#ignore me or disagree i don’t even care

[amerie-wadia]

.

[eddieydewr]

Hi! This may be a bit of a rant but there is something I really wanna share with someone so I hope you don't mind.

I have a friend who I knew 'cause we were in the same club at uni. He's very eloquent and smart, so I really respect him (but mostly from afar 'cause I was shy lol). And then I saw him post about ST season 4, and about Will in particular so I mustered up my courage and messaged him "hey have u seen the parallels between Will and Vecna?". And we started talking about other ST-related stuff. We even ranted a lot about vol 2 after watching that lol. We also talked about books and TV shows and overall, I was glad ST helped me make more friends.

When the free Palestine movement became popular last year, I was not surprised when I saw him post about Gaza or Rafah 'cause well... he's just like a typical queer, chronically online, twitter user lol (both complimentary and derogatory, sometimes I find his humor funny, sometimes I just wanna roll my eyes). We have never talked about this topic and honestly I really don't feel like. I just simply carry on sharing posts and stories about discrimination against Jewish and Israeli people and anti-Hamas stuff.

And then recently I saw him posting overtly anti-Israel things, like "u think this is hot now, wait til you go to hell for supporting Israel". Not gonna lie, I chuckled when I saw that 'cause first of all, I am an atheist so whatever man I don't believe in hell anyway. Second, I don't know what other non-Jewish people who support Israel (as in 'its existence is legitimate and the people there deserve peace', not the government itself) may feel about hell, but as far as I'm concerned, Jewish people don't seem to put that much weight on the concept of hell and heaven, right?. So like "bro you should have choose something else more menacing than that lol"

Now I can scroll through that post but what irks me the most is what he chose to share today.

https://x.com/redstreamnet/status/1841561550378651724

I find it so freaking ironic how after everything that has happened in Iran recently (and how many Iranians have spoken out against the Islamic republic), this is the first Iran-related thing he posted about. Like I'm so close to just forward to him a video of Iranians celebrating the death of Nasrallah or comments/posts of Iranians thanking Israel for it, or overall just people between these two countries wishing each other peace and freedom. I'm not sure if I can call what I'm feeling "anger" 'cause it's not exactly strong as when I see people deny October 7. But there is surely a sense of resignation.

I don't see those pro-pal people as bad or evil. I actually believe that most of them have good intentions, but to me, they are too caught up in their self-righteousness and black-and-white views to acknowledge the grey area of this whole mess.

I saw you own up to your own hypocrisy a few days ago and ngl I admire you for that lol. I only think of humans as "paradoxical by nature" so a person saying conflicting stuff is normal to me. But it's annoying as hell when someone doesn't think they are capable of hypocrisy or double standards.

Anyways, have a great day. Thank you for reading all this. Sorry it's kinda long. Being concise is not my strong suit lol.

hey anon, let’s hug. if you want?

i rly don’t have much to offer bc my brain is currently mush, you probably just wanted to vent and that’s ok. i just didn’t want to leave you on read. 💚

look, i’m using jquinn even though he annoys me atm but i just couldn’t resist, lmao. like yeah, #me.

[gpcwsl]

Could you do a Leah Williamson one where reader is a chef and has restaurant establishments worldwide and just located one in England a couple months ago and the England girls are a having a camp in London and since everyone is all together for camp they want to celebrate with a fancy dinner and they start discussing restaurants and readers restaurant is put out there, but some of the girls disagree because they tried to eat there but it was always booked up, so when Leah gets home she talks to reader and gets them a table, so Leah texts the team gc and say dress fancy tomorrow night and the location of the restaurant and the gc starts blowing, but she ignores it, and when they all go to the restaurant and ask questions and Leah’s like she has connections, but come to find out that Leah is dating reader then reader sits down beside Leah and the team gets to know her a little and when they go to pay reader says it’s already taken care of.

Warnings: a kiss?

Leah Williamson x Chef!Reader

- Dress fancy -

MasterList

Leah Williamson kicked her boots off at the door, the satisfying thud against the floor signaling the end of another long day. Training had been intense, but it wasn’t the drills or tactics replaying in her mind—it was the chaotic group chat blowing up her phone during the drive home.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen, scrolling through dozens of messages.

Tooney: “We should go to that new restaurant tomorrow.”

Brightness: “What’s it called? The fancy one that’s always booked?”

Backheel: “You mean Palace Place? Impossible. I’ve been trying to get a table since it opened.”

Brightness: “Same. That place is like gold dust.”

Tooney: “We need something special, though. We’re all together. Ideas?”

Leah smirked, leaning against the kitchen counter as she typed her response:

Captain: “Sorted. 7 PM tomorrow. Dress fancy.”

The chat exploded.

Tooney: “LEAH.”

Backheel: “How?!”

Brightness: “You didn’t even say where!”

Walshy: “She probably means Nando’s.”

Tooney: “I swear, if this is a joke…”

Leah tossed her phone on the counter, ignoring the continued barrage of messages, and walked into the living room. The soft hum of classical music filtered through the space, and the faint aroma of roasted garlic and herbs greeted her.

“Smells amazing,” she called, rounding the corner into the kitchen.

You stood by the stove, dressed casually in an apron, hair tied back, moving with the kind of effortless grace Leah never tired of watching. You glanced over your shoulder, a smile already forming.

“Hey, you. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Leah walked up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it. Training kills me, and you’re here cooking like it’s nothing.”

“Years of practice,” you teased, leaning back into her embrace. “How was camp?”

Leah hesitated, her lips brushing lightly against your temple. “Good. The girls want to go out tomorrow night. Celebrate being all together.”

You turned in her arms, raising an eyebrow. “And let me guess, they want to go somewhere fancy?”

She grinned. “They were debating places, and your restaurant came up.”

“Did it now?” you asked, amusement coloring your tone. “And what did you say?”

“I didn’t.” Leah shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t want to out myself as having an in with the chef-owner who happens to be my girlfriend.”

You laughed softly, running a hand down her arm. “So you’re here to use your connections?”

“Obviously,” Leah said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Any chance you can fit us in tomorrow?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “For you? Always. How many?”

“About 20.”

You blinked. “20?”

Leah winced. “Yeah… full squad.”

“Good thing I like you,” you teased, reaching for your phone to call the restaurant.

Leah sent the address to the group chat in the morning, and as expected, chaos ensued.

Tooney: “No way. THE Palace place?!”

Backheel: “Leah, I’m actually screaming.”

Daily mail: “I tried booking for my mum’s birthday and couldn’t. HOW?”

Brightness: “She must know someone.”

Tooney: “Leah Williamson: captain, legend, and apparently a magician.”

Leah ignored it all, casually walking into the training facility as if her phone wasn’t buzzing nonstop in her pocket.

The team arrived promptly at 7 PM, dressed to impress. The restaurant was stunning, its interior sleek yet inviting, with warm lighting that made everything glow. They were escorted to a private dining room where a long table awaited, set with pristine white linens, sparkling glassware, and fresh flowers.

“This is insane,” Ella muttered, taking in the surroundings.

“How did you pull this off?” Millie asked Leah, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Leah smirked, leaning back in her chair. “I told you. Connections.”

The team was halfway through the meal—an exquisite multi-course experience—when the door to the dining room opened. You walked in, your chef’s jacket pristine, a warm smile on your face.

“Good evening, ladies,” you greeted.

The table fell silent, all eyes turning to you. Leah tried to suppress a grin as you approached.

“Everything to your liking so far?” you asked, your gaze briefly meeting Leah’s.

“The food’s incredible,” Keira said. “Are you the chef?”

You nodded. “And the owner.”

Murmurs of amazement rippled through the group.

Leah cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. “Everyone, this is Y/n.”

“Wait…” Rachel’s eyes darted between you and Leah. “This is your connection?”

Leah shrugged, feigning innocence. “What can I say? I know people.”

“Hold on.” Ella leaned forward, pointing at Leah. “You’re dating the chef?!”

Leah’s smirk widened. “Didn’t think it was relevant.”

The table erupted in laughter, teasing, and a flurry of questions directed at you.

When the bill arrived, one of the players reached for it, but the waiter quickly informed them it had already been settled.

“It’s on me,” you said with a smile, standing beside Leah. “You’re all family to Leah, which makes you family to me.”

The team groaned, joking about being spoiled, but their gratitude was evident.

As everyone filtered out of the restaurant, Leah lingered by the door with you, her hand slipping into yours.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth.

You leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “Anything for you.”

The team’s laughter echoed down the street, and Leah pulled you closer, her heart full as she watched her two worlds collide perfectly.

[kmt123whatsthetea]

The wonders of ink

Fred Weasley x reader x George Weasley

‘Fred and George prank you by getting your clothes dirty, only to take you to the bathrooms to help you clean off’

A/N: I decided to repost (so nobody thought I was dead). I’ve been gone for so long and I feel guilty so I decided to deliver smut upon you all haha. My dear sister helped me to write this (Her Wattpad account is @Darkness_Donut. Feel free to give her a look if you’re in the Wattpad area)

T/W: Unprotected sex, The twins being kinda pervy, Groping, Double penetration

Fred and George put a lot of work into every prank.

Whether it was as simple as a ‘Hex Me’ note on Ron’s back or as sophisticated as creating a new type of chocolate that caused facial warts.

Not only did they put work into their pranks, but they also put pride into them. Each one was like their child, born and sent into the world to cause mischief. The prank they planned for you, however, was less like a prank and more like a plot for something even better than the typical annoyed scowl the pranks were usually met with.

While other students prepared for various classes and homework projects, Fred and George would stay locked in their dorm, perfecting the key catalyst for their interaction with you.

The twins were head over heels in love with you. While most people would approach you with a normal greeting and a proposition for a date, the twins needed to do more. Go big or go home was practically their motto. So when their newest creation was ready, all they had to do was wait for the perfect moment.

____________________________________________

You had been in the courtyard. Your nose stuck in the book that was cradled in your hands. So unsuspecting and sweet. The way the wind blew your hair, how your eyes were glued to the words.

George approached you, not too close that you’d notice but close enough that he could start phase one of the plan. He pulled out a small vial, the liquid inside a dark blue that stained the glass. He took a deep breath before uncorking the bottle and taking a step closer, ‘tripping’ over the tree branch and spilling the liquid over your uniform.

You squealed and moved the book aside, looking between the fresh stain and the redhead who threw it on you.

“George! What in Merlin's beard have you done?!”

George just shrugged his shoulders, putting on an apologetic look. The same look he gave his mum when she scolded him for putting a spell on Percy’s breakfast which caused the sausages to spout legs.

“I didn’t mean too, honest. I just kinda…tripped”

You did not look pleased, understandably so. George almost felt guilty but then he remembered the plan. It was all going smoothly, even if you might disagree.

“I feel awful. How about we go to the Prefects bathroom and get you cleaned up before it dries?”

With a sigh, you followed George.

The walk to the prefect's bathroom was filled with you grumbling about the stain and scolding George for not being careful. The bathroom was empty (all thanks to a little spell that temporarily made the door disappear). The baths were filled to the brim with hot water and bubbles, steam dampening the air.

Fred emerged from around one of the pillars, smirking as he looked you up and down.

“Good job, George. I knew you could get our girl here. You know, love, you should really clean up that stain. Wouldn’t want Snape taking away our hard earned points, now would you?”

George moved closer to you, his chest barely touching your back. Fred leaned against the pillar, staring at the black spot on your shirt. You crossed your arms, letting out a huff. You could practically see the burning desire in Fred’s eyes from across the room, the heat from George sneaking through the back of your shirt and warming your skin.

“You’d both like that, huh? Why don’t I just have a bath while I'm at it?”

George ignored your sarcastic tone and leaned closer, his breath tickling your ear.

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, sweetheart. We’ll get you nice and clean”.

Something about George’s soft tone caused your hands to rise to your top button, both sets of eyes glued to your fingers as they popped open the first button of many. One by one, your shirt slowly opened. The shirt had luckily (or unluckily) caught the liquid and stopped it from seeping through to your bra and skin underneath.

George helped you to slip the fabric from off your body before Fred stepped closer and took it from him. He held it up with a smirk.

“There’s nothing here, love. Maybe you just wanted to get naked for us”.

The white shirt was clean. Not a spot or stain in sight. The sight of your wide eyes and confused look made Fred chuckle. George rubbed your arms.

“Our newest prank, disappearing ink. We heard Harry talking about how his idiot muggle cousin had some so we wanted to make our own. We made it especially for you”.

Your hand darted out to snatch the fabric from Fred, smoothing your fingers over the fabric that was once stained to see if it was really gone. Both boys watched as your expression turned from confusion to shock to a mix of desire and anger. You were angry that the twins had tricked you and pulled you away from your book but you couldn’t help but feel hot at the thought that they made an ink just to get you in your bra. Maybe a reward for all their hard work wouldn’t be so bad.

George tugged on the bra clasp, his lips ghosting down your neck before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. A shiver ran up your spine at the feeling, but you didn't push him away. Fred toyed with the hem of your skirt, watching as your eyes glazed over with desperation.

“I need you both. Please make me feel good”

Fred tugged your skirt up, using his other hand to trace his fingers over the elastic of your underwear. He slowly trails your underwear down your smooth legs and helps you step out of them so your dripping folds are on display to him. As you look upon their faces, both of them lick their bottom lips in unison. George finally pulls your bra off, tossing it with your discarded shirt.

How could you look so innocent in just your skirt with your tits out? To the twins, you were like a graceful doe who wandered into the hunters' den. George practically growled as his hands groped your tits, squeezing the sensitive flesh. Your eyes closed and you let out a whimper that was sweeter than any sugary treat from Honeydukes.

Fred took the opportunity to unzip his trousers, shimmying them down enough to pull his cock out. Every noise that escaped your lips made it jerk in his hand. He stepped closer, his tip pressing snugly against your clit and leaving a splodge of precum. His hand wrapped around your thigh, tugging it up and over his hip while George held you upright. His head speared through your folds, your slick coating his shaft.

“Do you want this, love? You want me inside of you? Maybe we should see if that tight little hole can handle Georgie and I at the same time. I can feel how wet that makes you, Sweetheart. The thought of taking two cocks, we’d break that sweet pussy open”

George tugged at your earlobe with your teeth, only pulling back when a whine bubbled up from your throat.

“I think you want us to ruin you for other men”

Your voice couldn't have been more than a whisper, but it was filled with every dirty promise and beg that would only be privy to the twins’ ears.

“I want you two. I want other guys to look at me and know that I belong to you”

“Sweetheart, you already belong to us”

George moved his hand down to push his trousers down and pull his cock out, pressing it at your entrance before pulling you against him. His cock slid inside of you, your warm cunt hugging his shaft.

Fred brushed his fingertips against your clit, taking in the sight of your hole stretched around his brother's cock. It was gonna be a tight fit. He nudged at your entrance, his tip trying to find a space big enough to squeeze into. With a bit more persistence, he was pushing forward, the desperation to be buried inside of you fueling him.

You tried to stay still, trying not to squirm or clench. The stretch was so intense that you swore you could even feel the blood pumping through the veins decorating their shafts. Every pulse, every nudge felt like it would rip you in two.

When Fred’s tip finally pushed through the small opening, the squealed moan that left your lips was enough for George to press his hand to your lips to muffle any sound. As much as they loved the noises you were making, they couldn’t get suspended so close to graduating. There would always be other occasions to hear your pretty moans.

The sight was one to behold. The twins wished they could photograph your pussy stuffed with both of their cocks and frame it, only to watch the replay over and over.

