#it can go one of two ways: mean and painful and humiliating but oh so fucking good

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

SQUEAKY CLEAN

KINKTOBER DAY 5 - SHOW WORSHIP WITH TOMMY SHELBY

Pairing.| Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

Summary.| You cost Tommy a promising deal. He can think of a thousand ways to make you pay, so you’ll start by dropping to his feet.

Warnings.| Dubcon, degradation, humiliation, brat taming, mean Tommy, cruel talking, rough handling, shoe licking.

Word count.| 1.3k

The infamous Tommy Shelby was warned in the beginning. At the mere second of laying his eyes on you precisely. You were a brat, completely up yourself, ill mannered to anything that breathed. But Tommy loved a challenge, reminding a woman of her place, not to mention a woman with a body like yours. 

However tonight, he believes you’ve pushed him to a tipping point. The anger bubbled in his blood like it was boiling stew. His jaw was as hard as stone as he kept his eyes on the road as you approached Arrow House. The front lights turned on, drawing you two in like moths for your punishment to commence. 

This happened little, you feeling no emotions or thoughts besides fear and anxiety. It was splitting your body into two. The anticipation of the long silent drive home was driving you insane. 

There was only ever one thing that Tommy commanded you to stay away from, his business. But you just liked pissing him off a bit too much. In a mere fifthteen minutes, you had found a way to ruin a deal he had been pushing on for months. A deal that would be a game changer for his business.

As he parked the car out in front of your home, your body trembled as you dared to look over at him. He swiftly got out of the car, walking over to your door and opening it for you, like he always did desperate how much of a brat you were. Without looking at you, he held his hand out for you. 

Taking a hold of his hand with a shaking manner, he pulled you roughly out of the car, slamming the door shut behind you as he practically dragged you inside. You winced at the pain, but cautiously refused to resist him. As he opened the front door, he shoved you inside. 

The foyer was empty, you prayed all of the maids were asleep at this late hour. The last thing you needed was another audience for his taming lessons. Tommy huffed out, slamming the door behind him. If the help wasn’t awake already, they would be now. 

As he lit the cigarette in between his lips, he looked you up and down, his expression unreadable. 

His disobedient wife.

He stepped to you, slowly taking your coat off of your shoulders. You stood still before him, your eyes darting around as you anticipated some sudden movement from him. Tommy stepped back and threw your coat to the side. 

“On your knees my love” Tommy softly ordered. 

Gradually, you fell to your knees, your thin dress barely no comfort for your knees against the wooden floorboards. With his hands behind his back, he slowly moved towards you, your eyes on his crotch. But you couldn’t be any further from being right with what you were expecting to happen. 

“Listen well, because I will only say this once. Lean down and clean my shoes with nothing more but your tongue” Tommy said emotionlessly. 

“Tommy” you frowned, immediately going to lift your body from the floor but Tommy was quick to push you back down. 

“When I make an order, you follow!” Tommy bellowed, your hair looped around his hand as he forced your head back. 

You whimpered like a dog, staring at him with wide eyes.  His chest rose and fell through his anger, cigarette in between his lips close to slipping out. As his rage lowered, the tightness of his grip loosened. 

 “My little brat of a wife… Oh how your eagerness to be a thorn in my side had taken you too far this time” Tommy tutted, shaking his head to you. “You’ll forever regret your decisions tonight. I only ever had one rule with you, do you remember what that was?” Tommy asked, his tone dripping with a mixture of disappointment and sarcasm. 

“Don't mess with your business” you whined. 

“Correct” he nodded. His gaze lowered to his dress shoes, he tilted his right foot up, a wicked smirk growing on his lips. “Come on then my little wife, lean down and beg me for forgiveness” Tommy ordered condscendingly. 

“Tommy” you pleaded, eyes tearing up. 

“I won’t tell you again” he grunted, his hands on his hips as he tapped his foot on the floorboards. 

Shamefully, you looked down to his feet and gulped down your dignity. Lowering yourself to his feet, you looked up to him one last time in hope of mercy. Tommy only nodded for you to continue. You forced your tongue out and gave him a small lick. 

“Do better than that my love” Tommy snarled, pressing his foot against your mouth. 

You sniffled out, forcefully keeping your tongue out as you dragged it over the leather. The taste of it made your face cringed and you prayed that no maid would dare to wander at this moment. Slowly, you took his shoe inch by inch with your tongue. You gagged out when he forced you to lick underneath his foot. But your thighs squeezed together.

“Should be fucking grateful that I don’t make you do it during the family meetings” Tommy grunted out before he took a long exhale of the tobacco. 

“Thank you Tommy” you whined, tears rolling down your cheeks, completely and utterly humiliated by this punishment. The smirk that grew on his lips was sinister, this discipline was lowering you down to your place far too easily. 

A long hard spanking would be much preferred by you. But Tommy knew you enjoyed those too much, no matter how black and blue your rear could get. 

You choked loudly as you moved onto his other shoe. Throating clenching tightly as you felt your stomach urge to push out your guts completely. 

“Wait until it’s hunting season my love” Tommy laughed, tilting his head down at you. 

You shot up onto your knees. Before he could react, your arms wrapped tightly around his left leg, your lower body straddling his foot. With your face pressed against his pants you whined out. 

“Please Tommy! I’m sorry! I promise to never upset you again!” you promised sobbingly. 

“Hurry up now my love, if you do a good job I”ll let you fuck yourself on my shoes, how does that sound eh?” He hummed to you, patting your head like you were his pet. 

The vanquish latched onto your thoughts and you lowered your head in defeat. There was no room for pleading, Tommy had his mind set on this and you would be physically forced to follow if you didn’t willingly submit. 

“It sounds good Tommy, thank you” you forced your smile as you slowly slid back onto the wooden flooring. 

Poking your tongue out, you closed your eyes as you tried to quickly take in every inch of the leather. Holding down your gags, your scrunched expression began to hurt as you looked like a fucking dog to Tommy. The urge in your core tortured you as your hips subconsciously humped. the air.

“Every day when I return home, I expect you to be on your knees ready to clean my shoes” Tommy disclosed. 

Your head snapped up to him, eyes flashing with fear as you felt your heart pound in your chest. 

“How long will I have to do this for” you cringed, blinking away your fresh tears. 

Tommy hummed dramatically and took a long pause as he debated his answer. It built the heavy dread of anticipation in your stomach. 

“Until you’re begging to clean my shoes, how about that eh?” Tommy nodded. 

“Tommy please!” You begged, whining like a pathetic dog. Your body shot up in protest. 

“This is no one’s fault but your own. Your place is always at my feet. You understand my love?” Tommy spoke sternly, his nostrils flaring at you. 

“Yes Tommy, I’m yours” you answered submissively, a pout on your face. 

Tommy bent down, his hand patted your head in praise. As you looked up to him with wide eyes, he smiled innocently to you. 

“Good! You can suck me off later to tell me how sorry you are for your behavior tonight. For now, prop yourself on my shoe and pretend it’s my cock eh?” Tommy grinned.

[lovedrruunk]

Hii! your vi and jinx headcanons had be dying laughing like i was actually in tears, any chance you could do Sevika or Caitlyn ones? :3

feel free to ignore this!

Random Sevika headcanons…

HIHIHI !!! Finally working on requests !! I'm actually in the middle of writing some cait ones which I'll post SOON... ILYYY HOPE U LIKE THESE!!!!!

Public nightmare. Going out with her is so humiliating but unlike Jinx it's not because she's weird it's because she's a FUCKING BITCH!!!!!! She's so incredibly full of herself. Walks the streets like she owns the place and will randomly get in fights just so she can win and impress you. Like it'll be some poor guy just minding his own business and she'll walk by and shove his face into the wall while staring at u intensely... it's actually really scary. She is a customer service workers #1 fear, the second you two walk into a store or a restaurant suddenly everyone's on lunchbreak. Never tips. One mean mug from her could make a gay starbucks barista cry.

Constantly grumbling about something. Loves to complain about EVERYTHINGGGG. The line at the bar, the weather, her shoulder pain, it never ends. Sometimes you can't tell if she's actually upset or just grumpy for fun. "Why is this drink so weak? It might as well be water." Ok then why did you CHUG THE WHOLE THING AND ORDER 2 MORE???

Randomly puts stuff on high shelves just to mess with you. This lady is huge so if she knows you can’t reach something, she’ll put it on a higher shelf on purpose just to watch you struggle. This stems from 2 things. 1. Her being a bitch that loves to mess with you and make you mad because she thinks it's funny, and 2. her constant need to be the one to "save" you.

Loves being your dyke in shining armor LMAOOO. Like I said she likes being needed in a sense. If you have a problem or need something done and she isn't the first person you ask for help she'll genuinely get offended. Like how dare you not immediately come to her for help knowing she's always down to help you (when she feels like it)

Always wins arguments (not because she's right). Sevika never loses an argument. She’s too good at staying calm and turning things around on you, even when she’s clearly wrong. The way she knowingly and shamelessly gaslights you just makes you let it go in the end. "I can't understand you when you're being this emotional." while she has this shit eating grin on her face oh my god.

Has a short temper... She holds the world record for most pet peeves ever. Dumb questions, pointing out the obvious, snoring, just to name a few. I said this in my red flags post but genuinely dumb questions will PISS HER OFF SO BAD... Asking her "Are you awake?" when she literally got into bed 2 minutes ago and her eyes are OPEN. Walking in like "You home?" when literally WHO ELSE WOULD BE THERE??? She'd rather just kick you out honestly.

(TY @maneskinwh0re for these examples <333)

my requests r officially open btw so feel free to ask for something (^_−)☆ BUT PLEASE KEEP IN MIND IM ACTUALLY A RLLY SLOW WRITER....

[sweet-honey-fruit]

Genshin Men Kinks

It’s 9:00 pm, I have exams tomorrow but I’m STRESSING! So I’m writing this to feed you all and to help myself relax a little.

Pairs — Childe, Cyno, Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli (separate) x Gn!Reader

Warnings — Brat taming, impact play, fear play, choking, dacryphilia, begging, bondage, humiliation, knife play, hair pulling, marking, size kink, power play, temperature play, throat fucking

!Everything is consensual! 18+ MINORS DNI

Childe

Mostly a dom but if you beg hard enough he’ll let you get on top. Even then, you’re not fully in control, no matter how much you think you are. He’ll always have a hand on your hips, guiding the way you move and the pace you go.

Fear play is a major kink of his unsurprisingly. Having you backed up into the corner with him having a look that is between lustful and murderous gets him going. He loves seeing the horror in your eyes, the way you beg, the way you squirm with anticipation. He wants to see you cower. He wants to see you submit. And what better way to do that than to choke you up against the wall, muttering “You won’t get away with teasing me. No…no, I can’t let that happen, can I baby?” While his teeth graze along your pulse point.

Dacryphilia. It doesn’t matter where the tears come from: from the amount of pleasure he’s overstimulating you with, or the amount of pleasurable pain over your body from his rough hands. He admires seeing you come apart under him. He wants to see how good he’s making you feel. And what better way to see that than through your tears? He’ll wipe them away in mock affection before landing another slap on the inside of your thigh.

Brat taming. He likes a challenge. And you acting up gives him just that. It also gives him an excuse to bend you in half and use you however he likes. When he tells you to strip, and you give him the “Make me,” he already knows it’s going to be a fun night. He’ll smirk, giving you a predator-like look, “Oh? Is that so?” The brattier you are, the better. Because that just means winning will be all the more fulfilling when he stuffs you full of his cum over and over. Until his seed is dripping down your thighs. But you didn’t get to cum. Not even once. “Only the well-behaved gets to cum,” He’ll edge you all week if he has to. Over and over. You wanted to be bratty. Now face the punishment of your loss. He’ll use you however he wishes.

Cyno

A switch. Whichever role you want him to fulfill he’ll happily do it. He just wishes to pleasure you.

Bondage, both giving and receiving. He finds you so elegant when he has your hands tied up above your head. He loves it when you’re this vulnerable with him. As such, he likes being vulnerable with you. The feeling of his hands tied together while you toy with him makes his tip leak with more than the average precum. His favorite is when he’s using one hand to pin down the two of yours. He finds it more intimate that way because of the way his body curves into yours with every thrust. He also enjoys the feeling of you trying to pull your hands away when he hits the right spot and it gets just a little too much for you. Don’t worry, he’ll keep going until he knows you’re truly satisfied.

Speaking of being truly satisfied: He’s totally into overstimulation. While he doesn’t mind if you overstimulate him, he much prefers it if he overstimulated you. He wants to make sure that he gives you the most satisfying feelings one could only dream of. He gets hypnotized by the way your skin heats up under his relentless abuse of your aching hole. He gets so caught up in your moans, your begs, your whimpers that he doesn’t realize just how many times he has made you cum. The way your body quivers merely from his hands alone makes his cock strain against the confinements of his pants. Don’t get too exhausted, he needs to be relieved as well.

Hair pulling gets him turned on the most. When you pull at his hair during a make-out session, signaling that you want to go further, it gets him yearning to pound into you over and over. Or the way you let out the most pornographic moan when he pulls at your hair when he slams into you from behind. All in a means to get you closer to him.

Diluc

A switch that mostly doms. But much like Cyno, his main focus is to pleasure you.

He’s a gentleman at heart and it reflects even in the bedroom. He’s still into impact play though. If he sees that you enjoy it then he’ll be more than happy to comply. He wants to see you squirm and moan after each hit. He wants to see the marks that were left behind from his hand. He’ll even wear the gloves that have the chains along the back of the hand if you want him to. To him, it’s all about the marks that are left behind and the way you turn into a blabbering mess that’s begging for more.

With that, he’s totally into marking. Either from the bruises from his hands, or the hickeys that linger along your chest, it gets him going each time he sees them. Although he is a man of privacy, so he makes sure he doesn’t leave them in noticeable places. So anything from just below your collarbone, chest, inner thighs, or any other sensitive part of your body. It’s for his eyes only. He’ll trace his fingers along them, recalling the events, and wanting to add more to the collection.

Praise. Both giving and receiving. He wants to let you know just how good you’re sucking him off, just how good you’re making him feel. He loves the way you get flustered and whine from the praises he gives you. In turn, he loves receiving praise. He wants to know he’s doing a good job. He wants to know that he’s fucking you so good that all you can do is mumble “so good, s’ good, keep going,” into his ear. It makes him want to fucking you harder into the mattress to get even more praise.

Kaeya

He’s a dom and a teasing one at that. His kinkiness rivals Childe’s.

He is the type of man to get hard when he has the tip of his sword being carefully dragged across your skin. He’s calculating and cautious, always sure to never hurt you. He loves the fear you display when his sword digs a little deeper but never breaks the skin. He loves the way you shudder in anticipation, the adrenaline that goes through the both of you. He loves having you at his mercy like this. If the two of you get really into it, he’ll hold the edge of the blade to your neck while he pounds his hips into you.

He enjoys humiliating you with teasing, dirty words a little too much. He’ll whisper into your ear the dirtiest words to ever exist in the most public of spaces. “Such a little slut, my slut. Don’t you wish for me to hold you against this wall and make you crumble under all the pleasure my cock gives you?” Of course, he already knows the answer from the way you squeeze your thighs together. He’s a master at wordplay, and he loves to see you look away in a shameful, horny way. He knows that if he truly tried, he could get you to cum just by his words alone.

