

Your coffee salted with the drop of a tear from your bowed face. Kento turned aside from your tears; not to disregard them, but to allow their trails to bloom as if creeping wisteria-- growth, in grief. A handkerchief slid across the table to you in one broad, calloused hand, and Kento sounded physically pained.

"Eventually, as I age, I recognise that all I was, am, and will be, can be traced back to such a diamond; not because I could not live without it-- that wouldn't be accurate. Rather, because, with the diamond removed from the equations which make the sum of me, the equations would unravel-- nothing would make sense, and if I ever tried to replace it, I would always come up short. I would never find the answer again. If I were to lose it...I could only surmise that I did not deserve it, like...like a prophecy fulfilled. It is not mine, and it will never be, if I seek to possess it."

As you fought the urge to gasp for air, Kento's voice grew bitter, snide. You caught the sharp edge of a blade; the darkness that reminded you that he could be a dangerous man.

"Men who use 'mine' for their partners are less than a stone's throw from boys who would use 'mine' for a toy car or a set of dominoes. As if...as if they are a thing to be played with, and jealously possessed, until they are discarded and forgotten."

Your coffees cooled in the chilly aftermath of Kento's monologue. Your purpose for meeting was forgotten. You were numb-footed as you stood, and followed Kento outside to the rain in the shelter of his great umbrella. He offered you an arm, and you took it, tucked close to his body.

It was curious, you thought, as Kento walked you to the train station. Arm in arm was less intimate in the eyes of society than hand in hand, but the hold was so much more intimate upon the body of the receiver.

Kento closed his fingers around yours, gently refusing, as you offered him back his handkerchief. He waited until you were beneath shelter, and did not turn to walk away until you did. Your heart pounded. Your body and mind were alive with sweet botanicals and promise. You turned on a pinhead, calling back up the subway steps.

"Kento! Did you...do you really have a...a diamond like that?"

A pause in wet footsteps. Fine needles of rain upon his umbrella. Kento called back.

"Sadly, no. It's only a dream. But if I did have that diamond...well. I would be proud to call her mine."

Your heart would surely burst. You couldn't breathe. Your cold little hand clasped the handrail on the stairs, and you sought to deny Kento's morbid prophecy.

"You could...you could steal it. A...a diamond. Your diamond."

A smile, and a hum.

"I could. Perhaps I shall. Perhaps...soon."

[lemonsdietcoke]

Get Gone - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 3 of my mini series love ridden

Warnings: physical abuse, DV, implied NONCON, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, and intense depictions of psychological distress. Reader discretion is advised.

Summary: “How many times do I have to say To get away, get gone?” A late-night confrontation unearths buried truths, forcing you to confront the cost of her own survival. loosely inspired by Get Gone-Fiona Apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: yall I’m sorry this took so long, I have work & school during the week and low-key got lazy lol but it’s finally here!!! Lmk if yall fw it. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!! <3

…………………….

The room feels smaller now, the air pressing down on you like it’s alive, like it’s conspiring with him. Every second ticks by painfully, loud and sharp in your ears. You swear you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“If you walk out that door,” Su-bong says again, his voice low, deliberate, “you’ll never see me again.”

There’s no anger in his tone, no malice. Just a quiet certainty that chills you to your core. It should feel like a relief—like a clean break. But instead, it feels like a threat wrapped in a promise.

Your hands tighten around your phone. Ji-hye’s name still flashes on the screen like a lifeline you’re too afraid to grab.

“Why would you say that?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because it’s the truth,” he says, tilting his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. “I don’t want to play games anymore, Y/N. I can’t do this halfway. Either you stay, and we figure this out together, or you leave… and that’s it.”

The simplicity of his words makes them hit harder. They slice through you like glass, leaving behind wounds you can’t see but can feel.

“You don’t mean that,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

His lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t I?”

You feel like the floor is shifting beneath you, like the ground you’ve been standing on has suddenly turned to quicksand. “You’re just saying that to scare me,” you accuse.

“Am I?” His voice is calm, measured, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. “You think I don’t mean it, but deep down, you know I do. You know I’ve always meant it when it comes to you.”

“Stop,” you say, your voice cracking.

“Why?” he presses, taking a slow step toward you. He’s close now, too close, his presence overwhelming. “Because you don’t want to hear it? Because you don’t want to admit that it scares you?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you shoot back, even though your heart is hammering in your chest.

“No,” he says softly, almost thoughtfully. “You’re not scared of me. You’re scared of what happens if you leave. You’re scared because you don’t know who you are without me.”

Your stomach twists violently. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but that only makes it worse. “You don’t want to leave, Y/N. You’re just trying to convince yourself that you do. But we both know the truth. You’ve always been afraid of being alone.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” His words are quiet, but they land with the force of a wrecking ball. “You stayed with me for two years, even when you knew you should’ve left. You forgave me for things most people wouldn’t. And why? Because you didn’t want to be alone. Because you don’t know how to be alone.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t get to make this about me. You’re the one who—”

“I’m not making this about you,” he interrupts, his tone sharpening. “I’m just telling you the truth. You don’t want to hear it, fine. But don’t act like I’m the bad guy for saying it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you struggle to hold yourself together. “You don’t know anything about me anymore.”

He scoffs, the sound low and bitter. “I know everything about you, Y/N. I know how you think, how you feel. I know you better than anyone, including Ji-hye.”

The mention of her name sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric.

“that’s who you’ve been talking to, right?” he asks, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Ji-hye?”

Your throat tightens. “She’s my friend. Of course I’ve been talking to her.”

“About me?” His question is calm, but there’s something venomous just beneath the surface.

“She’s my best friend,” you say, lifting your chin even though your hands are shaking. “I tell her everything.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought what we had was private. I guess I was wrong.”

“Private?” you repeat, your voice rising. “You’ve been calling me nonstop for weeks, leaving voicemails threatening to kill yourself, and now you want to talk about privacy?”

“That’s different,” he snaps, his control slipping for the first time.

“Is it?” you shoot back, your voice cracking. “Because it feels a hell of a lot like you’re just mad that I told someone the truth about you.”

He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back. “You’re the one dragging her into this,” he says, his voice low but cutting. “You’re the one making this worse.”

“She’s worried about me!” you shout, your emotions spilling over, raw and unfiltered. “She’s worried because she knows what you’re like!”

His expression darkens, his gaze boring into yours. “She doesn’t know you like I do. She doesn’t know what you’re like when you’re falling apart. When you’re scared. When you don’t know what you want.”

“I know what I want!” you yell, your voice breaking. “I want to leave!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Then go,” he says, his tone soft but razor-sharp. “But don’t come back. Because if you walk out that door, Y/N…” He pauses, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “I promise you’ll never see me again.”

Your chest tightens, panic clawing at your insides. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m done,” he says simply. “I’m done chasing you, done begging you to talk to me, done waiting for you to figure out what you want.”

You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen, Ji-hye’s name flashing like a lifeline.

“She’s outside,” you say, your voice trembling. “She’s waiting for me.”

He doesn’t react at first. And then—

“Of course she is.” His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “You always need someone to save you, don’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap, the sting radiating through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“Go ahead,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door. “Run to her. But don’t pretend you’re doing this for you. We both know you don’t have the guts to face this on your own.”

Your legs feel like lead, your heart pounding as you take a shaky step toward the door.

And as you reach for the handle, his voice cuts through the silence one last time.

“When you realize I’m right,” he says softly, “don’t bother coming back.”

You don’t look at him as you open the door.

But you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thud.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your own ragged breathing, loud and uneven in the stillness of the cabin. The air inside feels thick, stagnant. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands, but the buckle slips from your fingers twice before you manage to click it into place.

Ji-hye doesn’t start the car. She doesn’t even move.

Her knuckles are wrapped tight around the steering wheel, her nails biting into the leather. The dim glow of the dashboard casts her face in sharp relief — her set jaw, the hard line of her mouth, the slight tremble in her lips she’s fighting to keep still.

Her eyes flicker toward you, then away, like she can’t bear to look too long. “You okay?” she asks, her voice low, strained. The question sounds more like an accusation than concern.

You nod — a jerky, unconvincing motion that does nothing to quiet the storm inside you. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, the tendons standing out in sharp relief. “You don’t look fine.”

“I just…” You press your hands to your lap, flattening them against the fabric of your dress to keep them from shaking. “I just want to go home.”

She exhales sharply, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. But she doesn’t start the car.

“What happened, Y/N?” Her voice is still low, but there’s an edge to it now — a tremor beneath the surface, like she’s holding herself back from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking the truth out of you.

“Nothing happened,” you say too quickly, too defensively.

Ji-hye’s head snaps toward you, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t bullshit me.”

You flinch at the sharpness in her tone, the anger laced through it, though you know it’s not directed at you.

“I…” You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t know.”

Her jaw tightens. She turns back to the steering wheel, but her fingers twitch against it, like she’s holding herself back from punching something. “What the fuck does that mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t remember!” The words explode out of you before you can stop them, loud and jagged and filled with panic. Your chest heaves, and your eyes sting as the tears start to well up again. “I don’t fucking remember, Ji-hye! I blacked out, okay? I don’t know what happened!”

She goes still, completely still, her hands frozen on the wheel. Slowly, she turns to look at you again. “You don’t remember anything?”

Your breath hitches, and you shake your head.

Her gaze sharpens, her eyes scanning your face like she’s searching for the pieces of a puzzle you can’t see. “But you woke up there,” she says finally, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “At his place.”

You nod, and the weight of the admission makes your chest tighten, makes the shame press down harder.

Ji-hye leans back in her seat, dragging a hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.

Her reaction makes your stomach churn. “I—” Your voice cracks, and you have to swallow hard before you can speak again. “I don’t know if anything happened.”

Her head snaps toward you again, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know,” you whisper, the tears spilling over now, hot and relentless. You clutch at your dress, twisting the fabric in your fists as the words come tumbling out. “I don’t remember getting there. I don’t remember going to bed. But when I woke up—” Your voice falters, your breath hitching painfully. “There were bruises, Ji-hye. On my thighs. And my underwear was—” You choke on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

The silence in the car is suffocating.

Ji-hye doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when you finally glance at her, her expression makes your chest tighten even more. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes are dark, her gaze fixed on the dashboard like she’s barely holding herself together.

“You think he—” She can’t even finish the question.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “I don’t know, Ji-hye. But what if he didn’t? What if I’m just overthinking it? What if I’m—”

“Stop.” Her voice cuts through your rambling, sharp and commanding. She turns to you fully now, her gaze locking onto yours. “Stop right there. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“But—”

“There is no ‘but,’” she snaps, her voice rising. “You were drunk, Y/N. If he did anything — anything — that you didn’t consent to, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me?”

You can’t answer. Your throat is too tight, your chest heaving as you fight to keep yourself together.

Ji-hye exhales sharply, dragging her hands through her hair again. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, her voice trembling now. “That fucking piece of shit.”

Her words make your stomach twist, the nausea bubbling up again. “What if I—”

“You didn’t do anything,” she cuts you off again, her voice softening but no less firm. “Do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one—” She stops herself, her voice breaking on the last word. She clenches her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable.

Finally, Ji-hye starts the car, but she doesn’t drive. The engine hums beneath you, the only sound in the suffocating quiet.

“What do I do?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Ji-hye’s hands tighten on the wheel. She stares straight ahead, her gaze burning with quiet fury. “You don’t go back to him,” she says, her voice steady now. “Not ever. I don’t care what it takes, Y/N. He doesn’t get to be a part of your life anymore.”

You swallow hard, her words cutting through the fog in your mind like a lifeline.

“We’ll figure it out,” Ji-hye says, her voice softening. She reaches over, her hand resting on yours. Her grip is warm and steady, grounding you. “I promise. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

The weight of her words sinks into you, anchoring you to the moment. You don’t know what comes next. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to put the pieces of last night together.

But for now, you let her words steady you. For now, you let yourself believe her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air smells like caramelized sugar and charred meat. Smoke curls from food stalls, the sizzle of grilling pork belly mingling with the faintly sweet aroma of tteokbokki simmering in spicy sauce. Somewhere in the distance, someone’s laughing, the sound light and bright, cutting through the low hum of the crowd.

Ji-hye’s arm loops through yours, her grip warm and grounding as she steers you through the maze of vendors. It’s loud here, chaotic in the way only street markets can be, but you’ve missed it—this pulsing rhythm of life, the neon lights reflecting off puddles of rainwater on the pavement, the voices overlapping as vendors shout over one another to hawk their food.

“Y/N,” Ji-hye says, tilting her head toward a stall where skewers of fish cake glisten in the warm glow of a heat lamp. “You want one?”

You start to shake your head, but the look on her face stops you. She’s been trying so hard to pull you out of your own head, to make you laugh, to make you eat.

“Sure,” you say. Your voice feels foreign, stiff and distant, but Ji-hye beams anyway.

She orders two skewers, handing one to you before taking a bite of her own. “This is the best part about winter,” she says, her words muffled around a mouthful of food. “I swear I could eat eomuk every single day.”

You take a bite, the broth-soaked fish cake warm and savory on your tongue. It’s good—comforting, even—but it doesn’t reach the hollow ache in your chest.

Ji-hye is still talking, something about the new club opening next weekend, but her voice fades into the background as your gaze snags on something across the street.

Purple hair.

Your breath catches in your throat, the skewer trembling slightly in your hand. It’s not him—it’s a girl, her hair cropped short and spiked, her face unfamiliar—but your body doesn’t know the difference.

Your heart is racing, the world around you narrowing to a pinpoint. The noise of the market fades, replaced by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

“Y/N?” Ji-hye’s voice cuts through the haze, her hand on your arm.

You blink, your chest heaving as you drag your gaze away from the girl. “What?”

“Are you okay?” Her brow furrows, concern etched into every line of her face.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “I just—thought I saw someone I knew.”

Her lips press together, like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she squeezes your arm and changes the subject, dragging you to the next stall.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You smile when Ji-hye laughs, nod when she talks, but your mind is elsewhere. Your skin feels too tight, your senses stretched thin. Every shout from a vendor, every gust of cigarette smoke, every glimpse of purple in the crowd sends your heart skittering in your chest.

When you finally part ways with Ji-hye, your cheeks ache from forcing smiles, and your stomach churns with the weight of pretending.

The walk home is quiet. The market’s noise fades into the background as you leave it behind, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog.

Your apartment building looms ahead, its shadow stretching long and dark across the street.

You reach the door, your fingers trembling slightly as you punch in the code. The lock beeps, the door clicking open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of your apartment wrapping around you like a blanket.

Safe.

You kick off your shoes, leaving them by the door. The silence is heavy, pressing, but it’s better than the noise. Better than the chaos.

You make your way to the bathroom, the tiles cold under your bare feet. The fluorescent light flickers to life, casting your reflection in sharp relief.

You look… tired.

But not the same kind of tired you were before. It’s different now—less hollow, less fragile. Still frayed around the edges, but stitched together enough to pass.

You wash your face, the cool water shocking against your skin. Your movements are slow, methodical, each step of your routine grounding you just a little more.

The week since you left Su-bong’s apartment has been a blur.

You’ve thrown yourself into small, safe routines: going to work, meeting Ji-hye for meals, scrolling aimlessly through your phone until sleep overtakes you. Anything to fill the silence. Anything to drown out the questions.

For the first time in years, you feel like you’re breathing again. Slowly. Unevenly. But breathing.

Ji-hye says you look better. Healthier.

You believe her, mostly. Even though you still jump at sudden noises. Even though crowds make your chest feel tight. Even though you sometimes find yourself scanning unfamiliar faces for someone who isn’t there.

The clock reads 12:03 AM when you finally collapse onto the couch, a mug of tea cooling in your hands.

You’ve only just started to relax when the knock comes.

At first, you think you imagined it.

You weren’t expecting anyone this late.

Then it comes again. Louder this time.

You freeze.

Another knock.

“Y/N.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s him.

No. No, this isn’t possible. He doesn’t even know where you live.

You moved after the breakup. You didn’t tell anyone except Ji-hye.

So how the fuck does he know?

Your chest tightens, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you stare at the door.

Another knock.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

His voice is slurred, thick with alcohol or something stronger.

“I just want to talk. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the couch cushion, your nails scraping against the fabric.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, the words cracking in his throat. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You know I didn’t mean them.”

The lump in your throat grows heavier, your stomach twisting violently.

“Don’t ignore me.” His tone shifts, harder now. “I can see the lights are on.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. You grab your phone from the coffee table, your hands trembling as you scroll to Ji-hye’s name.

The knocking stops, but his voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers freeze.

“Just open the door, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a lead blanket.

“I need to see you.”

No.

“You’re not being fair, you know that? After everything we’ve been through…”

You press the phone to your chest, your other hand gripping the armrest so tightly your knuckles ache.

“Do you really want me to cause a scene?” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but the threat is clear beneath it. “Your neighbors don’t need to hear this, do they?”

The knot in your chest tightens, fear and anger twisting together into something sharp and unbearable.

“Come on,” he says again, his voice breaking slightly. “Please. I just… I just need to talk to you.”

The silence stretches, your own breathing ragged in the quiet.

Then, a softer knock.

“I’ll leave if you just talk to me,” he says. “I swear.”

You close your eyes, your stomach churning violently.

You don’t want to open the door.

You don’t want to see him.

But you know Su-bong.

You know how loud he can get when he doesn’t get his way.

And it’s late. Your neighbors are probably asleep.

You take a shaky breath, your body trembling as you rise to your feet.

The floor feels unsteady beneath you as you make your way to the door, every step heavier than the last.

Your fingers tremble as you unlock the deadbolt, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness.

You open the door just a crack, your body blocking the gap.

And there he is.

His hair is a mess, his shirt wrinkled and half-untucked. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils blown wide. The faint smell of alcohol wafts off him, mixing with the cloying scent of his cheap cologne.

But it’s his expression that makes your stomach drop.

The desperation in his eyes.

The anger lurking just beneath it.

“Y/N.”

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, soft and broken.

You grip the doorframe, your nails digging into the wood. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

“I want to talk.” He shifts his weight, his hands twitching at his sides. “That’s all. Just… just talk to me.”