An obscene squelching filled the room as they repeatedly stuffed their cocks into you. The stretch brings you closer to the edge than ever before. Your walls clenched, trying to both push their cocks out and pull them deeper. It didn't take long before you were cumming, clenching around them in a desperate need to be full of their cum.

George's hand stayed over your mouth, his lips whispering sweet praises in your ear. Fred lips were pressed against your forehead, giving chaste kisses here and there. Their groans echoed throughout the room when they felt you cum around them. You felt too good to be true. It took them 3 months to make that ink.

It was worth every single minute.

A mix of their cum flooded your insides, but there was so much that it started spilling out. But they didn't pull out just yet. With how much effort went into getting you between them, they were gonna make this last for as long as possible. It was only after they came down from their high that they noticed just how much of a mess you all made. Cum spots stained your skirt and their trousers. Fred’s chuckle caught your attention.

“Maybe we should clean you up for real this time”

[cherrysnax]

okay so there are people who are taking this shit too far: having reading comprehension issues is not a moral failing, not understanding something even when repeated is not a moral failing, the only thing that’s bad about it is acting entitled and rude

[fangdokja]

The cage he’s built for you is so beautiful, you almost forget it’s there.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a love that teeters between devotion and obsession, escape is futile—his jealousy isn’t just possessive, it’s a consuming force that leaves no room for freedom. With each calculated act, he dismantles your world, ensuring you’ll always belong to him, body and soul.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Alhaitham x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Diluc x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Zhongli x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Dainsleif x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Heart's Chains - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 2,801

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats

♡ Alhaitham – The Scholar’s Cage.

“Your freedom is the illusion I designed for you. Do you see it now?”

Alhaitham’s jealousy is a quiet, suffocating force, crafted with precision and intellect. It doesn’t roar or rage, nor does it seek to overpower with brute strength. Instead, it threads through the very seams of your life, a methodical and unrelenting presence that tightens its grip with every passing day. His love is not chaotic—it is controlled, sharpened into something surgical, leaving no room for resistance.

You don’t notice it at first, the way he dismantles your autonomy. It begins with simple suggestions, his calm voice dripping with reason. “Why waste time with them? They don’t understand you.” A polite dismissal of your acquaintances, a small reorganization of your daily routine—all done under the guise of care, of making your life more efficient. Slowly, the world outside his orbit fades into obscurity, replaced by the inescapable reality of him.

Each step is calculated, deliberate, like the turning of pages in his meticulously annotated tomes. Alhaitham doesn’t need to raise his voice or resort to crude displays of anger. His jealousy operates in silken whispers, in arguments so flawlessly logical that to disagree with him feels like an admission of ignorance.

“You waste your time on frivolities,” he states, his tone flat but unyielding. His eyes pierce through you, sharp and unreadable. “Do you truly believe anyone else sees you for who you are? I’ve devoted myself to understanding you, shaping a life where your brilliance can thrive. What have they done?”

And when someone dares to overstep, lingering too long in your presence or speaking to you in tones he deems too familiar, Alhaitham does not act impulsively. No, his retaliation is an art form. The offending individual doesn’t disappear suddenly—that would be too crude, too obvious. Instead, they find their world unraveling.

A missed promotion, an inexplicable reassignment to a far-off land, their life tangled in bureaucratic webs they can’t escape. By the time they realize the Scholar’s hand in their downfall, it’s already too late. You notice their absence, perhaps even question it, but Alhaitham’s explanation is maddeningly irrefutable.

“They were a distraction,” he says simply, his voice devoid of emotion. “You don’t need people like that cluttering your life. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

He’s maddeningly composed, his jealousy cold and unyielding, a stone wall against which your protests shatter like glass. And yet, beneath his calm exterior lies a hunger so all-consuming it feels like an abyss, ready to swallow you whole.

In intimacy, that hunger reveals itself in the way his hands move over you—not hurried, but deliberate, like he’s studying you, mapping every inch of your body with the same precision he applies to his research. His touch is a paradox, both clinical and possessive, as if he’s documenting every reaction, every tremor, every gasp, to remind you that no one else could ever know you this intimately.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His voice is steady, each word a carefully crafted statement of fact. “Not just your body, but your mind, your soul. Every thought you have—I’ve already claimed it.”

There’s no room for resistance in his embrace. When he takes you, it’s a symphony of control, every movement deliberate, every whisper a reminder of how deeply he owns you. He doesn’t seek to hurt; pain is a crude tool, unworthy of his intellect. Instead, his love is an overwhelming force, designed to erode your defenses until you can no longer imagine a world without him.

And when he looks at you, there’s something terrifying in his gaze—a blend of devotion and dominance that leaves you breathless. You see yourself reflected in his eyes, not as a partner, but as something precious, something he’s spent his life perfecting. And as much as you might wish to escape, a part of you knows the truth.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he says, his voice as steady as ever. “When you finally understand that no one else will ever love you like I do. Your freedom, your independence—they were illusions, distractions. I am your reality now. Do you see it?”

────────────

♡ Diluc – Ember’s Obsession.

“There’s a certain poetry in the way flesh burns. Shall I show you what it means to belong to me?”

Jealousy in Diluc is not a sudden blaze—it’s a simmering ember buried deep within his chest, smoldering until provoked. And when that ember finally ignites, it consumes everything in its path. His rage is a tempest of fire, and his vengeance is exacting, merciless, yet meticulously controlled. To call it passion would be a mistake; this is something darker, primal, and utterly destructive.

The tranquility of the winery is the first thing to vanish when his jealousy peaks. The birds no longer sing, the soft rustling of leaves becomes an oppressive silence, and the air carries the faint, acrid tang of smoke. The vineyards, once a symbol of beauty and life, become the stage for his wrath. The trespasser who dared covet what was his is gone before you even realize it, their existence wiped away as if they never belonged to the world.

When you ask, his eyes burn with an intensity that freezes you in place. There’s no need to raise his voice—his silence is deafening, his actions more eloquent than words. The blood on his gloves isn’t cleaned, the charred remains of their belongings left just close enough for you to see. He wants you to understand the cost of disobedience, of entertaining the thought of anyone but him.

“Why are you trembling?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like embers crackling in a dying fire. He steps closer, his gloved hand brushing your cheek, a tender gesture at odds with the ferocity in his gaze. “Surely, you knew how this would end. They weren’t blind. They saw you. And I don’t forgive those who covet what’s mine.”

When Diluc kisses you, it’s bruising, his lips pressing against yours with a feral desperation. His hands are hot against your skin, leaving an almost burning sensation in their wake, a reminder of the fire he wields and how easily it could destroy you. He holds you tightly, his grip a cage, as if you might vanish if he let go.

The manor becomes your prison, the towering walls that once promised safety now looming like an inescapable fortress. He replaces the staff with people who would die before they crossed him, their loyalty bought or burned into submission. Your freedom dwindles day by day—no visitors, no letters, no life beyond the world he’s carved for you.

Even in his tenderness, there’s a darkness that pervades. When he pulls you into his arms at night, the weight of his obsession is suffocating. His fingers trace the curve of your throat, his touch almost reverent. His words, however, betray his madness. “If you ever think of running, don’t. Fire purifies everything, even memories. You won’t last without me. And I won’t let you.”

He doesn’t need chains to bind you; his fire does that for him. You feel the heat of his wrath even in his absence, a smothering presence that lingers in every room. The scent of charred wood clings to your senses, a constant reminder of what lies in wait should you ever defy him.

Yet, in the darkness of his obsession, there’s a twisted beauty—a fervent devotion so consuming it becomes poetic in its destruction. Diluc’s love burns, and like moth to flame, you can’t help but stay, even as it threatens to destroy you.

────────────

♡ Zhongli – The Stone Emperor’s Dominion.

“Erosion affects everything… but my love for you will endure until the last star in the cosmos burns out. Whether you want it or not.”

Zhongli’s jealousy is an ancient, unyielding force, as patient and inevitable as the shifting of tectonic plates. It doesn’t erupt like fire or howl like the wind—it seeps into every crevice of your life, an invisible weight that crushes resistance beneath its relentless pressure. His love is not the passionate frenzy of youth but the solemn, eternal claim of an Archon who has witnessed millennia. To him, you are no mere mortal; you are an artifact of immeasurable value, something to be preserved and guarded with the ferocity of a dragon.

The world he creates for you is gilded, opulent, and suffocating. The room he keeps you in is not a prison at first glance—it’s a sanctuary, filled with treasures and comforts that most could only dream of. The air carries the faint scent of incense, rich and intoxicating, lulling you into a false sense of security. But the longer you stay, the more you notice the details: the impenetrable walls, the locks on the doors that click softly but firmly behind you, the way every window seems to frame the same unchanging landscape.

The jewelry he adorns you with is exquisite, every piece a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Gold cuffs around your wrists, delicate yet unyielding; a collar around your neck, encrusted with amber that seems to glow in the light. He drapes you in finery not to celebrate your beauty, but to mark you as his possession. Each piece is a reminder that you belong to him, that his touch lingers on your very skin.

“You are a treasure beyond mortal comprehension,” he murmurs, his voice a rich baritone that reverberates in your chest. His golden eyes, warm and commanding, hold an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “And treasures must be protected. The world would destroy you with its greed. Only I can preserve your perfection.”

When someone dares to approach you with intent that Zhongli deems improper, the earth itself seems to revolt against them. Their screams echo through the mountains, raw and unrelenting, as the ground splits and swallows them whole. He doesn’t act in haste—his punishments are deliberate, poetic in their cruelty. He encases them in stone, their faces frozen in terror, their bodies turned into monuments to his wrath.

He brings you to see them, not out of malice but necessity. His explanation is calm, almost tender, as he gestures to the stone effigies lining the mountainside. “This is what becomes of those who fail to understand their place. Do not mourn them, my love—they were nothing but dust, unworthy of your light.”

In intimacy, Zhongli is an overwhelming force. His touch is unhurried but suffused with a quiet dominance that leaves you breathless. Every gesture, every kiss, is deliberate, as though he’s carving his presence into your very being. His hands glide over your skin like sculptor's tools, firm yet reverent, shaping you into something only he can claim.

“You are mine,” he whispers against your ear, his breath warm and steady. His voice carries the weight of an oath, a declaration that transcends mortal comprehension. “The stars may fall, the earth may crumble, but you will remain at my side. You will see eternity through my eyes.”

Even his affection feels like a trap, his love as unyielding as stone. There is no escape, no corner of the world where his reach cannot find you. He doesn’t need to shackle you with chains—his power, his presence, is enough to bind you to him. His jealousy is not a fire that burns hot and fast but an eternal petrification, turning you into a piece of his world, preserved forever within his grasp.

────────────

♡ Dainsleif – The Eternal Hunter.

“You think you can hide from me? You forget, little one—I was forged in the abyss. There is no shadow I cannot find you in.”

Dainsleif’s jealousy is a force older than time itself, a chilling void that consumes everything in its path. It is not fiery or chaotic but cold and relentless, like the creeping frost that settles over a dying world. His love is not the kind that comforts or soothes—it isolates, suffocates, and ensnares, binding you to him in a cycle of obsession and despair.

You only begin to understand the depth of his control when it’s far too late. Every path you walk, every whispered conversation, every fleeting thought of freedom—it all leads back to him. The world feels smaller with each passing day, the shadows deeper, and his presence inescapable. He is always there, watching, waiting, a hunter biding his time.

When he appears, it’s always when you least expect, stepping from the darkness as though he is the shadow itself. His eyes glow faintly, a piercing luminescence that chills you to the bone. Tonight, he drags behind him the lifeless body of the one who dared to think you could be theirs. Blood drips steadily onto the floor, pooling like spilled ink, staining the silence of the room.

“You thought I wouldn’t know,” he murmurs, his voice low and resonant, carrying the weight of centuries. His expression is calm, unnervingly so, but his eyes burn with quiet fury. “Did you think they could take you from me? That anyone could?” He steps closer, his shadow engulfing yours, his presence as suffocating as it is magnetic. “Not the gods. Not even death itself. You are mine, little one. And nothing can change that.”

Dainsleif does not rage or scream; his fury is measured, deliberate, and terrifyingly methodical. The evidence of his jealousy is etched into the world around you—a ruined village, a bloodstained battlefield, a silence that feels too heavy. He ensures you see it, ensures you know the lengths he will go to preserve his claim on you.

And when his hands touch you, they are impossibly gentle, the contrast as cruel as it is deliberate. He traces the scars he’s left on your skin—some visible, others invisible, etched into the deepest corners of your soul. Each mark is a story, a vow, a declaration of his ownership. His touch lingers, reverent and obsessive, as though you are a relic of his own design.

“You see these marks?” he whispers, his voice a mixture of awe and menace. His fingertips graze the lines on your skin, the memories of his possessive love. “They tell the story of what you are to me. They are the proof of eternity, of something no one else will ever touch.”

There is a madness in his devotion, one born not of fleeting passion but of centuries of suffering and longing. You are his anchor, the one thing that grounds him in a cursed existence, and he clings to you with the desperation of a drowning man. Yet, his love feels like a weight, an unyielding chain that drags you into the abyss alongside him.

“Do you feel it, little one?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your ear as he holds you in an unbreakable embrace. “The weight of eternity? That is my love for you—boundless, inescapable, unending. You cannot run from it, and you cannot escape me. I will follow you through every shadow, every lifetime, until nothing remains but us.”

Even in intimacy, Dainsleif is overwhelming. His touch is both a promise and a warning, every caress laden with a sense of inevitability. He moves with a precision that leaves you trembling, as though every moment is calculated to remind you of his dominance. His kisses are slow but consuming, pulling you under like a tide, his words soft yet chilling as they thread through your mind.

“You can fight me, but it’s useless,” he breathes against your lips, his tone almost tender but laced with quiet menace. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And the moment you tried to run, you sealed your fate.”

In Dainsleif’s arms, you are both cherished and caged, his love a prison of cold eternity. No matter how far you go, no matter how deep you hide, he will always find you, his shadow stretching across the expanse of time itself. You are his, and there is no escape.

────────────

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[slushyxcx]

Marlboro Reds

Summary: Hamzah, desperate and touch starved, struggles to articulate his desires for you.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Hamzah is slumming it on the balcony at Martin’s place on a Friday night.

Hamzah doesn't want to think about his week, or the endless pile of worries that he’s ignoring until they topple over and bury him. He just wants to let the sweet burn of nicotine scorch his lungs and quiet his mind. 

But of course the moment Hamzah isn't distracting himself, he’s thinking about things he shouldn't think about. 

Things like you. 

You live halfway across the world but you're here to visit Mandy. You and Mandy have been friends since you both were teenagers, Mandy swears you were the one who was the bad influence but you absolutely disagree. Especially the stories of how after Mandy started driving, the both of you never went to class. You’re a bit eccentric, and so beautiful.

But other days you’re solemn, closed off, your gaze a million miles away. Faded, like a ghost of yourself. And Hamzah isn't sure why no one notices, why your faked smiles are so easily believed. 

And there’s Hamzah’s favorite you (if he thought a lot about you, which he doesn't, but like, if he did), the you with the gang. You seem freer with them, looser and more uninhibited in the presence of only your friends. You curse more, make darker jokes and catch Hamzah’s eye with that sly smirk when you do, announce nerdy facts at random, roll your eyes and express emotions that you otherwise seem to keep contained. You don’t drink unless it's a party with the people you’re close with, your plastic cup otherwise filled with water or the host’s half assed attempt at mixers, you only smoke weed with Hamzah and you slip cigarettes out of your pocket like you’re used to keeping them hidden.