He’s guilty when it comes to the fact that he uses his vision in the bedroom. His warm lips that kiss up along your neck contrast with the coldness of his hands that roam your body. Your gasps, whines, shivers, and jolting; it makes him grind into the bedsheets. Your body jerks up into his cold hands which only elicit a loud whimper from you. If you try to back away from his touch, it’ll only get colder. He’s the type to get his fingers cold while they thrust up into your hole. The conflicting temperatures leave you shaking in the best way possible.

Zhongli

A dom, and a soft one at that. He treats you with the utmost care. Yet at times he can be cold, that is if he thinks you would enjoy that side of him.

He has a size kink. 100%. He’s tall, strong. He towers over you, even if it’s just by an inch. His presence alone is enough to overshadow you. For reasons he can’t explain, it gets him harder than a rock. Having you be so small compared to him. But when it comes to his dick? It’s monstrous. No matter how many times you take it, you can never get used to it. He knows he’s too big for you, and it fills him with some sort of pride that he would never admit out loud. Having your walls stretch and clench around him, all the while your legs shake from the intensity makes him resist the urge to grind up into you. Lucky for you, he has an infinite amount of patience.

With his size comes power. Power play is something he never expected he would have until he met you. You’re a human. Fragile, weak. He’s an ex-archon, he’s a god. You’re so small compared to him. Rather that’s in status, build, or both. He loves showing you just how much stronger he is compared to you. He won't hesitate to lift you and fuck you while standing. He’ll be sure that you understand the power dynamic between the two of you while his hips slowly drag in and out of you. “You’re only a human,” His nails dug into your hips to restrain himself from drilling into you, “I am your god. Worship me as such.”

He has the guilty pleasure of throat fucking you if you can even call it that. It’s so subtle that it’s barely noticeable. Whenever you’re on your knees, lips around his cock, sucking on his tip, he gently rocks his hips. It’s such a small movement that it can go without being seen. He entangles his hands into your hair, letting out low groans and praises. He’ll then, ever so slowly, pull out of your mouth and back in until his tip just barely touches the back of your throat. He’s careful with it, not wanting to hurt you. But fuck it feels so good, the way he controls your movements and having you gag every now and then. His praises are jumbled when one last drawback shoots cum down your throat. At that point, he’ll hold your head still while grinding his cock in your mouth to ride out his high.

[eternal-evergreens]

Excuse me, may I give you a request about yandere Dire Crowley and yandere Divus Crewel spanking female reader together all the time?

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Painful Pastimes, Playful Punishments"｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post format: drabble

Paring: Yandere!Divus Crewel x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Dire Crowely

Word count: 809

Warnings: Spanking, Humiliation, Power Play, Steamy But Not Outright NSFW, Forced Relationship, Implied Drugging, Disassociation, Non-depicted NonCon

"Count."

You've done this before. It should be okay, right? You should be used to it by now. It should be fine. It should be—

"He said count, darling," Crewel coos, an underlying impatience in his tone.

"O...kay," you murmur. Then, remembering they hate when you're quiet, you say again, louder, "Okay."

"Okay?" Crewel asks, a rising anger in his voice. You pale.

"I-I mean, yes. Yes sir. Sirs. Yes Sirs."

"Good girl," says Crowley, a clawed hand reaching out to stroke your cheek. He wipes away a tear you hadn't even realised had fallen. "Ready?" You nod, the lump in your throat too large for you to trust your own voice.

In an instant, you're placed on your stomach over your captors laps as your skirt is lifted and your panties are dragged down. You feel tears welling up in your eyes as someone strokes the flesh of your ass. A warning of what's to come. The hand is ungloved, it always is. They take them off beforehand.

You can't look, you don't look. You close your eyes. How many times have you been through this? You should be used to it by now.

Without warning, a hand comes crashing down onto your cheek. You gasp, and the tears you had been holding in escape from your eyes like a tidal wave.

"O-one," you spit out weakly. How many were they going to do again? You can't remember. You can't even remember what you did, this time. All you can focus on is the pain. They always feed you something before a session, 'to ensure you have enough energy to make it through'. You think they're drugging you to make it hurt more.

Another hand, or maybe the same one. You can never tell. The searing agony is only intensified by the second blow, and you just barely manage to choke out, "Two."

"It seems our little dove is having trouble," Crowley purrs, running a hand through your hair in a mock attempt at comfort. "Should we go a little easier on her?"

"Perhaps we can treat her to something after," Crewel says. "But only if she's good."

A sob escapes you at the third slap.

"Oh dear, we're only a tenth of the way done and you're already struggling, pup?"

"Three..." you mutter, clenching your teeth.

"F...our..."

You're just barely holding it together.

"F-fi-ive..."

Your cries turn to full blown sobs, your body shaking with each breath. Whatever they gave you—and they must have gave you something—was working. You could focus on nothing but the sheer, agonizing pain emanating from your bare bottom.

"Ten..."

It hurts it hurts it hurts.

"Fifteen..."

It hurts.

"Twenty..."

You sniffle, but no tears come out.

"Twenty-five..."

Your tears have long since dried, replaced by stoic acceptance and a touch of dissociation. Your voice echos inside your own head, as if it was coming from some place far, far away. You think they can sense you're not entirely there, but if they do, they don't seem to care enough to acknowledge it.

"Thirty..."

If you were standing, you're sure you would have collapsed to your knees the second the word came out of your mouth. But you aren't standing, so all you can do is feel your body spasm, so disconnected from it that the pain feels foreign, like you're just holding on to it for someone else. Like it's not your own.

"She did good, didn't she?" Crowley says. "I think she deserves a reward."

"I agree," says Crewel. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. You go cold at the sound of two belts unbuckling.

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠���

The bed is hot and sticky, but you can't bring yourself to move from it. Uncomfortable as it may be, the pain resulting from a session of punishment and two sessions of a so-called 'reward', you don't trust your legs to stand at all, much less carry you all the way to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

You don't think your two tormentors are willing to help, either, with the way Crewel is scrolling on his phone with a pipe in hand and Crowley is preening himself in the mirror. You sigh silently, having no choice but to accept your fate of lying listlessly for the next few hours until you can muster up the strength to leave and change the sheets (Crowley always promises to do it 'next time' and Crewel refuses to dirty his hands, leaving only you to clean up after their messes).

You wonder how much longer you'll have to live like this. How many more spankings you'll have to endure until you finally succeed. You wonder how many attempts to free yourself you'll have to fail before the two of them realize what you're truly up to.

You wonder if you'll ever see the light of day again, when that time comes.

[hanniebaeee]

Crazy for you - Part 1

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warning: swearing, drinking, kissing, some touching MDNI

Genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

Summary: You and your best friend's cousin, Hyunjin don't get along very well. This game of cat and mouse may be a disguise to hide your real feelings.

a/n: Everyone in the story is so petty! I wrote this ages ago, partly based on a dream I had😅 It's silly, but here you go 🤝 (also this series will have smut in the future, just letting you know.)

Part 2 , Part 3

You sigh impatiently, trying your best not to cry. The day couldn't get any more worse. All you could think of was the anger and hate on his mother's face. Her harsh words were like daggers to your chest. And on top of that, you were smashed against him right now, your bodies pressed together way too much for your liking.

'Jennie!! Make it FASTER!' You said to your best friend who was driving.

'I'm going as fast as I can, Y/N' Jennie said apologetically. 'Just hang on.'

'She's hanging on alright' Hyunjin said sarcastically,  and your blood boiled at that.

Hwang Hyunjin, your arch nemesis, was Jennie's cousin. You all were part of the same friends group since childhood and so, you were willingly or not, always around each other.

'It's not like I have a choice now, do I?!' You spat,  putting a hand against his chest and pushing him away.

'I'm sorry sweetheart, there's not use pushing me.' Hyunjin said, glancing behind him.

Jeongin, Jisung and Minho lay drunk and asleep, all crammed together at the back of Jennie's car along with you and Hyunjin. Jennie's boyfriend Changbin was asleep in the passenger seat beside Jennie.

'It was so indecent of your mum to talk like that, Jinnie. And you didn't have anything to say?' Jennie asked, addressing the elephant in the room. 'When did Y/N ever try to seduce you? I mean you're at each other's throats ALL THE FUCKING TIME!'

'You think my mom would stop if I say so?' Hyunjin asked with a scoff. 'She's crazy. She would just insult her more.'

'She humiliated my best friend in front if everyone.' Jennie said. 'That's not OK'

You sigh again, turning your face away from Hyunjin. His mother hated you for some reason. You felt that most of it had to do with the fact that you weren't Korean and she was afraid of what people might say if he brought home a foreigner. And part of it was because she knew that there were things you both were hiding.

'Well, it can't be completely wrong. Mum must have seen something.' Hyunjin said teasingly.

'Hyunjin, you're on my LAST fucking nerve. Better stop right there.' You warn him, blinking fast to keep your tears from falling.

'Or what?' Hyunjin asked, moving closer just to piss you off.

He was so close, your chests were literally pressed together. Your hand was on his chest again, putting a gap between you two. You give him your best death glare and pinch his tummy so hard that Hyunjin screamed in pain.

'What the fuck?!' Jennie yelled as Changbin woke up with a start and stuffed his fingers into his ears.

'She pinched me!' Hyunjin said in shock. 'Oh God it hurts!'

'Serves you right for being an asshole, Hyunjin.' Jennie said, shaking her head.

You glare at him with tear filled eyes.

'I don't know if you are really that drunk or not, but YOU are the one who can't keep your hands to yourself, Hyunjin. Not the other way around. Tell your mummy that when both of you are in your right minds.' you hiss.

Hyunjin just smirked, biting his lip sensually.

'I love it when your so feisty.' he whispered, his hand slipping down to your thigh, and moving up under your dress. You grip at his hand to stop him.

'Please!!' You sob softly, the tears finally falling. Hyunjin moves his hand away quickly, a look of guilt and sadness clouding his handsome face.

'Y/N' he says, his hand coming up to your face, but you turn away. 'I was only joking.'

Jennie hit the brakes.

'What the fuck, Hyunjin?! Leave her alone!' she shrieks. 'It'll be easier to watch babies, I swear!'

'Let me out! I'd rather walk than sit here with your brother!' You yell, voice shaking.

Hyunjin just sighed and sat back, sulking. He didn't want you to leave. He quite liked being stuck to you. Jennie banged her hand on the steering wheel in frustration and said, 'Binnie, get your ass back there!  Come on to the front, Y/N.'

'Ew, no way! He's covered in puke!' Hyunjin whined. Which was why no one wanted to sit with him.

'Not my fucking problem, Hyunjin. Another word from you and I'm done' Jennie warned.

After exchanging seats, the remaining ride home was in silence. Hyunjin's eyes were fixed on you and his heart sank, watching you wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes.

He genuinely felt bad for what his mother had said. And he did confront her away from the crowd. He knew that his mother went out of her way to separate the two of you right from when you were at school. You never did anything to seduce him. Knowing his mother's dislike for you, you had always kept away from him. It was the hardest thing for Hyunjin. He loved you even without any kind of effort from your side.

The tension existing between you two wasn't a secret. Everyone knew that this wasn't just some stupid rivalry. There was so much more going on. But no one said anything because some things are better left alone.

You reached the apartment building and the boys helped their drunk friends to their feet. As Jennie went on to park the car, Hyunjin caught hold of your hand, as you tried to slip away.

'Look. I'm sorry for what mum said. I didn't pick a fight only because she can be real pain. I didn't want to provoke her, Y/N. She would've just insulted you more.' Hyunjin said. 'I'm sorry I didn't stand up for you.'

'It's alright.' You said with a nod. 'I know.'

Hyunjin nodded and watched you leave in silence.

You and Jennie shared an apartment and the boys, another, on two different floors. But you always met for your meals, mostly at the boys' apartment. The next morning, when you woke up, Jennie had already gone to Hyunjin's to cook breakfast.

After a quick shower, you joined her. As you passed Hyunjin's room, you saw the door was open, and he was sprawled on his bed in his pyjamas, still asleep. His shirt was pushed up, exposing his tummy. A purplish bruise had formed where you had pinched him the other day. You didn't mean to do it so hard, and now felt bad about it.

After watching him snore softly for a moment, looking so innocent and angelic, you walk away. You enter the kitchen to find Jennie pouring coffee into mugs.

'Can you please take this to Jinnie and wake him up?' Jennie asked as she returned to cooking. The bacon that she was frying looked way too burnt at this point.

'Not a good idea. Not this early in the morning' You said, shaking your head no and nibbling on a piece of the burnt bacon.

'Please sweetheart.' Jennie said pouting, and you sigh.

'I know what you are doing Jennie Kim.' You said in a sing song manner.

Jennie just gives you an innocent look as you pick up the mug and walk to Hyunjin's room. Placing it on his bedside table, you touch his arm to wake him up.

'Hey.' You call softly. 'Wake up, Hyunjinnie!'

You pause as you cringe at the way you said that. But he opened his eyes slowly and seeing you, he sat up, smiling.

'Am I dreaming?' he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.

'Ok. Come on, up.' You said, trying to distract yourself from the way he is looking at you. 'Jennie asked me to wake you up.'

He nods with a sigh, taking the mug in his hands. You begin to walk out when he stops you.

'Are we good, Y/N? ' he asked.

You turn to look at him with a frown, but end up nodding quickly and escaping the room and his puppy eyes.

Jeongin, Minho and Jisung were awake and terribly hungover. Jennie shot them all looks of disgust as she brought breakfast to the table.

'Stop looking at me like that!' Minho whined. 'People make mistakes sometimes!!'

'Lino, you puked all night, do you remember?' Jennie asked, with her arms on her hips.

'Of course I know, I'm the one who nearly puked my intestines out!' Minho said, resting his head on his hand. 'I'm sorry!'

Jennie sighed and said, 'Innie?'

'To both my noonas, I'm really sorry I got carried away!' he said raising his hands in surrender. 'Sorry!'

'I'm not even starting with you Hannie.' Jennie said. You giggle, loving how Jennie managed to make three men shiver under her glare. Jisung pouted, sipping on his lemon tea.

'And Hyunjin.' Jennie said sarcastically. 'You don't even have to be drunk to be a pain in the ass.'

He grinned showcasing all his teeth, his eyes two crescent moons.

'i try my best.' He said, winking at you, and you roll your eyes at him.

'Honestly, Jinnie, if you can't keep you hands to yourself, why don't you just ask her out?!' Jennie snapped at her cousin.

'Jennie!!' You hiss, poking her on the rib.

'I'm sick of you both always bickering like some old married couple! it's so damn annoying!' Jennie said. 'Just give each other a chance at least!'

'It won't work!' You said, shaking your head. 'Jennie, stop.'

Jennie knew of your feelings for Hyunjin and she really wished that you would just get together, since she knew her cousin felt the same.

'I want you both to try.' Jennie said. 'I'm tried of seeing you both eye fucking each other every time you're in the same room. It's disgusting.'