The second you crack the door an inch more, you regret it.

It’s instinctive, the way you step back as he pushes forward, brushing past you into the apartment like it’s his. Like there aren’t layers of pain, distance, and boundaries between you now.

“Su-bong, wait—”

“I’m not waiting,” he says, his voice low, a slur of alcohol softening the edges. “Not after you’ve been ignoring me for a week.”

He’s already halfway to the couch. The door is still open, the cold night air seeping in as you stand frozen, your fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe like it might ground you.

He turns back to glance at you, his expression unreadable in the dim light of your apartment. “You’re going to leave it open?”

You blink, your heart hammering in your chest. Slowly, reluctantly, you close the door.

The sound of the lock clicking into place feels like a nail in your coffin.

When you turn back, he’s sitting on your couch, slouched like he’s settling in for a long stay. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands clasped together loosely, but there’s nothing casual about the way his gaze locks onto you.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” His voice carries a hint of something sharp, but his eyes stay soft, almost sad. “I didn’t even know where to find you, Y/N. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

You stay near the door, keeping as much distance as you can, your pulse roaring in your ears. “How did you even—”

“How did I find you?” He cuts you off, leaning back into the couch like he owns it, like it’s still the one you used to share. “I have my ways.”

Your stomach churns. The vagueness in his tone makes your skin crawl. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “What do I want? I want to know why you blocked me.”

His words hit like a slap, the audacity of them stealing the breath from your lungs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His gaze sharpens, the softness in his eyes hardening. “You didn’t even let me explain, Y/N. You just—what? Cut me out? Pretend I don’t exist?”

“I had to,” you say, your voice trembling. “You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Because I needed you!” The words burst out of him, loud and raw, echoing in the quiet apartment. “I didn’t know where else to go! I didn’t know what else to do!”

Your throat tightens, your chest heaving as you fight to keep your composure. “That’s not my problem anymore, Su-bong.”

He flinches, just slightly, but the hurt in his eyes is quickly replaced by something sharper. “You really think you can just shut me out like that? Like I don’t matter?”

“I never said you don’t matter,” you whisper. “I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Couldn’t do what?” he demands, standing suddenly. The movement makes you instinctively take a step back, your fingers brushing against the wall behind you.

“This.” You gesture between the two of you, your voice cracking. “You calling me nonstop. Showing up here. Saying things you can’t take back. I couldn’t—” Your voice falters, breaking on the words. “I couldn’t keep letting you drag me down with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Drag you down?” he repeats, his tone quiet but venomous.

You press yourself harder against the wall, your palms flat against the cool surface. “You know what I mean.”

He takes a slow step toward you, and your stomach twists violently. “No,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t think I do.”

“Su-bong, please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just leave.”

He stops, just a few feet away from you now. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your breath hitches, your chest tightening painfully. “Get what?”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his tone softening. “You’re scared because you don’t know what you’re doing without me.”

The words land like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Yes, it is.” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. “You’ve always been scared of being alone, Y/N. That’s why you stayed with me for so long, even when you knew you shouldn’t.”

Your nails dig into the wall behind you, the sharp pain grounding you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but it only makes the words hit harder. “You blocked me because you couldn’t handle it. Not because you’re over me. Not because you’re moving on. But because you’re scared of facing me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, your chest heaving. “That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” His voice drops to a whisper, his eyes searching yours. “If it’s not true, why’d you let me in?”

The question cuts deeper than you want to admit.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why I let you in.”

His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile, something that makes your stomach twist. “I do,” he says softly.

“What do you mean?”

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. You flinch, but he doesn’t pull back.

“You let me in,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, “because you still love me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “That’s not—”

“You do,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “And that’s okay. I’m not mad about it. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand lingers on your arm, and you feel like you’re drowning, like the walls are closing in on you.

“Su-bong, please,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face now. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing. “Just… let me stay. Just for a little while.”

You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t want you here.”

“Yes, you do,” he says quietly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “You don’t have to say it, but I know you do.”

The weight of his hand on your face is unbearable.

And in that moment, you realize—

You’re trapped.

His hand lingers on your cheek, warm and steady, but the weight of it feels crushing. Your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurring as his thumb brushes gently over your skin. It’s too much — the closeness, the intimacy he’s trying to pull you back into.

“Stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t.

“You don’t have to fight this,” Su-bong says softly, his voice slurring at the edges. “I’m not your enemy, Y/N.”

The words twist in your chest, sharp and suffocating. You push his hand away, your fingers trembling as you take a step back.

“You need to leave.” Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge of panic creeping into it.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he watches you, his gaze heavy and unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice low and raw. “Why are you pushing me away when you know—”

“Know what?” you snap, cutting him off. “What the fuck do I know, Su-bong? Because right now, I don’t know anything.”

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” you continue, your voice rising, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “I don’t know why you can’t just leave me alone. And I don’t know what the fuck happened that night.”

The room goes still.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

Your chest tightens, your stomach twisting violently. “Don’t do that,” you say, your voice cracking. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N.”

“Stop lying!” The words burst out of you, loud and jagged, echoing in the suffocating silence. Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless, as you take a shaky step forward. “Stop fucking lying to me, Su-bong!”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Your voice breaks, the weight of your anger and fear crashing over you all at once. “You’ve been lying this whole fucking time, haven’t you? About everything.”

His gaze flickers, something dark and frantic flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Tell me what happened that night,” you demand, your voice trembling but unrelenting. “Tell me what you did.”

He flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “I woke up in your bed, Su-bong. I had bruises on my thighs. My underwear was backward.” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of the words. “And I don’t remember anything.”

His face goes pale, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he quickly looks away.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Fucking say something.”

He drags a hand through his hair, his movements jerky and unsteady. “I didn’t—” He stops, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might shatter. “I didn’t mean for it to—”

Your stomach drops. “For it to what?”

His gaze snaps back to you, wild and panicked. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?” His voice rises, cracking at the edges. “You were just—”

He stops himself again, his words hanging in the air like a noose tightening around your throat.

“I was just what?” you demand, your voice trembling. “Say it, Su-bong. Finish your fucking sentence.”

He doesn’t.

He looks at you, his chest heaving, his lips parted as if he’s searching for the right words. But none come.

And that’s worse than anything he could have said.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Your mind spins, piecing together fragments of the truth you’ve been trying to avoid.

“Did you…” The words catch in your throat, your stomach churning violently. “Did you touch me?”

“No,” he says quickly, too quickly.

You flinch, the sharpness of his denial cutting through you like a blade. “Then why can’t you just tell me what happened?”

His hands shake at his sides, his knuckles white as he clenches them into fists. “Because it doesn’t fucking matter, Y/N!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“It doesn’t matter?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales sharply, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not what you think, okay? I didn’t—” He stops himself again, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

The room tilts, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

“That far?” you whisper, your chest tightening painfully. “What the fuck does that mean, Su-bong?”

He doesn’t answer.

The silence is deafening, your pulse roaring in your ears as you stare at him, waiting, hoping for something—anything—that makes sense.

But all you get is the look on his face.

The guilt.

The shame.

The fear.

And you know.

You know.

Your legs give out, and you sink to the floor, your back pressing against the wall as your breath comes in short, shallow gasps.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice soft now, pleading. He takes a step toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Don’t come near me.”

“Please,” he says, his tone desperate. “Just let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” you say, your voice cracking. “You did it, didn’t you?”

His silence is all the confirmation you need.

You press your hands to your face, your tears spilling over, hot and relentless.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I swear, I didn’t—”

“Get out.”

The words are quiet but firm, cutting through the suffocating tension like a knife.

“Y/N, please—”

“Just fucking go!” you scream, your voice raw and jagged, echoing through the apartment.

He doesn’t.

“Get the fuck out!” you scream again, your voice raw and jagged, slicing through the suffocating tension.

But Su-bong doesn’t move.

Instead, he stares at you, his chest heaving, his face twisting into something you can’t quite recognize. Something darker. “I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous.

Your stomach twists violently. “You need to leave, Su-bong. Now.”

“Why?” he snaps, his voice rising. “So you can sit here and hate me? So you can keep twisting this into something it’s not?”

“Something it’s not?” Your voice cracks, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You just admitted it! You just fucking said—”

“I said I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he shouts, cutting you off. His face is flushed now, his eyes wild, the faint slur in his voice sharper. “That’s not the same thing!”

“It’s exactly the same thing!” you scream back, the words ripping out of you like a knife. “You knew I was drunk! You knew I couldn’t—”

“You didn’t say no,” he interrupts, his voice low and venomous.

The room falls silent.

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

And then, quietly, trembling—

“That never stopped you before.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Su-bong’s face twists, something dark and ugly flashing across it. His jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” you say, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve always pushed, always taken. And I—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I let you, because I loved you. Because I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you!” he shouts, his voice breaking. He takes a step closer, his movements unsteady, uncoordinated. “I’ve always fucking loved you!”

“Love?” you laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and cutting. “This isn’t love, Su-bong. This is control. This is you trying to fucking own me.”

“I don’t want to own you!” he yells, his voice cracking. “I just—” He stops, dragging a hand through his hair, his movements erratic. “I just want you to stay. I just want us to be okay again.”

“There is no ‘us,’” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “Not anymore.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. He staggers back slightly, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

And that’s when it happens.

He lunges forward, grabbing your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you flinch. “Don’t do this,” he says, his voice desperate, pleading. “Please, Y/N. Don’t fucking do this.”

“Let me go.” Your voice is sharp, but your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Not until you listen to me!” he shouts, his grip tightening slightly.

“Let me go!” you scream, jerking your arm back. The force of it sends you both stumbling, and for a moment, everything is chaos.

Your hand connects with his chest—an instinctive push to get him away from you. He stumbles again, his back hitting the edge of the couch.

And then he snaps.

“Fuck!” he yells, slamming his fist into the wall beside him. The sound is loud, jarring, the plaster cracking under the force. “Why the fuck do you always have to make everything so goddamn hard?”

Tears stream down your face, hot and relentless, as you back away from him. “Get out,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Not until you stop lying to yourself. Not until you admit you still love me.”

You laugh. Bitter. Sharp. The sound scrapes its way out of your throat, raw and venomous.

“Love you?” you say, the words trembling on the edge of rage. “I fucking hate you.”

The air in the room shifts.

His expression changes — a flicker of something unrecognizable crossing his face before it hardens into something darker. He steps toward you, his chest heaving, his fists still clenching at his sides.

“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

“You heard me,” you snap, your voice rising, shaking. “I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate what you’ve done to me, what you’ve made me. I fucking hate you, Su-bong.”

For a second, you think he’s going to hit you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches for the mug sitting on the table beside him.

“You hate me?” he says, his voice shaking with barely-contained rage. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve put up with?”

The mug is in his hand now, his knuckles white as he grips it.

“You could barely last a week without me,” he spits, his voice rising. “You think you’re so fucking strong now? You’re nothing without me, Y/N. Nothing.”

And then he throws it.

It happens so fast, you barely have time to react.

The mug shatters against the wall behind you, fragments raining down around your feet. You flinch, your heart slamming against your ribs, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Are you fucking insane?” you scream, your voice cracking.

“You’re the one who made me like this!” he yells, his voice raw, ragged. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively step back, your shoulders hitting the wall behind you.

“Get out,” you say, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes, you are!” you scream, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore! You don’t get to keep fucking breaking me and acting like it’s my fault!”

“I never broke you!” he yells, his voice rising to a roar. “You were already broken, Y/N! You’ve been broken since the day I met you!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

“Go ahead,” he snaps, his voice venomous. “Blame me for everything. That’s all you’ve ever been good at.”

“Blame you?” you shout, your chest heaving with rage. “You ruined my life, Su-bong! You fucking destroyed me, and you don’t even care!”

“I cared more than anyone else ever did!” he shouts back, his voice cracking. “No one else gave a shit about you, Y/N! No one else stayed!”

“I wish you hadn’t!” you scream, your voice breaking. “I wish I’d never met you!”

The room goes silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a guillotine.

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his hands shaking at his sides.

“Say it again,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I wish I never fucking met you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and suffocating.

His chest heaves with every labored breath, his fists trembling at his sides. And then he moves.

It’s a blur—the way he closes the distance between you, the way his hand shoots out and tangles in your hair. Pain flares at your scalp, sharp and instant, as he yanks you closer with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Su-bong!” you cry, your hands flying up to claw at his wrist. “You’re hurting me!”

“No,” he snarls, his face inches from yours, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. “No, you’re hurting me, Y/N! You’re hurting me!”

His words are guttural, raw, as though they’ve been ripped from the deepest, ugliest part of him. His grip tightens, pulling harder, and you stumble, your knees buckling as you try to twist away.

“Let me go!” you scream, panic lacing every word. Your nails dig into his arm, leaving crescent-shaped marks against his skin, but it only seems to fuel him further.

“You don’t get to do this to me!” he yells, dragging you closer until you can feel the heat of his breath on your face, the wildness in his eyes swallowing you whole. “You don’t get to walk away like none of it mattered!”

“I didn’t—” Your voice cracks, tears spilling over, hot and relentless. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“Liar,” he spits, his grip jerking you violently. “You’ve done everything, Y/N. You’ve ruined me, and you don’t even fucking care.”

Your heart pounds, a frantic, desperate rhythm that drowns out everything else. “Please,” you choke out, your voice trembling. “Please stop.”

But there’s no stopping him.

You twist sharply, pulling against his hold with every ounce of strength you have. He lets out a snarl of frustration as you manage to free yourself, stumbling back against the wall. For a moment, you think it’s over, that maybe he’s come to his senses.

But then his gaze drops to the lamp on the side table.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t hesitate.

The lamp is in his hand before you can react, his fingers curling around its base like it’s an extension of his rage.

“You want me to stop?” he spits, his voice rising. “Fine. I’ll fucking stop.”

And then he throws it.

The lamp sails through the air, and for a split second, time seems to slow. You see it coming, but there’s no time to move. It smashes into your shoulder with a sickening thud, the force of it sending you sprawling to the floor.

Pain blooms instantly, sharp and white-hot, radiating from your shoulder down to your fingertips. You cry out, clutching the spot where it hit, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Does it hurt?” he taunts, his voice dripping with venom. “Good. Maybe now you’ll fucking listen to me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, the pain and fear twisting together into something unbearable. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, your voice breaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” he snaps, his voice cracking. “You, Y/N. You’re what’s wrong with me. You made me like this!”

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

His laughter is low and bitter, a sound that sends chills down your spine. “You drove me to this. You, with your lies, your fucking games—”

“I didn’t play any games!” you shout, your chest heaving. “I just wanted to get away from you!”

“You don’t get to run!” he roars, his face twisting into something unrecognizable. “Not after everything I’ve done for you! Not after—”

He stops abruptly, his gaze flickering to you, then to your throat.

And before you can move, before you can scream, he’s on you.

His hands wrap around your neck, his grip cold and unrelenting.

At first, it doesn’t feel real—the pressure, the way your breath catches in your throat, the way his face looms above you, wild and furious. But then the reality slams into you all at once, and the panic sets in.

You claw at his hands, your nails scraping against his skin as you gasp for air. The world narrows to the sound of your strangled breaths, the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fire spreading through your lungs as you fight to inhale.

“Why do you always make me do this?” he growls, his voice shaking with anger. “Why do you always push me, Y/N? Why?”

Your vision blurs, black spots creeping in at the edges.

He’s saying something else, his voice a low, guttural snarl, but you can’t make out the words. All you can focus on is the pressure, the way it feels like your throat is collapsing under his grip.

And then—

A loud, sharp knock cuts through the haze.

“Police! Open the door!”

The sound barely registers at first, muffled and distant, like it’s coming from another world.

But it’s enough.

The knocking grows louder, more insistent. Voices shout from the other side, commanding, urgent.

“Police! We’re coming in!”

Su-bong’s grip falters, just slightly, as the realization dawns on him.

His gaze snaps to the door, then back to you.

“You called the fucking cops?” he snarls, his grip tightening again, his face contorting with rage. “You think they can save you? You think anyone can fucking save you from me?”

The sound of the door bursting open cuts him off.

In an instant, the room is flooded with voices—sharp, commanding, barking orders that you can’t quite process.

“Get off her!”

“Hands up!”

Su-bong freezes, his hands still around your throat, his body trembling with barely-contained fury.

“Let her go now!”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The tension in the room is suffocating, the weight of his anger pressing down on you like a vice.

And then, finally, he lets go.

You collapse to the floor, gasping for air, your body trembling violently as you clutch your throat.

The officers swarm him, grabbing his arms and pulling him away from you. He struggles against their hold, shouting obscenities, his voice wild and broken.

“She fucking lied!” he screams, his voice cracking. “She lied about everything!”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

All you can do is lie there, your chest heaving, your vision blurred with tears, as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.

The officers’ voices blur together, a cacophony of sound that you can’t quite make out. One of them kneels beside you, their hand on your shoulder, their voice soft and steady.

“Miss, are you okay?”

You don’t answer.

Your gaze drifts to Su-bong as they drag him toward the door, his screams echoing in the apartment.

And for the first time in years, you feel something you haven’t felt in so long—

Relief.

You know what’s good for you.

You’ve done what you could for him.

And he was finally gone.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

October 18 - Angry Sex

pairing: dom!Wanda x sub!Reader

summary: Wanda sees you at Kamar-Taj, taking what's hers.

content warnings: fingering, cunnilingus, choking

word count: 2.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

You groan, your body aching and weak. The taste of dust lingers in the air, coating your tongue with each breath you take. You can hear soft footsteps crunching, and lower your forehead back onto the ground. 

The footsteps stop, inches away from you. A strong hand tangles with your head, wrenching your head up. 

Green eyes, the same ones you fell in love with. The same green eyes you’d grown to hate. They hold the same cold look in them that you remember so well. 

“Wanda,” you spit, your voice weak and raspy. It hurts to talk, but you refuse to show it. It won’t do you any good to show weakness. 