This you is the closest to the truth, Hamzah thinks, or maybe they're all different sides of the same person, like the way water changes shape but never composition. 

It’s only recently that you have become a main character in his life, shifting from an untouchable ideal to someone real and tangible. Because lately- 

Lately, you have been gravitating toward Hamzah, finding him in Martin’s office after recording a video, wandering up to him at parties, or stopping by his place to drop off whatever Mandy baked that day. 

Hamzah never seeks you out, never initiates your time together, but he can’t bring himself to avoid you either. Instead he holds his breath, pretending he isn't glancing at the door of every party, lingering at Martin’s place, waiting to see if you will find him. 

It’s just that you seem content to be in Hamzah’s presence, comfortable with sitting in silence when he is too angry or too high or too drunk to converse, ready to banter and tease when he is up for it. Maybe because Hamzah returns the favor, understanding on sight when you are not speaking for the day or remaining unfazed when your eyes get unfocused and paranoid. 

But other than that, Hamzah does not think of you at all. Definitely not. And he doesn't even care that he can sense you creeping up on him.

He knocks the cigarette on the edge of the balcony, watching the ashes flutter down to the ground below, then speaks:

“You gonna hide in the shadows all night?” 

You step into the light with a sheepish expression, hands tucked behind your back like you expect him to scold you for being there. 

“Hi Hamzah.” 

“Hey,” he uses your last name just to see your face scrunch up in a pout. 

“Don't call me that.” 

“No?” Hamzah finishes his cigarette and taps another two out of the carton, wordlessly passing one to you as well. He knows you don’t like his brand, preferring the fancy, European ones that you keep in a little silver monogrammed case like goddamn royalty, but lately you've been slumming it, accepting Hamzah’s humble cigarettes from their crumbled box. “Shouldn't you be saying I can call you whatever I want, as long as I call you?” 

“Something tells me you still wouldn't call,” you reply dryly, your words sliding out around the cigarette in your teeth, leaning forward with it between your lips for Hamzah to light. 

It is, for Hamzah, unbearably intimate, but he’s never been one to back down from a challenge, so he holds eye contact with you as he brings the lighter up, flame flickering. And it's worth it, because it makes you smile that small, secret smile as you lean back, taking the cigarette out of your mouth so you can exhale the smoke to the side. You are so beautiful, it almost makes Hamzah forget they’re technically holding a conversation, even if the words feel like just an excuse to keep their eyes on each other, to shuffle closer to speak. 

“Think you've got enough people calling you.” 

“Yeah? Maybe I should go smoke with them.” 

“Hey, you followed me out here,” Hamzah points out. “I was fine here without pretty girls stealing my cigarettes.” Oh, that's an accident, a little too far over the line between banter and flirting, but it’s hard to regret it when it makes you blush so prettily, all pink cheeks and long fingers and smoke.  

“Hmm.. and how many other pretty girls do you have stealing your cigarettes?” Your gaze flickers up and down Hamzah’s figure, evaluating, maybe, or sizing him up, or maybe just looking for the sake of looking, drinking in his presence. 

Hamzah grins at the slant of jealousy in your tone, one you’re not quite able to hide. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?” 

You narrow your eyes a bit, playing your part, but Hamzah can see you're distracted, something else on your mind. You bring the cigarette to your mouth and inhale slowly, turning to look out at the darkness as you exhale the smoke, ignoring Hamzah’s watchful eye. 

Hamzah finishes the cigarette, stubbing it out on the bannister he’s leaning against, and levels you with a look. 

“Just spit it out already.” 

“Hmm?” You feign innocence, but Hamzah won’t fall for your little cowed, pretty girl act. You may be a mystery, but he knows you, can read you better than most, at least.  

Hamzah rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever you’ve been working yourself up to say since you came out here.” 

“Maybe I just wanted a quiet place to smoke.” 

“If you wanted to be somewhere quiet, you wouldn't have crashed at Mandy’s and Martin’s in the first place.” 

You huff, “fine.” You take a careful step closer to him, your gaze searching. “Are you high?”

He shifts against the bannister, eyeing you. “Not yet.” 

“Drunk?”

“Nah,” he crosses his ankles, elbows propped on the bannister. “Why?” 

You hum, staring up at the sky. Usually he might wait it out, let you work up to it, but it’s been a long week- his patience is running thin. 

He calls out your last name.

“I just want to make sure you’re like.. hmm.” You tap one finger against your lips, searching for the word. “Coherent?”

“Coherent for what?” He asks, wary, but maybe not as wary as he should be, because he trusts you too much. 

You inhale from your cigarette for a long, drawn out moment, until your lungs must be burning, then exhale out the smoke in a cloud around you. Even through the fog, your eyes stay on Hamzah, that deep, penetrating gaze, like you can see right into his soul. You open your mouth to speak, then shut it again. 

“What is it?”

“Do you- I-” you start and stop, biting your lip as you hesitates. You take a fortifying breath, then:

“Can I kiss you?” 

Hamzah could've guessed all night and still would not have predicted this phrase to fall from your perfect lips. He doesn't even have a sharp quip to respond with. 

“... What?”

You smile at him shyly, looking up through your eyelashes, bashful in a way that must be an act because Hamzah’s never seen you be uncertain about what you want.

“Can I give you a kiss?” You repeat, voice soft and low, so different from that practiced, cheerful tone you use around strangers, around the others even.

Hamzah waits for more, for some explanation, but nothing comes. 

“Why?” He can’t help the defensive, accusatory slant to his voice, automatically falling back to anger. “Is this a pity thing?” 

You are unfazed by the heat in his voice. Your gaze flickers to the side like the answer might be there, then returns to Hamzah. The look in your eyes slides into something more genuine, a little nervous, a bit less coy. The real you. Hamzah unconsciously leans forward, automatically drawn to you.

“I just want to kiss you. But I don’t want to do something you don’t want.”

But why do you want to kiss me? He wants to blurt out, the idea so incongruent with reality.

“Uh,” Hamzah swallows, licks his lips. What does it say about him, that a kiss makes him so uncertain, that he can't remember the last time he was intimate with someone? What does it mean, that your act of basic human decency, asking for consent, makes his knees weak, makes his heart twist painfully in her chest?

He should say no. 

He really should say no. Hamzah knows all the reasons he should say no, but god. It’s been a long week in a long year in a long life, and Hamzah is tired. He’s tired of holding back, of starving for contact, of hoarding any signs of affection. He’s so fucking tired, but this is you, you who have never asked him for anything but for him to be himself, and so Hamzah lets down his walls, however slightly, lets himself answer this one question honestly. 

“Sure.”

“Really?” You don’t sound surprised, not really, but more like she’s seeking reassurance. Like she needs Hamzah to be sure. You study him, scanning his posture as if you’ll be able to determine if he really means it. “Are you sure? You don't have to. Honestly.”

“Yeah, uh. Yeah. You can kiss me. Or whatever.” Hanzah knows he’s blushing, he can feel the burn on his cheeks, so he has to hope it’s dark enough that you can’t tell. 

Hamzah’s forced nonchalance is not even a little believable, but you don’t comment on it- you never do. 

“Alright,” you say, soft as anything, as if it’s that simple, that easy. 

You step closer and Hamzah can’t help it, the way his breath hitches in his throat, the way he digs his nails into the soft flesh of his palms to resist flinching backward. 

Your eyes search his own, although Hamzah doesn’t know what you’re looking for. Whatever it is, you must find it, because you nod your head like something has been decided and then close the distance between them. Hamzah takes one more stilted inhale-

You raise your hands up, hold him by his cheeks and drag him close. Your lips meet, and his teeth bump into yours but everything fades into hazy bliss, slots together like a missing puzzle piece. Your lips, tender as honey exploring the taste of his tongue. It’s sweet and addicting, so much so that he gets dizzy and pulls away and fuck—he’s wrecked. Messy curls, teased by your clawing fingers stick up at odd angles, a rosy flush over his skin. You cup his cheek and he leans into your touch and plants a fleeting kiss over your palm.

He knew the kiss was a mistake.  

Hamzah was fine, was just fine without being kissed or tenderly touched or any of that shit, and now how the fuck is he supposed to continue on like he was before when now he knows what it feels like to be held by you? When now he knows how it feels to have your hand gently carding through his hair, the press of your body against his own? 

The safety, the security, the warmth

Fucking hell. 

Now Hamzah knows what he’s missing.

It's like the first time he smoked weed and discovered the way the drug lifted his worries off his shoulders, made the world light and easy to handle for a few hours. How could he resist it after that?

And how can he resist you now? 

He spends the weekend in a daze, restless and on edge. He walks into Martin’s place like he’s approaching the guillotine, somehow convinced that everyone will take one look at him and know. He slinks over to Martin’s office, in absolute denial that he’s glancing around looking for you. He doesn’t see any sign of you until after they’re done recording today’s Episode video. He and Martin exit the office and he spots you immediately - in an oversized shirt with a pair of shorts, Fish on your lap, and you’re with Mandy watching Real Housewives of New York. He doesn’t drag his eyes away fast enough, so soon enough he’s ensnared in your gaze. He watches your gaze flicker from that polite smile to something hungrier. 

He spends the whole afternoon with you guys, binging season 8, on the opposite chair  trying not to imagine he could swap places with Fish. How it would feel to rest his head on your thighs, and have you run your slender fingers through his curls

After, in the kitchen, when he’s on his way to leave and go home, Mandy comes close to brushing his arm as she passes him and Hamzah flinches away like he’s been shocked, slamming his own shoulder into the hard metal of the fridge in his effort to avoid being touched. The noise makes everyone turn to look at him, and Hamzah flips them all off so they’ll go back to their own fucking business. Everyone looks away, except- 

Except you, whose heavy gaze stays focused on him. It should make him feel worse, should make him squirm under the scrutiny, but instead it just makes Hamzah feel hot, like he’s basking under the shine of your attention, a blush crawling up the back of his neck. He is so fucked.  

Hamzah hurriedly scuttles out of the house before anyone can question him. 

Once he’s relatively safe a few metres away, Hamzah lights a cigarette and takes a deep inhale, scolding himself internally. Why is he acting like a total freak over a fucking kiss?

He smokes the cigarette down to the filter, nearly burning himself, then drops the remains to the ground and suffocates it beneath his shoe. By the time he hears your footsteps approach, it’s dusk, the sun not quite gone but night hanging over the scene like a blanket. It occurs to him that he’d run away in case you would come looking for him. But maybe he hadn’t yet accepted that you would come looking for him. Or maybe he hoped he would. 

“Hey Hamzah.” Just like you did the other night. 

Hamzah scowls as he calls you by your last name.

You cross your arms, hip cocked, and look Hamzah over. It’s only now he’s noticing your huge obnoxious Homer Simpson slippers and god, have your legs always been this long? Hamzah barely resists pulling out another cigarette, just for something to do with his hands. 

“You wanna talk about what’s got you all worked up?” 

So casual, like you haven’t been the only thing on Hamzah’s mind since Friday.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he practically hisses, defensive anger automatically winning out. 

“No,” you agree with a sigh. “No, you don’t.” You hesitate and your stance softens, a look of guilt flooding into your eyes. “Listen- if I overstepped, or crossed a line-”

The only thought more intolerable than how much he wants a kiss is you thinking that the kiss was a mistake. 

“Don't finish that sentence,” Hamzah snaps. “Stop being so.. so…”

“So…?”

“So understanding! So patient! Can’t you just fucking yell at me or something?” 

“Why would I yell at you?”

“Because! Because I want- I want-”

How can Hamzah explain the embarrassment that is always tangled up in his want, the humiliation that comes with his desire? 

You have that glint in your eyes again, like you’ve got Hamzah right where you want him. Like you’ve caught him at last. 

And maybe Hamzah wants to be caught. 

“If you want something,” you say slowly, “all you have to do is ask for it.”

Hamzah could fucking scream. He turns away from you abruptly and starts pacing, working himself up into a frenzy. 

“Listen. Listen.” 

You cross your arms and watch him pace with a bemused expression on your face. “I’m listening, Hamzah.” 

“You… you just.. and now.. and how am I supposed to?” 

“Starting with a full sentence would probably help,” you offer. Hamzah scowls even more, his pacing wearing a path into the gravel. 

“FUCK. Okay. Okay.” 

Hamzah stops abruptly in front of you, throws up his hands, and faces you head on. He can do this.

“Okay, you know… when we hung out the other day.” 

“Up on the balcony? Yeah, I remember,” you say easily. Like maybe you’ve been thinking about it too. 

“Right. So, you can like..” he throws one hand vaguely in the air, gesturing, “like. Whenever. You know?” 

“No…?” Now you are pressing your lips together like you’re trying not to smile, one hand coming up to twirl a wayward lock of hair around your finger. “Can you be more specific?” 

Hamzah huffs. “You know what I mean!” 

“Hm… I don’t think I do.” 

Hamzah squirms, glaring down at the gravel and dirt beneath them and scuffing at it with the toe of his shoe. “Fucker..” he mutters under his breath, then looks back up at you and your smug, expectant eyebrows. 

“When we… kissed.” He grits out.

“Oh, when we kissed? What about it?” You would probably be more obnoxious if you weren’t so radiant when you smile, beaming at Hamzah like you’re proud he even brought it up. Hamzah focuses on that joy and lets out all his words in one breath. 

“You don’t have to ask, alright? Like… if you want to kiss me, you can just kiss me. Whatever. I mean, maybe not in front of everyone all the time, cause the last thing I need is all those guys thinkin’ something’s going on, but like.” Hamzah gestures a bit more, then lets his arms fall to his sides. “You get it.”

He’s a coward, truly, because Hamzah knows he should just say I want to kiss you or will you kiss me please? He knows he should just be honest about what he wants, but he can’t. It’s easier to pretend he’s doing this for your sake, like he’s doing you some big favor, when the opposite is true. 

“Okay.”

Hamzah pauses. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Good to know,” you say with a shrug, rubbing your arms. It’s the middle of winter, in Canada, and it’s fucking freezing. He should’ve offered you his jacket when you first came out after him. God, he’s such a fucking idiot. 

He blinks, his eyebrows drawing together. 

“Oh. You don’t…?”

You raise one eyebrow, unfairly attractive. “What?”

“... Nothing.” Hamzah shakes his head, unwilling to articulate his dissatisfaction with this. “I’m gonna go.” He attempts to shuffle away, but you move closer instead, freezing him in his tracks. 

“Oh, did you want to kiss now?” You press one hand to your chest in fake surprise, pretending you haven't known exactly what Hamzah’s wanted from the beginning of the conversation, a smile edging at your lips despite your clear attempt to hide it. 

“Well not anymore, you asshole,” he huffs, turning his head away so you can’t see the flush of his cheeks and also because looking at your smirk directly is like looking at the fucking sun. “Forget it.” 

“Hamzaaah,” you sing-song sweetly, opening your arms, giving him plenty of time to step away if he wanted to. “C’mere.” 

Hamzah isn't even sure why he bothers pretending to be grumpy, because the moment you get closer, he drops his crossed arms, unable to pretend he’s not desperate and eager for your hold. 

“Whatever,” he mutters, but the second half of the word is lost.

The catharsis is so sweet. Sure, it’s the chemicals in his brain, the oxytocin and hormones that are released during physical touch, or whatever, but it’s also the way you hold him, the grounding, tender touch.