'I don't deny it.' Hyunjin said confidently.

'Oh my God!' You cry. 'Why is your family set on humiliating me all the fucking time!?'

'You're my best friend and he's my brother. I need you both to get along. I'm so sick of your constant disagreements. I want you to try dating. It could seriously work out.' Jennie pressed on.

'I agree with Jennie Noona' Jeongin said.

'You guys can always stop if you want.' Jisung offered, while Minho was too hungover to make a meaningful comment.

'Hyunjin.' You plead.

'I'm ready if she's ready.' Hyunjin said with a shrug.

Jennie grinned, knowing her cousin's deep dark desires. She turned to you with hopeful eyes.

'Your mother is going to throw a fit about it.' You warned Hyunjin. 'You know that! She'll never allow it!'

'Who cares about what his mom thinks?' Jennie dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. 'We know that you both like each other. This is about you. Not us or anyone else.'

'I decide what I do with my life, Y/N. Not mum.' Hyunjin said, seriously. 'You don't have to worry about her.'

'You can say no, you know.' Jennie challenged you, with a smug look. 'No one's stopping you.'

You shrivel at her words. Of course, no one was going to stop you if you say no and walk out. But this is what you really wanted. You've wanted Hyunjin all your life. You were crazy in love, to say the least. You could say no. But you didn't want to. Hyunjin just looks at you, bottom lip between his teeth and it felt like he was holding his breath.

'Ok.' You said. 'Ok, I will give it a try. But if he puts one toe out of line, -'

'I won't' Hyunjin said, quickly. 'I really won't.'

Knowing his ways, you weren't so sure. But you still nod.

'I'm so happy!' Jennie said clapping. 'Finally. I've waited for this day for so long!'

'Congrats Hyunjinnie and Y/N noona!' Jeongin said giving you both a cute smile.

'Let's not make this more awkward now.' Minho said. 'Let them be.'

You give Minho a grateful look before your eyes fall on Hyunjin. He sat with his eyes on you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. The rest of them went on doing their own things leaving you two alone in the room.

'So, girlfriend.' Hyunjin said, teasingly. 'Come here and gimme a kiss.'

You shoot him a glare, making him laugh.

A month later:

It was movie night at the boys' apartment. Changbin and Jennie shared a couch, and you and Hyunjin shared another. The rest of them had put sleeping bags on the floor and they were all settled to watch the movie.

Hyunjin had draped a blanket over you both. It has been more than a month since Jennie pronounced you a couple, but you were still a bit awkward with it. It made you so sad that even though you held hands and cuddled and went out on dates, none of it felt real. Hyunjin didn't irritate you like he usually did. But that was all.

Hyunjin, who was usually a very confident person, felt like everything was out of his control. He had wanted this for so long, but now that it was actually happening, he was scared. He didn't want to lose you in any way. You were so perfect in his eyes, he felt that he wasn't enough. He felt this was why you never really told him anything important or even look at him with affection.

The movie was going pretty well, until some steamy scenes came by. You feel Hyunjin's fingers intertwine with yours and he slowly brought them up to his lips. You blush at his sudden display of affection.

Hyunjin moved closer, his hands around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your heart raced and you throw a quick glance at Jennie's way. She and Changbin were huddled together, whereas the others were already asleep.

'Jinn-'

Hyunjin's lips were hot against your own. You feel butterflies in you stomach as he tilted his head slightly for better angle. Your lips moved together in synch and his free hand slipped under your night shirt, cupping your breast over your bra. Your grip on his arm tightened as he squeezed gently.

His lips trailed down your neck, pressing soft warm kisses on their way. You close your eyes, engrossed in the feeling. But your eyes snapped open when Jeongin's raspy voice called out your name.

Hyunjin stopped and sat still. You turn to look at Jeongin who had his eyes still closed.

'Can you please get me some water?' he mumbled sleepily and you sigh in relief.

Hyunjin is up on his feet, taking your hand and walking towards the kitchen. Pulling you into his arms again, he kissed you, this time more demanding than before. You pull back to breathe and he watched like a predator looking at his prey. He stepped closer and kissed you again. His hands wandered, over your chest and sides, before cupping your butt through your shorts. He pulled you as close as he could.

You were shocked and you gasped as you felt him against you. You gently put a hand to his chest, to stop him. Shaking your head, you try to step away. Hyunjin looks at you, but not that lovesick look he gave you a few minutes ago. You heart thudded on heavily as you remembered the last time you had seen this look of utter heartbreak on his face.

This wasn't your first time with Hyunjin. The last time it happened,you were at one of Kim Mingyu's famous parties, back in highschool. You were all drunk (for the first time in your case) and Hyunjin was all touchy (what's new?). He had dragged you to one of the bathrooms where you got into a very heated make out session.

You were terrified and it was your very first time letting a boy touch you like that. You had pushed him away, even though you have loved it. He had looked just as heartbroken back then. Being rejected by the love of his life hurt like hell.

You never spoke of it, and somehow all the frustration of never being able to go back to that moment and being too awkward to try it again led to your constant battles. You're both quiet, each reliving the memory.

'Do you not enjoy it?' Hyunjin asked, trying to remain calm.

You are surprised by this question.

'What sort of a question is that?!' You ask, giving him a glare.

'Why do you always push me away? Are you really not interested?' He asks, and you just stare at him in silence. 'Is sex a problem?'

'Hyunjin, are you really that stupid?' you ask, trying to understand what he's saying.

'Is that why you haven't been with anyone all these years?' He asks, folding his arms against his chest.

'How does that concern you?' You retort, embarrassment hitting you hard.

Hyunjin laughs and says, 'Thanks to my sister you have me.'

'I can get any guy I want on my own Hwang Hyunjin! I don't need you or your sister for that!  It's my choice if I see people or not!' you said furiously. 'I don't like to fuck around for fun like you do!'

Hyunjin scoffed.

'Why do you ruin everything, Hyunjin?' You ask. 'That was a good moment we had.'

'Was it?' Hyunjin asked, shaking his head. 'You were dying to push me away.'

'You know what, fuck you!' You said, making your way out.

'I dare you to find someone who's actually interested in you!' Hyunjin said suddenly.

You turn to look at him, the hurt clear on your face.

'YOU are breaking up with me?' You ask, raising your eyebrows.

'I never said that.' Hyunjin said, a pang of guilt (and fear) hitting him.

'Well, good. Because I am breaking up with you.' You said, a single tear escaping your eye before you left the room.

Hyunjin stood watching you leave. He knew he had said too much. He had provoked you, though he promised that he wouldn't. But he was really hoping to take things forward. Your rejection had just hit him in the wrong way.

You tossed the bottle to Jeongin on your way out of the apartment. Tears ran freely down your cheeks and you couldn't hold back your sobs anymore.

It was too good to be true, you thought.

[cinnamonest]

Lena thank you for the spanking bit, has to be one of fav kinks ever because it just... fits every single yan regardless of who they are??? Kinda like a "universal" thing, just top notch. Do you think we could ever get headcanons for it?

Thank you for this anon, you're absolutely correct it is a top-tier kink

Also I've been wanting to write more about god-era Morax so thank you for the opportunity to do so, I rambled way more about him than the others here sorry lol

As for those who fit the kink best imo I’m going with Childe, Diluc, Ayato and Morax

//major spanking kink material (obviously) but gets kinda bad in severity/intensity, also mentions of hair-pulling, biting, throat fucking, anal, two cocks for Morax again (as always 👌)

--------

Childe is probably the best one here to end up at the mercy of here for once, for the sake of your poor ass at least.

Not that it isn't still awful and painful — he’s a sadist at heart and just adores making you squeal and cry. What at least makes it comparatively at least bearable is that he tends to use his hand — although that does make it more personable, more humiliating.

He tells you, though, exactly what he intends to do. You're being such a little brat today… come over here…

He doesn't even seem angry, but rather excited. He's all smiley and cooing in a way that feels so utterly humiliating and degrading.

Oh, but please do run. Please, please make it so much more fun for him, run away and try to hide. There's virtually nothing in the world that turns him on as much as either a game of chasing you or hunting you down wherever you're hiding. The fact that you're that scared of getting your ass beaten is kind of cute, actually. Are you that sensitive to pain, or is it more protecting your pride that gives you so much resistance? Not that he's complaining or anything.

He'll even give you a very wide opportunity to run, make sure you have plenty of avenues to do so. His heart rate begins to go up seeing the look of realization in your eyes when you spot an opening to run off, and he'll give you a minute or two of a head start. It doesn't take him long to find you nonetheless, hauling you up over his shoulders and carrying you back to your room with obvious excitement, like a predator dragging squealing, still-living prey back to its den for its inevitable fate.

That being said, doing that will make it worse for you — at that point you probably do deserve a belt at least, you know? Regardless of the instrument of choice though, he keeps you bent over his knee — he can feel your squirming more that way, and he can grind his hard-on into your stomach as you thrash around and squeal. Each strike still lands on bare skin, but rather than having your lower half naked, he likes to sometimes move the hold on your back and grasp at the waistband of your panties instead, jerking them up to wedge between your cheeks, effectively holding you in place and baring your skin at the same time.

He's so mean about it, taunts you that same voice you hate so much—

Aw, are you actually crying? Maybe I'll stop if you beg for something else…

There's no set number or standard of how much you'll be punished for any particular offense, which can be more torturous than anything. At least if you were given a number, you'd know how much more you had to endure. Instead, you just lurch and squeal each time his hand or the leather comes down... you kick your legs and thrash about, to no avail. In fact, you're pretty sure it just makes him hornier, you feel his cock twitch and his breathing grow more ragged the louder you cry out, and his hand on your back forces you down harder.

He’s actually totally shameless about getting off to it, too, so you can’t use that against him.

God, you're so cute when you cry like that... squeal louder for me...

The only real upside is that it's usually abruptly cut off at some point once he's too aroused by it to continue, and needs to just bury himself into your holes. You get slid off his lap onto the couch or bed, barely getting any time to recover — still sniffling and whimpering— before being contorted to whatever position he wants and rammed into without warning… thus for once, him being perpetually horny and having virtually no self-control actually becomes a positive. It still doesn't help, though, that the sex makes his hips smack against your sore ass with each thrust, but crying out about that only makes him go harder.

You know it could be much much worse — he makes sure to remind you that he could easily keep going until you completely break down, but he's so nice and you should be grateful for that — but you're still sore, and it leaves a pinkish-reddish tint under your natural flesh tone — something he likes to point out to you later, groping at your ass and laughing when you jolt at the sting. Your nose wrinkled with your expression of disgust as you jerk your head away from him, and you mutter under your breath.

Bastard...

And then, you squeal and lurch forward as one more harsh smack lands on your backside. You try to ignore the chuckling that follows as your eyes well up with embarrassed tears, and you bury your face beneath the covers of the bed.

-------

Diluc’s punishments are awful in terms of pain, but thankfully they're over fairly quickly because it's largely an act of momentary fury and irritation, and once he gets that anger out of his system, the punishment will be over, too.

He's still very intimidating about it, and it doesn't help that it's always a sort of spontaneous thing he decides on in the heat of the moment — thus you see the exact moment you know you've crossed a line, but also know (or at least, quickly learn) that there's nothing you can say or do at that point that will get you out of being punished. His eyes narrow and his voice lowers and he tells you to get over here in a voice that makes you feel like your heart just stopped, and your stomach feels as if it twists into a knot when you see the confirmation of your dread when he takes his belt off.

Running is not advisable — it's not like you'll succeed, and you'll just make him more mad. He's rough with how he handles you, dragging you by your clothes and hair over to bed, counter, or the back of a couch, forcing your head down.

How bad any one particular spanking is varies a lot depending on how mad you've succeeded in making him. He's not merciful at all, so he hits with force based on the level of his frustration. Thus, your attitude is important — you can technically commit a lesser offense, but if you keep backtalking and being bratty and fighting it, you'll likely get a worse punishment than you would for a worse offense for which you were apologetic and submitted to punishment easily.

What does change with the severity of your offense is that if what you didn't isn't so bad, you can keep your clothes on, but for particularly egregious transgressions, even in spite of the heat of the moment, unfortunately, he doesn't forget to pull your clothes up or down and off to make sure you're bared first.

He virtually always uses a belt, much to your dismay, and prefers to bend you over various surfaces since he can strike harder that way. It’s painful, you always end up in tears quickly, begging and pleading and spilling apologies for whatever you did, but he never has any mercy on you.

Much like you can’t get out of it to begin with, there’s also nothing you can do that will make it end any sooner than he feels like it. Over and over, grumbling with each strike about how you’re such a brat, how you can’t just behave, how it’s your own fault, until your flesh is reddened and burning badly enough that even when it’s over, all you can do is slump forward and cry.

If he went really hard on you, he might feel a little bad afterwards, getting you a wet cloth to soothe the burn… but he’ll still remind you that you wouldn’t be lying there all shivering and sobbing if you just learned to behave yourself properly.

For him, it’s more of an actual punishment first and foremost and not really an intentionally erotic thing, at first he’s too mad to think much about the eroticism of it… but seeing you lying there sniffling with your butt so heavily marked and welting, admittedly he does quickly get hard… and he’ll get incredibly flustered and embarrassed if you accuse him of getting off to it.

But be careful — push him too much on that matter, and such antagonism might be grounds for a round two on your already-stinging ass.

-------

Ayato’s punishments are particularly unpleasant, but the thing is that if you're in that situation, you deliberately chose it. Because he's gracious enough that you get a lot of warnings before reaching that point.

If you're being bratty, temperamental, rude, or whatever other behavior he doesn't like, you get a certain look first. The standard half-lidded eyes, unpleased expression, the universal ‘stop that right now’ glare. Maybe a passive aggressive comment if he can slide one into conversation.

If that fails — in other words, if you keep being a brat regardless, deliberately ignoring his warnings — you then get a verbal warning. He'll address you directly if it's just the two of you, but gods forbid you’re digging your own grave by misbehaving in front of others, he waits for a moment where everyone else's attention is on something else before pulling you close in a faux gesture of affection (with a grip harsh enough to ensure you get the message but not enough to alert anyone else in the room to his quiet fury), lowering his voice, whispering directly into your ear.

We’re going to have a talk about your behavior when this is over. Do you understand?

You know by now what a "talk" actually means, and hearing the words makes you stiffen and swallow. Granted, by the time it reaches the point that you've been that bad, you won't escape without at least a few swats, but if you persist, you'll just make it much worse. All you can do is nod your head and wait in dreadful anticipation.

As soon as the company you had leaves, you try to slowly back away, looking for an opening to run, but he has you grabbed by your clothes or hair and is dragging you off before you can even try. The total silence on his end as he drags you over to your room only serves to amplify your dread, and thereby your little whimpering protests.

The primary thing that will make it that much worse is what he uses to punish you, because from the day he brought you home, he anticipated a need for discipline at some point, and thus had a whipping cane custom-made just for you. One of those thin wooden canes designed for no other purpose than infliction of pain and punishment, which he leaves sitting out in your bedroom at all times, making sure it's always within sight as a subtle threat, a reminder of his power over you and that your behaviors have consequences.