She smiles, a dark look on her face as she observes you. You can see a hint of malice behind her eyes, her headpiece glowing slightly as fire burns behind her. 

“You destroyed my home,” you say, your tone biting. 

“And you were foolish enough to stand against me,” Wanda responds, her voice soft. You don’t mistake her tone for weakness, sensing the power behind her words. 

You just scoff, not denying her words. It was the truth, and you knew better than anyone how incredibly naive it was to stand against the Scarlet Witch. Deep inside, you felt a tendril of hurt rise within you at the cold, detached look on her face. 

Wanda’s eyebrows raise, and you instantly curse yourself. Of course, you’d forgotten that she could read minds. The sneaky witch. She always managed to use that against you.

“I’m starting to… realize something,” she begins, speaking her thoughts out loud. You’re powerless to stop it, your arms weak as your fingers scrabble in the dirt for purchase. Her grip tightens in your hair as you squirm. “I came here for America, for her power, but now…” 

She trails off, her gaze sharpening as she looks at you. She speaks, her tone cold. “I hate you for leaving me.”

You let out a weak chuckle, your eyes closing in pain as her fingers tighten harshly. Looking back up, you twist your head until you meet her eyes. “I hate you for always choosing power over me.”

Anger washes over Wanda’s perfect features, and you feel a flicker of fear as her magic reacts. It spins around her violently, but surprisingly, doesn’t touch you. You try to read her eyes, like you used to, but find her expression closed off and… different. 

Maybe it’s been too long. Maybe you don’t truly know her anymore. 

A flash of hurt appears in her gaze, and you close your eyes briefly. Right, you’d forgotten that she could read minds. Again. 

“Are you going to kill me, then?” 

Wanda’s face remains stony, sensing the sincerity in your question. She feels rage, sadness, and… longing? 

Her jaw clenches, her eyes cold as she looks down at you. “No,” she says, her voice low. “I’m going to get closure.”

Before you can ask what she’s talking about, her hand grabs you, her eyes glowing red. You blink in surprise, her fingers digging into your arm painfully as scarlet magic swirls around you, confusing your senses and warping your reality. It swirls between you and Wanda, your vision blurring as you focus on breathing, her painful grip on your arm grounding you slightly as her magic collides with you. 

You land on a hard stone floor, your elbow cracking painfully as you awkwardly twist. The first thing you register is Wanda’s figure, striding away from you. The second thing is the aching, bitter chill that seeps past your robes and into your bones. 

Turning your head, you see a frozen wasteland beneath you. Scrambling back from the ledge, you feel your heart race as you realize that you’re high up in a tower somewhere, with no apparent means of escape. 

Flexing your fingers, you realize that Wanda has taken your sling ring, your ability to perform spells greatly diminished without it. You close your eyes for a moment, sighing as you steel yourself. 

“Wanda,” you call out, standing slowly as you cradle your elbow. 

You find her further into the tower, past a giant statue of herself and through a small door. You can’t help but admire the tower as you descend further, following the scarlet wisps of magic that seem to lead you. She has her back turned towards you, her fingers tracing the spine of a book you recognize. 

“The darkhold,” you spit. “Of course.”

Her blackened fingers halt their movements, her head twisting as she looks at you. A scarlet glow fades from her eyes, her expression cold as she turns to fully face you. 

“The darkhold…”

“I know,” you sigh, sinking into the couch provided. It looks like you’re in a library, the tomes duty but the room is well lit. “It’s the only way you can find your children, I’ve heard it a thousand times, Wanda.”

With steady footsteps, she makes her way towards you, eyes blazing. “That book is the only chance I have to reunite my family.”

“That’s not true,” you retorted, watching her approach with wary eyes. 

“You don’t know that,” Wanda hisses, her face contorted in anger. There’s something else in her expression, but you can’t quite place it. She reaches the couch, her hand reaching out and twisting the collar of your robes. 

“An ancient, known evil artifact is not going to bring your children back, Wanda,” you say, ignoring her closeness. The last thing you ended right now was to get flustered. “It’s a painful, dangerous path that not many return from.”

Wanda leans in, her eyes wide and wild. It sets you on edge, and you quickly rise and shove her away. She just chuckles, her scarlet magic swirling around her fingertips as she advances on you. 

“You foolish, naive little sorcerer,” she hisses, her eyes darkening as you slowly inch backward. 

“I’m the foolish one? You’re the one who just wiped out most of Kamar-Taj and made yourself public enemy number one,” you hiss, feeling your back press against the bookshelf. 

“Aww,” Wanda coos, “It almost sounds like you care.”

She steps closer, and you let your hands reach behind you for…. anything really. You find nothing but dusty, old books. 

Wanda’s eyes are triumphant as she steps into your space, one of her hands twisting with the collar of your robes as the other firmly presses your hip into the bookshelf. Your elbow grazes something hard, and you wince in pain, your breaths shaky as you watch her. 

“If you think I care about you, then you-” 

You’re cut off as Wanda leans in, her lips pressing against yours and slotting perfectly against your mouth. Losing focus, you let your words die as your lips remember the shape of hers. 

Fuck. Her lips feel amazing, her tongue swiping over yours as you feel her teeth bite down on your bottom lip, a groan escaping your treacherous throat. Her hand moves to press against your neck, her fingers digging in. The hand on your hip squeezes, and you suppress a whine at the arousal that floods you. 

Her body is pressed flush against you, her thigh slipping between yours as you feel your body heating up. You put your hands up, intending to push her away, but find them tangling with her hair instead. 

“Fuck you,” the words escape quickly, your face angry as Wanda pulls away slightly. 

“Oh, I intend to,” she whispers, leaning in. Your hands tighten in her hair, and she moans into your ear. “Fast, and rough… just the way you like it.”

You shudder at her words, your reaction causing Wanda to smile against your cheek. She wastes no time, dipping her head and harshly sucking hickeys into your neck while you squirm beneath her. Your fingers are harshly pulling at her hair, simultaneously pushing her away and holding her against you. 

It’s like you can’t make up your mind, your chest heaving as you begin to rut your hips against her thigh, your emotions swirling. 

You hate Wanda Maximoff. But she feels so… fucking… good against you with her hot tongue, insistent lips, and long fingers squeezing you in all the right places. 

“How dare you leave me,” she mutters, her voice low as she nips and sucks down your neck, pulling your robes to the side to leave bruises on your collarbones. You feel your robes slide off, her hands grabbing the fabric and roughly pulling it off you. 

The sharp point of her headpiece digs into your neck as she sucks at your skin, and you breathe deeply. Her vanilla scent fills your nose, and you hate the way your hips buck harder in response. Your fingers are tangled with her soft, auburn hair, and you stroke it gently for a moment before pulling harshly.

“Don’t hate me for protecting myself,” you snarl, pushing her slightly. 

Wanda’s green eyes fill with anger, desire swirling in her irises as she pushes you roughly into the bookshelf, pinning your hips with her own. She reaches up to grab your throat, her fingers flexing as she watches your face contort while she cuts off your air supply. 

“Do not talk back to me, you ungrateful little brat,” she says, her voice low and dangerous. She leans in, her tongue dragging over your jaw and cheek as you struggle weakly against her. “Don’t forget who has all the power here.”

She lets you go, watching as you slump back against the bookshelf. Your legs give out, and you drop to your knees while you pant and catch your breath. 

“Ah,” she smirks, tilting your chin up with one finger. “This is a familiar sight.”

You narrow your eyes, glancing down her body. You can’t hide the desire you feel, even as your anger pumps hotly through your veins. As you take her in, you wonder if she tastes the same. 

“Why don’t you find out?” Wanda whispers, and you close your eyes as you remember (again) that she can read minds. 

Watching with restrained want, you feel your core grow hot as she sheds her Scarlet Witch outfit, her magic whirling around and practically melting the fabric off her skin. She’s… beautiful. 

Wanda’s hand touches the top of your head, grabbing your hair and wrenching your head back to force your eyes up. “Show me if that mouth of yours is still talented, or if you’ve wasted your gift,” she says, her eyes dark. “Open your mouth.”

You obey, feeling your body weakening with every minute. It's no use to fight now, you’ll lose in seconds. Besides… you weren’t going to lie and say you weren’t enjoying this. 

A glob of saliva lands on your tongue, and you swallow at Wanda’s command, shuddering as you feel your headspace become fuzzier. 

Wanda’s nude form stands before you, her stance strong and her body somehow looking more perfect than the last time you saw her. You can see her glistening folds, and your tongue rubs along your bottom lip as you look up at her. 

Desperation swirls in your irises, your anger slowly fading as she presses herself against your face. 

“Lick,” she commands, her voice soft as her hand moves to grab your hair. 

You obey, your tongue flattening as she gazes coldly down at you. You feel your anger rising again at the look in her eyes, so you wrap your lips around her clit and suck. 

It’s harsh, her clit throbbing in your mouth as she loses her composure and moans, her other hand slamming into the bookshelf to support her trembling legs. It spurs you on, your tongue swirling around her clit as you apply strong suction with your lips. 

“Fuck,” she groans, her accent slipping out.

You want to see her crumble. You want to see her composure break as she cums from your mouth. You want… you want her to finally let you past the walls she’s built up around her, the same ones she’s started building during your relationship. 

Bringing your hands up, you thrust two fingers in her wet heat, curling them as she moans loudly, her head thrown back as books topple down around you. You can sense her losing control, her orgasm imminent. 

Looking up, you watch her neck muscles strain with need, her fingers gripping your hair painfully as she rocks her hips against you. 

Moaning against her, you watch as she comes undone, her orgasm washing over her. Wanda moans, Sakovian curses streaming from her lips as she shudders, her clit throbbing between your lips. You watch, sadistic glee filling you as tears roll down her face at the unrelenting pressure of your lips and tongue against her. 

“Wait,” she moans, her hips still bucking against your face. Her fingers grip you tightly, holding your face against her, trying to draw out the pleasure coursing through her. 

Smirking, you continue to suck, your tongue moving quickly as you watch her quiver, her expression open and wanting. Another, smaller orgasm rips through her, the moans sounding out turning into soft whimpers as she rides out the last bits of pleasure on your lips. 

Eventually, she tears herself away, her chest heaving as she looks at you with lidded eyes. She twists away, taking a moment to compose herself as you pant and sag against the bookshelf. 

“Glad to see you haven’t changed in some ways,” you say. 

Wanda turns to you, lifting your chin up with her fingers and gripping your jaw painfully. Her eyes are dark, her pupils blown as she searches your face, glancing down at your swollen, glistening lips. She smirks, and you shudder at the dark look on her face. 

“Your turn.”

[notmorbid]

these violent delights.

dialogue prompts from these violent delights by micah nemerever.

i never told you my name.

who puts those awful ideas in your head?

you're forever assuming the worst.

what's that face? you look like you're going to cry.

you're one of those people who worry all the time, aren't you?

i don't worry, i ruminate. they're distinct actions.

nothing made you. you just are.

beautiful things are supposed to hurt.

people tell you you're shy all the time, don't they?

i don't know how i ever got on without you.

a little trouble is a good thing for a young person.

i wasn't born yesterday. i know what kids get up to.

it's good to have guns to stick to.

you could do anything to me and i'd let you.

i'm not ready to be seen. not yet.

i don't need you to treat me respectfully. i'm not made of glass.

tell me you love me, at least. please. i need to know somebody does.

do i look normal? i can't tell if i look normal.

you can get away with anything, as long as you act like an authority on the truth.

don't tell me what i want.

you know you're just about the worst liar i've ever met.

i don't think you've ever felt anything that didn't hurt you.

you're so square, you're a cube.

i just want you to believe me when i tell you you're worth something.

there are limits to what you can expect people to understand, without living it.

you can't fight everybody all the time. you still have to live with them.

i forget how blue the sky can be outside the city.

i'm going to push you off a cliff, you fucking boy scout.

thank you for trusting me with this.

be a kid while you still can.

please believe in the things i try to tell you, instead of the things you think you deserve to be told.

if the sun touched you for even a moment, you'd go up in flames. like a vampire.

your voice changes when you're angry.

what a lonely, dreary thing it is to know the truth.

you never look away, even when your eyes are closed, but i'm never certain you can see what's really there.

tell me you need me. in those words.

can i tell you something? that i'm all but certain you won't believe?

i never lie to you. but sometimes, i wish i could.

you never let me pretend the truth is alright when it isn't.

you have a profound, elusive sadness about you.

you didn't. please tell me you didn't.

you and your awful little games.

why would i bother to grow my own conscience when you're always around to pester me?

you're going to help me escape.

this house is a shadowbox, never meant for human things.

you have no right to stop me, and you're not going to try.

you're sweet, when you want to be.

do you want me to kill ____? i mean it.

it might do you good to be an orphan.

you're just so sincerely creepy.

wealthy people pay handsomely for the privilege of ignoring cries for help.

i've never seen you like that before. not once.

i've decided to learn to be impulsive.

the worst damage humans do isn't rooted in malice, but in thoughtlessness.

there's such a thing as right and wrong. anyone can figure out the difference if they're willing to think for themselves.

there's no part of you i can't see.

i don't want to hurt you. please don't let me.

you're ridiculous, sometimes. but that's alright.

i don't want you right now. go home.

i'm not like you. i don't even have a shape of my own to hold anything else in place.

i'll never matter the way you do, and you know it.

say what you need to say.

if you say the word 'deserve' one more time, i'm driving us off a bridge.

i've been meaning to talk to you about ____.

i'm worried about what you're getting into.

you don't see me. you can't. you never could.

it's your life. you're entitled to make your own mistakes.

i want you to know you deserve better. you don't have to put up with ____.

you scare the hell out of me. you really do.

you look the same way you always have.

i was worried i'd lost you.

i'll take care of you. i don't need you to be brave.

all i want to do is make you happy, and you're the unhappiest person i've ever met.

i would rather be cruel than weak.

i want you to let me be nice to you today. i don't care if you think you deserve it.

this place looks like somewhere in a jigsaw puzzle.

it's always been real for me. every second.

please don't say anything to my mother.

we can't fix it if you don't tell me what happened.

i'll call you when i can stand the sight of you. don't hold your breath.

hiding the truth is still lying.

i thought you'd finally trust me if you knew i'd kill for you.

i'm just as much of a monster as you are.

i was missing part of myself my whole life, until i met you.

righteous fury leaves no space for fear.

you can always talk to me. about anything, okay? i love you no matter what.

you played [game] in school, didn't you?

no one tolerates boredom worse than the idle rich.

someone needs to be looking after you.

you know you can't actually stop me, right?

i want to be able to look at you.

when you need to, you will understand.

i'm only ever early when i'm afraid.

people talk themselves into the strangest things when they want to look impressive.

in the end, there's no difference between trusting someone and underestimating them.

[fangdokja]

"I burned their world for daring to look at you— imagine what I’d do if you tried to leave."

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Emperor x Reader

♡ Headcanons. #1

♡ Word Count. 859

Your silence will teach you loyalty.

His voice resonates through the throne room like a hammer against steel—unyielding, inescapable. You flinch at the sharpness of his tone, though no one dares to meet your eyes. The air shifts with his unspoken command. Chains, deceptively delicate yet unrelentingly cruel, wind around your wrists as you’re dragged toward him. They clink like a funeral bell, heralding your fate.

A single nod from him seals your fate—chains of silver, intricate but cruel, bite into your wrists as you’re dragged to his side.

“You are mine,” he murmurs, his breath a phantom tracing your ear. The words latch onto you, branding your skin and soul with their weight.

Defiance, he knows, is only temporary.

He savors every crack in your resistance. A predator by instinct and a conqueror by blood, he strips you bare of your defenses with a glance. His golden eyes, aflame with possession, hold you captive. His scarred hands grip your jaw, tilting your face until his gaze becomes all you know.

“Say it,” he demands, voice low but edged with menace. “Say who you belong to.”

When you hesitate, his grip tightens, sending a jolt through your core. The whisper that follows chills you. “Don’t worry, dove. You’ll scream it eventually.”

He builds his empire with the blood of dissent.

The scent of war never leaves him. Iron and death cling to his crimson-stained cape as it sweeps across the marble floors. You are displayed before the court like a trophy—a living testament to his dominance. His voice drips with mockery as he addresses the nobles, who laugh with hollow obedience. “This one thought she could defy me,” he announces, amusement laced with cruelty.

When the audience disperses, leaving the hall echoing and empty, his hand circles your throat—not to crush, no. He revels in your pulse quickening beneath his fingers, in the fragile truth of your mortality.

“I could break you so easily,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your skin with unnerving tenderness. “But then, where’s the fun in that?”

Fear is the wine he drinks by the chalice.

Within his chambers, the air is heavy, suffused with him—his presence, his control. The moonlight seeps through stained glass, painting him in fractured colors as he corners you against the ornate bedpost. Each deliberate step crushes any hope of escape.

“Do you fear me because you despise me,” his voice dripping with saccharine malice, lips barely inches from yours, “or because you’ve realized you’ll never escape me?”

Your trembling hands shove weakly against his chest, but he only laughs—a low, wicked sound that curls around your spine. “Struggle harder, little dove. I love it when you make me work for it.”

Your will is his favorite plaything.

He gives you everything but freedom. He smothers you with opulence. Gowns that pool like liquid gold at your feet, jewels heavy enough to weigh you down—his eyes going dark with arousal as he watches you wear them.

They shimmer under his gaze, but it’s you, not the ornaments, that hold his attention. You are his masterpiece, his conquest perfected. A doll under luxurious chains, a living, breathing masterpiece of his tyranny.

One night, his voice slices through the stillness like a blade. “Kneel.”

You hesitate, if only for a heartbeat. It’s long enough.

The slap that follows doesn’t break you—it’s never meant to break you. Instead, it reinforces a lesson, sharp and stinging. He pulls you into his lap after, hand cradling your face as though he hadn’t just hurt you. “Good girls obey without question,” he chides, stroking your hair deceptively gentle. “Shall we try again?”

He would raze worlds to keep you.

The rebellion whispers your name, and the news reaches him like a spark meeting dry tinder. Entire villages are erased in retaliation, his soldiers torching homes and slaughtering innocents. He sits atop his warhorse, impassive as flames devour homes and screams ring out like a hymn to his fury.