He hears the breathy little moan you let out, like you’ve been waiting for this, like you’ve been holding your breath, like you didn't think you’d ever get to kiss Hamzah again. And fuck , the sound makes sparks shoot all through him, gives him the courage to shift his head slightly and press his lips, fleetingly, to your bare throat and hear you gasp, your grip on Hamzah tightening.

The both of you sway slightly, you rocking them both like a stilted waltz, a dance for just the two of you. Hamzah takes a moment to breathe, to let his frantic heart rate slow, relishing the way your fingers are drawing errant shapes on his back. 

“Do you want to get out of here? We can just drive around or something.” 

“Depends…” you drawl as you let your hands drop to his waist, tucking your fingers through the belt loops of Hamzah’s trousers so your bodies are still connected. “Can I smoke in your car?”

Hamzah hums, tapping his chin in fake consideration. “For you? I’ll allow it this once.”

[yutarot]

SHES THE MAN [l.hc smau]

FINAL: 29 - you already do. wc: 1.4k

college esports fair — 7:29pm

somehow, ten had convinced you to watch the main stage tournament.

“ten, please, can we just watch 5 minutes and go. i really don’t want to bump into haechan right now, on valorant it was bareable but i wouldn’t even know what to say if i saw him in person…” you rant off to your bestfriend, stood next to you.

infront of you, ten and the crowd, was a stage with empty spaces for 12 contestants lined along the back, tbu’s esports coach, johnny suh, stood at the front with a microphone.

as johnny was beginning to explain the rules of game, ten whispers to you.

“sure. but it’ll be fine! trust me.”

you give him a suspicious glance but decide to go along with it anyways, finally tuning into the coaches speech after he had got the microphone to stop buffering.

“there will be two teams, team 1 and team 2.”

“creative.” you whisper to ten, who laughs.

johnny glances at you, somehow having heard you, before clearing his throat to continue. the people around you laugh.

“each team will be chosen by 2 of the college leagues finest captains. drumroll please?”

you roll your eyes before lazily drumming your palms against tens arm.

“ow!” ten yelps, but you only laugh as he brushes you off.

but your laughter is soon cut short as the two faces you wish would no longer exist, step out onto stage.

from the left, eric sohn.

and from the right,

haechan.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding.” you murmer, but tens smirking. why is he smirking??

“boys, please choose the 5 players you would like to contribute in your team, taking turns. a coin flip will decide first choice.”

your heart is pounding and you have no clue why.

eric yells heads, leaving haechan to be stuck with tails.

“tails, tails, tails, please, tails.” you hear ten chant from beside you, but you dont ask why, you make a mental note to ask him later. not that you’ll have to, of course. little did you know it’d all become evident, very soon.

johnny flips the coin. “and its heads!”

ten swears to himself and you want to question him as to why he cares so much, but there’s a pair of eyes looking right at you that pull you straight out of your thoughts.

or should you say, two pairs of eyes.

“ten, we have to leave. i have a bad feeling about this.”

but ten only laughs in reply.

as either teams first 4 contestants get decided and called onto stage, you’re still begging ten for you to leave but he ignores you.

johnny calls out to eric to decide his final team member. “do you care to choose your last player, eric?”

he’s looking directly at you and you hate it.

you need to get out of there.

“yes i do. i know exactly who i’d like to pick.”

his attention turns to haechan. and for some reason, haechan looks angry. it’s like there’s some secret between eric, haechan and for some reason ten, that you don’t know about.

you find out why, the second the next four words leave eric’s lips.

“i want yn zhong.”

you feel eyes turn to you. ten beside you, clenching his jaw in anger.

“what?” you whisper. you want to say no, you want to call out and disagree. but haechan beats you to it.

“not happening.” haechan says. eric laughs in spite.

johnny picks up his mic. “do we have a disagreement here, haechan lee?”

haechan turns from eric to face johnny before finally letting his eyes fall to yours.

“i want her.”

you know he means he wants you on the team, but you can’t help but wonder if there’s a double meaning in his words.

he’s supposed to hate you, he’s supposed to despise what you did to him, all that you lied about.

but he wants you?

“then i guess that leaves us with only one option. the chosen persons decision. yn? choose. team 1 or team 2?”

your heart is racing. johnny is making you choose between your ex boyfriend and haechan. so as you walk up to the stage, you spent those 6 seconds deciding exactly what team you want to join.

as you walk straight over to him, he smiles. haechan smiles.

— 9:48pm.

you won. you did it. you finally beat eric.

you could nearly drown in the look on his face as he stormed off that stage the moment you had wiped out his entire team.

but finally, after all that had happened. you got your revenge.

not as chenle, not as anyone else. but as you.

and my god did it feel amazing.

to celebrate, you had jumped up, throwing your arms around the nearest person to you.

but it’s only now that you’re realising who that person is.

slowly, he breaks the hug to look at you.

“look…yn…”

“should we take a walk? i don’t really wanna argue in front of all these people.” you interrupt.

“argue…?” haechan asks under his breath. but your already off the stage, waving bye to ten as you walk towards the empty, turned off carousel. leaving haechan no choice but to rush after you.

wow, that game must have lasted alot longer than you thought.

sitting on one of the faux carriage seats, haechan takes a seat next to you.

“you still hate me, don’t you?” haechan starts.

you look up at him. “what?”

“you know, i kicked you off the team. got mad at you for no reason then just refused to hear you out.”

you’re silent. but he continues.

“you know, i didn’t believe it at first. you pretending to be your brother, but it all makes perfect sense to me now.”

“what do you mean?”

“you helping me with somi, finishing my homework for me when i forgot deadlines, logging into my accounts to finish levels. you were just being a good friend, and i blew it off over jealousy.”

you wanted to cry. you never thought you’d feel so much guilt, but now he’s laying it all before you as his fault…you don’t think you can stand lying to him about anything, any longer.

“im not mad at you haechan.”

his attention on you peaks at this. you pause before continuing.

“in all honesty, i thought you hated me for, well, you know, lying to you about who i was.”

your suddenly very aware about how small this bench is, and how dark it is around you. but he’s right next to you. and that’s something you’ve unknowingly been wishing for, for weeks.

“really?” haechan asks, and your surprised at his confusion. “you thought i was mad at that?”

and now it’s your turn to be confused.

if he didn’t hate you, and you didn’t hate him. what was all this for? why had you been avoiding eachother ever since he kicked chenle out? why had you blatantly ignored every chance there was to see him, if neither of you hated eachother?

unless.

you both liked eachother instead.

“yn, im not mad at you for lying to me.”

your breath stops at his words. he carries on.

“im mad at myself for not realising you were here, directly infront of me, this entire. fucking. time.”

it takes a moment for you to register his words, so you stay silent as you let him continue.

“so give me a chance to know you. the person who stayed up with me all night, the person who fixed my busted cheek. i wanna know you.”

you smile.

because there’s something inbetween all this that he’s forgetting. something that makes all of this a whole lot easier.

“you already do.”

his eyes never cease to leave yours as his hand grazes your chin. and slowly, under the light of the stars and the distant rumble of voices and game music behind you, he kisses you.

and it’s perfect.

through all you’ve been through together, finally you don’t have to hide. this moment is everything you’ve ever wanted.

more than beating eric, more than making the team, more than jaemins limited edition pokémon cards.

this.

for, from this moment on, being with haechan means one thing and one thing only.

you’ll never have to pretend again.

[mlist]

NOTES: and that’s it! thank you so much for following along w this story, i really appreciate every single like, reply and reblog you guys leave, it means the world to me that people enjoy what i put out! i really struggled with this ending and i sooo desperately wanted to give it a bad ending but @chenlesfavorite may have made me change my mind so you can thank her for saving that😓😓 again tysm for following along!!! i hope you all enjoyed reading and i look forward to starting my jaehyun smau tonight!! 🫶🫶

TAGLIST - CLOSED - @lostinneocity @aek1ra @haechansleftshoulder @sunghoonsgfreal @cyjzzl @nanaxwi @neocrashed @candied-czennie @alethea-moon @vantxx95 @nerdsungie @morkiee @sthwaaberry @sunnystarred @p-d1ddy @starfilledgaze @markeroolee @polarisjisung @222brainrot @grassbutneo @minsugahh @daegalfangirl @injunnie-lemon @therealbobbyshloby @flwrs4marklee @jirsungs @donghyucksslut @junviadinho @minkyuncutie @multifandomania @n0hyuck @yehet267 @nctrawberries @neogothyuckie @snoopyjimin @yewshi @theyluvfrankocean @nanamyh3art @i03jae @ckline35 @hyuoonp @galacticnct @haechology @lttlekomori @cutiebambi @tynlvr @sunflowerhae @joyzluvr @taeeflwrr

[xxsabitoxx]

Sukuna eats pussy like a starved man and you simply cannot disagree with me on this, it’s a canon fact, I’m Gege.

Mild blood warning!

Sukuna, who will spread your thighs apart as far as they can go and then a little more. Even if it hurts, he’s not easing up.

Sukuna, who prefers to eat you out while you’re laying down because it’s just that much more effortless for him.

Sukuna, who will use his free pair of hands to spread your folds open so he has easier access, while the other plunges inside.

Sukuna, who will shamelessly drool and slobber all over your cunt until he can’t tell if the wet mark below you is from his spit or from your arousal — not that he cares either way.

Sukuna, who will use his other mouth to eat you out while hurtling insults at you, watching fat tears roll down your cheeks as he brutally bullies you.

Sukuna, ignoring every pleading request that falls from your lips, shoving a fourth finger in your sopping cunt. He’s being generous, he’s being kind to you. You should be thankful.

Sukuna, who’s tongue is longer than it should be, fitting it’s way between your slick walks every so often just to fuck with you when you’re being too fucking loud.

Sukuna, who won’t edge you, fuck no, he prefers to overstimulate you. He loves to hear you begging him to stop. He prefers it over you begging him to let you cum.

Sukuna, who’s nails will dig into your plush thighs whenever your cunt twitches and spasms around his mouth and fingers when you cum.

Sukuna, who groans loudly when you cover his fingers and face in your sweet, sticky arousal.

Sukuna, who will bully you to no end while he eats you out but will make sure you know that nobody will ever fuck you the way he does… and he’s fucking correct.

Sukuna, who will bite your folds, your clit, your inner thighs. Loving the way you scream for mercy, ignoring it completely.

Sukuna, who will not stop eating you out even if you pass out. If he’s going down on you, you’ll be there for a few hours.

Sukuna, who pulls away from your cunt entirely just to admire how wet and swollen he’s made it.

“Sukuna please!” You begged again, voice hoarse from hours of screaming. His head had been buried between your thighs for so long now you couldn’t quite remember how it started. Not that you could really care, it wasn’t every day someone was graced with the king of curses himself eating their cunt.

He ignored you, just as he had ever other time you cried and pleaded. You weren’t even sure why you kept begging at this point, thighs aching so deeply from how long he’s had you spread out for him. Though you had to admit you really couldn’t feel your legs from your thighs downward.

What was still haunting your fucked out mind was the fact that your cunt still had any feeling at all. Sukuna had been abusing to for so long now, he had made you cum more times than you could count… and yet you were still throbbing from everything.

“So good to me! I don’t deserve your generosit-ahh fuck~!” Your back arched upwards as you came again, blood starting to mix with your arousal from the amount of times you’ve orgasmed. He loved it, he loved every fucking second of it.

[amongemeraldclouds]

make me

Minimal plot, just smut. You’re welcome.

When your rival grabs the potion ingredient that was meant for you, you’re willing to do what it takes to get it back.

Theodore Nott x f!Reader

Warning: 18+ MDNI, piv, unprotected sex, oral (m!receiving), v!fingering, degradation, praise, hate sex, characters are aged up.

✿ Masterlist | 2k words

You scan the near empty classroom as footsteps shuffle outside the hall. Your eyes narrow when you see Theodore Nott, your rival. He has been the bane of your existence ever since you got the top marks in your third year and effectively kicked his ranking down to number two.

It’s his rightful place you thought, but he sorely disagreed. Despite the devil may care attitude he’s known for, you know very well he can’t stand the idea that someone could be better and smarter than him. Well tough luck. You weren’t going to back down either.

He’s holding two vials of the potion ingredient you need. “The professor said one vial of Agrippa for each student!” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Ah you never know,” he sighs, holding the vial out in front of you. Taunting you. “I may get careless and accidentally drop one. Then I’ll have backup.”

“And what about me? You took mine, you tosser,” you huff.

“Did I now?” He says, looking confused as he continues to play with your vial. “Don’t see your name here though.” You fantasize reaching over and punching that smug expression off his face.  

You cross your arms instead, willing yourself to stay in control of your emotions. “Tsk tsk Theo. Never thought you’d have to stoop so low. Then again, it is you,” you roam your eyes over him from head to toe in disdain, shaking your head in disappointment. He’s absolutely gorgeous but you’ll never admit it.

“What, ridiculously handsome?” He quips, trying to mask his discomfort.

“You’re certainly ridiculous. And you’re insecure you’ll never beat me if you played fair. Poor Theo,” you reach up, trying to pat his head patronizingly. Instead he grabs your outstretched arm and looks down at you, leaning closer.

“I’m not,” he protests.

You shrug nonchalantly, trying to ignore his electric proximity, how beautiful he looks up close, your breaths sync together and noticeably more shallow. It will only take one small move for your lips to meet. “Could have fooled me. Give me the Agrippa and I’ll let you go.”

“I’m the one holding your arm,” he lifts an eyebrow, trying to assert his control over you.

“Then let me go,” you shoot back.

“Make me,” he challenges.

You watch the fire in his eyes and all the unspoken hatred it tries to convey. There’s a smugness in the set of his jaw as if he knows he has you cornered and there’s nowhere left to run. He underestimates you however, if he thinks you’d even consider running. No. If he insists on pushing you, you’ll just have to push harder.

So you take that one small move, closing the distance between you and kissing him. His grip on your arm softens as he freezes in shock. You take this opportunity to yank your arm free, your mouth still on his. Just as you reach for the vial, he pulls you closer instead and wraps his arms around you, caging you in. Deepening the kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding on for support.

Unwilling to lose against you, he kisses you back. It’s a clash of teeth and tongue, lips swelling with all the insults and comebacks you could throw at each other. Instead you say it in the way you suck his bottom lip hard enough to bruise. He counters with his tongue aggressively exploring your mouth.

You argue with the moans that escape your throat and his overwhelming need to devour you leads his mouth down your neck, trailing kisses and gently biting your soft flesh. Your head instinctively rolls back, giving him more access because as much as you hate him, you can’t deny just how good this feels.

Bodies pressed against each other, you feel his hard length twitch against you and can’t suppress the chuckle that escapes your lips. Before you can say something, your eye catches the vial he left on the table behind him. You reach out your hand and try to grab it again, but Theo catches on fast enough to turn both of you around in the opposite direction and places you on the desk.

“Not so fast,” he says panting as he stares at you, reflecting the lust in your eyes. “Make me cum and I’ll give you the Agrippa vial, fair and square just like you wanted.”

You scoff, “how is it fair?” He brings his lips close to your ear and says in a low voice, “because I also want you to cum for me, principessa.”

Fuck. Your breath catches in your throat.

Theo continues, “what? Afraid you can’t take me there?”

“Oh, I’m not the one you should worry about. I always finish what I start,” you move your hands to your blouse and unbuttoning it. 