He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t get heated, yet somehow that makes it so much worse. He’s perfectly calm as he holds you down on his lap, a hand wrapped into and grasping your clothes on your back to ensure you’re not going anywhere with each sharp pain on your bare skin. He’s very disciplinarian about it, ensuring to emphasize the reason and intention of the punishment itself—

Remember that you had every option of avoiding this. This is only the consequence you deserve. Do you realize that?

You nod and whimper and try to apologize, but it doesn’t make each swat any lighter. He’s rather harsh about the severity too, the degree of pain, duration, number of swats and outright humiliation often feel disproportionate to what is in your opinion a mild offense, although you know better than to voice that thought.

You beg, sure, you cry and whimper and say you'll take any other punishment, but it goes in one ear and out the other, your words have no effect, and while his voice has that characteristic gentleness to it, he's still cold and firm in his reply, if he even gives you one.

You're not getting out of this. Hold still.

He does take care of you afterwards, so lovingly and gently it makes you angry. He reminds you again that it wouldn't have to happen if you behaved, that you have no one but yourself to blame, all while kissing your crying face, holding you close and gently massaging the newly formed welts.

He also likes to make you gauge how many lashes you deserve beforehand, often making the total number a certain multiple of how many times you mouthed off or did something against your rules. And of course, whenever there's a fixed number, he makes you count.

Listening to your voice grow more and more shaky and begin to crack, your speech becoming slurred with sobs and oh, how precious is the sudden panic in your voice when you realize you've lost count. The way you tense and start begging and whimpering when he replies—

I suppose we'll have to start over...

-------

Morax’s punishments are always by far the worst.

That's largely because there's a maddening element of psychological torment involved. It's slow, drawn out, the dread and anticipation are almost worse than the punishment itself. He actually employs a variety of corporeal punishments, each of which make your stomach churn just to think about, but unfortunately, putting you over his knee and beating your ass until there's a deep red hue to your skin is a personal favorite of his.

What makes his style of discipline so unbearable is that you’ll be punished for literally anything. There is no possible offense, no rule to be broken, that won’t earn corporeal punishment of some kind, most usually on your poor ass. You get a very clear set of rules, rules you’re expected to know and obey from day one. Countless little rules, so many of them meticulous and pointless. Things you must do, things you must not do, and rigid standards for your attitudes and behaviors.

Each and every violation is its own offense — not to mention, things like lying when asked about what you did, objecting to punishments, even talking back or trying to defend yourself when accused count as individual offenses too. Sometimes you don’t even realize you’ve broken a rule until he tells you you’re going to be punished for it, and any protest or whining counts as another offense.

Really, you’re lucky if you can go a few days in a row fully able to sit without any stinging pain, and it’s not uncommon for you to earn back-to-back punishments one day after another. You know for a fact that your record of days in a row without ending up laying in bed, whimpering and crying and clutching your backside in pain is a single digit number.

Sometimes, if it’s severe enough, you’ll get put over his knee right then and there, but he’ll also tally up the small offenses and, at the end of the day, punish you cumulatively for every small offense you’ve made, because he can’t allow even the slightest offense to go unpunished.

It’s not limited to things you do in his presence either, because he has ways of finding out everything you do.

Every day that you can't accompany him, he has an established routine for when he returns. Firstly, of course, you're supposed to greet him when he comes in (any attempts to be petulant by giving him silent treatment or hiding away will result in further punishments), but then, as he sits you down, holds you close, he asks you the same question.

Have you done anything you should not have today?

It's a torturous question.

On one hand, you could have very well been very well-behaved, in which case you can answer honestly with at least some confidence (although even then, part of you hesitates thinking maybe you committed some offense unintentionally).

But when you haven't been well-behaved and you know it — that's what's torturous.

It's a gamble. He asks every single day, so him asking itself is not a dead giveaway that he knows what you did. If he doesn't know — well, you might be able to lie and get away with it. Inversely, how unfortunate would it be if you told him, and it turned out he didn't know, and then you had to suffer when you could have gotten away with it?

On the flip side, if he does know — well, you'll soon be squealing like a stuck pig regardless, but things are much, much worse if you try to lie. You would know — you've taken that gamble a few times now and lost.

He seems to have ways of finding out everything — you only lied when you were absolutely confident, thinking there was no way anyone saw the thing you did, only for your stomach to lurch when you feel the soft stroking against your thigh stop, and are met with a low voice—

…Is that so?

And the tone, the way he says it, you immediately know you've messed up.

Of course, you could hypothetically keep denying it, but entrenching yourself further in a lie is, by that point, the worst decision you could make — you would know, you tried that once and you couldn't sit down normally for over a week. The best thing to do now is to confess… you won’t get any mercy or a lighter punishment, but you’ll avoid the additional punishment you’d get for doing anything else.

But even then, he can’t even give you the decency of forcing your body to bend and getting it over with. It has to be drawn out, torturing you to the greatest degree possible — sometimes, he does this by delaying it, telling you he has something else to do first, leaving you to sit around and wait in anticipation for an hour or more. If an offense is bad enough, one session might not even be enough, and you're told that you'll get another one tomorrow, adding to your dread.

But most of the time, the torment comes from forcing your own participation. He keeps you firmly in his lap, reaching down to grope at the flesh where your butt meets your thighs.

What do you think you deserve to have happen to you?

Another test, a question for which you’ll only receive something worse in addition to whatever will happen already if answered incorrectly. There’s only one right answer—

…Y-you should... punish me...

On the bright side, he’s genuinely pleased once you start learning well enough to know what the right answer is.

You’re stood up, guided over to the drawers, hands firmly on your shoulders to ensure you don’t get any ideas about running. You hate that one drawer, it makes your stomach churn just to look at. He has a damn collection for you— leather straps, whipping canes, paddles with holes in them just to hurt that much more. He tells you to pick one.

That, too, is a test— you know which ones hurt more. You're supposed to gauge what you deserve based on the severity of your offense, and he'll be that much more displeased if you go too lightly on yourself, and will consequently be more forceful, which you do not want. Eventually, you manage to make your choice, biting your lip, pointing with a shaky hand, tensing as his hand runs motions that would be soothing in any other context up and down your thigh, pausing to grasp at the fleshy part of your backside.

Then you're led back— sometimes to face the wall or bend over a counter, but most often he prefers to keep you over his lap. Not that you'll be forced down either— not unless you make that necessary, which of course, you do not want. Unless you want it to be that much worse, you follow the commands— pull your robes up, the waistband of any underwear down, bare your skin (always, no matter how mild the offense), lay down on your stomach, put your hands behind your back so he can grasp your wrists.

And even then, even then you have to be tormented further.

Now, what did you do to deserve this?

You recall to the best of your ability, hoping you didn't forget anything, lest you be accused of trying to be deceitful in hopes of escaping consequences, which will add another tally to the list.

It’s painful. It always is. You've reached a point where your resolve to not cry and squeal is defeated pretty early. You used to try your best not to for the sake of your pride, but you know by now that it will go on long enough that your tears and crying out are inevitable.

He manages to somehow be so stoic and calm and yet somehow so, so cruel about it.

Does it hurt?

Your shoulders quiver with little sobs, you go tense as he gropes and kneads at the raw flesh.

Y-yes, it hurts, it hurts so bad, please no more, please—

You cut off with a high-pitched cry as the stinging pain strikes again. And again. And again. It's always so much, so unfair compared to the weight of whatever you did. That slight pinkish undertone isn't quite satisfying enough either, he never stops until there's a deep, deep red tone to your flesh.

If you've been especially bad, you may have to count… but he actually tends to prefer not giving you a set number. You're more fearful that way, uncertain of how much more you have to endure.

You're certain he gets off on the pain for one thing, the sound of your cries and the way you jolt and squirm, but the humiliation is worse than the pain itself, for you. He knows that, revels in it. He's told you before—

You're such a prideful little thing… that will certainly need to be fixed.

Repetitive subjection to something so inherently humiliating and vulnerable, and being made to break down, any semblance of toughness and dignity being torn away at his hands, is a way of slowly breaking down your pride. You know that, it makes you so angry, but you can't help but let that vulnerability be exposed every time, to act in such a way that ensures he knows how badly it humiliates you.

Your go limp with exhaustion when it finally stops.

What have you learned?

You can barely speak, voice hoarse from the strain of your cries and speech muffled by sniffles and sobs.

I'm sorry… I won't do it again…

And then, he has the audacity to be so, so sweet to you. Looking down at your tear-streaked face, smiling— no, smirking, a belittling, amused expression— leaning down to kiss your forehead.

Poor thing.

Kneading at the sore flesh in spite of how the touch makes you wince. As if it isn't his fault, as if he had any mercy on you the whole time you were begging for it to stop.

It only makes you angrier. More than once now, you've earned a second round for how you reacted to his undeserved kindness. So ungrateful.

It's never a solitary punishment either, always coupled with something else, always something equally humiliating and discomforting, if not painful. You know he gets off to it, because the second punishment is almost always a direct sex act of some kind.

You'll take his cocks down your throat, grabbing your skull and fucking your face without any restraint, forcing you to swallow every last drop of seed, even forcing your head down to lick up whatever you spill off the floor. Your saliva just provides the lube to force you to bed and fuck you until you can't even stand, and all the while his hips bounce off your poor ass, each movement stinging against the sensitive flesh. He'll bite your flesh, unnaturally sharp teeth even piercing you skin, leaving you covered in marks. If he's feeling really, really mean, you don't even get the semblance of pleasure of it ramming into your poor sore, raw pussy— you'll take both cocks into your tight little ass instead, a stretch that makes you squeal and thrash and cry. Your legs kick and you lurch forward, desperate to pull yourself off, but you're jerked back with a growl as he slams into you, completely bottoming out. Eventually, you give in as the stretching pain ebbs away and trying to take whatever pleasure you can from the faint stimulation to spots of pleasure through the walls of flesh. But the act is utterly humiliating nonetheless, your hole left twitching and gaping for hours as cum leaks out and onto your skin. You can't even sit for days, both your poor asshole and backside sore and tender.

Your embarrassment and resentment builds. You loathe him for it, feel so humiliated and angry at yourself and how deeply you dread the punishments that it makes you nauseous.

And thus, in one particular incident, fed up and filled with spite, you made the greatest mistake of your entire time trapped with him— you decided to run, seeing that for once you had an opening to do so.

A stupid choice, really. You don't get far. Not even a full ten steps.

You know immediately that you have severely, sincerely fucked up. The sheer harshness with which you're grabbed, the back of your clothes grasped and twisted with unprecedented force, the draconic growl to his voice that makes your blood run cold.

Oh, dearest, you have no idea how badly you've just stepped out of line.

His other hand latches onto your throat.

You're going to be sleeping on your stomach for quite some time, won't you?

The statement alone makes tears well in your eyes, any bitter pride quickly crushed. You shake your head profusely, start begging for forgiveness, but you know in your heart that it's far too late for that… it still doesn't stop you from whimpering and apologizing as you're dragged back down the hall, no doubt to one of the worst punishments you've endured yet.

[dufferpuffer]

It's really unfortunate that people look at Lycanthropy in Harry Potter and go "It's super yucky the author said she based it on HIV"... ...and then that's the extent they consider it as disability representation: A failure. An insult. The HIV shoe doesn't fit, so it's bad and should be ignored.

A comment from the Author outside of the books has so thoroughly coloured what is seen inside of the books in the dumbest way. When has a fantasy illness EVER worn the shoe of a real disability and had it fit...? Just because authors can be dumb idiot fucks doesn't mean the depth of experience they write doesn't have any merit, consciously or subconsciously - for better or for worse.

It's our job to be smart enough to pick the bones from the blorbo's we are fed - and to be delusional enough to treat them as if they are analogous to real experience, to chew out as much as we can from his narrative. That's the point of fiction. B^)

+ Remus has an invisible disability. (That alone is rare to see) + For multiple days a month he gets visibly unwell - Pale, peaky, weary... he feels off-colour. It heralds his worst symptoms. + Every month he experiences excruciating pain, the humiliation of losing control of his body, the terror of losing grip on his thoughts. Sometimes he self harms in this state. + For multiple days after - he is fatigued. All day laying down. Can't even sit at the table for Christmas lunch or do things he enjoys. + He struggles to keep weight on because of it. Any weight be puts on through the month is lost, leaving him thin and ragged again. ~~~ + The only treatment for his symptoms doesn't help much - and is deeply unpleasant (and a bit degrading) to take. + It's also expensive and difficult to get - he has to see very particular practitioners and jump through hoops to even have a chance for it, in a society that is hostile to his disability. + Even when treated - his condition prevents him from working to a schedule. He needs special facilities and support just to manage. + His poor health may lead him to run late on his work tasks, even when treated and supported adequately. + His disability makes him unemployable. He will not be hired BECAUSE of stigma against his specific condition. + His illness is contagious, which complicates how he lives his life and how he see's himself - as well as how others treat him. + There is rampant misinformation on his condition, probably equal or more than accurate education. Everyone has wrong assumptions and will cling to them tooth and nail.

Like this is is GOOD!!! These symptoms and situations aren't representative of any one disability but I bet most disabled people have at least SOMETHING they will strongly resonate with.

That's not even getting into the fact his mental health is bad BECAUSE of having to live with a disability without support - in rich ways that are allowed to be messy and complicated, that aren't trying to pander to able-bodied people so they don't feel uncomfortable... that don't smooth over the horrors of being unwell and knowing you will never get better and nobody will understand you.

Disability in media most of the time is just "This person lost an arm and the memories make him sad :^( don't worry though his robot arm is better than a normal one :^)" and "I use a wheelchair, and sometimes it can be hard - but all my friends don't mind :^) It rarely ever gets in the way, and when it does, everyone comes together to help me! btw I play a sport" And that's it. Oh sorry I forgot "Blind person but they have super senses"

Those tropes can be done well. But to get anything outside of them is so, SO fucking rare... so it is weird that when Remus has existed for over two decades as a disabled character with depth and nuance... He isn't discussed as he is a poor representation of a single diagnosis.

[animentality]

guys.

guys. it finally happened.

blue lock finally brought me back out of the coma it was putting me in during most of the NEL arc.

hallelujah.

this new chapter is actually doing something fucking interesting for a change.

let's talk about it:

noa's betrayal was probably the only genuinely surprising development in the entire arc. I was worried it would get immediately ruined by Isagi surpassing noa in this match.

because Isagi glazers are the most annoying people on earth and they were starting to make me think Kaneshiro is a fucking idiot who'd actually let a 17 year old amateur beat a 30 something year old PROFESSIONAL.

thank god Kaneshiro isn't as stupid as Isagi fans want him to be.

now we're actually getting a proper build up for when Isagi faces off with him later.

Isagi grabbing noa by the fucking arm and challenging him in front of the entire world?

that was actually cool. I say this as the world's third biggest Isagi hater...

I can't deny. I am into that.

actually. you know what, Isagi.

that takes guts, and I actually like how fucking insane you looked when you did it.

beat that white man.

plus it actually gives their eventual face off in the future much higher stakes.

and it's like oh ... I forgot blue lock could be exciting. how intriguing.

but it's not just that either.