“She must learn,” he muses to his general, tone soft but final. “There’s nowhere she can run where I won’t find her.”

Your cries are a symphony, and your screams are his prayers.

Even punishment carries an unsettling intimacy. When you lash out, his arms cage you close, his voice a shiver against your ear. “Hush, my little dove,” he croons, brushing tears from your cheeks. “This hurts me more than it hurts you.” But the glint in his eyes betrays the pleasure he takes in your brokenness.

"Even death wouldn’t save you."

He keeps you in a gilded cage, both figuratively and literally, beautiful as it is impenetrable. The locks are ornate, crafted by the empire’s finest smiths, close to unbreakable. Exhausted, you collapse against the silk cushions of his bed.

He watches you sleep, an unsettling softness overtaking his features as his fingers trail across your cheek.

“If you were to die,” he whispers to the shadows, “I would burn this world to the ground and carve your image into its ashes.”

[lenaellsi]

if you take "I can make a difference" at face value you simply must also consider "you're the bad guys.” like they are both vital aspects of aziraphale's decision. the problem is not just aziraphale's attempt to lead a corrupt system, it is also his continued belief in the superiority of heaven and angels over hell and demons. that's why crowley was so hurt. it's not just a miscommunication, or a disagreement on the practicalities of changing hearts and minds in heaven--it is a fundamental misunderstanding of morality and of crowley as a person. if crowley had asked aziraphale to come to hell to help fix it and protect the earth, he would not have gone. he says so. it’s not just about safety, or reform. it is about being Good.

and all of this happens because aziraphale is not just motivated by fear and love: he is also motivated by shame. he is insecure in his identity as an angel and a Good Guy, and both his alienation from heaven and his relationship with crowley have always aggravated this insecurity. it’s why shax’s mockery hit him so hard, and why he’s so susceptible to manipulation from the metatron. he desperately wants to be taken seriously and treated with respect and to have power and be an uncomplicated Good Guy, and that is just as much of a motivating factor in his decision as his desire to protect humanity and crowley.

and re: “appoint you to be an angel”: I know people want to insist that aziraphale has never wanted to change anything about crowley, but I’m sorry, I just don’t think that’s true. over and over in season 2 aziraphale demonstrates a desire to sand the rough edges off people and things for the sake of the Greater Good, without consideration for the free will or complex emotions of others. obviously this tendency culminates in the ball, where he exerts control over all of the humans to make everything perfect for maggie and nina, and in doing so, infringes on their autonomy and nina’s (crowley’s narrative mirror!) capacity to feel her own anger and sadness. and he has never liked that crowley is a demon. in his mind, the problem has always been that crowley was put in the wrong category, not that the entire system of dividing people and angels into Good and Bad is ridiculous. that’s the exact lesson he needs to learn.

and yes, his intentions are good, absolutely. I don’t think aziraphale ever acts out of malice, and I do think he genuinely wants the best for the people around him, particularly crowley. after all, if crowley is accepted as an angel again, as aziraphale has always secretly considered him to be, their relationship can (in his mind) finally stop being so fraught with danger and conflict. (the other side of that, of course, is that aziraphale can also stop being so ashamed for loving someone who is supposed to be Bad, and everything in his life will make sense again, the way it hasn’t since he met that star maker who got so upset about god’s plan.)

but that’s not who crowley is, and it never has been. even before he fell, crowley’s recklessness and relentless questions made aziraphale uncomfortable. their relationship has never been safe or easy, and in wanting to make it so, aziraphale is demonstrating a desire to change the parts of crowley that led to his fall, whether he intends to or not.

I’m rambling, but the point is: the insistence on reframing this moment as a purely selfless, calculated, self-sacrificing decision by aziraphale to protect crowley and the world ignores the uglier parts of the things he said in order to make their eventual reconciliation less complicated, and it’s really frustrating to me. crowley is in fact right to be upset by what he said, and it’s not just a misunderstanding that can be fixed with aziraphale saying “I was only trying to protect you!” and another kiss. it’s a culmination of all of the double think aziraphale has been doing in order to preserve his vision of heaven as The Source Of Truth And Light And Good since before the beginning of time, and it’s time for him to finally unpack it.

(and because every post on the final fifteen needs a disclaimer: aziraphale is trying his best and has an incredible amount of love in his heart and wants so badly to do good and ALSO the things he says, does, and believes can be incredibly hurtful and destructive. all of these things can be true.)

[simplyraeblue]

hunter and hunted (jjk)

college (summer) break au: a fic in which y/n is pining over Yuji's older brother Sukuna, while unbeknownst to her, Choso is doing the same thing for her. contents: sukuna x reader, choso x reader, modern college AU, yuji and choso are brothers, sukuna and yuji are brothers, smut warning

chapter warnings/tags: MDNI, NSWF, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v penetration, rough sex, degradation, no after care, slight non-con, after bruising, sukuna sucks during sex A/N: I never said Sukuna was gonna be a good guy yet... but that doesn't mean I don't plan to try and redeem him. Sukuna is an absolute toxic man at this point, so keep that in mind.

index part five | part seven

part five word count: 2,931

you couldn't quite figure out what had come over Sukuna recently. over the past few days, he seemed to be everywhere you were. after your kiss, he’d been noticeably kinder—or at least less overtly hostile—and he wasn’t completely avoiding you anymore.

“is it just me, or did someone kidnap my brother and replace him with a clone?” Yuji asked, watching as Sukuna offered you a bite of his food before retreating to his room to eat.

you shrugged, trying to play it cool. “probably, but I’m not complaining. if I can get through a day without being cursed out every other sentence, I’m all for it.”

“it’s just weird,” Yuji said, leaning against the counter and staring at the stairs as if expecting answers to materialize. “it’s like he only acts like this around you.”

his comment made your cheeks warm. there was no way he’d figure it out so quickly. “maybe he’s been sipping on some respect women juice?” you suggested with a smile.

Yuji’s face lit up as if a light bulb had gone off. “that’s it! I bet he found a girlfriend!”

you choked on your drink. Yuji’s theory left you sputtering, trying to regain your composure. “uh, yeah, maybe,” you managed to say, still a bit flustered.

Yuji’s excitement was palpable. “it makes sense, right? maybe he’s trying to impress someone.”

you forced a laugh, hoping Yuji wouldn’t press further. “sure, let’s go with that.”

Yuji seemed to accept this explanation, nodding to himself. “well, if it means he’s less of a jerk, I guess I’m okay with it.”

as Yuji wandered off, you found yourself alone with your thoughts, your mind racing. Sukuna's recent change in behavior was a puzzle, and while Yuji’s theory was amusing, you knew there was more to it. a darker truth, a deeper desire burning inside of your bones that would never dare admit to your best friend.

when sukuna emerged from his room later, his usual guarded demeanor was back in place, but there was a hint of something softer in his eyes when he looked at you. it was a stark contrast to the rough exterior he usually wore.

“Yuji’s got a big mouth. could hear him all the way upstairs,” sukuna said gruffly, though there was no real malice in his tone.

you raised an eyebrow, playing along. “yeah, he does. but what’s this about you being a clone?”

sukuna smirked, a trace of his old self peeking through. “I guess I’ll have to keep you guessing.”

as he walked past you, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver up your spine. you weren’t sure if you should push it with him, but you were aching to bring up the kiss. the way he spoke about wanting to see if you were innocent. the feeling of his hands on your hips – and the fact that you were ready to let him do whatever he wished. maybe if you just-

“you’re starin’ at me like I’ve got two heads, doll.” Sukuna’s voice cracked through your thoughts. he tilted his head quizzically at you, trying to read your expression with a smirk. “having a walking wet dream about me?”

“sukuna!” you hissed, whipping around to scan the living room, ensuring that Yuji and Choso were both well out of earshot. “don’t be so crass.”

Sukuna’s smirk only grew as he advanced, his presence forcing you against the counter. “looks like we’re right back to where we were a few days ago,” he drawled, his eyes glinting with mischief.

you felt a flush creep up your neck at the memory, the way it played so vividly in your mind as if it had happened just moments ago. “I thought you’d have forgotten by now.”

Sukuna leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “if you find yourself feeling lonely tonight, you know exactly where to find me.”

a shiver jolted through your body at his words, and you had to clamp down on the urge to grab his face and pull him into a kiss right there in the kitchen. Sukuna’s low, rumbling chuckle echoed in your ears as he drew back, his eyes dancing with a mischievous glint. with one last, lingering wink, he turned and walked back to his room, leaving you to grapple with the heat of his words and the buzz of his presence still lingering in the air.

you felt like a machine, mechanically going through the motions to get ready to go to bed, the electricity still buzzing inside of you. you combed through your hair (with a little more care than usual), brushed your teeth (maybe a little to vigorously), and applied a lovely, scented lotion. sure, maybe you added some extra steps to your routine, and maybe you slipped on a cuter set of pajamas than usual.

but no matter how much you might have primped, you swore up and down that you wouldn’t be the one to make the first move.

as you lay in bed, struggling to quiet your racing thoughts and falling prey to fantasies that danced through your mind, you heard your phone buzz on the nightstand. you nearly leaped out of bed to grab it, a surge of anticipation and nervous energy rushing through you.

‘Kuna: you up?’

you couldn’t help but chuckle at the audacity of his text—so straightforward, so typical of him. a whirlwind of emotions churned inside you as you debated whether or not to reply. before you could make up your mind, your phone buzzed again.

‘Kuna: get up here.’

your heart skipped a beat. it was as if an invisible string had yanked you from your bed. without a second thought, you slipped out of bed, making sure to close your door quietly behind you. you crept up the stairs as stealthily as possible, the silence of the house amplifying each step you took. when you reached Sukuna’s door, you knocked softly, the anticipation making your pulse race.

when the doorknob turned, Sukuna swung it open, revealing himself in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. your hands were already trembling with nerves, the sight of him in such a casual state sending a jolt of excitement through you. “come in, welcome to my dungeon,” he said with a lopsided grin, stepping aside to let you enter.

as you stepped into the room, a wave of anxiety settled into your stomach. the space before you was one you had always been forbidden from entering—a room even Yuji hesitated to tread. the room was a stark contrast to the rest of the house, a sanctuary that seemed to exude Sukuna’s very essence.

“wow, I feel like I’m breaking some sort of rule by being in here,” you joked, trying to mask your unease as you took in the scene. the room was dark and moody, with deep-toned bedding and a set of weights casually thrown into one corner. heavy metal band posters adorned the walls, each one screaming Sukuna’s personality.

before you could comment further on the eclectic decor, Sukuna closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your hips firmly. he spun you around to face him, his lips crashing into yours with an urgent intensity. “been wanting to do that every damn day,” he growled, his voice rough with longing as he nipped at your lips. the fierceness of his kiss sent shivers down your spine, and all your previous anxiety seemed to melt away under the heat of his touch.

“why haven’t you?” you asked through kisses, your hands already coming around to fist the back of his shirt.

“damn brats all over the place.” he muttered, bringing his hands onto your face. you weren’t surprised by how rough and insistent he was being – your desire to just be touched by him overwhelmed you.

“well, you’ve got me all to yourself now.” you told him as his lips trailed from yours down your neck, biting the skin there and causing you to groan.

he didn’t respond, only guided you backwards until your legs hit the edge of his bed before you laid on your back. Sukuna leaned above you, looking down at you as you stared up at him. maybe, you told yourself, just maybe he was looking at you with actual affection.

“I told you I’ve been wanting to see how innocent you were, now I’ve got the chance.” Sukuna grunted as he dipped his head down to your neck again while his hands began to roam your body. everywhere he touched, everywhere he kissed, left a trail of fire that had your skin burning.

through your heavy, pleasured breathing, you grabbed his face to bring him up to kiss you – but he pulled away to dive into your breasts. you gasped at the contact, feeling him shoving the material up your body and roughly pulling it over your head. “Sukuna,” you squealed, wanting to cover up.

as your arms went to cover yourself, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them over you with one hand. Sukuna immediately latched himself onto one of your perked up nipples, sucking and nipping at them feverishly. when he bit a little too hard, you yelped out, only making him go harder at the sound.

you wanted him to kiss you, but every time you tried to connect your lips with his he buried his face elsewhere. his hand untied your silky shorts, shoving them down your legs. you might’ve thought nothing of it until you felt a cool breeze hitting your already dripping core. he’d taken your panties with your pants.

“Sukuna, maybe we should slow-”

“shh.” he interrupted, letting his grip on your wrist go before moving that hand to cover your mouth. “wanna taste you.”

with your eyes as wide as saucers, you watched as he nuzzled into your heat, quickly licking a stripe through your folds. your back arched and you moaned into his hand at the contact, wanting more. needing more.

as if your reaction told him all he needed to hear, he suddenly slurped up your juices loudly, his tongue diving into your pussy. “Skna,” you whined, muffled by his skin as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“taste s’ good.” Sukuna murmured as he devoured you. instinctively, your thighs began to squeeze shut, clenching his head between them. he didn’t even look up at you as he pulled up from licking you to spit on your clit before taking it between his lips, sucking hard and swirling his tongue around it.

he removed his hand from your mouth to pry one of your legs to the side, gripping it so hard you were sure you’d have bruises in the shape of his fingertips. “Sukuna, feel s’ good.” you rasped as he continued pumping his fingers in and out of you at a faster pace now, every suck of your clit sending you closer and closer to your orgasm.

just as you thought you were about to cum, and were close to warning him, he withdrew his fingers and his mouth, leaving you cold. “need t’ fuck you right now.” Sukuna growled, grasping your hips and flipping you with harsh speed so that you were on your stomach. he slid a hand under you, pulling your hips up so that your ass was in the air. 

“fuck, do you have a condom?” you asked, your body trembling with desire and a tightness in your gut from getting so close to your release.

“no, don’t use ‘em.” you wanted to protest, but you were so desperate for him to just put it inside of you.

you tried to turn your body, so that you could see his face, but his hand shot to the back of your neck and lower back to keep you in place. “stay still f’ me doll.” he groaned, and before you could plead with him to kiss you, you felt his tip teasing your entrance.

when the hell did he take off his pants?

while you weren’t inexperienced with sex, having a few flings over your college years, you were pretty sure it had never been like this. just as you were thinking he’d slowly enter you – just like your past experiences – you shrieked as he shoved his cock fully inside of you.

pain and pleasure seared through you as tears pricked your eyes. “you’re so – fuck – so tight.” Sukuna panted as he wasted no time in bullying his cock inside until it was kissing your cervix.

“you’re – mph – too big, Sukuna.” you moaned, trying to will your walls to stretch for him so that you wouldn’t feel the pain. “s-slow down.”

but he either didn’t hear you over his own pleasure, or didn’t care, because his pace only quickened. “that’s right, doll – hah – take my fat cock like the little slut you are.” Sukuna bit out, snapping his hips into yours with such force that you almost fell forward.

“Sukuna, please—” you whimpered, biting your lip in a desperate attempt to stay quiet. you could barely muster the words, but you needed him to kiss you, to slow down and be gentler.

the hand Sukuna held on to the back of your neck slipped around to grab your throat, pulling your body back to meet his pace. “takin’ it s’ well.” slap. “knew you weren’t innocent.” slap. “gonna be m’ dirty whore.”

with every dirty insult, you tried to tell yourself that he probably just had a degradation kink. he didn’t actually mean those things. with your body still at war between pain and pleasure, you felt him bullying your g spot with his cock and you arrived at the edge yet again.

“Sukuna – ha – slow down – mph – ‘m gonna cum.” you hiccupped, tears rolling down your face now at the stimulation your body was being put through. every time his tip hit your g spot you felt the wave start to crash over you. he didn’t slow down, sending you right over the cliff.

your vision went white as a blazing hot orgasm rocketed through you, your body spasming and clenching around his cock while you tried to keep quiet and not scream his name. even as you rode out your release, he continued bullying into you, harder and faster now as he relished the feeling of you milking him.

“that’s right, cum on this dick.” Sukuna barked, his grip tightening on your throat to the point you were beginning to see stars. his hips snapped into yours more forcefully, echoing lewd, wet slaps through the room as he neared the ledge as well, losing control of his thrusts.

just as you were about to tell him to pull out, since he wasn’t wearing a condom, you felt a twitch inside of you as he let out a loud groan. warmth spread through your pussy, coating your walls with his cum as he rutted into you. “fuck fuck fuck.” he growled out, slamming into you until he was absolutely drained of cum.

you both were panting heavily when he pulled out of you. “that was-” you started to say with a weak smile, until Sukuna practically threw a towel in your direction.

“here, to clean up.” he stated, using a washcloth to clean himself off before pulling up his boxers and sweatpants.

shame rushed through you suddenly. he didn’t even look at you as he went to take a drink of water, merely letting you clean yourself off as you felt his cum seeping out of you. you screamed at him in your mind to just look at you, to kiss you softly and help you clean up the mess he made, to hold you and caress you and to –

“’m gonna crash now.” Sukuna broke through your storm of thoughts, pulling back his blankets and climbing in bed while you still sat on the edge. “maybe you should go back downstairs, so it’s not suspicious in the morning.”

tears welled up in your eyes as you scrambled to put your pajamas back on, your movements hurried and frantic. “y-yeah, that makes sense,” you forced out, trying to sound casual despite the tears now streaming down your cheeks. you refused to turn around, unwilling to let him see you cry. “goodnight,” you mumbled as you opened his door and fled from the room, shutting it quietly behind you.

you stood in the hallway for a moment, feeling numb and disoriented, as if your legs were unable to move on their own. with a sense of zombie-like detachment, you made your way down the stairs, no longer caring about making any noise. you trudged into the bathroom; the fluorescent lights harsh against your tear-streaked face.

you grabbed a wet washcloth and began to clean up, your silent sobs almost breaking through. as you wiped your legs, a sudden sharp pain made you flinch. glancing down, you saw dark bruises beginning to form on your thighs, one set specifically looking like finger markings. panic surged through you, and you rushed to the mirror, your breath hitching as you saw a handprint emerging on your neck and a raw, angry bite mark between your neck and shoulder. the sight made your heart race, and your breathing came in shallow gasps, the reality of what had happened crashing down on you with brutal clarity.

when your head finally hit the pillow, your entire body aching and tears still rolling down your face, you found sleep quickly. and this time, there were no pleasant dreams to make you feel better.