Theo just smirks and helps with the last few buttons, he opens your blouse and takes a moment to stare at your breasts. “I’d say you’re beautiful, but you probably know that already,” he comments as he unclasps your bra and kisses your breasts gently. It’s so sweet and tender that for a moment you forget he’s your rival.

“Never hurts to hear it anyway,” you reply, trying not to shiver with just how sensitive and vulnerable you feel.

He smiles up at you while his hand continues exploring your breasts, squeezing and teasing, rolling your nipple in between his thumb and index finger. “You’re wonderful, bella.”

You have to remind yourself you hate him despite your legs wrapped around him and your panties soaked for him. Then it didn’t matter as all thoughts left your mind when he runs his tongue across your nipple while he snakes his arm underneath your skirt, softly caressing your thighs.

He hums appreciatively when he feels just how wet you are. “Everyone thinks you’re such a good girl, but who would have known you’re such a slut.” You whimper at his words, too turned on and embarrassed to speak.

He makes quick work of slipping off your underwear as he explores your folds, spreading your slick all over, making sure to circle his thumb across your clit a few times. Desperate moans leave your lips, and he listens attentively, going back over the sensitive spots that made you louder.

He puts his hand on your mouth, silencing you. “Sshh wouldn’t want everyone to know just how much of a whore you are,” he says as he plunges two fingers into you, and you squirm against him in surprise.

He chuckles as he pumps his fingers in and out, building pressure in the base of your stomach. “So needy, I bet you like touching your cunt too, huh? Such a dirty little slut when no one’s looking.” His voice rumbles deep in his throat and you feel your arousal drip all over his hand.

You clench against his fingers as they curl against you, hitting your g spot, coaxing strings of curses out of you. As he continues to relentlessly thrust his fingers into your dripping cunt, he sucks on your ear lobe and you shudder against him. Everything feels so good, it’s almost too much until he rubs his finger against your clit and light bursts behind your eyes.

You find yourself writhing against him as wave after wave of ecstasy overtakes you. He brushes lazy kisses on your neck, guiding you through your climax and bringing you back down. Panting, you gaze at him through hazy eyes, “not bad, Theo.”

“Come on, don’t forget your end of the bargain,” he commands.

“Oh, I would never,” you smirk and lift yourself up from the table, getting down on your knees. He grunts, removing his belt and zipping down his trousers. You help him free his hard length and you take his cock with your hand, stroking it.

You stare up at Theo through your eyelashes, “is this what you always wanted? I bet you’ve thought about stuffing your cock down my throat, shutting me up. Can’t handle that I’m better than you? Smarter than you?”

Infuriated by your words, he fists his hand through your hair and removes your hand, shoving his cock in your mouth. You take him in, amazed by just how thick he is. “Yeah, that shut you up. Got nothing to say now, huh?” he taunts, thrusting in and out of your mouth, drool spilling down your chin.

“Look at you kneeling for me, taking my cock so well. Finally making yourself useful for once.” He holds your head in place, his grip tight on your hair as he continues thrusting into your mouth hard enough to make your eyes water. You can’t help the liquid heat pooling in your cunt and you squeeze your thighs together to get some relief from the aching need to have him inside you.

Theo notices you squirming and pulls out of your mouth, giving you a second to recover your breath. “Seems the hungry slut wants more, huh?” He says, running his thumb across your puffy lips.

He grips your arm and supports you as you stand up. He brushes your hair away from your face and gives you a gentle kiss on your lips, “you’re doing so well, principessa.” Before the words can sink in, he’s already turning you away from him and bending you over the table as you support yourself with your arms.

He places one of his hand beside yours as the other reaches up to squeeze your breast. He feels so warm and electric against you, you can feel the shortness in his breath in anticipation.

He rubs his cock against your slit, teasing and coating his tip with your arousal. You remind yourself to breathe as you imagine just how good he will feel inside you. With one quick thrust, he enters you and you cry out. “Don’t worry, we’ll start slow,” he says as he moves gently, giving you time to adjust against his big, hard length. 

You whimper but don’t want his already inflated ego to grow further so you say, “is that all you got?”

You should have braced yourself when you said those words as he snickers, “oh you’re going to regret that.” He shoves himself back into you and you feel him bottom out. Salazar, he is stretching you so well.

Desperate, filthy moans escape your lips as he continues ramming himself into you, your mind lost in a haze of pleasure as the delicious friction sets your body on fire. “Not so much better than me now, huh?” He taunts, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back so he can look into your eyes while he fucks you mercilessly. “That’s right, look at me while I shove my cock inside your slippery wet cunt. Fuck, so needy.” You whimper against him, too cock drunk to speak.

“Take it all,” he says, punctuating each word with a deep, hard thrust. Your pussy growing more and more sensitive with each movement. You feel the euphoric pressure building in the base of your stomach once again as you grip onto the table, wood splintering into your skin as try to hold it together.

“Fuck, so desperate for my cock. Tell me you like it or I’ll stop,” he taunts as he feels you grow tighter against him, nearing your release. Your mind can barely keep up, but you sober quite quickly when he stops. “No, please,” you whisper.

“Please what?” Theo asks, looking into your eyes.

“Please fuck me, I love having your cock inside me,” you say, too eager to care about your rivalry.

“Good girl,” he praises as he continues his fast, persistent pace. “I bet you always fantasized having my cock buried inside you, huh? You pretend you’re so much better than me when all you are is a dirty little slut.”

You cry out and his words send you writhing against him again. Your walls clench around him over and over as euphoric waves overtake your senses. He continues his relentless pace, riding out your climax until you feel his warm release inside you. 

He wraps his arms around you as you both recover your breath. “You were so good principessa,” he whispers.

“Listen because I’ll only say this once,” you start and turn yourself. Theo releases you from the embrace so you can face him, “you were amazing.” You smile at him and for a moment, you can almost see yourselves as something other than rivals. Almost.

You grab your clothes and start putting them back on, the spell of the moment over. “You better not tell anyone about this,” Theo warns, trying to brush off the warmth in his chest. 

“And ruin my reputation? No thanks,” You rush over everything, buttoning your blouse as fast as you can. You smirk when you finish before Theo and grab both Agrippa vials, making a run for it.

“Hey!” Theo calls out as he quickly closes his belt around his trousers.

“Guess you’ll just have to come find me,” you shrug, leaving him alone in the classroom. You’ll be seeing him again soon enough anyway.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: I was randomly inspired to write this so I went to my laptop, the words just flowed and I finished this in one sitting. So grateful for moments like this!

[notafunkiller]

wait for hours

Summary: Bucky and you have a small fight about making him attend a business dinner on your one-year anniversary.

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x secretary!reader

Warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), org@sm denial/edging, teasing, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 1.9K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I wrote this blurb based on @marvelouslizzie’s prompt: “You want me to put it in you, don't you?”

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You know he is mad. You could sense it right away at work and also in the car. But you don’t regret it, it had to be done.

“Why did you even bring me here if you aren’t gonna talk, James?”

Your head is spinning only from the way he’s pacing around.

He puffs. “You wanna talk now?”

“You are such a kid,” you say, sighing.

“I am the kid?”

You’re surprised by how high his tone is.

“Why are you so bothered? I did what I needed to help you.”

“I don’t care! You knew tonight is off limits. It was supposed to be about us!”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm down a little. You don’t want to fight. You never do when you disagree, and this is silly.

“We can do it another time. We both know how important this is, so why are you so mad?”

“Because this is our one-year anniversary and we always…”

You sigh, standing up. “He wouldn’t have waited, and I don’t care if you think: then his loss. This is your company! You need this investment.”

“You made this decision for me!”

“Good,” you snap. “Someone had to, I wasn’t going to let you waste a great opportunity just cause you are not in the mood for another business dinner.”

He steps toward you so fast you don’t even realize for a second. “Yeah, sorry I am not in the mood for a business dinner when I could be buried inside my girlfriend in our private jet as we fly to Europe.”

“Who said I wanted to go in the first place?” You look him in the eye, challenging him to answer you. You’re not gonna let him intimidate you. Not that he wanted that.

“Then I could have made you come on my tongue after dinner right here.”

You roll your eyes. “All you can think about is sex.”

“All I can think about is you, but you decided to-”

“To do the right thing.” You interrupt him immediately. He’s so stubborn sometimes!

Bucky sighs, bringing his hands to your cheeks. “Are you bored with me?”

What. The. Fuck.

“Are you drunk?” You ask despite knowing it’d be impossible. But how can he ask that?

“Are you bored of me, honey? Is this why you keep me a secret?”

“Bucky!”

“I wanted to make it official like what? A thousand times?”

You sigh, bringing your hands on top of his before leaving a kiss on one of his palms.

“I am not bored of you, Jamie. But work is work. He knows-”

“I want everyone to know!”

You understand, but at the same time there are more consequences to consider before making the decision to get public. “Know what? That you’re fucking me?”

Now this is a thing you regret saying. The expression he has on his face breaks your heart.

“That’s all you think this is?”

Oh, you fucked up! This is not what it is, and you know it. You both had been trying to fight it off, to ignore the tension for over a year. Until you just couldn’t anymore and gave in.

It was clearly more than sex from the start. He didn’t even try to seduce you, and you were only going out on dates for weeks. And if he wanted sex, why he’d make such an effort when you’re sure he can get a girlfriend or a one-night stand or even escort services. He didn’t try to buy you. But would the office understand?

“No, James.” You kiss his other palm, trying to show him how you actually feel. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“When would it be, then? Or would it ever be a good idea?”

He’s more than upset now, his chin is trembling and the way he keeps staring at you makes you want to cry.

Such a horrible situation…

“When I’ll change my job,” you murmur, stroking his cheeks. “This way, they wouldn’t call either of us names and your reputation would-”

“I don’t care about it, okay? About what they’d say about me, and I certainly wouldn’t let them talk shit about you. What you did for the company is amazing.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “I am your secretary, Bucky. My job is to please you and do the best to assure the company’s success.”

“Fucking bullshit!”

“Hey, it’s true. You know very well how people would talk about both of us, and rumors would spread, and sure, men would pat you on the back at first, but some might hate the scandal. And I would be treated like a...” You don’t want to finish your sentence; well aware he knows what you mean. “You cannot protect me from this no matter what you do. And you cannot ruin your company! Do you want to do this just for public claim?”

“I want to hold your hand so badly everywhere...” He sighs, moving his hands from your face to his own hair, pulling it a bit too harshly. “I want to be able to leave with you home and not make Sam wait for you on the parallel street.”

You know and you feel the same way. Sometimes you find yourself imagining how things would be if you gave in and just not care about it, but there’s about so much more than you. You know how important his partnerships are, how hard he actually worked. He might not be a billionaire, but he is very rich and affords many things. He pays everyone well, including you, as wrong as it might sound.

“I’m gonna think about it, okay? I love you so much!” You take a step closer, getting on your tiptoes so you can kiss him a little. “I am sorry for making you feel like this, you’re not my dirty secret. But I don’t regret saying yes to this meeting. You weren’t going to agree, and we both know this is really important. We can celebrate later or tomorrow night. We can go anywhere you want. Just know I love you.”

Bucky says nothing for a while, his face emotionless as he thinks about what you said.

“I love you, too. Now I want you to get your clothes off and get on the bed.”

You raise your eyebrows at the change in his attitude. What the fuck!

“What?”

“Don’t act as if you don’t want it. You were teasing me all morning. And during the breaks!”

You cannot even deny it because it’s true. Yesterday you were both too tired to even eat when you got home, let alone have sex, and you woke up really horny.

“Don’t you need to get ready?”

He smirks in that way that you hate so much, and you sigh.

“You got one minute, baby.”

You quickly take off your shirt and pants before unclasping the bra and placing it on the nearest bedside table. You let on your panties, eager to see him tear them off as you sit on the edge of the bed.

But he, surprisingly, doesn’t do that after he drops on his knees in front of you and spreading your legs.

You get on your elbows just to watch him. He smiles cheekily, happy with the extra attention you give him, as he hooks his finger around your underwear and moves it to the side, holding it there as he starts to lick your slit.

“Yesss!” You throw your head back, knowing how much you’re going to enjoy this.

He’s a little too slow compared to the usual, but it still feels good, especially when he brings his tongue to your entrance.

You manage to hold back for a while, not letting your hips move until you realize he doesn’t intend to change the pace. With your fingers through his hair and another hand grabbing the sheets, you try to get his tongue inside you faster. But he doesn’t want that either, so you pull his hair a bit harder out of frustration.

“If you want it slow, at least use that tongue on my clit.”

He snorts, amused and does what you told him without protesting. But instead of feeling better because he’s licking your clit, it’s even worse.

You both know that you hate when he’s doing it slowly, so that’s annoying you even more. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose.

You try to tilt your hips more, showing him he needs to hurry up, but he places his right hand on your tummy and pushes your back to the bed again.

“Come on, Bucky! What is this?”

He smiles against your clit and suddenly starts to lick faster. And faster. And faster.

“Yess, yess.”

You pictured him like this before you got together. You imagined countless of scenarios with him eating you out on his desk or on the couch in his office, in the car or in the meeting room. You did that so often it became a habit, but you didn’t expect it to be that good. And he’s somehow getting better every time. Even when he’s torturing you.

When he starts sucking on your clit, though? You feel on fire. You let out the loudest moan before grabbing his hair.

“Yes, sooo c-close. Gimmie a finger, Jamie.” His eyes are on you as you speak. “Please!”

He stops sucking just to breathe on your clit, making you shiver. “Now why would I do that?”

You open your eyes confused.

Does he mean he wants to fuck you?

You’d love that, truth be told, so you push him away a little and get on your ass on the bed. You immediately move your hands down, trying to find his bulge over his pants.

Yeah, you totally missed that.

“I guess foreplay is done. You can fuck me now.”

Bucky laughs. He laughs! Then he brings his hand to cover yours and helps you get a better feel of his cock. Fuck, he’s so hard!

“You want me to put it in you, don’t you?”

“I’m still close.” You whine, surprised by your own body reaction. “Just get inside me, okay?”

“Why would I do that, honey?”

You give him the most confused look ever. “W-what?”

“You’re not gonna come tonight. Or well, until I get back from my meeting. Not on my fingers, not on my mouth, and definitely not on my cock. “

The world is spinning around you. He’s not serious is he.

“Aww, what’s wrong? Who’s the one thinking only about sex now?”

“You’re joking, right?”

He cannot do this. He can’t...

“I should get ready for the meeting.” He tries to get up, but you grab his hand.

“Are you punishing me for doing the right thing for the company?”

He senses you are close to tears so he leans in to kiss your forehead. “No, baby, why would I punish you for that?”

“I don’t know...”

“Maybe this is for thinking our anniversary is not important for me” He cups your face. “But I promise tonight will be great.”

You can’t even say anything, squeezing your legs together, still turned on.

“No touching either. You don’t get to come until I come back, okay?”

You sigh, pouting. “I’ll try, daddy.”

Bucky bites his lip before he kisses you properly. “You won’t try, you will do it for daddy, okay?”

You nod, staring at his chest. “Can I help you clean?”

“As much as I’d love that, if we go in the shower together, I don’t think I’ll leave.”

Damn it... now you have to wait for hours.

[castillon02]

“You ‘have amnesia,’” Dr. Sharma repeated, her eyebrows arched. 

“Oh yes,” Q said. He cheerfully waved his hand at his bandaged head. “Mugged this morning. Terribly traumatic. Physically, not mentally, since I don’t remember any of it, of course.” 