Isagi actually admitted he can't beat Rin alone. he can't beat geniuses head to head, just by being smart.

he needs to use other people around him... even if that means asking them for help, and not just manipulating them.

this is an amazing development.

because again. Isagi stans are out here insisting he can be the number one striker just because he wants to be. just because he's "ruthless."

well nope.

he cannot and will not ever be able to do the kinds of things other players do. he can't 1v1 Rin. he can't beat noa on his own.

but that doesn't mean he can't still win.

and man. man, I fucking dig it. Isagi, admitting he has weaknesses?

Isagi, admitting he has to sink further, he has to truly abandon everything, and break himself again?

I remember when that had meaning. Before NEL.

now... at the end, Kaneshiro remembers Isagi is an underdog and he needs to face hard truths and struggle every step of the way because he's not naturally gifted like the rest of these whores.

like shit. maybe I can root for you again. maybe.

and the best part too.

Isagi has to ask Kaiser for help.

he has to swallow his pride. he has to throw away his morality and his soul.

he will team up with his worst enemy to win...

that's fucking... good.

that's actually decent. one good fucking thing this arc, amazing.

I needed to see Isagi humbled, and he was.

I needed him not to be a fucking Gary stu who can do things on his own and can surpass everyone just through the power of yapping.

him having to team up with Kaiser...after Kaiser just broke himself down too...after Kaiser gave up on his hatred for Isagi because it was holding him back...

Oh my God.

blue lock remembered what parallels are? and setup? and actual emotional stakes?

blue lock remembering that Isagi was best when he was actually struggling and not effortlessly beating everyone else through the power of plot?

and the fact that he hates Kaiser... and Kaiser hates him... but they both want to win and defeat these geniuses so badly... they'll do the unthinkable and work together?

going back to its roots, of insisting that sometimes change is humiliating and painful, but you can never evolve, without abandoning all of it?

blue lock...are you

...are you finally back?

have you returned, prodigal son?

am I... am I coming back too...?

...

I don't know but God.

god please.

end this fucking arc.

I know you two can fucking do it.

and I need you to. and maybe it'll even be...good.

ugh.

I'm gonna be sick but...blue lock might be...it might actually be turning itself around...I'm not sure if my heart can handle this.

[misguidedasgardian]

Wildcats (Part XXVII)

XXVII. ... I'm better off in danger

MASTERLIST

Summary: You are trying to keep it together.  

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, THIS IS HEAVY, THIS CHAPTER WILL INCLUDE, torture, cursing, threats, beating, dark themes, will feature the Sanctuary, so, everything dark that comes with it, branding with hot iron, vaginal bleeding, period blood, humilliation, undesired groping, might miss some important warnings, but you know what this is about

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: Uuufff last chapter, like I said, I had it written for a while, but when I was about to post it… it felt strange, like I was drunk or sm.

“Daryl…”, you whispered, barely audible, “...Carl, Judith, Rick, Michonne, Maggie, Glenn, Rosita, Abraham, Eugene, Tara, Carol, Sasha… Gabriel… Beth, Tyresse, Alex”, you hugged herself tighter, rocking backwards and forwards, mumbling, praying, “Aaron, Olivia, Deanna, Tobin, Spencer…”

You needed to remind herself of them, of your new family, of the people that had protected you 

You couldn’t give in

You couldn’t lead this people to Alexandria

If you had to die, you would, you only wished they weren’t torturing you for information

That is why the names were so important

Each one, a reason to keep quiet

You recited those names, to stay strong, to keep remembering.

Oh Daryl, you might never see him again. 

“Damn! Arat”, said Simon, watching you from the little window posted on the steel door, “I think you just overdid it”, the woman only smirked, “what is she saying?”, he asked, looking at her, very interested

“She is mumbling names”, she answered, “like twenty of them”

“It’s time we play some “good cop”, you know what I mean? take her to the doc to get checked”, she did not like it, but she complied.

Her and Fat Joey grabbed you, you didn't fight it, and led you to the doctor. 

That creepy guy was there, and they sat you on a medical bed while this guy checked you out

“Two week old bullet wound”, he said, “caliber .22, it went right through, lucky you, stitched by a pro”, he mumbled, “old bruises nearly vanished, produced by a… round, fast acting weapon”, he narrated, “and this new ones”, he said, recriminating the guy, “Simon…”, he named him, oh so now you knew, “No internal bleeding”, he said finally, “and this…”, he said, raising your arm, it was on fire, tender, raw and your skin was heated, “it’s almost to the point of infection”, he then looked down on you, and then to your face, you were just frowning at him, he was a doctor, you were not going to deny his help

“I need to speak with her, privately”, he said finally

“No way”, the guy Simon said. The doctor just sighed, the doctor looked at you, standing right in front of you, covering Simons sight’s on you

“You are bleeding”, he whispered, you looked down at yourself and didn’t see any wound until… you spread your legs a bit and you whimpered, you had felt so much pain all over that you hadn't even noticed, “you know what this might be?”, you just looked back at him, “I need to rule out that might be internal”

“Louder doc”, said Simon, who hadn't heard anything, because he was whispering. A single tear fell down your cheek, you felt so humiliated, ashamed, you wanted to be home, in Daryl’s embrace.

“She is bleeding”, he said

“It’s not internal”, you said, “I expected it”, a fucking year without it, and now it comes?. He nodded. 

They actually let you take a shower in a bathroom, and you got to see your body littered with bruises everywhere, and that awful mark on your forearm, angry red. Tears of pain exited your eyes when the water hit it. And when you got out, they actually gave you “period products”, and cotton pants. When they lead you back to your cell, there was a thin mattress on the floor

“How caring of you”, you mocked

“This can all be over”, she said, “just tell us what we want to know”, you only shook your head. So she pushed you inside and closed the door.

The doc had sneaked you some of the “good stuff”, so you just let it kick in and slept in a fetal position. 

The next morning, the dog food sandwich arrived again, with a bottle of water and paracetamol, once they “fed you”, Arat appeared again, with that shit-eating grin on her face

“I see you’re liking your food, like the bitch you are”

“I swear I lose like a million neurons every time i speak to you”, you answered her

“Look I don’t have all day”, she said, bored, “and it will get worse”, she threatened, “just tell me where your people are”

“I’ll only speak to Negan, from now on”, you said, looking back at her, she frowned, “I’m so stuck up, I just talk to high ranking members of an organization”, you explained simply. She controlled herself, you could see it, and she left the room. 

The steel door closed, but it didn’t do the usual last “gling”

She was coming back to close it, you were sure, but one minute, and a couple more and she didn’t. You sighed loudly, you were not feeling very well, you were weak, your arm was burning, and on top of that you felt drowsy, but, still, you got on your two feet and walked towards the door slowly. 

The perfect opportunity, it seemed

You opened the door just enough to peek down the hall.

It was empty

You dared to walk out of your cell, this might be some sort of test, they couldn’t possibly be this idiotic. It was empty, the perfect opportunity, the perfect scene. 

You were being held in the basement, or rather, the level floor of this factory, you could see the sunlight peeking through the huge garage door that was also open. You could hear the growls of the walkers displayed outside.

Not a living soul in sight

How much of an idiot they thought you were?

. . .

“She isn’t coming”, he mumbled, looking through his binoculars. The gates remained open, but you were not going through them, you were not exiting the building as he planned. “It can’t be, are you sure you left it open?”, he asked Arat by his side

“Yes Ser”, she said surely

“Damn, maybe we went a little far with her if she can’t even exit the damn place”, he said, well, letting you think you scaped for you to run back to your place was a… particular tactic, to say the least, and you had not fallen for it, it seemed. 

“She is smarter than this”, muttered Baer, “I don’t want to admit it, but she is smarter and tougher than she looks”, he said, “she is with people, I know she is”

“That was obvious”, said Simon

“Has Negan appeared yet?”, but Simon just looked at him with a disapproving look on his eyes, that information was above Baer’s paygrade 

They waited for an hour, hiding in the trees like idiots when he finally decided to return to the inside of the Sanctuary.

Your cell was empty.

He looked everywhere, but things looked as usual inside, everybody up to their own business.

He went floor for floor, recruiting people as he went, but there was no sign of you, wasn’t until he got to the very last floor. 

He could hear Stevie Wonder’s Superstition on high volume all over. He walked slowly, like he was in enemy territory

The sound was coming from Negan’s fuckin’ room!

He passed by the lounge where the wives were, and they all looked back at him terrified, like some wild wolf just barged in a room crowded with the highest pedigree show dogs. 

And of many things he expected to find… destruction… pillaging, hostages taking, bullets flying, threats made, he never expected to see you, sitting on Negan’s favorite chair, a glass of scotch in hand, probably the last pringles can open on top of his cristal table. You had stolen a white v neck shirt, and you had your feet on the table.

“I love this song”, you said calmly, sipping on the scotch, and looking through a playboy, of all things. 

You looked up at him and Simon was so red you believed smoke was going to come out of his ears like he was a cartoon character. To say he was enraged was to sell it short. 

“Do you really think I’ll just take the bait… lead you back to my…”, you stopped yourself with a finger in the air, as you just remembered something, “alleged camp”, you finished. 

“You little bitch!”, he threw himself on you and you threw back the glass with the scotch out of instinct, it hit against his chest but it didn’t brake, he grabbed you and… gods he was very strong to be this limp

He threw you on the hallway like you were just trash or something, Fat Joey, ever faithful and with nothing else to do apparently, grabbed you along another dude and dragged you away

“Alright, you have a huge security problem, and you are blaming me?”, you said mockingly, “ridiculous”

“I’m starting to think!”, said Simon, running his mouth behind you, “that is not worth it!”, he kept going outloud, catching the attention of everyone in your path, “we’ll find it without you!”, he said, “you had rendered yourself useless, so, we better just get rid of you”, your stomach twisted with fear.

“Oh c’mon, just when it was getting interesting!”, you said mockingly, “you are really going to give up that easily?”

“Nope”, he said then, “we received clear instructions from above, so I will not be getting rid of you”, you tried to look back at him, if he was receiving instructions it meant they came from higher up, meaning Negan!, you were sweating now, because you had this sick curiosity, you wanted to meet him, see him. You stole one of his shirts, you raided his room and the guy still hasn't shown up. 

“Boss, Dwight is back, has something interesting for ya”, sounded through a walkie talkie 

“Perfect timing!”, he said, “our new dog is bringing gifts”

That couldn’t mean anything good, you thought, as they guided you back to the factory floor 

You tried not to react, but you failed tremendously when a blonde guy turned around and you saw this horrible scar all on the right side of his face, like he had been burned up with something. He was waiting for Simon, surrounded by angry looking men.

You could already tell he wasn’t the most beloved member of the group. 

But something caught your eye, that man was holding…

You saw red.

In a second you were being loosely grabbed by Fat Joey and another guy, and in the next?

You didn’t even know where you got that knife you had in your hand, you stole it from the guy that was holding you, you don’t even remember how it happened. Luckily for him he was quick, evading your violent assault, you barely scratched his side.

He stumbled, and you didn’t even know where you got the strength to kick him in his chest, making him fall on his back

“Where did you get that?!”, you didn’t even recognize your own voice, he tried to fight you off, but you were quick to straddle his chest, your foot pinned his arm to the floor, and your hand viciously grabbed his neck in a chokehold

The man was so surprised he barely reacted, he couldn’t believe what was happening, neither could you

“The crossbow”, you demanded, manically, “where did you get it!?”, he tried to snap your hands off of his neck, but you slapped them off of your arms with barely one hand, while you kept choking him. “WHERE DID YOU GET IT!?”, your last scream seemed to shake the entire room, as finally they snapped out of their impression, and they needed two of the big men to pry you off of him. 

“My oh my!”, Simon sang-sing, while the blonde guy tried to catch his breath, while a woman helped him up. It even looked like he expected it from you.

“I’m going to kill you!”, you threatened, no, it was no threat, it was a promise.

He was gone, Daryl was gone, they came across him, and they killed him, because there was no way in hell they took the crossbow while he was alive, there was no way in hell.

“Oh my, the drama! I love it!”, chanted Simon, “tell her Dwight, where did you get such a fine weapon?”, he asked.

“I took it from a man that we encountered in the woods”, he said shakily, looking at you with caution, “alongside a motorcycle”, you kept looking at him like you wanted to kill him, “he was alive when we left him”, he said, rubbing his neck

“You are lying!”, you accused, there was no way in hell that Daryl would have let this guy take his bike and his crossbow

“And he wouldn’t casually tell you where he was from, now would he?”, asked Simon right by his ear

“No”, he said, and then he looked you dead in the eye and smiled, “but he told me about his community, he was so welcoming, wanted to take me back with him!”

“SON OF A BITCH!”, you screamed, in your native language

“That’s enough from you young lady”, said Simon theatrically, “you have been lying to us all along! you clearly knew this guy, and this guy said you are from a very nice community”, he said, smiling creepily. He grabbed you by the arm and took you to a sort of balcony, overlooking the entire floor. 

“Kneel”, he demanded 

“I would only kneel for one man…”, you said, unimpressed, “he would never ask me to do it of course, but I would, for him, for some sexy times, you know?”, you asked mockingly, winking at him.

This order he received from “above” is the only thing that prevented him from bashing your head against the metal railing and not stopping like you did, a one time occurrence.

And into the box you went again

Nobody here in this graveyard appreciated your good ass comebacks and jokes.

This time, no paracetamol, no water, no dogfood sandwich

And the very next morning, they dragged you out of your box.

This time, they brought you to some sort of meeting room, of course, it was from a factory. It sucked, there was Simon, over the table, there was this huge map.

“Has anybody ever told you that you are the creepiest looking guy that’s ever walked this earth?”, you asked him right off the get go. 

“Where is your community?”, he asked, he did not seem pleased, he had a huge map in front of you, of the entire surrounding states. You looked at him and pointed randomly at the map. He kept looking at you with an unhinged look in his eyes

“Did you just pointed at the ocean?”, he asked with greeted teeth

“Yeah”, you answered simply, “that’s where I’m from, the mer-people, they’re coming for me”, you said and he sighed, rubbing his face, “they’re BIG in looting and pillaging, raising the ocean levels and all”. You were so tired, hungry and sleep deprived that you didn’t even see him coming. He grabbed you by your hair in the back of the head and smacked your head against the wooden table, until your nose was rubbing in the paper

“Where the fuck is your camp?”, he asked

“Screw you!”, you said angrily, “leave me alone!”, you screamed

“You know what this tells me?”, the town of Richmond was the only thing you could see as he rubbed your face in it, “your leader is strong, isn’t he? your camp must be magnificent”, he leaned in until you could feel all of his body on top of you, which made you so uncomfortable your eyes filled with tears, and his breath on the side of your face, just straight up made you nauseous, “a lot of resources, right?”, he asked

“No”, you whimpered

“Only something like that could make you hold on like this”, he said, “your loyalty is brutal!”, he said, making you whimper, “You must have so much to lose, don’t you?”

“No”, you said more firmly

“Don’t be selfish”, he whispered, “your people cannot possibly have more resources than us, let us save them”, he said, more enticingly, he pressed himself more into you, “we are the saviors, your camp is in danger for the living dead and we can save them”

“I’m alone”, you whined. He pressed your face even more into the map and you whined in pain, your arm still hurting.