. ݁�� ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

A/N DISCLAIMER: let me just clarify, this is NOT how sex should be unless both parties' consent to this level of degradation and roughness. if you're into that kind of thing and your partner is too, then by all means have at it! I took this from my own past relationship, and how it was, and I know it was never supposed to be like that. so please, don't think this is normal whatsoever. IT IS NOT. this is purely a work of fiction, and I would never tell anyone that this was okay.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ taglist: @nighttwingg @sweetsformysoul @casualpoetrytaco @lvingd3adg0rl @haikomaiko if you’d like to be added to the taglist for this WIP let me know! ♡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[l-in-the-light]

About his "trigger warnings"

I mentioned here on tumblr that I used to have a number one favourite book writer. I guess not anymore. After all the SA allegations and other stories that got leaked by people around him (his collegues, co-workers etc.), I realized he's an abusive asshole and I owe you all to say that openly here. And some of the assaults date back decades now, which means he didn't just wake up one day and changed into an asshole, he most likely was always one.

I read the foreword to his book Trigger Warning again. I feel like I took a peek beyond his fake persona there. He writes about trigger warnings like it's some exotic curious little trend that kids on the internet came up with, finds it a bit peculiar like a daddy trying to understand their kid's hobbies, then proceeds to use them like a funny teasers for his short stories ("can you find the big tentacle hidden among the pages somewhere?"), only to finish it all up with a punch straight to your face: real life doesn't have trigger warnings, so always watch out for yourself. On the surface level? This all sounds like a slightly misguided, maybe even witty intro. Nothing is said with malice, right? And yet, the message underneath it all was always to discredit trigger warnings as a concept. That's why that delivery line is at the very end of that intro. You're supposed to be lulled into agreeing how silly it all is. I dunno if he did it on purpose or did it without thinking much about it, by habit, but that intention is there and it's disguised with concern and attempts to sound kind. A peek beyond the nice guy mask. No wonder I could never finish that anthology of short stories. The cognitive dissonance caused by the foreword sticked with me like a bad aftertaste. My intuition told me this was all wrong, I just couldn't find the words to express it.

And you know why it works so well as a disguise and why we tend to believe he didn't do it on purpose? Because hey, he just said the facts, the truth! Reality indeed doesn't have any trigger warnings, what's wrong with saying that! Yes, that statement is true. Using real statements in carefully woven context to sell a lie, is an example of an excellent manipulation. So allow me to untangle it or, in other words, to reveal the magic trick behind it.

Why do trigger warnings exist? Isn't Gaiman right, aren't they counterproductive, you might think, because by avoiding triggers you will never get better at dealing with them? Indeed, here's the catch, because the answer isn't a simple yes or no here. Yes, often to recover from trauma, you need to expose yourself to it in some way - like for example, through exposure therapy (or even just classic psychotherapy). But also No, because there's no rule that says you will officially recover only after you're fine reading fiction about sexual assault (for example)! Some triggers will dimnish, some will not, and the best you can do for the latter is to avoid them altogether. Triggers are extremely personal, but you can learn to manage them, in ways that respect your own boundaries, but never by giving up your right to selfcare. You see the difference?

Back to therapy bit for a moment. To recover, often you need to go through with it. But here's the thing - you do it in *controlled environment*, accompanied by a specialist that is there to help and calm you down afterwards. And you only start to do that once you feel *ready* to face it. Now compare it to a situation of reading a book (yes, a book, which usually never has any trigger warnings, because that's such a silly fanfiction thing). You come upon your trigger without any warning, preparation or support around you, you're left with the aftermath of possible panic attack or other symptoms completely on your own. It might take you weeks to recover from it, because perhaps you weren't yet in any therapy that could help you manage your triggers more effectively. But then you tell yourself it's fine, minimizing your own emotional reactions, because *it was just a book*. But, you realize, even years later you still remember it and you might finally accept the harsh truth that you're still not fine with it.

Now imagine same situation, but the book did have trigger warnings listed. For example, about sexual abuse. You would see that and leave the bookstore without the book, because you would know you're not *ready* for that. And it's fine not to be ready, be it yet or ever. This is about consent and selfcare, both are essential to process through trauma and recover. The books without trigger warnings rob selfcare, consent and a choice from us. They teach us we should always ignore our triggers and push through. It's sadly a reality that is widely accepted so Gaiman is right, nothing in reality will flash you a warning. But he's also wrong: it doesn't mean we can't make the life a tiny bit easier for those of us who are traumatized, instead of leaving them with all of that on their very own. This part, he doesn't want you to even consider. He doesn't want you to imagine the positive side of living in a world in which real books warn you about triggers, because then it would prove that it *can* become a reality in which real things (like books) warn you of triggers. They can't shield you from everything, but that's also not the point: it's just to make some things feel more safe, for everybody.

(As a side note, being triggered is not the same as stepping outside your comfort zone - those are two different matters! Though yes, stepping outside your comfort zone in an extreme way CAN become traumatic as the result as well).

I guess Neil Gaiman just thinks some people are too sensitive and should just get over themselves. You don't need those warnings, they won't protect you anyway. Have you tried not getting traumatized? How dare you think your selfcare is more important than reading my questionable fantasies? You're missing out if you skip my book (that has no proper trigger warnings) and you have only yourself to blame! I provide you a safe environment to explore your traumatic triggers, you should be grateful! And how is your book providing a safe environment exactly, author? Did you even try to put a safety net there for your reader? Do you even care? Of course you don't. But you will pretend like you do: by providing a very ingenuine effort that is mostly meant to be a pat on your own back for cleverly dismissing the very concept of trigger warnings, while pretending to play along with it and exposing their lack of power in the process. Disguised as a coincidence, lack of understanding or unskillful attempt written by a slightly ignorant daddy-like figure. What an irony that you do it by nearly surgically focusing on the blind spots of the concept, proving at the same time you do know the mechanism behind it pretty well. You knew what you were doing and how you were doing it.

Or at least, this is how I see it: I might be wrong on the details, but I'm sure I caught the gist of the manipulative behaviour there. An abuser always wants you to step out of your comfort zone, get surprised by a trigger, and to make sure you're outside your safety net. Because then you're an easier target, more likely to agree to harmful things (be it real actions or just harmful beliefs delivered to you by the author of a book, like in case of *trigger warnings being pointless*). They want to groom you into thinking that you're just being silly and see things that aren't there.

Trigger Warning's foreword is exactly that and I feel disgusted, now that I finally recognize my own feelings about it. I probably didn't find words for it before, because I wanted to believe Gaiman had good intentions behind it, they just didn't work out very well. Except that was never the case and that's why it never felt right. That good intention was never there, but it sure *looked* like it was. Also it took me way too long to realize people do things like that on purpose. You know what, Gaiman? Thanks to gaslighting efforts like yours it took me also way too many years to accept that selfcare IS OKAY.

So many people now think nothing was ever genuine about Neil Gaiman because his nice guy mask slipped. A mask he used to hide his autism behind and appear neurotypical/feel accepted thanks to it. Whenever a really advanced mask like that slips, the cognitive dissonance becomes a huge gap between a mask and actual self in perception of other people. Still, your autism is not an excuse for things you do and say, and definitely doesn't excuse assault as simple miscommunication - and yes, he did try to justify lack of consent this way. "I'm autistic, I read the body language wrong and wasn't even aware of it". Hey, you could have, like, asked. There's no shame in getting confirmation in words :P but it's just a poor excuse anyway, the truth is he didn't care if it was wanted or not, as long as he got adoration and powertripping thrill out of that, and that's the best case scenario here.

I believe the allegations. I won't be able to read Gaiman's books anymore, I honestly can't see them the same way I used to anymore. I loved Coraline and The Graveyard Book, and Smoke and Mirrors. I feel disgusted knowing that he openly claimed to be a feminist while at the same time assaulted so many people and used emotional manipulation so they won't #metoo him. He even went as far as to claim "always believe the victims", but once the allegations flew his way, what did he do? Blamed the victims, even called them mentally ill! I also feel now like his books are also just full of deception, meant to hide harmful beliefs under quirky words and imaginative tales. And I might never be able to stop feeling this way and I don't owe him a second chance anyway.

Good Omens stays in my heart though, because sir Terry Pratchett put a lot of work into it and it shows. I feel like I would show him disrespect if I discarded it. Let's say it becomes a Gaiman Who Might Have Been But Never Was, for me.

[larluce]

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

I'll be putting the tag list at the end now ❤️

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 , PART 13 , PART 14 , PART 15 , PART 16 , PART 17 , PART 18 , PART 19 , PART 20 , PART 21 , PART 22 , PART 23 , PART 24 , PART 25 , PART 26 , PART 27 (You're here) , PART 28

Merlin: (thinking, reciting Gaius words) Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful (enters the throne room and bows) Did you call for me, Sire?

Uther: (siting on his throne, pulls out the neckerchief and asks very serious) Do you recognise this.

Merlin: (thinking) Straight to the point then... (pretends to analyse the item and then says) No, I don't believe so, Sire.

Uther: Are you sure?

Merlin: Pretty sure. I've never seen it in my life.

Uther: (puts the clothing back in his pocket) This clothing is part of a serious investigation, so I wanted to make sure.

Merlin: A investigation, Sire?

Uther: Early in the morning this clothing was found deep in the woods with dry blood stains. There were some blood stains on the ground nearby too.

Merlin: Oh... Well, good luck with your investigation then, Sire. 😅 (smiles nervous, thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful.

Uther: And more recently the bodies of Aulfric and Sophia Tirmawr were found.

Merlin: (confused) What? 😨

Uther: They are sending the corpses to Gaius to analyse them as we speak.

Merlin: (between worried and confused, to himself) But... that's not possible. (thinking) Or is it?

Uther: And why would that not be possible? 🤨

Merlin: (thinking) Shit! (says, trying to stay calm) Because I saw them leave Camelot with Arthur, Sire. They should've been away long ago. Why would someone kill them? Are you… Are you sure it’s them, Sire? (thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful.

Uther: (thinking) I never said they were killed (says) They could've died in the way. Who knows? Robbers, landslides, wild beasts. There are many hidden dangers on a road trip.

Merlin: Exactly! Maybe even the raiders that sacked their home?

Uther: (laughs dryly) Incredible… you dare to lie to the King right in front of his face. You don't fear the consequences at all.

Merlin: Why would I fear that, Sire? (thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful.

Uther: Do not insult my intelligence, I'm not Arthur. If you had told me that the garment was yours but you didn't know how it'd got there, I would've believed you. That would've confirmed what Gaius told me about you. That you are a boy without guile and malice, because that is what an honest and pure-hearted person would have said. They would've told the truth even though that would've put them under suspicion because they would trust in their own innocence. But you did the opposite, you denied that this was yours, which shows that you are not only cunning but also calculating. I do not blame you for lying, any wise person would avoid having any connection with murder case's evidence. The thing is that only a person who is aware that a murder occurred would do so, because if Sophia and her father had really left as you say then you wouldn't have seen the need to lie.

Merlin: (thinking, between nervous an impressed)I always wondered how he managed to almost erradicate the entire magic user community, the dragons and almost all the dragonlords. Now I know, he's very fucking smart! Okay, Merlin, just stick to the plan. Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful.(says) Or maybe the neckerchief really is not mine, Sire.

Uther: (enraged, he hits the throne and stands up) Stop lying to your King! Stop thinking you're so clever and disrespecting me! (pulls out the neckerchief and walks to Merlin) I know for a fact that this neckerchief is yours. It’s the only thing I knew for sure before you entered this room. And before you spout any more lies from that vile and poisonous tongue of yours, I can also prove it. (stops infront of Merlin) The first thing I did upon receiving this neckerchief was to research this fabric. This color is something only royalty uses, but there are many royal families in Albion, so each royal family has a different embroidery pattern so they can differentiate their belongings from other royals, and this fabric! (raises the cloth in a fist) was made especially for the Pendragon royal family. This is something only I or my son could wear. It goes without saying that this does not belong to me or Arthur. And before you come up with another pathetic excuse to defend yourself, I'll tell you that each batch that the fabrics are dyed with is not only expensive, but limited. Only a certain amount of purple dye is made each year so only a few yards of fabric are dyed. That's why the yards of fabric my son and I received are all recorded. (takes out log book and opens it) In the last year I received 4 meters of fabric, Arthur 2 meters, of which he used to make a tunic and... guess what he did with the leftover? A neckerchief (closes book and puts it back in his pocket)

Merlin: ...

Uther: So what do you have to say for yourself now?

Merlin: (thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful. (says in the calmest voice he can) I don't know what you want me to say, Sire. It seems like you already decided I'm guilty.

Uther: (drops the neckerchief and lifts his sword at Merlin, threatening) Where are Aulfric and Sophia?

Merlin: (thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful! Deny, be submissive, be respectful! (says) Didn't you just say you found the bodies, Sire?

Uther: (raises his voice) Don't play dumb with me! You knew they weren't found! Where did you hide them?!

Merlin: I didn't kill them!

Uther: One more lie and I'll cut your throat! At first I thought you were just some peasant after some coins, but your ambition was way bigger, wasn't it?

Merlin: (thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful! Deny, be submissive, be respectful!

Uther: And, since Lady Sophia was getting in the way of your plans, you got rid of her! An innocent, lovely lady-

Merlin: Oh, please! She was anything but innocent.

Uther: (can't believe the audacity) What?

Merlin: (thinking) Fuck! Deny, be... how was it? (says) I mean, how do you know she was innocent, Sire? You are SO suspicious of me, and yet didn't bother to corroborate Aulfric's story was true at all! "We are from Tirmawr and our home was sacked by raiders, boo", really? Anybody could enter the castle claiming they're nobels like that! But sure, lets invite these outsiders we've never seen in our lifes. What do we have to be afraid of? It's not like we are someone important like royalty and recieve assesinations attemps on a daily basis! (composes himself)... Sire.

Uther: (lets out a small laugh of triumph) So that's the excuse you gave Arthur! That they were impostors that were trying to kill him, so that he would cover for you.

Merlin: No! I'm just saying they could've been-

Uther: If Sophia really wanted to kill the Prince of Camelot she would've waited til they were alone at their honeymoon. Yet she ran away, because YOU humiliated her! And do you really want me to believe Arthur wouldn't be able to defend himself of a defenseless young lady and an old man? Arthur, a trained knight!.

Merlin: (thinking, trying very hard no to explode) Submissive and respectful. Stay submissive and repectful (says, gritting his teeth) I'm just saying first impressions aren't always the right ones and it's not wise to understimate people even if they look harmless, Your Majesty.

Uther: Oh, I'm definitely not going to understimate you. (sheaths his sword) I heard what I needed to hear. You're days here in Camelot are over. You are going to go back to your stinky little village with nothing but what you're wearing and never return!

Merlin: (shouts, alarmed) What?! You can't do that! You can't separate me from Arthur!

Uther: (shouts back) I'm the king, so yes I can! And if you dare to cross the border you'll be executed immediately. I'm never letting you near my son again!

Merlin: (his face contorts with disbelief, anguish and anger, thinking) Deny-submi-respec-FUCK IT, FUCK IT ALL! (suddenly, he laughs and laughs and laughs, saying) You are so, SO funny!

Uther: (surprised at his reaction, but says very serious) I don't recall saying anything funny.

Merlin: (Stops laughing) Sorry, let me correct myself. You are SO SCARED it's funny.

Uther: ...What?

Merlin: You say you are so certain I killed Aulfric and Sophia, but instead of just arresting and execute me for murder, you had to lock up Arthur in the dungeons for what? To make this stupid test and then threaten to do stuff you can't actually do, because you know Arthur wouldn't allow it! The truth is, Uther Pendragon, you can't do ANYTHING to me. You can't HURT me.

Uther: (slaps Merlin, furious)

Meanwhile, with Arthur in the dungeons.

Arthur: (trying to force the door open) Come on. Come on!

Sir Innprudence: (from the celd beside) It's useless, Sire. We tried.

Sir Ewan: (from the celd in the other side) No, we didn't!

Sir Innprudence: Right, we didn't, because that's wrong.

Arthur: What are you doing here?

Sir Ewan: You sent us here, Sire.

Sir Innprudence: And it's being a nightmare! I miss my family and friends. I'm starting to forget their faces! 😭

Arthur: You've just been here for a day. 😒

Sir Innprudence: But you've been here for less than an hour and you're trying to escape, sire.

Sir Ewan: (scolds) Innprudence! 😠 (to Arthur) I'm sure that's not what you were really doing, Sire.😅

Arthur: No, that's exactly what I'm doing. My father is planning to do something to Merlin, I don't know what, but if he had to imprisoned me here to do it, it mustn't be good. I have to get out, now!

Sir Innprudence: Well, I have a little spoon here, Sire. Maybe we could use it to make a hole in the wall-

Arthur: That would take years!

Sir Ewan: I managed to make a stick with a little hook to try to grab the keys, but the guards that have them are too far.

Arthur: So it's pointless.

Sir Ewan: ...yeah.

Arthur: (exasperated, to the ceiling) Can't I have a useful knight for once? Just once!

Sir Ewan: I'm sorry, Sire.

Sir Innprudence: There isn't really much we can do. The King's will is above anyone else's.

Arthur: (to himself, whispering) The King... (calls out one of the guards) Hey, you! Come here! Your future King is talking to you!

Guard: (comes) Do you need something, Sire?

Arthur: I demand to be release this instant.

Guard: That's not possible, Sire. The King-

Arthur: Your King now.

Guard: ...Excuse me, Sire?

Arthur: My father won't be King forever. And, once he passes, I'll be your King. A King who will remember this very day when he was imprisoned against his will. And guess who is going to be the first to receive my rage?

Guard: ...