Dr. Sharma’s eye twitched. “I see.” Over the past year of therapy, she had grown inured to Q’s shite, but this was perhaps a new level of it for her. “Amnesia,” she repeated. 

Q beamed. “Judging by the dark circles under my eyes, this seems like a bit of an opportunity for a fresh start anyway,” he said. “Past me looks overworked.” 

Dr. Sharma had been trying to get him a holiday for the past four months. Her “I see,” every time M had denied his request for leave had become steadily sharper. Now her eyes gleamed. “Amnesia,” she said, smiling wider than Q had ever seen. 

(Also on AO3)

—

“Amnesia,” M said, squinting at him from behind his desk. “Really, Q?” 

“M,” Q replied, tasting the name as if he’d just learned it. “Seems a bit funny to work for a letter, but I suppose my past self had his reasons.” He leaned back in his chair and cast his eyes around the room as if those reasons might be visible if he looked for them. 

M’s hand twitched toward the security button on his desk lamp. “You answer to the letter Q,” he pointed out. “You clearly remember some things.” 

“The name Q has silent vowels,” Q said, straight-faced. “Q-U-E-U-E. A long line in A&E is the first thing I remember experiencing, so it seemed fitting. You know, waiting for something that never seems to come gives you a lot of time to think.” 

M glared. “If this is about your leave—” 

“I am leaving, yes,” Q interrupted. “I even have the paperwork filed for Queue Smith, since apparently you lot do that here.” He quirked his eyebrows. “You still haven’t told me what I do, exactly, but I assume it’s some form of tech support, not anything crucial. Something other people have been trained in.” Like Q had been training R and X for the past six months, for instance. Specifically to deal with M’s bizarre separation anxiety. 

“You are actually one of our most valuable assets,” M gritted out, clearly aware that said valuable asset was a lying liar who was lying to him at that very moment. 

Q smiled. “What a shame I can’t remember anything, then,” he said. “No value whatsoever now. In fact, Dr. Sharma distinctly said I was as useless as a pin-pricked prophylactic, and the rest of the medical department agreed with her.” 

M’s eyes narrowed and he sat a little straighter. “Dr. Simmons would never go along with this.” 

“Dr. Simmons thought the whole thing was very novel,” Q disagreed. “In fact, he said amnesia might be under-diagnosed, particularly in injured field agents being recalled for missions.” 

M frowned. “How patient-centric of him.” 

“Oh, terribly.” Straightlaced Simmons, head of Medical, didn’t always see eye to eye with Q, but they both prioritized the health of the people under their care. M wouldn’t find anyone in-house who would challenge Sharma’s diagnosis. Now for the killing blow: “Everyone says that if I’m lucky and have a nice long rest, then I might remember some things. But who knows? Amnesia is unpredictable. I could be out of the game for good.” Q gave an innocent shrug. 

“It can be dangerous, walking around ignorant in the world,” M said.

“Maybe,” Q said. “But I got mugged while I was working here with all my memories intact, so really, nowhere is safe, is it? Might as well be unsafe in the Maldives.” Q gave M his most beatific expression. It was rather cute of M to threaten him with being killed, as though Q didn’t have a dead man’s switch for exactly that contingency. 

M gave him a long look but eventually sighed. “I’ll put you on an indefinite medical leave. Don’t do something stupid with your free time.”  

Q stood. “I’ll do whatever I please. Since that is, in fact, the point of the term ‘free time.’”  

—

Q spent five days eating take-away and playing Elden Ring in his pajamas. On the sixth day, he had enough energy to move, so he took the train and then a bus to a little town in Andalusia, dreaming of egg-and-potato fry-ups and sunny olive tree-laden views. 

Warmth. Sunshine. Red roofs and white stone buildings. An outdoor cafe where he could drink his tea and people watch. 

Down the street, a wrinkled old woman stooped down to scratch a brindled dog whose whiptail flew back and forth at the attention. Q watched them until they rounded a corner out of sight. When he brought his gaze back to his own table, Bond was sitting across from him. Shite. 

“Amnesia,” Bond said. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

Q stared him down. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” If Bond asked about a mission, Q was going to send him back to R and X for replacement corneas. 

But Bond shook his head. “You can call me James. We don’t know each other outside of work,” he said. “I thought we could change that.” Bond gave him a half-smile, somehow sheepish—different from his Target Acquired smile. His bright yellow I Heart España t-shirt was more camouflage than Q had ever seen him in. 

“Caminito del Rey has beautiful vistas,” Bond added, his blue eyes locked on Q’s. “Or I know a place with good tapas if you’d rather eat than hike.” 

This might be a work-shaped trap. But there wasn’t any tech in the Gaitanes Ravine, and yellow wasn’t the color Bond wore when he went anglerfishing. Additionally, traversing a treacherous one-meter-wide walkway carved into a rock face a hundred meters above a river sounded like it was genuinely Bond’s idea of a good time. “If we went hiking,” Q said, “it wouldn’t be efficient. I take pictures of cool bugs. I lollygag to look at spiderwebs. I get distracted by rock formations.” 

“If I wanted efficient,” Bond said, “I’d wait until you ‘got your memory back.’” He offered Q a wry tilt of his mouth. “I have it on good information that you’re currently useless, and I don’t expect we’ll need any of your skills from the office.” 

Bless the medical staff’s ability to gossip. Q exhaled and slouched a little. “You’re really here just because?” he asked.  

Bond shrugged. “We’re good at being useful together. I thought we might be good at being useless together too. If you like.” He tilted his head. 

Q stood without answering. 

Bond stood with him. His designer blue jeans stretched flatteringly around his thighs. No concealed carry. His watch wasn’t one of Q’s. He had a knife in his boot, but that was sensible enough. His t-shirt showed off tan arms criss-crossed with pale scars and a smattering of graying hair. He had a red España bucket hat tucked into his belt. 

007 on holiday. 

Q smiled. “Lead the way.” He extended his hand. 

Bond took it. In the center of a rural village steeped in machismo culture, Bond held his hand. “I have a car,” he said, and they walked, still linked at the fingers, to where Bond had parked his entirely normal Mitsubishi Mirage rental. Good god; a hatchback. Not even four-wheel drive. Bond was really giving this ‘useless’ thing a genuine effort. 

If this went well, Q would have to send 006 a basket of explosives. Rather than leaving his mugging-based amnesia up to fate, he’d rather desperately arranged for a surreptitious blow to the head from one of Six’s experts in cranial violence. He hadn’t expected that his memory loss would lead to something so lovely.  

[freakbabyy]

soft universe - Eris Vanserra x Princess!Reader Chapter Three

< chapter two | chapter three | chapter four >

3.004k words

warnings: drama, smitten!eris again, mating bonds

thank you thank you thank YOU for all of the love this has received, the comments, reblogs, and likes <333 i love you guys as much as lucien loves his hair

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Story preview: Y/N Erling - youngest descendent to the King of Vallahan, not special, youngest of seven girls and four boys, and certainly not next in line to the throne. A kind soul, free-natured, always does what's asked. Content with spending the rest of her fae life taking care of her nieces and nephews while her elder siblings dealt with court dealings. That was until they drew up an agreement - her hand in exchange for their agreement to the treaty with Prythian. Enter Eris Vanserra - new high lord who did not want a wife, nor a mate. Can they work it out together - under pressure from a blood rite, a language barrier, a culture barrier, and Eris' unfortunate attempts at flirting.

-----

chapter three - the seed

Third POV 

Eris Vanserra the entire next day spent his free time with his dagger and a thick piece of wood. Even during meetings, he would take the two items out – nicking his fingers only a few times, yet continued with what he was doing. Anytime someone questioned what he was doing, he either ignored the question or changed the subject. However, after half a day it finally began to take shape and he couldn’t hide it from prying eyes all day – he had to finish after all. 

“Is that a flower?” His eldest and most trusted brother, Garreth, questioned. “Is it for your betrothed?” 

“Shut up.” Eris responded, working on a petal of it, using his flames to catch the end of it on fire before putting it out – giving it a tinted colour. “Yes.” 

“I never knew you were a romantic, dear brother.” His other brother, Marcus, spoke that time – nodding in approval. “If you use the dull side of the knife, you can add details to it.” 

“I didn’t ask for your advice, you two.” As he spoke, he took his brothers advice anyway, adding small details to the stem. 

“No, because knowing how stubborn you are you’d refuse to ask, even if you needed it desperately.”  

“Sometimes I really hate you two.” 

“Love you too, brother.” Marcus stood, leaving the room to attend to duties he had most likely, leaving the other two siblings. 

“When do you see her again?” Garreth wondered, admiring his brother's newfound hobby. 

“Tomorrow, after the meeting. I’m taking her for a walk through the forest, here.”  

“Seeing her again so soon? Smitten are we, brother?” Eris didn’t respond right away, and his brothers teasing smile widened. “It’s about time, you deserve to be happy.” 

“Agree to disagree.” Was his only response, as he stood up, “We have a meeting with some new advisors in a bit. We’d better get going.” 

He left before his brother could say anything more. He let out a sigh, 

“Stubborn lovestruck fool.” 

----- 

“He what?!” Nesta dropped the book she was holding onto, letting it fall to her lap – page forgotten. 

“Did you not hear me?” Y/N cocked her head to the side, getting used to Prythian sayings still. 

“No, no I heard you; it just startled me – I didn’t expect it.” Nesta picked her book back up, cursing as she looked for her page, sticking her bookmark in randomly. “When did you-?” 

“I was looking out Nyx’s window, overlooking the river, and a figure caught my attention – he appeared out of nowhere before standing in front of the door. He stood for a while I feared he was a criminal.” Y/N laughed a bit, “But then I thought, what criminal shows up in the light? Until Cassian took him inside. Then it clicked when I saw his face turn.” 

“Do you think it clicked for him too?”  

“I don’t know. He was quiet.”  

“That’s out of character for him, actually.” Nesta sipped her tea, settling her book down just as Morrigan strolled in. 

“What’re we talking about?” She plopped onto the couch beside Y/N, tucking her feet underneath her. “Boys?” 

“Ah, yes!”  

“Eris is Y/N’s mate.” Nesta spoke the same time as Y/N, blunt in stating the facts. 

“WHAT?” Morrigan sat up straight, her feet falling to the floor, “Since when?!” 

“Two days ago.” Y/N answered this time, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt – it was a pale green, a sharp contrast to her dark pants curtesy of Morrigan. She had been supplying Y/N with clothing more common in Prythian, rather than just dresses in Vallahan. “I just spoke it, I’m nervous today.” 

“To spend time with him today?”  

“Yes. I gift him two carvings last time.” 

“I’m sure he likes them, is that what you’re worried about?” 

“I don’t know, a feeling.” The girls’ conversation was cut short, a knock happening at the door. “Ah, him?”  

Nesta opened the door, settling aside as it was indeed the Autumn high lord. He was dressed casually, a stark difference to his usual attire. A white buttoned shirt with green trousers.  

“Good morning,” Eris greeted the room, which was coincidentally full of women he feared. He spoke next just to Y/N. “Are you ready, then?” 

“Yes,” She nodded, walking towards him, following him outside the door to go past the townhouse’s wards. 

“Ah, don’t be out too late, children!” A voice shouted from the second-floor window, 

“Fuck off, Cassian!” Was Eris’ reply before he turned his back to the window, holding out a hand. “Have you winnowed before?” 

“Yes, from Vallahan with Morrigan. It is a funny feeling.” Y/N confirmed, taking his large warm hand in her own, ignoring the feeling of electricity going up her arm raising the hair in its wake. 

“Oh before we go,” Eris let go to dig in his pocket, producing a beautifully carved wooden lily, “I wanted to follow your custom, to the best of my ability – I’m afraid I don’t know how to carve stone.” 

“How did you colour it?” Y/N wondered aloud, inspecting its darkened petals, and even darker stem. It wasn’t paint, or charcoal. 

“I carefully burned it,” He demonstrated by holding up his hand, which produced light blue flames, which faded into orange ones, before flickering out. “The hotter the flame the darker the colour, it just takes control to be able to not disintegrate the entire thing... Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” Her smile was so wide it looked as if her cheeks hurt, she carefully put it into her pocket on her breast, patting it for safe keeping. “I can’t wait to display on my bed table. Thank you.”  

“You’re very welcome,” He stuck his hand out again, as she grasped it – finally winnowing to the middle of the forest, a path he often took his hounds on. “Morrigan said you enjoyed flowers, there are a bunch a bit up the trail.” 

Eris took in Y/N, who was taking in the scenery around her. She just now looked up, from bending over at the knees after winnowing. Her face lit up; she twirled slowly looking at everything around her. The different types of trees and leaves, at their many colours, even to the different insects buzzing around. 

“What are that?” Y/N wondered aloud, bending down to look at a tiny thing at the base of a tree, nearly covered by the foliage. She carefully poked at it – recoiling at the texture. Eris held in a small laugh, 

“That’s a mushroom,” He pulled one out of the ground, and showed her the underneath – which had her touching it, feeling the odd textures. “Do they not have mushrooms where you hail?” 

“On plates for eating, not like this.” She turned her head, instead inspecting something on a fallen tree trunk, “What this?” 

“That would be an ant,” He watched her in wonder, what else did she not know of? “Do they have any forests where you’re from?” 

“No,” She started walking, he sped to catch up to her, “We only have mountains, so high up that not many things grow. I saw grass for the first time when I came here. It feels nice.” 

Eris wasn’t sure what to say to that, in truth he felt a little pity – she never climbed trees as a child? She never ran barefoot through a meadow, chased by her siblings as they played a game? Too lost in thought he hadn’t realized she disappeared. 

“Y/N?” He spoke, a bit alarmed at where she could have gone and thought the worst. His resolve relaxed when he heard a giggle from above and looked up – she was in the tree. Hanging upside down, her hair hanging below her. “What by the mother are you doing?” 

“Hanging around,” She smiled, as he came closer, “It like climbing rocks at home.” 

“Be careful, I don’t need you dying on our first date, please.” Eris joked, as she dismounted with ease, landing on her feet – when did she take her shoes off? 

“I won’t,” Y/N confirmed, running off to look at something else new, and the more Eris thought she reminded him of his hounds, always so curious to look at something new. “Eris?” 

He could get used to hearing his name on her lips. 

“Yes?” As he approached, she turned around, and he was appalled. “Where in Prythian did you get that? How did you even pick it up?” 

“It was in bushes, friendly like a cat.” In her hands, was an entire fox. It was currently sniffing her hair yet not being hostile. 

“Are you a fox-whisperer?” Eris questioned, cautiously walking forward to take a look at it. It didn’t seem injured, rather relaxed if anything. He reached out to lightly pet it, and it didn’t bite him. 

“Animals like me,” Y/N smiled, giving it a hug before releasing it back into its bush, waving goodbye. 

“Whatever you say, mother-fox.” He held up his hands, watching once more as Y/N returned to the trail before wandering off to the side to look at something, a comfortable silence taking over before the light ahead got closer – the meadow. 

“Ah,” Y/N ran forward, hitting the meadow at full speed – her calves being tickled by the wildflowers and tall grass, “It feels funny!” 

Eris sat on a raised rock, where he often sat when he needed alone time, enjoying watching Y/N run circles around him, almost dancing in the meadow. When she spotted a new flower she stopped abruptly, bending to look at it, sniffing it, and moving on. It must have been about ten minutes before she finally collapsed beside him, lying flat on her back out of breath. 