“Squad five to leader, over”, sounded through his walkie talkie, he released you then, but you just laid there on top of the table, not daring to move. 

“Yeah, talk to me, over”, he muttered into the apparatus

“We were attacked in sector eight…”, you raised your head, “it's a whole group…”, no, no no no no no, “they say… you have one of their people, and they want to speak to you, over”, he chuckled darkly, grabbing you by the back of your head, smashing your head back into the wood. 

“Is that so?”, he asked, “any casualties? over”

“They took a couple of us Ser, I think they want a trade, over”

“How many did they take? over”, he asked

“We are five Ser, over”

“FIVE OF MY MEN!”, he said, not clicking, “you are not even worth half of one!”, he said angrily, he had lost his marbles, this was the tipping point

“I’m told you run the show around there”, you sighed in relief, it was the voice of Rick

“Yes I certainly do”, he said simply, “and you’ve took my men”

“And you took one of ours”, he said, as Simon didn’t answer, “let’s make a trade”, he said simply through the walkie

“Bold of you to assume we still got her”, he said. “Maybe we got rid of her”

“Fine, then we’ll get rid of yours”, a shot rang through the walkie making you jump in your spot, “next goes inside your man here”, Simon cursed and kicked, it was funny. 

“that’s not necessary”, he said, trying to fake the most laid back voice ever

“We want to speak to her”, he demanded, “I want proof of life!”

Simon stuck the the walkie to your face and clicked the button

“Hey Rick”, you mumbled into the thing, “I’m alive”, you said, you couldn’t say you were fine though. He called your name

“We are coming…!”

“There she is!”, Simon interrupted, “I gotta say, it's been a delight to have her here”, he said, “I have enjoyed her company so much”, you trembled in your spot

“Son of a bitch if you touch a single hair…”

“Maybe we already did”

The next thing that could be heard through the walkie was someone moaning in pain, you guessed they were beating the hell out of one of their hostages.

“Let me hear it from her”, Rick demanded. 

Simon out the walkie in your mouth again

“Rick, I’m fine”, you said, more assertive this time

“Tough one I’ll give him that”, he mumbled. “Five for one, uh? you must be really valuable for them”, he said to you

“We want her back, now”, demanded Rick, “the exchange, in an hour”

“I don’t think so pal”, said Simon, “I have to think it through first”

“Are you Negan?”, Rick asked

“We are all Negan”, he said back

“So, when?”, he asked urgently… 

“Tomorrow 9 am, the farm near I-66”

“No, I don't think so, why don’t we meet in the very same spot where she was taken, 9 am?”, that damn sector 8 was proving to be a pain in Simon’s ass.

“So you can go there first and blow our brains out?”, he asked, fair point

“We got five of your guys”, said Rick, “maybe you take your chances”, Simon seemed to really think about, really, really think about it

He changed the channel on the walkie

“Alfa chanel, clear, over”, 

“I’m here”, answered another voice in the walkie 

“They want a trade, they have our men”

“Then make the trade, idiot”, he said, a familiar voice, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it, he then changed channels again

“You got yourself a deal”, he said happily, this dude had issues

“Tomorrow, 9 am”, said Rick, and that was all.

You were somewhat relieved, but who were you kidding? When does a hostage exchange ever end well? never, not in movies and series you have seen at least

“This is the last night you are going to be joining us, what would you like to eat? uh? pedigree or friskies?”, he teased, you only groaned as he finally let you stand up from that table.

You guessed he had stuff to plan, so Baer himself came to collect you to lead you back to your suite

“See?”, he asked, “I know you better than you think”, he teased, “tomorrow we’ll see what your people are made of”

“You'll come to a hard reality”, you said

“Oh, because you are so badass?”, he mocked, “you don’t know half of the shit I have seen in this place, the things that happened since you left us”, you rolled your eyes

“You said that I left you, left the team”, you said matter of factly, “I am a villain in your story and that’s alright you know why?”, you asked as you had reached the door

“Why?”

“Because you are a clown in mine”, you said with the sweetest smile you’ve got, you gave him the finger and he pushed you angrily into the closet and closed the door, “alright, I’m sorry!”, you said through the door, as you didn’t hear steps walking away, “this might be the last night we’ve got to catch up”, you said

“Oh believe, it won’t be the last”, he said, you frowned, “Negan will make you all kneel, so I’ll be seeing you each week, when you bring me food and supplies”

“You are delusional”, you accused, “you know shit about us, what we have lived through, the things we have done”, you said, “we will break before we bend”, you said, “this isn’t the old world anymore”, you only hear him chuckle. There was silence, but neither of you moved, “What happened with Pope?”, you asked him through the door

“I told him that we had to leave that crap city”, he said, “DC was the way to go, you said it”, you bit your lip, “that I was leaving and of course he had to come with, but he refused, he wanted to wait for you”, he said, and that broke your heart, “he refused to leave because he thought you were coming back for him, so I left him most of the food and I left him there”

You let yourself slip by the wall to the floor.

“Not so chatty now, uh?”, he said, and then he left. 

Curiosity killed the cat, and sometimes, satisfaction didn’t bring it back.

PCN: Its like Im on crack with this story, hehehe.

This is where I start to deviate fromt he story, because i don't want anybody to die, and i really think they could have pulled it off better jejejeje

@crazyunsexycool @capricxnt

[gracemain919]

Short story of the Liar oc:

The fungus universe

Good Choice

Tw: Yandere, Manipulation, toxic

(not very well proof read so)

“Site 34 wants a trade”

A man with peculiar white hair hums to himself pressing his fingers together. Contemplating on his chair he watches the soul telling him the news as his mouth itches for a familiar outcome.

Dark streaks tainted his lips and chin while also trailing down his neck like an awful spill. In a way, it blended him into the already dark room making his figure feel ominous.

Raising his fingers to his chin he chuckled a bit more openly his dark puddle of eyes making it hard to tell why he was laughing. “Oh, the site that insulted us saying they would never ever associate themselves with such, and I quote ‘Demented people’. Are you sure you read that right?” he asked knowing damn well his ‘worker’ would never make such trivial mistakes.

“Yes, sir. Do we follow through or… will there be a change of plans?”

“Hmm…” Finn thought for a moment. “We don't need their money. Not after…” he stopped himself, despising the idea of giving any credit to the entertainers, “…some other forces gave us some pocket change”.

“Maybe we can-”

Their conversation was cut short as a guard dragged a very frightened y/n into the room.

“Just as promised master” the man hissed as the ‘obsession’ was dropped to the floor. They writhed as they rubbed their palms after being yanked across halls. This truly pathetic display didn't please the Liar as he quickly turned to the heaving guard with disappointment. “I told the Cannibal to do it. Not his own… ‘kind’. He barely has any brain cells left I could only imagine your case”. Rubbing his head in frustration gave Y/n enough time to stand up. Yet even in this less humiliating position there was really nowhere else to go…

“Guard go back to your leader and tell him that for one month he’s going to starve”

That phrase didn't mean anything to the obsession but the guard was astonished. If the Cannibal couldn't eat then none of them could. “Come on. Please, master be reasonable!” he begged before a strong surge of control went over his being. His body trembled like if he was shocked with a hundred bolts of electricity as Finn simply muttered.

“Go you paththic freak”.

The pain increased ten fold as the guard twitched while hands moved like a robotic dance before completely losing control of his upper half dropping it in relief. Taking deep breaths the guard let out a low moan before stnsding up right again. Did he leave the scene faster than you can say bolt? Yes.

Now two souls were in front of Finn. Very awkward silence. One too afraid to speak and one refusing to speak.

“Sorry about that” The Liar said standing from his chair naturally making Y/n take a step back. Their legs felt glued to the floor as a black substance clung to their feet like a lifeline. “Listen dear” he gently placed his hand on their shoulder already having closed the space between each other as he stood to their side. He didn't look at them just staring off not letting them see his face.

“Site 34 wants to…” he could tell them about the trade… but they would just be merciful. “… bring another attack upon us”.

Another attack? That couldn't be… Y/n thought.

“You know your power doesn't work on me. You can't just lie to my face”

“Im not” a coy smile was found on his lips making it very hard to find any truth or lies behind his words. “Dear”. Gently tilting their head he rested on their shoulder like a ‘lovers’ embrace. “Think about it… if we let them get in they will just bring more souls that will perish. Just a few examples of stupidity then they will stop. Don't you want to save lives?” he whispered like a sweet nothing into their ear.

Y/n looked down while the soul in the side of their vision stayed silent. Finn felt cold like cheap plastic that was trying to pretend to be anything but what the Fungus made him to be, but what if he wasn't lying?

“Fine… only a few.”

Released from his grip Y/n could finally move, their legs now free from the odd substance. Although that joy was overshadowed by The Liar’s praise. “Good decision dear. I promise only a few”.

(more information will be posted, this is just to give you guys a taste of the characters)

[kimpossibly]

Okay but can I get a Wednesday x reader on how her and Wednesday argue when it gets really bad💕 maybe reader walks out and they both make up after giving each other space

𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 -> w. addams

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi yes???? I love this so much?????? Healthy relationships?????? Thank you so much for your wonderful words???? But seriously I love this kind of angsty fluff stuff fr...this is how I survive in this cruel, cruel world HAHA. Also I'm pretty sure I've used the phrase "thaw her frozen heart" in a Wednesday fic before, but oh well! I'm a sucker for stuff like that. Hope you enjoy this one! I'm really proud of this :') (Also peep the little gif paragraph break thingie I made on Photoshop...I'm a little too proud of it...)

PAIRING: wednesday addams x gn!reader WARNINGS: arguing

ARGUING WITH WEDNESDAY ADDAMS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. She's as sadistic as they come, even when not mildly discontented (which in Wednesday Speak is as close as you can get to happy), and she never backs down from a fight. And, though a lot of Wednesday's sharp edges become a bit dull around you, that doesn't mean that she'll let you win an argument.

"You can't just endanger someone's life because they bother me, Wednesday!" you shouted. That particular argument was nasty — while you and Wednesday fit together seamlessly most of the time, she occasionally did things that you just couldn't agree with.

This time Wednesday's target had been Leah. Leah was one of the Scales, and one of the more insufferable ones at that. For the past week or so, Leah had for some reason chosen you as the target of her constant torture. She tripped you during class, used her siren song to make you humiliate yourself in front of the school, and on one occasion even managed to push you down the main staircase without anyone around her seeing. Wednesday had seen, of course. Wednesday always saw.

So she concocted a plan: she sent Leah a fake letter in her boyfriend's handwriting, telling her to meet him at a very specific location in the woods near Nevermore. As expected, Leah took the bait and made her way deep into the woods after dark. Instead of finding her boyfriend there, she was met with a pack of hungry wolves — and she quickly noticed that someone had sewn raw meat into the pockets of her clothing.

Leah returned to school half an hour later — out of breath, scratched around the ankles, and terrified. Wednesday watched her return with a smug grin — all it took was one look at her and you knew instantly this had been her doing.

Wednesday hadn't really expected you to be pleased (she had made peace with the fact that you two had very different moral codes), but she certainly hadn't expected you to react like this. "I only inflict pain upon people who deserve it," she said, her monotone voice never wavering in resolve, "and Leah deserved it."

"You don't get to decide that!" you said, rage curling your hands into fists.

"Would you rather be pushed around and ridiculed for the rest of the semester?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but your throat constricted and tears rushed to your waterline before you could get a word out. You paused, taking in a breath and willing your voice to steady. "I don't need you to fight my battles, Wednesday. If you can't respect that, then..." you trailed off, not quite sure where you were going next. Then maybe this isn't going to work out. You stopped yourself just short of putting the end in sight, not wanting to say something you didn't really believe and might regret later. Instead, you bit down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood. You blinked the tears away as you took one last look at Wednesday's stoic face and walked out, slamming the door to her dorm room behind you.

Wednesday watched you go with a bitter taste on her tongue — and not the kind she liked. You had had your arguments in the past, but you had never walked out on her. Unlike Wednesday, you were a stickler for talking things out right then and there, clearing the air before things got too ugly. But this time it had been too much. She had been too much.

Thing crawled onto the desk, having heard the entire argument. Wednesday turned sharply. "What do you want?" she snapped.

"I hope you're going to fix this."

"Why? Clearly they don't care enough to stay and have it out. Why should I be the one to piece things back together?"

Thing said nothing, but sat there in a way that said, Really?

Wednesday grit her teeth. "You're very passive aggressive for a hand."

"You're one to talk," Thing tapped back, "and ouch. Don't you think they might've needed some space?"

Wednesday paused. She hadn't thought of that, actually — not that she'd ever let Thing know that. "Fine then," Wednesday conceded. "What do you suggest?"

And, for once, Wednesday took someone else's advice.

She gave you the space you needed. For the next day and a half you received total radio silence from Wednesday. She still took her seat next to you in class, but she kept as far away from you as possible and didn't attempt conversation — not that Wednesday could ever endure small talk.

Eventually you were so unnerved by her behavior that you spoke to her, leaning over and keeping your voice to a whisper beneath Thornhill's lesson. "Wednesday? What are you doing? Are you alright?" you asked.

"I'm giving you space," she said, not meeting your eye. The words sounded unnatural in her voice. "Thing suggested it," she added quickly.

You sat back in your chair, a perplexed crease forming between your brows. This was very un-Wednesday like behavior. You weren't upset of course, just surprised. Not only at the fact that Wednesday was willingly giving you the space you needed, but that she actually took advice from Thing. It made your heart give a little flutter as you attempted to focus back on the lesson.

Wednesday never paced, but she had never been closer to doing it than she was that evening. She skipped dinner with the intention of writing her novel, but found herself staring at a blank page, unable to write a thing. Rain pounded the large stained glass window on the opposite side of the room. She had never suffered from writer's block before. This was excruciating, and not in a good way. She let out a slow breath, and finally something snapped. That's it.

She got up and strode to the door of her dorm with the intention of meeting you in the courtyard and demanding that you settle your argument from two nights ago, a crack of thunder scoring her sudden outburst. But just as she was about to reach for the doorknob, she heard a knock.

You stood out in the hallway, shivering and soaked with rain, your blazer wrapped tightly around you. The greeting you had prepared was quickly tossed away as you gave a sudden sneeze, a shiver running down your spine. You looked back at Wednesday and the words died on your tongue.

Instantly she pulled you inside, shutting the door behind you and getting one of Enid's fuzzy (revolting) blankets to wrap around your shoulders. Wednesday didn't often have these, God forbid, motherly urges very often, but again, a lot of things about Wednesday changed when she was around you. And the sight of you shaking in the cold on her doorstep was enough to thaw her frozen heart.

Once she was satisfied that you were slowly being warmed up, she stepped back, letting you dry the rain droplets from your cheeks and hair. Thing subtly crawled onto the desk and Wednesday saw it subtly sign out of the corner of her eye: "Talk."