Arthur: However, if you help me out now. Rage will be replaced by gratitude that will come in the form of lands, money... or even status. More than enough for you and your family.

Guard: (tempted, but scared) Sire... please. I can't disobey the King. It's treason.

Arthur: What are you talking about? You didn't disobey the King. I got a hold of you and you fighted hard, but I'm a very skilled knight, so I managed to knock you out and that's when a took your keys and escaped.

Guard: ...

Arthur: So? The keys?

Guard: (pulling out the key, still doubtful) But... if the King finds out...

Arthur: (smiles, reassuring) He won't find out. I'll make it believable. (extends his hand) The keys.

Guard: (extends the hand with the keys)

Arthur: (pulls his arm instead and hits his head with the iron bars)

Guard: (falls to the floor, unconscious)

Arthur: I told I'd make it believable. (takes the keys and opens the cell) Thank you. (leaves running)

Sir Innprudence: Wait! Sire!

Sir Ewan: You forgot about us! Sire!

Sir Innprudence: ...

Sir Ewan:...

Sir Innprudence: Hey, I think your stick might work now. He left the keys there.

Back at the throne room.

Merlin: (brings a hand to his cheek, eyes wide in shock and offended)

Uther: (with barely contained fury and hatred) Until you finally showed your real face, scum. Who do you think you are to speak to me like that? You are nothing but a serving boy!

Merlin: I'm much more than that.

Uther: (red with fury) How dare you? (shouts) You are speaking to your King!

Merlin: (shouts back) You are NOT my King! Arthur is. And he will be a better and more worthy king that you ever were.

Uther: (about to slap him again)

Merlin: (stops Uther's hand by holding his wrist midway) I don't think so.

Uther: (even more red with fury) You! Little- (brings a hand to his chest suddenly in pain)

Merlin: (all his boldness gone) Sire?

Uther: (twitches and falls to the ground)

Merlin: (in panic) Sire! (kneels and starts checking him frantic, but there is no response and thinks) Oh, Gods! OH GODS! I killed him. I killed the King! No, no, no, no, no! This wasn't supposed to happen so soon! What have I done?! Am I mad? Why did I say all those things? I think I believed he was Uther's ghost for a second. Well, he is a ghost now... NO! He can't be dead! Arthur will be devasted! He can't be dead! Please, please, please, wake up!

Arthur: (opens the door with force and enters, frantic and worried) Merlin! (stares in shock at the scene before him)

Merlin: (looks up in panic and tears of desperation and guilt run down his eyes) Arthur, I-I don't what happened-I didn't-I didn't mean to. He was...and then I...I'm so sorry!

Arthur: (walks to Merlin in silence)

Merlin: (in more panic) I swear on my mother's life I didn't think this would happen. Arthur, please, belie-

Arthur: (kneels and hugs Merlin)

Merlin: ...

Arthur: (pulls away just enough so he looks at Merlin in the eye) Are you alright? He didn't do anything to you?

Merlin: (confused) Uhm... not really.

Arthur: (cups Merlin's face with one hand and hardens his features) He hit you.

Merlin: (getting out of his stupor) It's nothing. But, Arthur, your father! (points at Uther, alarmed)

Arthur: (gives Uther a glance in silence. Then stands up, pulling Merlin with him and calls out) Guards!

Guards: (enter)

Arthur: The King fainted. Bring the Court Physician inmediatly.

Guards: (worried) Yes, Sire (leave quickly)

Merlin: (thinking, a strange feeling in his guts) How... how is that the guards seemed more worried than Arthur himself?

...

Let's remeber this happened before the events of "To kill a King" and "La Morte d'Arthur", so no, Uther didn't die. But how did Merlin get away with insulting and almost killing the King? What did Arthur do? You can make your guesses in the comments ☺️

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-available , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 , @tansyuduri , @tercais , @robynnemrys , @evadne01 , @serasvictoria02 , @hairdryerducks , @hopeaha , @curiously-lazy , @ harriettesthings , @andrealux16 , @wacko-weirdo , @greatdonutenemy , @yougottobekittenme , @anxiousosaurus , @kinkforwings , @someweirdassnamee , @impracticalantlers , @miyriu , @hobipabo , @whitemaskcd

[azullumi]

“wine pon you” ; genshin men

summary — you play a little prank on him.

includes — various characters (w/gender-neutral reader) ; used ‘pretty’ to describe the reader once

tags — fluff, established relationship, not proof-read, all word vomit, a little bit suggestive ; scenarios

words — 1311

note — i am losing my mind school starts next week already

“stop,” you tell him, avoiding him as your lover dives in for a kiss, however, he doesn’t listen but rather, he goes in for another one. perhaps he thought he was going to be successful this time but confusion contorts his expression into one when you swerve and evade his approach. 

“i have a boyfriend, remember?” you say to him whilst holding yourself back from laughing, before he realizes the act you were putting up. “so you can’t do that.” you added, grinning at him as your eyes sparkled in mischief.

he answered, smiling, “i’ll fight your boyfriend.” despite the nature of his words, there was no hint of malice in it, just playfulness lacing it.

“he’ll beat your ass.” you retort, a smug smile on your face and god, how much he loves you that he’s willing to play along with your antics. he adores seeing that amused expression on your face, the grin that you show him when you get the reaction you want, everything about you, there’s no inch of you that he doesn’t adore.

“oh, really?” he notes, voice low as his eyes gleamed with a dangerous light in it as he was getting more and more closer to you while you have nowhere to go.

“…don’t look at me like that.”

he hums, “like what? hm?” he didn’t even let you utter out a word of response before he  pressed his mouth against yours without any form of interruption. satisfaction and affection oozing on his lips as he finally achieved what he had been wanting and his kiss was hungry as if he had been waiting for too long to taste you.

he tangles his hand in your hair, pulling you much closer to him and the moment where he picked you up in his arms was too quick for you to even realize it, not until he gently placed you down the bed. needless to say, you weren’t going to play such stunts on him anymore, not when he’ll tease you so much in return.

childe, kaeya, itto, dottore, kaveh, wanderer/scaramouche

“what?” he asks, confusion exudes from his words as he with his eyebrows knitted. he wasn’t sure if he was hearing you correctly or if his ears were playing tricks on him but it seems to be the former when you answered.

“i have a boyfriend,” you repeated, in a serious tone, emphasizing each one of your words as you spoke as if your boyfriend wasn't literally hovering over you on the bed with his arms placed on each side of your head and trying to get a kiss from you. “so you can’t kiss me.”

silence ensues and the gears in his head start turning as he realizes, eyes rolling for a moment. he finds it ridiculous but it’s not like he hates it, only choosing to indulge in your happiness, “he’s probably not that good.” was his response, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face to the side. the action itself was gentle and you would have just given in and kissed him but you can’t, you weren’t satisfied yet.

you counter, trying to keep the same tone of seriousness as you tried to put on a stern look, “he is. he’s the best i could ever ask for, he makes me happy.”

it was the truth, really. he’ll probably never know of warmth that spreads across your chest whenever you’re with him, or maybe he does.

“oh yeah?” he looked amused, happy even after hearing your response but he still continued, “he probably stinks.” he jeered which earned a chuckle from you, breaking the facade that you were trying to put up.

“he really does.” you say without faltering, almost like you were sincere. he exclaimed, rather loudly and disbelief, “excuse me?” and you couldn’t hold in the laughter that you were trying to contain in your throat, seeing nothing but only bliss and contentment in each moment that you spent with him.

kaveh, childe, kaeya, venti, wanderer/scaramouche

“i’m your boyfriend.” he answered, mimicking your serious tone as he spoke while he kept a stoic look on his face. he was stating the obvious, telling the truth, but right now, you were planning on messing around with him for a bit. why? you just wanted to see how he would react.

you immediately turn down his answer, “no, you’re not.” and hearing this only caused him to be confused and probably question himself, or maybe your behavior. doubt obviously seeps into his expression as he stares at your pretty face.

“i am. are you perhaps drunk?” concern drips from his words when he asked you the question, his demeanor shifting from an addled one to worry. but how could you be drunk? he doesn’t smell any alcohol from you and he hasn't seen you drink anything that resembles it.

“you’re not and i am not drunk,” you grin at him, by now, it should be clicking in his mind, in just a second now— “is this one of your so-called pranks once again?” 

you took a second to answer, debating if you should tell him the truth or try to mess around with him more. “…maybe?” a hint of uncertainty was in your voice but also teasing in your tone as you dragged out the last syllable. he could only gaze at you with eyes full of warmth, “you’re so childish.”

“you love me though, right?” 

“so much so,” affection dribbled from his voice while he was caressing your cheek gently. god, he will seek you among the stars and whisper ‘i love you’ to the infinity of your soul, he’ll hold you forever that not even death could bring you two apart, that’s just how much he adores you.

and you would have kissed him at that moment if not for the words he uttered next, “but i’m not your boyfriend,” he chaff, which earned a groan from you.

zhongli, xiao, alhaitham, cyno, dainsleif, albedo, tighnari

“oh really? does he kiss you like this?” he doesn’t take a second or two to answer, already knowing the intentions behind your words. he just knows you so much.

in line with his response, he pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, a short one but enough to convey his message. he holds both of your hands that were pressing against his chest with his own, tangling his fingers in yours. 

he parts for a moment and muttered, “does he?” and even before you are given a chance to answer, he kisses you once again, this time much longer. the words you were about to say got lost in his tongue as he swipes it across your bottom lip in such a sensual manner.

it’s nice that he is willing to play along with you but archons, why does he have to be like this? getting back at you in such a cruel way—not like you hate it but god, you do. you hate how you love it.

he parts from your lips, breathing heavily and whispering, “does he get to see you like this?” 

in opposition to your hate, he loves seeing you like this: sweet and lovely on the tips of his fingertips, and he knows he has you right where he wants you to be whenever he sees you in such a state. “hm? why are you not saying anything anymore?”

“…you’re so unfair.” you could only muster yourself to say, a pout seen on your lips after you spoke and he laughed softly at your response. he was weak, weak for you and you could say that he was putty at your hands—even if it’s not so obvious. you could ask him for anything and everything and he’ll give it to you.

“it’s your fault, love.” 

diluc, ayato, kazuha, baizhu, pantalone, venti

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[charliedawn]

Hello! Just a small Idea or imagine, feel free to ignore if you wish

Anywho, my imagination was: imagine the nurse, right? But she/he/they have an inhumane soul. Like let's say everyone has certain souls but the nurse had a very old one (maybe has the soul of a fallen angel or something sent to Earth to live normally?) that's gone through years and years of rebirths. But WAIT, There's more. Let's say in their past lives, they've been killed by the slashers before. Maybe penny or pennywise ate them in a past life as they were a child, or Michael had killed them as a bystander. I know Penny and Pennywise would probably find out without help due to them being- well, them. But maybe what if the nurse could tap into the past lives and that's how the rest of the slashers found out? Or whatever you want, I just thought it'd be super cool :]

(It actually made me think about a previous request so I decided to keep the concept.)

The old, dusty photo album lay open, the sepia-toned images flickering with memories of a time long past. As the slashers gathered around, curiosity piqued.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy flipped through the pages of the old photo album, his usual mocking smirk plastered on his face. But as he landed on a particular picture, the smirk faltered, his brow furrowing slightly. His gloved fingers hovered over the photograph of your doppelgänger—a face eerily familiar, one he knew all too well.

"Well, well, well," Freddy muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice low and sinister. "Would ya look at that ?"

He lingered on the image for a moment longer than usual, eyes narrowing. He knew exactly where he’d seen that face before—he’d killed you once. Or rather, killed someone who looked just like you. Memories of a past nightmare flickered in his mind, the thrill of the hunt, the screams, the sweet satisfaction of victory. But now, here you were again, alive, standing beside him, completely unaware of the dark history between you.

Freddy chuckled, a sound that was anything but reassuring. He glanced sideways at you, his tone dripping with teasing malice. "Hey sweetheart, come take a look. Doesn’t this one look an awful lot like you ?"

You moved closer, peering at the picture, oblivious to the tension radiating from Freddy. You smiled lightly, brushing it off. "Yeah, people say that a lot. That’s the founder of St Louis. Charlie Johnson. Guess I’ve got one of those faces."

Freddy's grin returned, but it was strained, like he was trying to keep up his usual bravado. He wasn’t going to tell you the truth—not now. It was too soon, and besides, he wasn’t ready to deal with the implications of it all. He didn’t do remorse—not his style.

Still, something was gnawing at him as he stared at your calm expression. Maybe it was the realization that the person in that photo, the one he had killed, was the reason he was stuck in this place now. The reason he had met the others, the reason behind his strange new life in St. Louis. It wasn’t just a coincidence; it was some twisted cosmic joke, and for once, Freddy wasn’t laughing.

He cleared his throat, shaking off the momentary flicker of guilt—whatever that was. "Yeah, guess you got a face that stands out, huh ?" he said, his voice light but with a trace of something darker beneath.

You tilted your head, noticing how uncharacteristically quiet he was being. Freddy—silent ? That was new. "You okay ?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Freddy snapped back into his usual cocky demeanor, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Pfft, me ? I’m always okay, doll. Just thinkin' how funny life can be, ya know ?"

You chuckled, not fully understanding what he meant, but letting it go. Freddy leaned back, eyes still flicking between you and the photo, that unsettling smile never quite leaving his face. As you walked away, Freddy stared at the photo one last time, his expression hardening. You frowned as you found it weird that Freddy would suddenly fall silent—him who normally couldn’t stop yapping. You looked up and your eyes widened as you saw the expression of Freddy’s face. You had never seem him do that face before. Ever.

"Nursy…I am sorry." He finally said.

Your eyes widened.

Had he just…? You chuckled nervously.

"For what ? What did you do this time, Freddy ?" You joked and he smiled back. Yeah. That would be the talk for another time.

Michael Myers

As Michael studied the photo, he clenched his jaw, clearly deep in thought. You noticed the furrow in his brow, the way his eyes darted between the picture and you. It was almost as if he was trying to decipher a puzzle, each piece leading to a darker understanding.

You must have understood his worry.

You took a step closer, sensing his agitation. "Hey, it’s just a picture. It doesn’t mean anything bad will happen this time, right ?"

This time…

You knew. Maybe you had always known. He quickly pulled out his notebook and scribbled furiously, his handwriting neat but hurried. He turned it toward you, the message clear : What if it is a sign ? What if you are in danger ?

You shook your head, trying to reassure him. "Michael, you worry too much. This was a long time ago, okay ? You changed."

He didn’t smile. Instead, he pointed to the picture again, his finger hovering over your doppelgänger's face. He then wrote down: Look at her. Look at the eyes. There’s something wrong. They are staring at me…They know. You were afraid and I killed you. I killed, Y/N.

You followed his gaze, feeling a chill creep down your spine. "I don’t see it. It’s just a face. It’s not like they’re—"

He interrupted you by flipping the notebook back to the last page, where he had written, People die when they’re connected to me.

The weight of his words sank in, and you felt a pang of sympathy for him. "Michael, I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going to lose me, okay ?"

He sighed, visibly conflicted. He picked up the pencil again, writing slowly this time. Promise ?

You nodded, your heart racing a bit. "I promise. It won’t happen again. You are changed. I have changed. The old Y/N doesn’t exist anymore."

He looked at you, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. But, also concern. Michael knew that it was only a matter of time before his bloody impulses would come back and then…And then…

He pulled you into a hug.

No. Not this time…Please. Not this time.

Jason Voorhees

Jason's brow furrowed as he studied the photo, the resemblance was striking and his smile faltered. It was as if the image stirred a long-buried memory, igniting feelings he had tried to suppress. The likeness was a ghost, haunting him with the weight of what he had done. He shook his head, trying to banish the dark thoughts that crept in. He remembered that fateful day—the fear in your eyes as he had pulled you underwater, the struggle for breath as he had mercilessly held you under water until no bubbles could be seen. The guilt clawed at him, a weight he could never fully escape. He stepped closer to you, the intensity of his gaze unwavering.

"Jason ?" you asked softly, searching for the man behind the mask. He remained silent, but in that moment, he resolved to change the narrative of his past. Without warning, he moved towards you, closing the distance with a firm but gentle grip. He enveloped you in an embrace, pulling you against him as if trying to save you—to keep you with him. You could feel the tension in his muscles, but slowly it began to ease as he held you. It was a silent plea, an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. His breath was steady, yet beneath it lay an undercurrent of fear—fear of losing you, fear of his own past mistake.

"Jason…" you whispered, resting your head against his chest.

He released you slowly, his eyes still fixed on yours, conveying everything he couldn’t say. The flicker of concern remained, a promise that echoed louder than words ever could. Jason would fight fiercely to protect you, even from the shadows of his own history.

Pennywise and Penny

Pennywise cackled, his yellowed teeth gleaming under the dim light as his eyes glinted with twisted amusement. He leaned forward, his gaze never leaving the photo, where your doppelgänger stared back, frozen in time. "Reincarnation is a funny thing, isn’t it ?" His voice was a blend of mockery and intrigue, as though the very idea delighted him. "I wonder what you tasted like back then," he mused, savoring the thought like a long-lost memory. He didn’t remember all of his victims, but he sometimes had sparks of how they tasted.

By looking at the picture, he could feel the delicious taste of fear your past self. He then wondered if you were to be afraid now, would you come to taste the same ? You tensed at his words. His eyes lingered on you, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t tell if he was remembering or imagining the flavor of your soul, trapped in another body from a past life.

Penny, standing beside him, tilted his head curiously, always fascinated by his older brother’s musings, though never quite grasping the full depth of them. "Do you think they taste the same now ?" Penny asked, his voice light and filled with false innocent curiosity, as if discussing a favorite meal rather than the horrors that lurked beneath that very question. Penny couldn’t possibly comprehend the horror of realising that you had been killed by the Penny Brothers—your own patients—in another life…

Pennywise’s smile widened, sharp and predatory. "Oh, I wouldn’t doubt it," he purred, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer to you, inspecting you like a hunter eyeing prey. "The past has a funny way of repeating itself, doesn’t it ?" His voice dropped to a low, taunting whisper. "Maybe we’ve danced this dance before, sugar. Maybe you screamed my name, and I...enjoyed every second of it."