“Have fun?” 

“Yes. Though, it remind me of a word I do not know in your tongue.” She sat up, leaning on her elbows. 

“Try to describe it, maybe I know it?”  

“I can’t, it’s too...” She seemed to have gotten an idea, she pointed to the bottom of her foot, “Here.” 

Eris stayed silent, unknowing what she could mean, until she grasped his foot that was on the rock, crossed on his knee. She began untying his boot, pulling it off with force that almost knocked her over, and then pulled his sock off, 

“What by the mother are you doing?” 

“Trust!” Was all she said, before pushing his foot off, and as it touched the grass and wildflowers though, he pulled it back up, holding in a laugh – his knee jerk reaction being what she pointed at, “That!” 

“My reaction?” She nodded, “It tickled, are you ticklish?” 

“Ah! Tick-Lish!” Y/N confirmed, “The meadow is tick-lish.” 

“There’s a new word for you, today.” Eris smirked as he pulled his sock and shoe back on, not choosing to go barefoot like she had. 

“Well technically my word of day was ‘radish’, but I like tick-lish better.” Eris’ nose scrunched, 

“Why radish?” 

“I bit into it thinking it was baby apple, not apple. I did not like.” 

“I don’t blame you, I don’t either.” 

“Tell me more, about you.” Y/N spoke, sitting cross legged across from him, he copied how she was sitting to look at her fully. “What colour do you like?” 

“My favourite colour?” He confirmed, she nodded, “I like green. A deep green – almost like moss. What about you? What’s yours?” 

“I like... (You can insert your own favourite colour, and what it reminds you of : ) mines light green, like a diluted sage green.)” She thought for a moment, “Do you have siblings?” 

“I do; I had six brothers.” 

“No sisters? Your poor mother!” Eris laughed at that, his mother had said the exact thing to herself at one point, “I have you beat, though.” 

“By the cauldron, how many siblings do you have?” 

“Ten,” His eyes widened, 

“Your poor mother,” Y/N laughed at that, “Are there any twins or triplets?” 

“Ah, three sets of twins. Do you?” 

“None, just single babies. I know you’re the youngest, too. I’m the oldest.” 

“We are the opposites!” 

“We are, though I hear we did the same thing, take care of babies.” Y/N smiled at this, 

“Ah, I love babies, they are so cute! Like... Well, I can’t think of anything really cute right now, but it would be really cute!” 

“They are, aren’t they?” Eris smiled, thinking of baby Lucien, the last baby he had taken care of. “Want to hear a secret?” 

Y/N nodded frantically, scooching closer as if they weren’t alone in the clearing, 

“The last baby I took care of, my youngest brother Lucien,” 

“Ah! Eyeball!” 

“Yes, him, you know how the autumn court is known for its fire powers, yes?” 

“Yes, orange leaves like fire, is how I remember.” 

“Indeed. Lucien, when he first laughed – let out a glow of light, so bright as if he swallowed faelight. I couldn’t explain it, neither could the one maid I had asked, worried I had messed him up,” 

“What was it?” 

“Well, come to find out, dearest Lucien and I have different fathers. My mother, had met her mate, and had conceived Lucien as a result.” 

“Who is her mate?” 

“Oh, no one, just... The High Lord of Day.” The way Y/N’s eyes widened looked painful, as she clasped her mouth with her hands, “That reaction was how I felt when I found out, trust me. My poor mother had to explain it to a fifteen-year-old me, mortified.” 

“The lady of autumn... Married to high lord of autumn, but mated to the high lord of day! What happened? Where is she now?” 

“Oh, she lives in day with him now, she is now high lady of day. She never really loved my father; their arrangement was purely political. She wasn’t too torn up when he died. Delighted, actually.” 

“I would be sad,” Eris looked up, meeting Y/N’s eyes, wide. “If you died, I mean.” 

“Oh, I hadn’t meant to bring up... You know. Our political arrangement, not in that light anyway, I really don’t want it in that light anyway – I don’t want to be my father, nor you my mother-” His rambling got cut short, a delicate hand grasping his own, 

“I know, Eris.” Y/N smiled encouragingly, “I met your father, once. I was young, apparently, I didn’t like him.”  

“When was this?” Eris questioned, completely unaware that this had taken place, 

“I was a babe, he made the trip to secure us with Hybern, my older sister, Vidia, told me that at one point he came to say hello to me and my siblings, to show his good-ness to my parents.” She laughed hard at remembering, “Apparently, when he held me, I had not only spit up all over him but also blew-out my diaper. It had gone everywhere, and the more he moved, the more it got worse-” 

She couldn’t talk anymore, full on cackling at this point – and Eris had joined her, delighted at the idea of his father covered in not only vomit, but also shit. Literally. When their laughter died down, Eris grasped her hand back, a genuine smile on his face. 

“Oh, I think the mother had known what she had done, putting us together.” Y/N looked up from their hands, quickly to his face, 

“Put us together?” He paled, 

“Oh, I didn’t- shit.” He pulled his hand away, “Cauldron, I had a whole speech planned to tell you, and a picnic, and I wanted to wait awhile until I sprung that on you, but I was too caught up in the moment-” 

He was interrupted by Y/N launching herself into him, nearly knocking him off of the rock, securing her hands around his shoulders,  

“I knew you felt it too! Though I do like picnics, if that is an option, still.” 

“I- you knew too? When?” Eris was at a loss for words, 

“I saw you outside Nyx’s window, you were stood at the door – for a while.” 

“You saw that!? That’s humiliating! I was so scared to meet you!” Eris groaned, rubbing his hand down his face, as Y/N laughed a bit.  

“When did you know?” 

“When I saw you singing to Nyx, it was lovely. I was completely entranced by your singing. You’re so caring to Nyx, too.” 

“Oh, that is better than standing at a doorway for ten minutes.” Eris groaned again, “Kidding!” 

“You aren’t upset? About the bond?” 

“Ah, no. I grew up hearing stories of it, how wonderful it is. Even now, with everyone at home with a mate. It is beautiful. What about you? You are high lord; you have a lot to do right now...” 

“I am, and I’m ecstatic. Ah, that means very happy. I do have a lot right now, and it might take a while for me to fully be able to devote my time to you, but in the meantime... I’m more than happy to spend my free time with you, my free days wherever you want, here or there.” 

“We can go slow; we have all the time.” Y/N concluded, as Eris agreed, pressing a light kiss to the back of her hand, 

“Though, we shouldn’t announce it yet, to anyone other than who needs to know. I have a lot of enemies at the moment, especially in autumn. I do not wish for them to harm you.” 

“I might have told Nesta. And Morrigan.” 

“That’s fine, I trust them. They’re good at holding secrets. Plus, I told my brothers last night, they practically pestered me until I told them what I was hiding.” 

“Okay, then only Nesta, Morrigan and your brothers?” 

“Works for me,” Eris nodded, standing, “It’s been three hours, I should probably get you home, before they come to strangle me. Nesta scares me.” 

“Ah, good idea. I promised to put Nyx down for his afternoon nap.” 

“I’ll see you next week? For our next afternoon together? Same time?” 

“Yes,” Y/N smiled, and Eris smiled back. 

Both of them excited for what the future holds, for the first time in forever. 

-----

taglist: @sparksandstarss @iambored24601 @itsxchar6 @bxm-2121 @an-introverted-nishinoyasimp @perriii @myfatbottomedgirls @carnationworld @talesofadragon @ashjade19

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[blitzyn]

shut up

childe x m!reader

request: none

a/n -> im sick and tired of winter WHERE IS SUMMER. help i wrote some of this in public so i had to stop myself from acting out some of the motions just to figure out how to write it lmao. guys i kinda made him a little mean i just got a little carried away oopsies. anyways one more non req and ill work on reqs i hope

wc -> 3.8k

cw -> very dubcon, hate sex, a lil bit of blood, anal sex, spit as lube, not a lot of prep, degradation, manhandling, throat fucking, asphyxiation, reader is a masochist, mean dom childe, spitting (in ur mouth like once), chokehold, prone bone position for like 2 seconds lmao, brief descriptions of fighting, reader offs someone cuz he felt like it kinda, it starts sorta abrupt tbh lol, not beta read

Childe fucking hated you. This was old news—absolutely anyone who had the barest idea who he was knew that. Everyone within a twenty meter radius could hear him arguing about something, and it never seemed to be about the same thing more than once. There always seemed to be something the two of you nitpicked about each other, throwing it out into the open which, more often than not, led to a fight with no clear winner.

There wasn’t anything anyone could do about it since the two of you were Harbingers. You were ranked tenth after Signora’s death and The Balladeer’s desertion, just behind Childe who was in ninth. But that didn’t stop you from riling him up relentlessly, even finding some type of enjoyment from his anger because you knew it wasn’t particularly common to see. Really, there wasn’t much of a power difference between the two of you other than the fact that you were less experienced.

As such, you were often assigned to missions together—if assigned meant that you simply joined him when you didn’t have anything important to do, much to his obvious displeasure.

This time, you followed him towards a hideout hidden between large rocks. It was simple, and you preferred that it wasn’t so easily accessible, but you supposed that hiding it in plain sight was acceptable for now.

“I don’t like how easy it is to find this place,” you commented, taking in your surroundings as if you were impressed by how large the area was compared to the small cave entrance. “It’s so obvious.”

Childe only offered you a grunt in acknowledgement, making his way past a few scattered materials on the floor. This wasn’t a facility that the Fatui used as much as before, but some machines were still operational and functioning.

“Ignoring people when they’re talking to you is rude, Tartaglia,” you chided, but you couldn’t care less that he wasn’t responding. “Besides, it’s not like you disagree with me. You wouldn’t want a poor, helpless child accidentally stumbling across this place while they’re playing a game.”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and you could see him grit his teeth when he noticed the smug expression on your face. “Nobody’s gonna find the entrance. It’s been around for years and there hasn’t been a trespasser.”

“Really?” You hummed, nodding slowly to yourself. “If you say so.”

He eyed you warily, instantly skeptical of how quick you were to accept his statement. But that wasn’t important right now—he needed to retrieve some documents and collect money from a few debtors.

“Just… Just stay here. Don’t touch anything,” he instructed, unnerved by how you obediently sat on a rickety chair and watched him expectantly.

“Yessir,” you replied with a playful tone in your voice, crossing your arms over your chest comfortably.

He silently stared at you for a few moments. “What are you planning?” He blurted out, annoyed with the eyebrow you raised in question. “You don’t like listening to me.”

You rolled your eyes at his accusation. “I don’t really favor getting chewed out by whoever needs those papers, so hurry up and get what you need. I’d rather talk to the debtors, anyways.”

He didn’t move from his spot for a few more moments before hesitantly making his way toward an isolated room, seemingly accepting your response. You chuckled through your nose at his reluctance as you swirled your finger around, creating a small rabbit made out of Cryo. It was quiet and unassuming as it silently hopped around before you sent it out of the room, searching for any valuable items worth keeping as you waited.

You leaned back in boredom, shutting your eyes to focus on keeping the rabbit's form. You could feel a faint hint of interest radiating through you from your creation, cringing slightly at the smell of metal before you relaxed again. The rabbit was mid-search when an arrow whizzed past it, nicking its back. Quickly, it fled, leaving a trail of Cryo. The hunter cursed loudly and chased after it, but it wasn't long before it made it to its destination.

Curious, you released your focus on the rabbit as you stood up to pick up whatever it found. You looked up when the hunter suddenly walked through the cave entrance, slightly surprised to know that they hadn't stopped trying to go after your rabbit. The two of you stared at each other before you spoke up in mild disinterest.

"Can I help you?" You questioned, inspecting your find once again. It was shiny and had intricate designs on it, but ultimately worthless.

"Uh... Uh, yes! Yes, you can," they said after a moment, scoping the area in search of their nonexistent rabbit. "Have you seen a white rabbit run through here? Small, quick, and leaving some sort of trail behind it," they described eagerly, taking a few steps forward.

"I'm afraid you can't come in here," you said, raising a hand to stop them in their tracks. You analyzed them for a moment, taking in their appearance. They couldn't have been older than fifteen, with shaggy brown hair and tanned skin.

"Then why are you in here?" They countered stubbornly, crossing their arms. It seemed they forgot all about their hunt in favor of digging into your business.

"That's none of your concern," you replied, ignoring their questioning gaze above your shoulder. "If you don't leave now, I'll have to resort to force."

You bristled a little when you saw them roll their eyes. Too stubborn for their own good, apparently. "Yeah? Well, I'm the chief's kid. What's a weird-looking guy like you gonna do to me?"

You frowned, visibly offended. You stared at them for a moment before raising your dominant hand again, this time letting an icicle form on the tip of your middle finger before flicking it directly at them. In the blink of an eye, they went down with a loud thud. "Kill you," you replied to the body.

You walked up to them and lifted their head by their hair, examining the wound on their forehead with a hum. Blood leaked in copious amounts down their face, and you couldn't stop the grimace when some landed on your foot.

"Oh, shit," you hissed under your breath when you caught a better look at them. You wondered why they seemed so vaguely familiar to you when the realization suddenly hit you-the chief was one of the debtors. You pursed your lips before standing up with a shrug, placing a hand on your chin to ponder different ways to dispose of the body without tarnishing the Fatui's name even further. "I suppose I could just toss them in a lake? Or lure in a wild animal to eat them? Burning's too obvious..."

"What the fuck did you just do?" You heard Childe curse from behind you. You turned around to face him, eyebrow twitching in interest when you noticed his normally void eyes alight with fury. Honestly, though, you didn't quite understand why he seemed so upset. Maybe it was because of how transactions with the debtor may not go as smoothly as he wanted, or the fact that the person you killed was still technically a child.

"Someone found the entrance," you shrugged, unbothered by his reaction. "We don't want anyone finding important information about the Fatui, right? So I killed them. I told you it was easy to spot." You rolled your eyes like it was the most obvious thing ever, which only served to anger him. You tried to make your way past him deeper into the facility in search of something interesting to take when a sudden blur slammed your body into a wall. You let out a pained grunt, instinctively wrapping your fingers around the wrist where he pinned you down by your throat.

You knew he was ruthless when he needed to be, but you weren't given a chance to see it with your own eyes up until now. He was far from gentle, holding your delicate neck with such ferocity it made your skin tingle. It was exhilarating.

"Like hell they just conveniently found the entrance," he spat, his voice low as he glared deep into your watering eyes. "You deliberately lured them in here, didn't you? And for what? Because you were bored?" He refused to slacken the hold around your throat, internally finding that he preferred how you looked when you couldn't breathe.

"You—cough—You're much the s-same, Tartaglia," you strained out, trying to furiously blink away your tears. "Don't pretend you don't crave vi-violence, too."

You could see him grit his teeth just before he tossed you to the floor, watching you cough and regain your breath with disdain in his eyes. "No. Don't compare me to a fucking psychopath like you. I don't kill kids just because I feel like it!"

"To-may-to, to-mah-to," you groaned, rubbing your sore skin. You could still feel his hand around your throat, his grip burned into your flesh in a way that sent a familiar heat through your groin. He took a second to examine your body before zeroing in on the growing bulge between your legs, disbelief written on his expression.

"There's no damn way," he muttered to himself as if trying to convince himself you weren't aroused by him strangling you. With a growl, he stepped forward and harshly pressed a foot on your crotch, merciless with the amount of pressure he used. He watched in disgust as your hips jerked in response, frowning deeply at the pained moan you let out. "You're seriously turned on?"