Wednesday set her lips in a grim line. This was the part she always had trouble with. "Y/n —"

"I know you were just trying to protect me, Wednesday," you cut her off quickly. "I know that now, and I appreciate it. I didn't like what Leah was doing, and I know you didn't either, but I needed to try and figure out how to fix it in my own way first. I know that you want to look out for me, but I'm capable of fighting my own battles. I need you to tell me that you understand that."

Wednesday paused. And now she understood. This was what you had been trying to say the night of the argument — you just hadn't been able to get the words out right. Space. Space had allowed you to understand what you needed to say and what you needed to hear. Wednesday understood that now — and more importantly, she could respect it. "I understand," she said, "and I'm sorry."

You almost gasped. Wednesday rarely apologized for the things she did, especially to the people she did them to. But this was genuine.

She continued, "I don't regret what I did to Leah, but I do regret that it hurt you."

You nodded in understanding.

"I don't like seeing the people I love get hurt."

All at once you felt tears rushing to your eyes. Not the bad kind. You pushed them away with a hard swallow, sniffing. "I love you too, Wednesday," you said. "And I promise that if my way of fixing something doesn't work, you'll be the first person I call."

Wednesday felt a rush of something then, something that flushed in her cheeks and almost drew the corners of her lips up. She struggled to stifle it, but every glance at your rosy face made her that much more willing to surrender to it.

"Can I give you a hug?" you asked. You and Wednesday had reached a point where you could hug her without asking first, but you liked to get the clarification every once in a while.

Once you received a brisk nod, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around her and enveloping both of you in Enid's thick purple blanket. Wednesday wrapped her arms around your waist, letting herself bury her head in your shoulder. She allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of being wrapped up with you, holding you tightly and knowing that you were together.

The storm continued to rage outside, but you two were warm and safe in the knowledge that, when you were together, there was nothing that couldn't be fixed.

[littlemisskookie]

Free Use: Ch 7

Free Use: Ch 7

Free Use:  Index

Ship: Crush!Taehyung | Reader | feat. Jungkook

Description: Childhood Friends/Crush/Neighbors/College!AU. Your long time crush agrees to be your dom.

Warnings: Free Use Kink, Dom/Sub Relationship, Dom Taehyung, Dom Jungkook, Phone Sex, Voyeurism/Exhibitionism, Degrading, Rimming (f. receiving), Anal, Intercourse, Oral (m&f receiving), Humiliation Kink, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Spanking, lemme know if I’m missing anything, just straight up PWP man

Word Count: 2,846

A/N: Sorry for the wait! Meant to put this for my 15,000 follower mile stone!

You woke up before Taehyung, admiring his pretty features as he laid beside you. His lashes looked so long, lightly kissing the apples of his cheeks. It still didn’t feel real. You repeat the word over and over again in your head. Boyfriend. Kim Taehyung was your boyfriend.

You touch his face, lightly tracing his cheek, admiring the glow of the morning light illuminating the peach fuzz on his skin. He fluttered his lashes, Disney princess he is, and looked up at you. He pulled a lazy smile, arm swinging over your waist to pull you in closer. “Good morning.” His morning voice was so sexy. He gives you a soft kiss on the lips, brushing your hair out of your face. “I think I can get used to waking up to this view.”

You giggle in response. “I was thinking the same thing.”

The two of you kiss a bit more before Taehyung pulls back. “What does my girlfriend want for breakfast?”

“It’s still so weird hearing that. I almost don’t believe it.”

“That I’m your boyfriend?” Taehyung chuckled. “I’m excited to brag about it, to be honest.”

Your heart fluttered. “You mean that?”

“Of course, baby.” He smiled, turning to hover on top of you, hands creeping up under your shirt. He only touches your waist, big hands touching all of the skin he had access to. “Want to show everyone who owns you.”

You gasp as you feel his erection press against you. “Morning wood?” you question, quirking a brow.

“Maybe. Maybe I just get hard seeing my girlfriend’s cute face.” His hands slide up towards your breasts, sharply pinching your nipples and tugging at them. You moan, arching your back and clenching your thighs together. “Especially that one. Love abusing your tits like this, babe.”

You whimper as he continues toying with you, giving sharp twists and tugs to earn more gasps from you. “A-Ah, Taehyung!”

“Look how desperate you are. Little slut,” Taehyung growls, shoving the shirt up over your tits. He lifts it over your face, blinding your vision. You feel his teeth on you, making you jolt and yelp in pain when he bit you. You squirmed under his hold, your movement kept to a minimum as he pinned you beneath him. It turned you on a bit how strong he was, forcing you to take what he gave you. You couldn’t even reach down to do anything about it, with the way the shirt was bunched up over your face and arms. He sucks harshly on your neck and chest, no doubt leaving hickeys on you.

He yanks the shirt the rest of the way off of you, and you’re left naked beneath him. Smug bastard was still fully clothed. He stares down at you with a satisfied daze, fingers now lightly dancing over the marks he left on you. The juxtaposition of his gentle touch compared to how ravenous he was before was jarring. “Everyone’s gonna know you’ve been fucked if you don’t cover these up the next few days.”

“You’re so possessive.”

His hand comes up to your neck, a light and comforting pressure being applied. “What makes you say that?”

“What about when you saw me dancing with Jungkook?” You pointed out.

“Oh,” his fingers tighten around your throat for a second, “that.”

“Looked like jealousy,” you say, sounding almost too smug for your own good.

“Hm, I think I prefer the term you used before.” He starts choking you properly now, making you feel light headed. “Possessive.”

You gasp as you feel him touch your pussy, fingers rubbing circles into your clit. You were wet already, go figure. “After all… I own you, don’t I?”

You mewl, whimpering under his touch. “Yes, sir. Please…”

“Please what?” Taehyung asks, yanking you up so your face was closer to his. “What do you want me to do, slut? I can do anything I want with you. You’re mine. All of you.”

“Yes. You own me, every part of me,” you agree, trying to gasp out the breaths to form the words. “Want you to cum in me. Every hole- I’m yours. Claim me.”

“Oh? Little freak,” Taehyung smirks. He yanks down his pants, springing out his cock. He’s hard already, an angry shade of red, precum already leaking from the tip. He gives it a few pumps, hissing at the feeling. “Guess we should start with your mouth then. Show me what you’re good for.”

You practically drool at the sight, mouth automatically watering. Your lips part, mouth ready and open, resulting in Taehyung slapping the tip against your lips. “Such a good girl. Knows just what to do when she sees a cock.” His hand reaches out to grasp your hair, pulling you closer to his erection. You catch the head in your mouth, immediately bobbing your head along with Taehyung’s rhythmic pace. 

He hisses, hips bucking automatically. He reaches too far for a moment, causing your eyes to well up with tears. You feel Taehyung’s cock twitch in your mouth at the sight. “Pretty slut. Love seeing you cry.”

You moan in response, trying to push your head down deeper. Taehyung groans, diving into your warm mouth, your throat a tight fit around his cock. “That’s right, choke on it. Show me how much you love having a fat cock in your throat.”

All you can do is whimper and service him as he continues using you to get off. His hips stutter, breath faltering before he yanks you off of him, drool dripping down your chin. You catch your breath, staring up at him in surprise. You keep your mouth open, patiently waiting for him to fuck your mouth again. He appears to appreciate it, fingers diving into your mouth, giving you something to suck on in the meantime. “You’re such a good slut for me,” he growls, pulling his fingers out to wipe the saliva on your cheek. “Go lay on your back and spread your legs. Show me what’s mine.”

You don’t hesitate to do what he asks, getting in position as he climbs over you. He reaches over to his phone, and before you can question him on his plans he’s kissing you deeply. He smacks your inner thigh, making you flinch and keep your legs open. His thumb circles your clit, immediately giving you pleasure and making your knees go weak. “There’s someone I wanna tell first about us dating.”

You furrow your brows, confused. “Who?”

“Jungkook.” You hear his phone buzzing, looking down at his screen to see he was calling Jungkook. Before you can make any commentary or protests, he plunges two digits inside of you, making you gasp as he locates your g-spot with expert precision. “Want him to hear how well I fuck you.”

“Hello?”

Taehyung grins, bringing the phone up to your ear, making you hold it, the volume already turned up for you two to hear him perfectly. “It’s for you, baby.”

“J-Jungkook?” You stammer the words out, trying to even your breathing as Taehyung moves his fingers faster, thumb continuing to roll over your clit. Fuck, if he kept this up, you’ll be coming in minutes.

“Y/N? How come you’ve got Taehyung’s phone?” Jungkook’s voice didn’t sound nearly as questioning or as confused as it should’ve. “Are you there with him, still?”

“Y-yeah, he’s- o-oh…” You accidentally let out a moan, feeling the warm, soft sensation of Taehyung’s tongue on your pussy.

“He’s what?” Jungkook’s voice sounds deeper than usual right now. Raspier. “What’s he doing, Y/N?”

You whimper, fingers tightening on Taehyung’s roots, pulling at his scalp. “H-his tongue is…”

“Where’s his tongue?”

“…on my pussy.” You feel your face burn as you say it out loud, feeling embarrassed despite the fact Jungkook couldn’t even see the indecent acts you were committing.

“Fuck.” Jungkook sounds so breathless already. Was he turned on? “Does it feel good, princess?”

Your thighs jolt at the sudden nickname, hips jumping as you ride Taehyung’s mouth. He doesn’t say anything, simply groaning as he continues to devour you. “Yeah, feels so good. Feel like I’m gonna cum any minute.”

“Gonna cum while I’m listening? Like some kind of slut?” Jungkook snickers. “Gonna let me hear those pretty moans?”

“Yes, yes, yes…” You felt the band of pleasure begin to tighten, your toes curling in anticipation. “Taehyung, Jungkook…”

“Fuck, always wondered what you’d sound like moaning my name,” Jungkook rasps. “Want me to talk you through it? Want me to call you a dirty slut while you cum in Taehyung’s mouth?”

“Mm, fuck, I’m so close. Please.”

“Really wish I was there. I bet you’d love for me and Taehyung to tag team you, huh? I bet we’d ruin you.”

You clench around Taehyung’s fingers, tightening as you neared your end. Taehyung released your clit momentarily with a wet pop, speaking loudly enough for Jungkook to hear. “She really liked that, Kook. Greedy pussy is sucking me in.”

“Yeah,  I knew she would.” Jungkook lets out a sharp hiss. He must be touching himself right now. “Knew she was secretly a slut. Just needed to get dicked down, huh, Y/N?”

You remembered why Taehyung wanted Jungkook to hear in the first place. His possessiveness.“T-Taehyung and I are dating now.”

“That’s great news, Y/N. I’m happy for you both.” You could hear the low purr in his voice. “Wanna know the best part about that?”

“What?” Your voice was strained, so close to the edge.

“Best friends share everything.”

You come apart on Taehyung’s fingers, curling in as you ride out your orgasm. You don’t get much time to recover, though, only getting in a few shallow breaths before Taehyung’s mouth is claiming yours. You let out a shaky moan, tasting yourself on his tongue. You let out a gasp as you feel him line up with your entrance, shoving himself into you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, hastily pumping into you as he pants against your mouth, eyes boring into yours. “Liked hearing that, huh? Liked having him hear what you sound like when you cum? Want me and Jungkook to share you? One cock not enough?”

You can barely form words, moaning as Taehyung pummels you. “N-No, love your cock, I-“

“Shh, it’s ok baby.” Taehyung’s coos are soft and condescending, a stark contrast from the rough way he manhandled you, trying to reach as deep as possible. “Should’ve known you were a greedy thing. I’m prepared to spoil you.” He gives you a sweet kiss, hand flying down to touch you. “I’m not that selfish anyways, I’ve learned to share my toys. Jungkook doesn’t play as nice as me though, sweetheart. Sure you can handle him?”

Jungkook chuckles at that. “She can handle it. Say, Y/N, what’re you made for, huh?”

Your cheeks burn with humiliation. You turn your head away from the phone, only for Taehyung to aggressively grab your jaw, swinging your head back to the phone. “Answer him, slut.”

You let out a whimper, feeling so overstimulated and overwhelmed, the edge that was coming your way once more simply tantalizing. “Cock,” you say softly.

“Hm? Couldn’t hear you.”

“I’m made to take cock,” you moan out, eyes beginning to cross from how well Taehyung was fucking you.

“What a good girl,” Jungkook cooes, the vibrato of his voice caressing your ears. “You’re right. Not so stupid all the time.”

Your orgasm washes over you for a second time, and Taehyung has to pull out abrubtly to keep from coming. He gives his soaked cock a few more strokes, breathing heavily. He’s hovering over you, his deep pants echoing in your ear opposite from his phone. His hands run up and down your waist, letting you both catch your breath. You stare down at his erection, lubricated with both your wetness and his pre-cum. “Why didn’t you cum?” you ask, breathless.

“Did you forget already?” Taehyung laughs breathlessly. “Jungkook’s right, you are stupid. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He quickly flips you over on your stomach, hiking your hips up to present your ass to him. You squeal when his hand comes down with a loud crack, stinging your skin. His lips brush over the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “One more hole, baby. All of you is mine, remember?”

You let out an obscene moan when his tongue presses against the rim, circling and teasing you. You had never before been touching in that area, and while you were more than happy to let Taehyung be your first, the sensations were unfamiliar. “Taehyung!”

He hums against you, tongue starting to dive in. “You seem to like this already, huh? Little anal slut.”

“What’s he doing to you, Y/N? You’re sounding kind of pathetic.”

“He’s-he’s eating out my…” You moan, feeling his tongue dive into you, face buried. “My ass.”

“You’re so dirty. Can’t believe you like getting your ass eaten,” Jungkook moans. “You’re such a dirty slut. You sound so needy even though you just got fucked.”

“I can’t help it. It feels so good.” 

“Only nasty little girls like getting their ass played with,” Jungkook scolds. “Admit it.”

“I’m- I’m a nasty slut who likes having her ass played with.” You bite down on your lower lip, feeling like you were going crazy. “Taehyung, please.”

Taehyung pulls away, letting his thumb circle the rim before pushing inside, pumping inside you slowly to get you used to the sensation. Your mouth drops into an ‘o’ form, concentrating on the vile pleasure being awarded to you.

“She’s so wet,” Taehyung comments, reaching for his bedside drawer to yank out lube, pouring out a generous amount. You moan, fisting the sheets as he starts pumping his fingers into you. “Dripping all over my sheets just from me eating her ass.” He pulls out his finger to dive back in, letting you feel the sensation of his tongue. He comes back up, fingers returning to scissor your hole, stretching you out in preparation. “Likes every nasty thing I do to her.”

“Y/N, can I FaceTime you when he finally puts it in your ass?”

You recall Taehyung’s earlier comment, and look back to him. He strokes his cock, aligning it with your back entrance. “Hurry up and call, Kook. I won’t be able to last much longer.”

You’re greeted with a different notification, and soon Jungkook’s face graces your screen. You see he’s shirtless, in only his boxers, the waistband pulled beneath his balls to let his cock spring free. He’s laying in bed, cheeks flushed a heavenly color, phone pulled back enough for you to see him jerking his enormous cock for you to see. “Jungkook, fuck!” You blurt out the words as Taehyung starts to push the tip inside.