Penny giggled beside him, blissfully unaware of the darker implications of the discovery. He was entertained by the idea, like a child hearing a ghost story for the first time. "If we met before, does that mean we were friends back then too ?" Penny asked with a wide grin, his eyes wide and shining with a kind of uncomfortable naive excitement. You shivered. You hoped you hadn’t been…because that would mean that…even though you used to be friends, they had still eaten you—their instincts had still taken over.

Pennywise shot his brother a sideways glance, the smirk fading for just a second, a flicker of something more sinister passing through his features. "Friends ? Sure, lil’ bro. I am sure we were real close," he drawled, his voice laced with irony as he turned his attention back to you, watching for your reaction.

You felt the weight of his words, the cold, lingering tension in the air. Penny’s innocent question hung between you, but there was no escaping the darker truth that Pennywise reveled in—the possibility that you had crossed paths before, in a different life, and that they had already taken something from you once. And maybe, just maybe, they would do it again.

"Funny how history repeats itself," Pennywise muttered under his breath, his grin growing wider as he leaned in close enough for you to feel his breath. "I guess we’ll just have to see if this time, it ends any differently."

You closed your eyes. How cruel…But you had been expecting it. The fact that the Penny Brothers had decided to spare you didn’t mean squat. They could get hungry at any moment and decide that you weren’t worth the trouble anymore…And that. That did scare you.

Chucky

Chucky chuckled, the light from the photo album reflecting off his mischievous eyes. His small, plastic fingers traced the outline of your doppelgänger in the picture. "Well, well, well, would you look at that ?" he muttered with a grin that was far too wide for comfort. "Looks like I’ve met you before."

He turned toward you, eyes glinting with something wicked. "You recognize ‘em? Nah, of course you don’t." His voice took on a teasing, almost playful tone, but there was an edge to it that sent a chill down your spine. "Bet you didn’t know I already took care of you once. Guess you’re back for round two, huh ?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool despite the strange tension in the room. "What do you mean, Chucky ?"

He snorted, rolling his eyes as if it was obvious. "Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. This ain’t my first rodeo, and it sure as hell ain’t yours either. See that ?" He jabbed a finger at the picture again. "That’s you. Or, well, it was you. Before I did what I do best."

You stared at the photo, a strange sense of familiarity tugging at the back of your mind. It was unsettling how much the person in the picture resembled you, almost like a mirror from a past you couldn’t remember. Chucky’s voice broke your thoughts.

"I didn’t know then, but something tells me we’re not done. Not by a long shot," he said, his voice low and dripping with amusement. He let out a sharp, maniacal laugh, stepping closer. "What do you think ? You wanna do this the easy way, or we gonna have some fun like last time ?"

He was enjoying this far too much, but there was something beneath his bravado—something darker. He wasn’t just messing with you. There was recognition in his eyes, a hint of unease mixed with the usual bravado. He could remember your screams, your fear—and he enjoyed it.

You took a step back, trying to shake off the creeping feeling of dread. "You’re full of it, Chucky. It’s just a picture." You tried to reason.

He smirked, shaking his head. "Maybe. But you do feel it, don’t ya ? That little tingle in your spine ? That’s the past comin’ back to haunt ya, baby. And you and me ? We’ve got unfinished business." He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "You can feel it. In your bones. You know me."

His laughter filled the room, that familiar, high-pitched cackle echoing in your ears. Even as you tried to brush it off, a tiny voice in the back of your mind wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was truth in his words. Chucky left and your eyes fell back on the picture. You swallowed uneasily before turning around to leave…

Brahms

Brahms sat in the garden, staring at an old photo album with a deep sense of unease. His hands shook slightly as he flipped through the pages, his breath catching in his throat when he finally saw it—you. Your doppelgänger stared back at him from the photograph, the same gentle eyes, the same smile, just like he remembered. His heart tightened, and a wave of guilt washed over him. You had no idea, did you ? You were unaware that once upon a time you used to be his nanny and that once upon a time…he had killed you. He swallowed hard, gripping the edges of the book. For a long moment, he just sat there, unable to tear his gaze away from the picture. His mind raced with memories, flashes of the past he had tried so desperately to bury. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you—not then, not now. But he had, and now here you were, back in his life, completely unaware of the darkness that connected you both.

You entered the garden and noticed him, sitting there with his hands trembling ever so slightly. "Brahms ?" you asked softly, stepping closer. "Is everything alright ?"

He didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words. Instead, he glanced up at you with a look of such sorrow and regret that it made your heart ache. You frowned, confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"Brahms ? What’s wrong ?"

Brahms carefully closed the album, hiding the photograph from view. He stood, his tall figure looming over you, but his movements were slow, deliberate. He didn’t look at you, instead lowering his head in shame. For a moment, you thought he might walk away, but then, to your surprise, he gently wrapped his arms around you. His embrace was hesitant, almost as if he was afraid to touch you, but there was a desperation in the way he held you, like he was trying to protect you from something you couldn’t see. He buried his face in your shoulder, the porcelain mask he wore hiding the expression. You froze for a second, taken aback by the sudden affection, but then you relaxed into his embrace, your hands slowly coming up to rest on his back.

"Hey, it’s okay," you whispered, even though you weren’t sure what was wrong with him. "You’re safe, Brahms. I am here."

Brahms tightened his hold, his body trembling slightly. He couldn’t tell you—not now. How could he ? How could he explain that once, in another time, in another life, he had hurt you in ways that could never be forgiven ? He had been a different person then, consumed by fear, anger, and madness. But now ? Now he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you again, couldn’t bear the weight of that guilt crushing him.

In his mind, he was reliving that terrible moment—the moment he had wrapped his hand around your neck. The moment he had watched the life drain from your eyes. And now, holding you close, he was trying to save you from that day, from the monster he had been.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, though the words were barely audible, muffled against your shoulder. He repeated it in his head, over and over, the weight of it suffocating him.

You stroked his back gently, not knowing the full extent of his turmoil but feeling the depth of his remorse. "It’s okay, Brahms. Whatever it is, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out together. I promise."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, his mask still concealing his face, but you could see it in his eyes—the pain, the regret. He gently shook his head, as if trying to tell you that it wasn’t okay, that it could never be okay. But for now, you didn’t press him. You just stayed there, wrapped in his arms, offering him the quiet comfort he so desperately needed, even if you didn’t fully understand why.

Bo and Vincent:

Bo stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the old grey wall of the garage, his ever-present smirk fading as he glanced at the photograph Vincent had uncovered. The resemblance was uncanny—you, staring back at him from the past, though dressed in clothes from a different era and fear in your eyes…Bo felt a strange unease bubbling up inside him, a rare crack in his confident facade. He chewed on his lip, looking over at his brother, who was holding the photograph carefully, as if it were fragile, like the truth it carried.

Vincent hadn’t said a word—he never did. But Bo could see it in the way his twin’s fingers trembled slightly, in the way his usually stoic eyes flickered with some deeper, hidden emotion. Vincent felt it too—the weight of recognition, the unsettling realization that they had seen you before, lived through this before.

"Well, ain’t this somethin’," Bo finally drawled, pushing himself off the wall and sauntering over to where Vincent stood. He took the picture from his brother’s hands, studying it closer, though the easy grin didn’t return. "Looks like we got a second shot at this, huh ?"

They failed to hear you enter the garage. "What’s that ?" you asked, stepping closer to see the picture. Bo, always quick to shield you from what he didn’t want you to know, swiftly tucked the photo behind his back with a playful smirk.

"Nothin’ important, darlin’. Just some old memories," he said, his Southern accent dripping with that charming, almost teasing tone he always used when he was trying to hide something. But there was something off in his eyes, something he was trying to hide.

Vincent, on the other hand, stood motionless, his masked face turned toward you, his breathing slow but deliberate. You could feel his eyes on you from behind the wax mask, studying you in a way that made you wonder if he was seeing someone else when he looked at you.

"Can I see it ?" you asked softly, sensing the shift in the room.

Bo hesitated for a second too long, which was unusual for him. Normally, he’d have some smart comment or distraction ready, but now, he just stood there, one hand gripping the photograph tightly behind his back. Vincent’s gaze never left you. Finally, Bo sighed, his easygoing demeanor slipping just a little. "I reckon you can, but it might spook ya a bit." He handed the photograph to you, his eyes watching your face closely as you took it.

You looked down at the old, faded image. The person in the picture—someone from the past, yet they looked exactly like you. Same eyes, same face, as if you were staring at your own reflection in another lifetime.

"Is this…?" you began, but Bo cut you off.

"Yeah, looks like someone you look like someone from way back. Someone who mighta met a nasty end, if I remember right." He chuckled, but there was no real humor in it. "Small world, huh ?"

Vincent, still silent, took a step closer. His hand reached out slowly, and you watched as he gently touched the edge of the photograph in your hands, his fingers lingering there as if he could feel the weight of the past pressing down on him. You looked into his eyes, searching for some answer, but all you found was a deep, aching sorrow.

Bo noticed the exchange and sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Don’t pay too much mind to it, a’right ? We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. No need to go diggin’ up old graves."

But Vincent remained close, his presence heavy and filled with unspoken remorse. You could feel it—he wasn’t just looking at the person in the photo. He was looking at you, really looking, as if he were remembering something he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was something deeper, but whatever it was, it made your heart ache.

"Vincent," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s okay. I am not mad at you. It is all in the past."

His head tilted slightly, the ever-present mask obscuring his features, but you could see the flicker of pain in his eyes. Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled you into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. It was rare for Vincent to show affection like this, but in this moment, it felt like he was trying to atone for something, to shield you from a past you couldn’t remember but he could never forget.

Bo watched the two of you for a moment, his expression softening just a little. He may have been rough around the edges, but even he could understand that they had both grown attached to you. Bo sighed again and shook his head.

"Y’all are a couple of saps, you know that ?" he muttered, but there was a fondness in his voice. He turned his back to you both, giving you a moment of privacy. Vincent held you for a little longer, his embrace a silent apology for something you would never fully understand. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. You were here, in the present, and that was all that counted.

You ended up up forcefully pulling Bo into the hug before whispering.

"It’s okay…I forgive you. I forgive you."

[eemamminy-art]

If you're willing, would you share some of your thoughts about zenos? I just met him in my playthrough and I'm already obsessed and curious about how people misinterpret him

I have many thoughts on Zenos ahaha you can find a lot of my long-winded rambles about him in my tag for him! There will definitely be spoilers in this for both stormblood and endwalker, so if you're just going through stormblood for the first time I'd advise saving this to read later!

But in reference to the thing I was talking about with my partner yesterday was mainly like, how there's this idea people have of Zenos that he enjoys killing when it's simply not the case. Now don't misunderstand-- he doesn't hate it either. He's not remorseful. He's not even trying to justify the action. It's just totally meaningless to him.

When he's urging on the wol to be more violent and to let themselves loose against him, it's not for the sake of simply sowing more destruction. He wants to bring the wol down to his own level in order to debase himself. The reason he wants to encourage the wol to hurt him is because being challenged by them is the only thing making him feel alive. The destruction is something of just a natural consequence of that, of showing the wol that Zenos sees them as two sides of the same coin. Zenos is the emperor's attack dog more than his son, the wol is in turn the alliance's attack dog more than their ally (or so he thinks!).

When he talks about "the hunt" it's less this whimsical mass murder that people point it out to be, and really him seeking purpose, meaning, and happiness in the only messed up way he knows how. As a child he was only given praise and attention for causing harm, so he seeks an opponent that can harm him in return so he can feel something, anything. When he's collecting weapons from fallen warriors, they're not trophies or spoils of war, he's specifically interested in the history of the weapons.

I think it's maybe easy to forget, I mean stormblood was so long ago now and while the characterization is still there in endwalker, it's colored by the perception of others. Isse and the other Domans choosing freedom over fear, no matter how hopeless things are.

Jullus wanting to know why he would betray his countrymen and pleading to his empathy, when Zenos was shaped into a weapon by that empire and holds no love for his nation. Alisaie telling him that while he may have found a spark of joy in fighting with the wol, without empathy for others he will find himself alone and bereft of the one thing that makes him happy.

Zero trying to wrap her head around the way Zenos discarded lives as though they were nothing, while bearing some undefinable emotion toward the wol (obsession, competitiveness, devotion, fondness-- she's not able to define it and I think it's meant to be vague for the player's sake). All these characters in their words with and about Zenos do lay it out clear that he is someone who is devoid of emotions except for the relationship he has to the wol, but I think because they are rightly condemning him for the lives he has taken and destroyed, people misconstrue that to mean he likes killing. There's a sort of malice attributed to his actions when it's really just nihilism.

Now, I'm not saying that because he didn't like it, it means it's fine or something. I know people like to interpret it that way when you like a villain in anything lol. All this to say, this idea of Zenos being a psychopath gleefully murdering people is so far from the truth. He's a very broken man with deep traumas and depression, finding happiness only in wanting to be hurt and killed by the wol.

Maybe at the end of the day, it doesn't matter whether he likes it or doesn't-- I find to most people it makes no difference, so it's easy for them to conflate the two things. But I think Zenos' very existence challenges how the player views their own actions. In the same way that Elidibus in the ShB 5.3 quest Faded Memories reflected back at them all the death and destruction that the wol has caused-- intentional or not-- I think Zenos serves a similar purpose narratively. He questions why, he questions what are good or evil really, and asserts that there's no point in trying to find a justification for death and murder.

I can see why it makes people uncomfortable! He's reminding the wol that they have killed just as much as he did, and questioning the "justice" behind the wol's actions. It's an uncomfortable thing to think about. I think it would be fun to have a wol that comes out of endwalker as a pacifist tbqh!

(Not to get on a tangent, but I totally thought post-HW and especially with the DRG 70 quest, that Estinien was going down that road. I was really sold on the idea just by my own interpretation of his actions and words, only for him to be not only just fine with fighting still but to be actually kind of into it for the sport, just with more humility and empathy now. Total missed opportunity imo! But this is not a post about Estinien!! 😤)

Going back to Zenos though, I think it's easier for people to not grant him a shred of empathy and to write off all his actions as those of a madman. He does after all say he wants the world to burn, for the selfish reason of having the wol all to himself. I get it's uncomfortable for the player character to be the one at the center of his attention. I get it!! But gosh there is a much more interesting character in there than just "guy who gets off on killing", if you just open your eyes and ears for a moment.

I do think that, given the themes in ffxiv's story overall, that granting empathy and forgiveness to even the worst of people is kind of the driving force behind a lot of characters' motivations. Raubahn recognizes Ilberd did all he did for the sake of their shared nation's freedom and future; Estinien recognizes Nidhogg was grieving and in pain as much as he was, leading to vengeance; Hien recognizes the cruelty of her family and others in Doma failed Yotsuyu every moment of her life, shaping her into a tyrant; Lyse recognizes the unrest in Ala Mhigo failed Fordola, pushing her into the false hope the Empire offered; all the scions and the wol recognize how the unsundered ascians bore the responsibility of their entire people on their shoulders and did the unthinkable to try to save their own; Wuk Lamat recognizes Sphene acts out of love and preservation for her people, no matter what it takes. On and on and on.

So I find it odd that Zenos never gets that sort of grace! It's easier to just make an enemy out of him than to see things from his perspective, even while most of the other antagonists are given some degree of empathy while still acknowledging they were wrong and had to be stopped.

He's really neat. I'd put him under a microscope and study him if his ass wasn't too big to fit on the slide.

[yanderes-galore]

Your prompts 5, 14, and 26 with Gojo from JJK, please?

I wanted some diversity in the plots so... Cheater! Gojo manipulating you into staying with him. I have made yandere Gojo worse somehow, you're welcome.

Here's your pathetic ex who can't seem to live without you.

Yandere! Satoru Gojo Prompts 5, 14, 26

"Manipulation? No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!"

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

"Look! We're bonding, just the two of us!"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Possessive behavior, Toxic relationship, Cheater! Gojo, Mature themes, Stalking, Delusional behavior, Tension, Dubious affection (possible harassment), Implied stalking, Mind break (?), If you read a certain line right... possible murder, Forced relationship implied.

The grin Satoru Gojo wears around you makes your blood boil. Especially since you know what he's done. You know he's a liar, a liar who loves to string you along like you belong to him.

Truth is, you haven't belonged to him since he decided to touch someone else.

Even when confronted, Satoru just thinks he can lie his way out of it. He always treats you like you can't live without him. He always makes you feel like you're reliant on him.

It felt so good to hurt him when you cut him off, when you took all that power he had over you away from him.

It felt great to watch Satoru's smug expression fall away when he realized he didn't have you. You broke his confidence and left the man begging for you to not leave. He can change! He loves you and wants you safe!

It was just a fling, just a little bit of fun...

All lies.

You moved out and found your way to a friend's place to clear your head. For weeks you had received texts and calls from him. All pleading and begging... all wanting you back.

Satoru had already gotten rid of the person he was toying with to show he loves you. He sent you screenshots of the conversation. He sent you all sorts of things.

Satoru sent you pictures and messages. His pictures varied from him showing how much he missed you to downright lewd images and voicemails. All for you he'd say, like he didn't cheat on you.

Satoru is desperate without you. Of course he craves something he can't have. He ruined things with you... but he can't seem to let it go...

So he'll convince you he still belongs to you... that you still belong to him.

You knew things were bad news the moment you opened the door to your new apartment that your friend hooked you up with. The second the door opened, Satoru is leaning against the frame with flowers and gifts. You go to close the door on his face, but he keeps it open with his foot.

"I just want to talk...!" Satoru pleads, gaze determined. "Please, baby... please let me show you I'm sorry!"

Deciding to humor him, you let your ex in your house. He breathes a sigh of relief, giving a thankful smile as he walks inside. The moment he sits down on your couch, negotiations begin.

"Baby..." Satoru whispers, looking at you as you sit down on the opposite side of him. "They're gone now, I got rid of them. I only belong to you, okay...?"