"If it wasn't obvious—" You were unceremoniously cut off by a swift kick to your jaw, accidentally biting down on your tongue. You tasted the metallic tang of your own blood that originated from your mouth and your nose, wiping it away quickly. Your cock only throbbed with an increased fervor in your pants that strained for release against the fabric.

"Shut the fuck up," he snarled, staring down at you for a few moments, deciding what to do with you now that he had this newfound information in his hands.

"What's gotten you so upset?" You teased him, obviously not taking your situation seriously. You felt a pleasurable chill run down your spine at the fierce look he gave you, sitting up a bit in anticipation when you saw his hand stray down toward his pants, roughly undoing them.

"You just can't shut your mouth, can you?" He hissed, leaning forward a bit to grab a handful of your hair. He yanked you closer, forcing you onto your knees as he pressed the tip of his flaccid cock against your waiting tongue. "Fine, then. I'll shut it for you."

You hummed at the salty taste of his skin, raising your hands up to hold onto the swell of his muscular thighs. He groaned quietly when you dragged your tongue along a prominent vein on the underside of the shaft, looking up at him through your lashes. You let out a garbled moan when he forced you all the way down to the base, seemingly satisfied with the way you gagged a little.

Your nose was buried within his pubic hair as your throat tightened and spasmed, feeling yourself beginning to drool as the thick strands of saliva seeped out of the corners of your lips. You could hardly breathe, but you loved it. You loved the way he tugged on your scalp, starting to move his hips back and forth. You tried to contribute as much as you could, but the way you could feel his cock hardening sent a pleasant ache through your jaw.

"Fucking hell... You're not fit to be a Harbinger," he spat, holding you still as he reached down to swipe a bit of the blood from your nose to messily wipe it on your cheek. You couldn't see what he was doing, but the patterned swipes made it clear what he was writing.

S, L, U, T.

The word sent a jolt of electricity down your spine. You could feel your cock twitch in your pants, leaking a profuse amount of precum that served to stain the fabric. You let out a moan and slipped a hand underneath your clothes, jerking yourself off shamelessly.

He let out a breathy scoff at the sight, but he couldn't help the way his dick throbbed when your throat squeezed around him. "You're too good at this," he groaned, gradually moving his hips faster until he was fucking your face. "You don't belong in the Fatui. You're better off at a goddamn whorehouse."

He relished in the sound of your chokes and gags, finding that he preferred this much more than your voice. He let out a heavy sigh and shut his eyes, tilting his head back in ecstasy as he lost himself in the sensations. He was unaware of how you shifted your hand lower, using your precum as a subpar replacement for lube to push two of your fingers in your hole. You weren't in any particular rush as you leisurely pumped them in and out of you, adding in the wet sounds to your strained moans and ragged breaths. You were brought back to your senses when you heard him bark out a mocking laugh, squinting up at him through the tears that accumulated along your lashes.

"You're fucking pathetic," he muttered lowly, almost to himself, but you knew it was directed at you. "Is this—shit—all it took? You just needed a dick shoved down your throat, huh? Should've known you were such a whore," he demeaned, and you could only whine in response. Suddenly, he leaned a bit forward to press the sole of his shoe onto your aching cock, watching intently at the way you choked in surprise. "Maybe the rest of us should get a turn with you? Turn you into our little fucktoy? Our good-for-nothing cumdump?"

A grin made its way onto his pale face, turned on with the amount of control he had over you. His left hand slid lower, maintaining a firm grip on the junction between the back of your head and neck as his other one moved up to pinch your nostrils shut. He thrust harder, faster, shuffling closer when you tried to tilt your head away. He ignored your muffled protests and focused solely on getting himself off, letting out satisfied groans that you weren't fully there to appreciate.

It wasn't until you could hear a high-pitched ringing did he finally cum, shooting his load down your throat without a care for whether or not you could properly swallow it. He held himself there for a moment longer before he pulled himself away with a harsh shove to your body. You coughed and panted hard, taking a moment to regain your composure before looking back up at him, eager for more.

"Still not satisfied?" He questioned rhetorically. You both knew you weren't done yet, not when you found out how he could get when you pushed his buttons just the right way. "Stupid question, huh?" He huffed a laugh through his nose before roughly kicking you onto your stomach, dropping to his knees not a moment later. He haphazardly tugged your pants and underwear down in one go, ignoring the pained hiss you made when you felt yourself sandwiching your drooling cock between your abdomen and the floor. He spread your ass apart to spit on your asshole, shoving a finger inside you for good measure before jerking himself off using some of his saliva.

"Tartaglia, please—hurry," you whined, looking over your shoulder to meet his gaze. It was satisfying to see you in such a pitiful state, but the sound of your voice, although hoarse and raw, annoyed him.

"Be quiet or I'll leave you here like this," he snapped, giving your asscheek a quick slap before positioning himself over your hole. He rubbed the tip of it against your skin for a moment before pushing himself inside, groaning loudly at the feeling of you clamping down on him so perfectly.

It fucking hurt; after all, you only used two meager fingers to prepare yourself, and even then, you hadn't done much. It burned like he was tearing you apart but in the best damn way. The pain of being stretched out so mercilessly only mixed in with the insatiable fire in your groin, shooting jolts of electricity up your spine so intense you nearly came on the spot.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Tartaglia, please, you're so—!" You cut yourself off with a moan when he suddenly slammed himself down all the way, ramming the head of his cock against your sensitive prostate.

"I said shut up!" He demanded, pressing his hips down to grind against you. He wasn't as deep as he could go in this position, but he still managed to fill you up just right. You groaned when he leaned down, pinning you to the ground with his body weight as an arm snaked around the front of your throat, pressing it against you firm enough to restrict some of your airflow.

Instinctively, you raised a hand to grab at his forearm, digging your nails into the scarred skin in a futile attempt to get him to ease up. You could hear every sound that left his lips, every labored breath that brushed the shell of your ear. It didn't take him long to start moving, pulling out until only the tip remained before slamming back into you mercilessly. You could feel every inch and vein with each drag of his cock, your body jolting alongside his harsh thrusts, grinding your dick up and down on the ground.

"God... you're so damn tight," he muttered, picking up the pace. A low moan escaped his throat when he pressed against your prostate just right, ignoring your fleeting struggle.

It was hard to breathe. You could feel him everywhere around you all at once, and it didn't help that he fucked you hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. Your moans and whines were strained and hoarse, clawing at his arm, but you knew you didn't really want him off. Your body ached at his rough handling as wet slaps echoed through the abandoned facility, briefly wondering if anyone outside could hear, but you could hardly maintain your train of thought long enough for it to become a concern. He fucked you fast and rough, hips slamming against your ass hard enough to sting, but he didn't find it in himself to care.

"Tar-Tartaglia! Slow...—!" You tried to plead, beginning to find everything overwhelming when you cut yourself off with a squeal. He quickly shifted himself, leaning back to hold your throat with his hands as he pulled, forcing your back to arch uncomfortably.

"No," he replied, tilting his upper half over you just enough to spit in your gaping mouth. He felt you tighten in response as he relaxed his hold the slightest bit, feeling you swallow his saliva eagerly. "You wanted this. So you're gonna fucking take it."

The heat in your belly intensified to an unbearable degree, and with the way he practically filled up every crevice of your hole, you weren't sure you were going to last much longer. With one hand on your throat, he moved his other one down to spread one of your asscheeks to intently watch his cock move in and out of you. He could feel every twitch and shudder you made, and it satisfied him to know just how easy you were to break down despite your initial resistance.

"Fuck... I can feel you," he groaned, yanking your head back a bit to get you to look at him. "You're about to cum, huh?"

It was hard to find the right words to reply when he fucked every thought out of your head, but the panic in your eyes made it clear that you didn't want him to stop so suddenly. And although he wanted to see you beg like the whore you were, he needed to finish this quickly. He still had a job to do, after all.

"You're lucky I still need to collect some money," he growled, glaring at you with familiar disdain. "Otherwise I would've left you like this for hours."

With renewed vigor, he removed his hand from your throat to roughly push your face down by the back of your head, tugging your hips up to bury himself deeper inside your ass. You cried out in ecstasy as your eyes rolled back, making an attempt to withhold your orgasm when he wrapped his fingers around your throbbing cock, jerking you off in time with his punishing thrusts, but to no avail. Barely a moment later, you came with a loud moan, cumming so hard it left you lightheaded and dizzy.

He chased after his own release, giving you a few more rough thrusts before he stilled, burying himself as deep as he could go inside you. You could feel his thick cock throbbing as he filled you up with his cum, shuddering at the warmth before you slumped back down to the ground. He remained still for a moment longer, catching his breath while he watched you tremble. With a sigh, he pulled out, grimacing a little at the sight of his dick slick with fluids, but he tucked it back in his pants regardless.

"Get up. We have to hide the body and get to the chief before anyone finds out you killed his kid," he said impatiently, walking towards the hunter to inspect it.

"Just... Just bury them, or something," you suggested, taking a moment to calm down before pulling your pants up. Finding a reflective surface, you summoned a bit of your Cryo and melted it with your body heat to wipe away the crusted blood on your face.

"Eugh... I can feel your cum," you found the energy to complain, turning to face Childe with annoyance written on your face. The audacity.

"Shut up and let's go. We're already behind schedule after your bullshit." He scowled, picking up the body, already having decided what to do with it. At least it wasn't your problem anymore.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," you said, quickly fixing your appearance. If it weren't for the slight limp in your gait, nobody would be able to tell he just fucked you within an inch of your life. Perks of being a Harbinger, you suppose.

cross-posted on ao3

[olderthannetfic]

I’ve been sending that ask to anyone and everyone I can possibly find that posts about shipping issues (?). I don’t know who you are specifically. I’ve had this discussion in circles over and over and over again, and frankly I’m getting a little tired of the “just use a different website” crowd telling me to just use AO3 when I WANT to use a different website. Forgive me for assuming somebody eventually might know what that “different website” might be.

AO3 is objectively a good site, there’s clearly a reason nobody uses fucking anything else anymore. Nothing else has the frankly superior tagging system AO3 does, and nothing else has the sheer volume of writers, readers, and works on it. Do whatever the hell you want with AO3, I’m happy for you. Clearly it’s successful, congrats. AO3 can host whatever they want to. I do not care even a little bit about what goes on on AO3, because I don’t want to use AO3. I want to go somewhere else. I didn’t want to get into it in my original post on Reddit, because I KNEW this is what was going to happen. I have gotten exactly two useful suggestions (or even people TRYING to be helpful) out of hundreds of comments. One was Superlove, which is exactly what I’m looking for but has a waitlist until next June last time I checked, and the other was self-hosting, which everyone was VERY quick to let me know that that is both incredibly difficult and expensive, and I will more than likely not be able to keep up with it.

It kind of sounds like some of you just like the idea of people who disagree with you struggling, because the SECOND that I clarified my issues with AO3 (after people kept pushing me about it, mind you) everyone got much more eager to watch me fail. So frankly, I think I’m just going to quit. If this is the community I’ll have when I disagree with you people even a little bit, I don’t want it.

--

Yes, and that scattershot approach is what made your previous ask rude.

It ignores me as a person and treats me as a public resource.

And now you're acting like the injured party over being called on it.

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

[ content warning: discussion of in-canon sexual abuse ] Maybe it’s just because I’m not too active in the ALNST fandom and mostly observe from afar, but I think this fandom brushed aside way too quickly the fact that Till was sexually assaulted. I have never seen anyone talk in depth about like, what that actually means in terms of his arc and the storytelling of his character. Which I find deeply, deeply upsetting because holy fucking shit.

This man right here has been told, basically his entire life, that not only is he himself not worthy of being treated as a human, but that his body is not his body, but a piece of property that can be owned. And whoever owns his property can use it for whatever, and however they wish. Now, dehumanization is nothing new or unique in this world, obviously. The very concept of Pet Humans is dehumanizing by nature, leaving all six of our main characters as victims to it, even those who are more well-off like Mizi. But Till is a specially fucked up case almost distinctly unlike the rest, because he is actually treated like a fucking dog.

(x) Ivan: If you keep rebelling like that, they won’t ever remove your collar you know? Till: This annoying bastard… — Ivan: I told you so, didn’t I? You didn’t listen? Till: This annoying bastard... (translation courtesy of @leiikos on youtube)

(x)

An unruly animal who needs to be leashed up and put in it’s place. Animals, as is common knowledge, are not on the same level as a human being. But they are ordained to follow the commands of those above them. And if someone (thing) isn’t doing as it is told…

It deserves to be taught better. But I’m getting ahead of myself. This is the mindset that has followed Till his entire life by the ones who were supposed to take care of him. He is not human, even less human than the existing inhuman. He is a pet, even more so than the other pets, an animal. A thing. Property. Something to own. And the best thing about owning something?

You gain the ability to do whatever you want to it. Till’s body was not his from the start. It was used as something to toy around with, experiment with, to train and train and train, presumably for his whole life. His body, his skin, his flesh and bone and blood, it was all nothing more than a plaything. So what if he screams? Just ignore it. Or don’t. If this competition has taught us anything, voices have the most value of all. On top of it being reinforced that Till is not deserving of humanity, he is also not deserving of his bodily autonomy. People are free to do whatever they want with his body because it’s not his body, it’s theirs. And that brings us, finally, to the scene itself

He can’t sing her song, he refuses to. This isn’t the first time he’s refused to do something, far from it actually. What was once an innocent puppy with dilated hope in his eyes has grown into an angry, disobedient mutt. And we know what happens to an animal that refuses to do what they’re told. But there’s something interesting about dogs, or rather about the ones they descended from, the wolf: When the circumstances call for it, they will bite the hand that’s supposed to feed them.

And here is where I intrude to remind you that this is the only time we see anyone physically fighting back against the aliens in the confines of Alien Stage. We see Hyuna and Mizi fucking up aliens in All In, but that was after they had escaped from the cage. And you could make a case for Mizi trying to escape the grasp of the guards that grabbed her in Ruler of My Heart, but from what we saw she didn’t actually lay a hand on them and more so just tried to force herself out of their grasp. though if you disagree with me on that that's fine Here though? Till has this bitch’s face grabbed into his palm with a bottle in hand ready to smash it directly in between it’s eyes. I consider this to be the first act of physical violence shown against the aliens within the uncomfortably tight enclosure. And it’s triggered not because of anything personally done to Till, which on its own could probably fill a list that reaches the ground. But because of the prospect of Mizi being dead. Till knows that this place is shit, that his life is shit. Said so directly on his profile.

Dislikes: Everyone, including Guardian Urak (translation courtesy of @kh47uo on twitter)

But he stays regardless because Mizi is there. If Mizi is dead, Till has absolutely nothing to lose…Right?

I can almost imagine him thinking: There’s nothing you can put me through that’s worse than every other way you’ve hurt me. …But there was. Oh there was.

A final, disgusting message to the pet to put him back in his place. Back on his leash. Making sure he will never forget where he stands for the rest of his days.

And that is really what the sexual assault of Till represents to me. It is a cruel reminder to Till that fighting back is impossible, having hope, being free, it might as well be a fool's fantasy. He will always be less-than-human, less than anything. His body will always be the property of the ones that were supposed to protect him, claimed, and then used used used until it’s worn out and dead.

And the aliens chose to exemplify that fact in the most direct way they possibly could.

So what if he screams? Just ignore it. Or don’t. If this competition has taught us anything, screams have the most value of all