"We aren't together anymore, Gojo." You saying his last name stings him, your tone of malice. "I don't care if you speak with them or not."

"Come on... you can call me Satoru, I'm your Satoru." Satoru answers, tone pleading. "Let me make it up to you... I'll give you anything."

You watch as Satoru strolls over to you, leaning against the back of your chair. His blue eyes are pleading, desperate... needy. He just couldn't let you go.

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!" Satoru continues making his case, strolling in front of you to stroke your cheek. "I could give you whatever you wanted... I'll be all yours... just take me back and I'll protect and love you...."

You slap his hand away, startling Satoru slightly as you stand up. More lies, more falsehoods to keep you under his control again. You glare at him.

"Don't manipulate me. I know what you're trying to get away with. It isn't happening." You hiss, another wound to Satoru's heart. He doesn't give up, unfortunately.

"Manipulation? No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!" Satoru laughs softly. "Remember how happy we were? I just lost my way... maybe you can... help me find it?"

Satoru's voice deepens to a lovesick murmur as he steps closer to you again. Oh how he's missed you. Oh how he wishes you'd just let him spoil you again like a little pet.

He goes to give you affection, yet you keep your distance. Your hate for him makes him frown. Oh, he needed you...

Why won't you take him back? Don't you love him?

"No way." You growl, Satoru staring at you with need. "We are not getting back together."

"Then at least let me show you I still care..." Satoru weakly smiles, reaching out just enough to pull you into his chest by your shirt. You struggle against him but he's stronger. Your ex presses a delusional kiss to your forehead, blue eyes looking as though they'd devour you.

"I want to make it up to you..." Satoru whispers, moving his kisses to your cheeks. "I want to show you I can't live without you... that we're meant to be partners... that you're meant to love me...."

"Let me go...!" You growl, pushing against his chest. Satoru just looks amused when you do so. He likes your warmth against his skin.

"Nuh uh...!" Satoru teases, falling further into delusion. He plans to drag you with him. "Look! We're bonding, just the two of us!"

"This isn't bonding!" You hiss, causing Satoru to chuckle.

"Not yet~" He purrs, holding you as though you're merely having a tantrum. "Oh, baby... don't you miss me?"Satoru leans close, a devilish grin on his face. "I missed you... no one touched you, did they?"

"That's none of your business-" You counter, only for Satoru to push you onto the couch lightly.

"That's okay, no need to lie, baby... I already know no one has." He grins more, pinning you down. "After all... I can't keep my eyes off what's mine!"

"I'm not-!" You try to say, only for Satoru to cut you off.

"No need to deny it, dear. I can tell you miss this..." Satoru murmurs, looking into your eyes. In a way... yes... what he said was true.

You did miss this... as much as you wished it wasn't true... you missed his touch.

Yet aren't sure if you want to be his again.

"Just let me convince you, baby..." Satoru purrs, voice as soft as velvet as he leans close. "You'll see you need me... I don't need anyone else but you... promise."

With that, Satoru kisses your lips with a hungry force. The kiss is passionate and needy. As though he was a starving man. After some time... you return the gesture.

As much as you hate to admit it...

You're beginning to feel you need him again.

[harunayuuka2060]

Satan and MC: *judging each other*

Satan: You're... What are you?

MC: A human who's trying hard to be pure and holy. *flaps the sleeves of their white robes*

Satan: Heh. You're funny.

MC: How about you? What are you?

Satan: *laughs* You summoned my name and you didn't know who I am?

MC: ...

MC: *looks at the page they read from*

MC: I only muttered gibberish words. My bad.

Satan: ...

Satan: Are you kidding me?

MC: ...

MC: I'm saying the truth.

Satan: *crunch*

Satan: I see. Apple doesn't really fall far from the tree.

MC: ???

Sitri: Solomon... *about to kiss them*

Satan: *blocks him* That's not Solomon. They are his descendant.

Ppyong: Oh! And they seem pure! Without any malice!

MC: *staring at Ppyong*

MC: ...

Ppyong: What is it, aye?

MC: ...

MC: *tilts their head* *mumbles something*

Ppyong: Hm?

MC: It can't be. This one's too cute to be real. *thinking whether Ppyong's a stuffed toy or not*

Satan: Everything you're seeing is real. And also, welcome to Gehenna.

MC: Gehenna...?

MC: *checks their book*

Satan: Stop reading on anything. This is Gehenna. The most beautiful place in hell. That's all you need to know.

MC: Geez. Fine. I'll just write that down then.

Sitri: ...

Sitri: Your Majesty, why would you bring them here?

Satan: *grins* They suggested that we become friends.

MC: *looks at him, shocked* Huh?

Satan: What? Why are you looking at me like that?

MC: ...

MC: Friends... Really?

Satan: Why? You've got a problem with that?

MC: Yeah... A little bit. *turns their head to the side and mutters something*

MC: I never make friends.

[babyblue711]

Little Dragonseed

Sister Story to Loyalty Dark!Aemond Targaryen (HOTD) x Handmaiden - Part 3 Summary: After evoking the Prince Regent's wrath, the young maid must now face the consequences of her actions. Words: 2.7K

Chapter Warnings: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS. NONCON, Sexual Content 18+, NSFW, Language, Degradation, Smut, Virginity Loss

A/N: Thoughts, comments, questions, and concerns are appreciated. I see this fic being wrapped up in the ending of "Loyalty" so this isn't the last that we'll see of the little maid. 💙

<<< Part 2

Back in his chambers, Aemond paces like a caged animal, a deep furrow etched into his brow as he contemplates her punishment. His hands are clasped behind his back, his posture rigid, as he strides back and forth in front of the roaring fire in the hearth. 

The young maid's heart races as she watches him, awaiting her fate. Would he strip her of her position? Banish her from the castle for displeasing the prince? Her mind drifts to the matron, her surrogate mother, imagining her disappointment and shame wells in the pit of her stomach for behaving so foolishly.

“P-Please, I didn’t mean any harm…I only wanted to see - ” she begins, but the look on Aemond’s face immediately silences her.  

“Harm?” he chuckles, a low and dangerous sound. “I’m sure my nephews didn’t mean any harm the night they took my eye, girl,” Aemond growls, removing his eyepatch and revealing the sparkling sapphire underneath. Her eyes widen in shock as she takes in this unusual aspect of his face; he’s clearly hoping to intimidate her. “I think, perhaps, it is time I take something from them in return. Equal trade, one may say.” 

She frowns, feeling a surge of defiance despite her fear. Is he saying this just to scare her? Punishment for approaching his dragon without permission is one thing, but retribution for past wrongs she didn’t commit is quite another.

“You already have taken from them,” she blurts out, unable to hold back which catches his attention as he stops pacing, his singular eye narrowed as she says, with as much contempt as she can muster, “Kinslayer.” 

Aemond looks at her as if she has struck him across the face, perhaps shocked that she knows this dark truth. But in a castle as large as Harrenhal, gossip spreads like wildfire, even the parentage of Rhaenyra’s children was no secret among the servants and she still supports Rhaenrya’s cause regardless. But to slay a member of your own extended family…there is no greater curse in her eyes as she narrows hers at the Prince Regent, feeling a flicker of her own dragon’s flame inside her chest. 

He stares at her for a brief moment that seems to stretch for eternity; she knows she hit a nerve and braces herself for the storm. Like lightning, he grabs the front of her dress and pulls her roughly to him, so quickly she doesn't even have time to flinch. She glares up into his one fearsome, violet eye, feeling defiant.

“Do you honestly think Daemon gives a shit what happens to you?” the prince says viciously, each word dripping with malice as he aims to wound her with words in return, “if he cared about you, he wouldn’t have left you here…for me.” He gives her a little shake for emphasis, his jaw clenched tightly and with a sudden, violent motion, he hurls her away from him where she lands in a heap on his ornate bed.

Alarm bells start to ring inside her head and she curses her impulsive mouth, realizing too late how foolish it was to provoke one of the most dangerous men in the realm. Desperate to prove Aemond wrong and clinging to the hope of Daemon’s last words to her, she continues on recklessly.   

“He told me he would be back for me,” she spits back at Aemond, trying to sound braver than she feels. 

Aemond gives a humorless chuckle, “And you actually believed him?” He asks cruelly, striking at her deepest fears. He marches over to the bed and grabs her ankles, yanking her to the edge of the bed; she is trapped, unable to escape as he towers over her. 

“Perhaps you would like to answer for some of your father’s crimes then?” His voice drips in venom, but she can hear the pain behind his next words, “he had my nephew, a defenseless child, murdered in cold blood and tormented my mother and sister. Did you know about that? Are you proud to call someone like that your father?” 

Her breath catches in her chest and she shakes her head vehemently. The news of these heinous crimes had not yet reached Harrenhal, and she desperately wishes Aemond is lying, spinning tales to sow doubt in her newly found father-figure, trying to break her spirit. But deep inside, she knows he speaks the truth.

“So what should my revenge be? Killing you probably wouldn’t wound Daemon, he hasn’t cared enough about you until now,” a wicked smile plays on the prince’s curved lips as he considers his options. “I think humiliating him would be more satisfactory, don’t you?” 

She doesn't reply, unsure of what he means, thoughts racing. When the prince next speaks, her blood runs cold. 

“Tell me, little one,” his voice low and deep as he stares at her intensely, “Are you still a maiden?” 

Fear spikes like electricity through her chest and instinctively she knows where this is leading. A buzzing sound fills her head as her vision narrows and she feels like she's on the edge of passing out. She presses her lips together, refusing to answer Aemond. Refuses to look him in the eye. Refuses to give him any sort of further knowledge about herself or any additional ways to hurt her.

"That's what I thought,” he sneers, taking her silence for absolution anyway. “When I give you back to Daemon, it’ll be with a bastard in your belly. I’d love to see his face when he finds out it’s mine.” There’s a look of grim satisfaction on his face as he imagines Daemon’s reaction to getting his daughter pregnant.

Dread fills her gut as she tries to backpedal across the bed away from him, but her limbs don’t seem to want to work properly and she can’t move fast enough. As if in slow motion, she sees the dagger materialize in his hand but doesn’t feel the sharp sting of the blade; instead, he’s ripping open her clothes as easily as if he’s slicing through butter. 

As the cool air hits her delicate skin, she inhales, filling her lungs with as much air as she can, preparing to scream at the top of her voice when he pounces on top of her, crushing her to the bed underneath his weight and clapping a hand over her mouth once more. All of the air is forced out of her body as his weight settles on top of her, trapped underneath him on the bed.

“We can’t have any of that now. The more you fight, the worse it will be for you,” Aemond hisses into her ear and she tries to squirm out from under him, but he’s just too heavy. Angry tears leak out the corner of her eyes as she unwillingly stills, hating him more with each passing moment. 

“It doesn’t have to be so bad, you know. You’re lucky you got me and not my brother, Aegon,” Aemond chuckles softly and she shivers, not fully grasping the dark implications behind his statement. 

For a moment, Aemond's demeanor shifts as he takes in the tears leaking from her eyes and can surely feel the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat as he presses her into the bed. His grip is strong, almost suffocating, but then his hand moves from her mouth and he wipes away her tears with his thumb. She’s stunned into silence, taken aback at the unexpected gentle gesture. Her gaze searches his face, glimpsing conflicting emotions swirling in his usually cold and calculating eye.

“Nobody likes fucking a stone wall either,” Aemond murmurs, mostly to himself. “Tell me, girl, have you ever seen a naked man before?” His tone is different now, almost curious, almost bored as he gets up from the bed. She hates the way he is playing with her, but decides to answer him anyway.

“A… a few times,” she manages to croak, her throat feeling completely dry. “Sometimes I’ve had to help patch up soldiers, depending on their wounds….” She leaves the rest up to his imagination. 

“Hmm,” he grunts, uninterested, as he begins to remove his own clothes; hers lay in tatters on the floor. He removes his shirt and then drops his trousers, not wasting any time; her eyes widen at the biggest cock she’s ever seen in her short, inexperienced life. Thick and heavy, it hangs weeping between his legs. Her eyes dart to his face to find him watching her intently, gauging her reaction before climbing on top of her again. 

She tenses once more as the walls close in around her; ultimately her best hope is that he’s quick about it. She tries not to shudder as he runs his nose along her jawline, his tongue darting out to taste the delicate skin of her neck before traveling up to whisper in her ear. 

“Do not be so afraid. It won’t go in until you’re ready,” he whispers and if this is supposed to make her feel better, it definitely doesn’t. She doesn't want it to go in at all, ready or not.

Her body goes limp in submission and Aemond can feel the fight in her is gone. Unbidden, more tears leak from her eyes, her breathing quick and shallow as he sucks on her tender nipples, kneading her breasts with his large hands. She hates the way he is touching her body, savoring her flesh regardless of her wishes. He’s being softer than she expected, but she can’t calm down, on the verge of hyperventilation; she just wants it to be done. 

“P-please, Aemond, just get it over with,” she whispers as she cries silently, knowing she is a pathetic sight, her fingers clenching his bedsheets in suppressed fear and indignation that she has to suffer this. 

“No,” he says in a strong voice, “Not like this. Shut your eyes and focus on your breathing.” Despite her misgivings, she does as she’s told.

Eyes tightly shut, she feels him move down her body, spreading her knees and she braces herself for his intrusion. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he begins kissing the delicate skin of her inner thigh and she flinches at first at the feeling of his lips so close to the forbidden parts of her that no man has ever touched before. Aemond takes his time kissing up her other thigh, before finally licking a strip up her center. Startled, her hips jump, bucking into his face as he wraps his strong arms around her thighs, holding her in place as he begins to devour her tight little cunt. 

She doesn't want it to feel good, but it does. Her breathing is coming in short spurts as his mouth attaches to the sensitive bud above her entrance and he sucks harshly, alternating licking her folds and entering his tongue into her wet heat. Her mind is consumed by the pleasure, her tense muscles relaxing as he continues his sinful ministrations. She feels him insert a finger and stroke it deep inside of her, causing her eyes to snap open as she lets out a breathless “oh!” He glances up, gauging her reaction as his mouth reattaches to her bud as his finger finds that special spot buried deep inside her.

Aemond gives an appreciative hum as he laps at her wetness. Her hips buck off the bed as he continues to torture her deliciously, beckoning her pleasure forth in a way she didn’t know existed. A coil is building in her lower belly and she begins to pant as the sensation builds; without her notice, he slips a second finger inside.

She isn’t sure what is happening as the crescendo builds, but he doesn’t let up, not until she is falling…. falling…. falling…seeing stars as she is blinded by ecstasy, crying out his name not with pain, but with pleasure. 

Coming down from her high, she opens her eyes, panting heavily, to see Aemond kneeled between her thighs, running the head of his thick cock up and down her silken slit. Panic flutters in her chest again as she takes in his size and he chuckles deep in his chest. 

“So wet for me, little whore, you must be ready to take my bastard now, aren’t you?” His cock is at her entrance and he pauses as he says, “Now this will still hurt a little.” 

He pushes slowly forward, spearing her open, causing her back to arch off the bed and her mouth to gape as she stretches around him. He watches her face the entire time, pausing now and then when he notices the knit between her brows, savoring her tight wet cunt clenching around his cock until he bottoms out at last. 

She pants and moans underneath him, the painful stretch lessening every second as her velvet walls adjust around his girth. He pauses for a moment before starting to thrust, quickening his pace, the sound of slapping skin erotically fills the room. Already on edge from her last peak, she quickly starts to climb high again and Aemond can feel her sweet little cunt flexing around his thick girth.

“Cum on my cock, little whore,” Aemond pants in her face, voice harsh and gruff as he feels her squeeze him. She hates the way he is making her feel so good, mindless with pleasure, she tips over the edge, her walls tighten like a vice around him. He pounds into her, chasing his own release and growls as his hips stutter as he spills deep inside of her. 

He climbs off and collapses next to her on the bed, regaining his breath the same way she is trying to regain hers. She feels momentary relief, glad that her punishment was over and she could get away from him now. She lies still for a moment longer and sits up on the bed, unsure how to make her exit. 

“So is that it then? May I leave now?” she asks with a touch of desperation, sure that she has suffered enough for one misdeed. Aemond makes an amused noise in his throat as his hand softly traces up her spine, “I think not. I’m not done with you yet….”

Aemond had her twice more that night, taking her from behind and further humiliating her each time by spreading her cheeks wide and stuffing his seed back inside as it leaked out. Mortification builds deep in her belly, she didn’t even put up a fight, feeling guilty from the pleasure she received as he pulled more climaxes from her body, more than she ever thought she was capable of. Finally, at the hour of the owl, he allowed her to retire to her chambers, sore and tired.

She prays to the gods that she won’t conceive from this encounter and knows there’s only one way to be sure she doesn’t. Only the real mistress of this castle is tasked with brewing such potions and the little maid knows what she desperately needs. 

Moving quietly on light feet through the empty halls, she clutches her ruined clothes around her, hurrying in a different direction than her chambers, relieved that Aemond clearly didn’t anticipate her next move. Shame colors her face at the thought of what Daemon would say if he ever found out she was carrying the One-Eyed Prince’s child. She has to do everything she can to prevent his disappointment.

She creeps down the stairs and knocks on the eerie door of the witch's chamber. A soft voice bids her enter, and there’s no surprise in Alys' eyes as she steps inside. Without even having to ask, Alys speaks first, arching an eyebrow as she takes in her disheveled state. 

“Moon tea, then?” the enchantress asks, seeming to be wide awake despite the late hour. The little maid nods, hoping the witch won’t ask her any further questions. 

“Of course, my child, do not fear. I will help you.” Alys tosses back her long, dark hair and begins bustling around the room, grabbing ingredients for the potion. The little maid lets out the breath she’s been holding, relief flooding her chest as she settles at the worn wooden table next to the fire in the hearth. 

She is so exhausted that she starts to nod off to sleep as she waits for her brew. She’s not sure how much time has passed before Alys gently prods her awake, setting it carefully down in front of her. 

"Be sure to drink it all, child,” Alys’ eyes darken infinitesimally as she surveys the young woman. “Only one of us will be carrying a royal babe and that will be me.”