“Like what you see?” Jungkook snickers. He had no right being that confident in his generous size.

You glower at the screen, biting your lip as you shamefully nod your head. “Yes.”

“Want it in your mouth?” Nod. “Pussy?” Nod. “What about your tight ass?” Another nod. You moan, sounding purely pornographic as Taehyung slowly inched deeper into you. “Fuck, Y/N, you look so hot like this.”

“I think that’s the first nice thing you’ve said all call.”

“I think you like the fact I’m so mean to you. If you wanted nice you wouldn’t have wanted Taehyung.” Jungkook’s hand sped up as he watched your expressions. “How does it feel?”

“Weird,” you say honestly. Taehyung finally gets as deep as he can, pulling his hips back to fuck you. You can tell from the tremor in his thighs he won’t last much longer. “But good. Dirty and amazing all at once.”

“Mm, Taehyung’s gonna have to train you to take a cock up your ass regularly, so you’re ready to be used.” You whimper at that, hearing Jungkook’s voice crack as he reached the edge. “Maybe he’ll let me help.”

“He wants me to slut you out to him so bad,” Taehyung chuckles in your ear. “Maybe I’ll let you suck his cock whenever he’s having a bad day. Or I’ll have him help me punish you when you’ve been too much of a brat.”

“I would’ve helped you earlier,” Jungkook groans, getting closer to climax. “Would’ve spanked that pussy til it was all puffy and red, would’ve made her cry.”

“Hear that, slut? We’ve got a lot of plans for this tight snatch of yours.” Taehyung reaches down to grab it possessively, nails slightly scratching you as his hips falter. “Fuck, I’m coming.”

“Come in me, please sir,” you beg. Taehyung rewards you, hips flush against yours as he empties his load as deep into you as he could. Jungkook finally lets out his release too, and you see cum coat his chest. His moan sounds absolutely delicious, and you’re left quivering as Taehyung’s sweaty form slumps against yours, worn out.

All three of you are left gasping for air.

Taehyung reaches for the phone. “We’ll call you later, Kook. Still on for Valorant tonight?”

“Yeah man, talk to you later.”

Jungkook hangs up, leaving you and Taehyung alone, sweaty and breathless. Taehyung curls up next to you, cuddling you close as he buries his face in your neck, breathing in your scent. “Ready for breakfast, beautiful?”

[actual-changeling]

hiiiiii @nightgoodomens i read this post and then immediately started typing and this is the result. either sorry or you're welcome. or both. :)

-

Crowley's first instinct is to wrench his arm from Aziraphale's grasp, but his hold on him tightens ever so slightly as if sensing his intentions, so he stays put—for now.

Still, anger rises in his chest like a tidal wave, hot and desperate and tainted by nothing lasts forever and i forgive you. They haven't talked about it yet, and he refuses to when the outcome of that argument could very well mean extinction, not just for the two of them but for the world. He built walls in his mind, keeping out shimmering purple eyes and familiar lips, and stopped breathing so he could pretend Aziraphale didn't smell all wrong.

The reason stretching throughout their foundations turns into vines, forcing them apart stone by stone when he meets his gaze.

"How about we come up with a plan where you don't risk destruction, please?"

Crowley's smile is a mask of bitter disappointment; the slant of his mouth is sharp, almost cruel.

"What do you care?"

"Of course I care," Aziraphale shoots back immediately, his fingers digging into his arm forcefully enough that he can practically taste the bruises forming beneath them.

"You were more than happy to deliver me to heaven all tied up and with a bow on my head, Arseangel Aziraphale. You would have had to find someone to scrape my sorry fucking remains off their pristine floors five minutes later."

A tingling numbness spreads up to his shoulder, pins and needles reminding him that this corporation is starting to get tired of being restrained, but Crowley is too focused on the insulted rage distorting the angel's face. He steps closer, forcing him to look up at him, and he takes minute satisfaction in the heavy swallow running down his throat.

"They wouldn't-"

"Oh, they wouldn't, really? They have already done it once, and now they're planning on ending us all. None of them would know mercy if it hit them in their perfect bloody faces."

Uncaring for the increase in his volume, Crowley mockingly raises an eyebrow, challenging him to disagree, to defend heaven like he has done time and time again, to finally let go of him and let him stomp off to his destruction; this time, he is either going to win or go out on his own terms.

When Aziraphale doesn't respond, his lashes fluttering and his mouth opening and closing several times without expelling a single sound or breath, he channels six thousand years of suppressed frustration and angry humiliation and rips his arm out of his grasp.

"There is no 'we', Aziraphale. There is your side, there is earth, and then there's me."

He remembers the hundred times Aziraphale denied knowing him, called him a demon, his adversary, denounced their friendship and arrangement, and ground their partnership to dust under his heels like a dried-out bug on the verge of death.

Friends, we're not friends.

For a moment, Crowley wants to ask if any of it had been real, but he knows it was—that's why it hurts.

That's why he can't let it go.

The pain as the blood in his arm begins to flow unhindered again is nothing compared to the gaping wound scratching itself open in his chest, forcing him to swallow salted iron and sickly sweet love. He has been wearing his shades every single second they spent together after his return, but he takes them off now, biting back a taunting sneer, biting back tears.

Purple meets gold, the summer-sky blue is long gone, and it helps him deliver the last blow without flinching.

"Nothing lasts forever, right? Good luck with your armageddon."

Crowley does not wait to see the hurt spreading across his face and pretends he doesn't hear the punched-out gasp or the beginnings of a sob.

Instead, he slides his glasses back into place and walks away; the universe will finally grant him rest one way or another.

-

tag list under the cut (tell me if you want to be added/removed)

@ineffabledeathtoallmetatrons @ineffablymanic @violet-prism-creativelycreatively @wraithee @underlined-in-spirit @acheemient @queer4cryptids @aroaceblackhole @six-of-snakes @im-the-son-of-rage-and-lov3 @adverbian @oboextra @demonic-mnemonic @eybefioro

[rotting--melody]

hey can you write a yae miko x freader with heavy emphasis on a predator prey dynamic with yae miko doming her partner

ahhh my first request!! so exciting!!! i hope its good, please let me know if this is what you had in mind! (this is also my first time writing smut so please tell me if it sucks lmfao)

wc-> 0.8k (sorry im a little rusty)

cw-> 18+ smut w no plot (we're jumping right in), pet names, dom!yae, sub!reader, yae being mean (she's so hot), overstimulation, biting, mentions of blood, vaguely implied that they're outside but tbh you'd have to squint

(fic directly below the cut)

Little Mouse . . .

"Do you like that, little mouse?" Yae cruelly chuckled as she fingered your raw cunt. Her long, elegant digits played with your insides in a way that she could accomplish, making you feel hot and full but still begging for more

"Y-yes, oh- fuck yes," your loud moans echoed out across the empty shrine, "shit, Yae, please keep going." 

Yae let out a soft hum of approval before speeding up her fingers. "Your moans are so delicious little one. You make me feel so good." She practically purred out the last line, her middle and ring fingers thrusting ever faster in and out. 

She slowly dragged her free hand up to your supple breast and began flicking one of your nipples. The sharp pain and pleasure combo had you moaning louder than you had all night. Your near immediate reaction had Yae more riled up than ever. 

Slowly, Yae leaned her head down to kiss you. In your close proximity, you could see her cunning purple eyes glowing with lust and predatory intent. Quickly, she smashed her full lips onto yours. You moaned into her mouth, as she thrust her fingers into you in perfect synchronicity with her domineering kiss. 

You two were a tangle of tongues and teeth, with Yae quickly winning the battle. You moaned into the kiss, and Yae took your increasing openness as a sign to shove her tongue further down your throat. 

Yae abruptly stopped her hands, which made you let out a rather humiliating moan of displeasure. Tears quickly formed in your eyes at the loss of contact. 

"Did I do something wrong Yae? I promise I'll be better, please just don't leave me unfinished. " You whined pathetically, trying to sit fully up. Yae simply raised her hand that had been inside your cunt and licked her fingers clean. In one fluid motion, she positioned herself so that she was straddling your waist. She quickly took your chin in her hand, and leaned in close once again.

 Her breath tickled your face as she leaned over you, her soft baby pink hair grazing your skin. Her purple eyes had grown more intense, with a darker glint to them than there had been previously. "You're doing wonderfully, little mouse. I just needed a new position to fuck you better." She let out a soft chuckle, before simultaneously biting your earlobe and grinding into your pussy. 

The mix of pain and pleasure had your toes sinfully curling as Yae used both hands to play with your breasts this time. She left a long trail of kisses down your body, nipping you every so often. As she neared your breasts with her sinful mouth, she began to bite harder, leaving some longer-lasting marks, specifically perfect recreations of her sharpened teeth.

It was over stimulating. Between her teasing mouth, her massaging hands, and incredible pussy, you thought you might combust on the spot. You stopped forming words, only being able to let little whines and moans of pleasure escape you. Yae took notice of you nearing your edge.

"Are you going to cum for me soon, little mouse? Are you going to release all over my pussy like the slut you are?"

You moaned louder at her filthy words, still unable to produce anything but incoherent babbles.

She increased her pace, now rubbing her clit directly over yours. She pushed harder, increasing the wonderful pressure of her on top of your body. Her hands roughened their pace, pulling and squeezing more than gently massaging you. Her bites got increasingly more painful, becoming deeper and drawing more blood. 

You were both nearing your releases, but Miko wouldn't let you finish without reminding you of just who was making you feel this way. 

She sped up even more, using all of her otherworldly strength on your body. 

"Do you know who you belong to, pet?"

"Oh shit- you, fuck! You, I belong to you Yae- archon, please!"

Your moans were exactly what Yae needed to finish. She bit down fully onto one of your breasts, and used her electro vision to send a current of electricity through your whole body.

You saw stars. Your entire mind fogged over, and there was nothing but the feeling of Yae, Yae, Yae. You came so violently your entire being convulsed. Your body spammed underneath her frame so harshly that even Yae was shaking. Your moans drowned out everything around you, nothing but screams of Yae's name over and over until your throat was raw and bleeding. 

Yae helped you ride out your high, continuing to lightly lip you and lick your breasts while you saw stars. She whispered sweet and sultry comments into your ears as you rode out the incredible high she had given you.

When you had finished your orgasm, you were so exhausted you nearly passed out where you laid. However, you had just enough energy left in you to shift Yae off of your middle and to your side, where you promptly curled into her hot back and fell asleep. 

Yae let our a soft laugh as she flipped around, nestling you ever closer now into her chest. 

"Sweet dreams, little mouse. I hope you realize this is only the beginning."

[chickenkurage]

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT- WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT- *INHALES* WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- *AHEM* CHAPTER 22?????????? OH MY ABSOLUTELY LIKE FRICKING OH MY FRICKING GOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH- THIS HAS GOT TO BE ONE OF MY FAVORITE CHAPTERS OF ALL TIME COMING FROM ARC 1!!! OKAY FIRST OF ALL, THE MOMENTS AND CONVERSATION WITH DJ AND GOLD IS JUST HEARTWARMING TO SEE AND GOLD SHOWING AROUND THE HOUSE THEY MADE AND SEEMS SO PROUD OF IT, DJ YOU'RE GOOD WITH KIDS THE HECK, AND STOP NOT THE FACT THAT GOLD SAYS "I love you dad" MUST MEAN THEY PROBABLY DO RECOGNIZE THEIR FATHER'S APPEARANCE, OH MY GOSH THE WAY YOU WROTE HOW DJ'S BODY IS AND THE WAY THE PAIN HE MUST HAVE DEALT WITH WHILE MERGING WITH THE BLOCK, THE BLACK MARKS ON HIM LIKE- OH MY GOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THAT DETAIL ON HIS APPEARANCE NOW!!! (POSSIBLY SIMILAR TO HOW CS!ALAN CAN BURN HIMSELF FROM USING HIS FIRE TOO MUCH AND GETS BLACK BUT MOSTLY BURNED MARKS AS WELL!!!) I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE GONNA DO NEXT WHITE EYES BUT THANK YOU FOR AT LEAST HELPING IN A PAINFUL WAY??? SO THEY DID WENT TO THE PC BUT WRECKED EVERYTHING WHILE CHOSEN WAS HIDING, GOOD CALL CHOSEN GOOD CALL- LOOK AT THE UNCLE AND NEPHEW TEAMING UP HERE HECK YEAH!!! THEIR FIRST REACTIONS WHEN SEEING DJ IS JUST- I WANNA TEAR UP BUT NOTHING IS COMING OUT I'M CRYING ON THE INSIDE- BUT DANG WHAT DID THEY DO TO GREEN OH SH*T- AND YESSSSSSSSSSSS PURPLE AND DJ REUNION LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOO!!! AND YESSSSSSSSSSSS A SECOND FIGHT WITH DJ AND DARK BUT MUCH MORE SERIOUS AND A LOT MORE HAPPENING TOO, LIKE DESTROYING HALF OF THE FACILITY??? EXTREMELY SERIOUS IN MY EYES BECAUSE GOSH DANG BUT ABSOLUTELY OH DANG TO DARK ACTUALLY GETTING WEAKER DUE TO DJ, OH GOSH...... YES VICTIM AND DJ TALK WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRO- WHAT THE F*CK DJ YOU'RE THE KING OF AN ABSOLUTE GASLIGHTER BECAUSE THAT WAS.... OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH MY GOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH... HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE HUMILIATED NOW VICTIM??? HUH??? YOU'RE AN ABSOLUTE B*TCH IN THIS AU I'M SORRY I HAD TO SAY IT BUT YOU REALLY ARE SIMILAR TO HALO WHICH MAKES BOTH OF YOU TWO B*TCHES, AND YESSSSSSSSSSSS MORE HUGS COMING FROM THE UNCLE AND NEPHEWSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! AND ANOTHER PURPLE AND DJ REUNION BUT MORE HEARTWARMING!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSS SECOND AND ABSOLUTELY THE BEST SLEEPOVER EVER FROM EVERYONE COMING TOGETHER, YESSSSSSSSSSSS OH MY GOSH!!!!! BUT STOP PURPLE STILL CLINGING ONTO THE FACT ABOUT DJ BEING DEAD IS JUST HEARTBREAKING TO READ BUT ALSO ANGSTY OH MY GOSH, AND YEP- THERE GOES EVERYONE'S REACTION TO HIM MERGING THE BLOCK, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- I CAN'T EVEN DESCRIBE OR EXPLAIN HOW MUCH I ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER A LOT AND ALREADY READY FOR ARC 2!!! KING WELCH HM? THAT SURE RINGS A BELL OF WHAT PROBABLY WILL BE COMING NEXT THEN, AND YEAH SEEMS LIKE VICTIM AND DJ WOULD SOMEHOW BEING COOL FRIENDS, SOMEHOW THOUGH, BUT YEAH THE DANCING WITH THE DEATH AND SO HAVE I, THAT'S INCREDIBLE TO THINK OF!!! AND YOUR WELCOME FOR READING THE FIRST ARC I AM ALREADY HAVING AN ABSOLUTE BLAST HERE!!!

(Also one more thing but AIAlanBecker fanart is coming soon..... :333)

I'm sorry for responding so late XDDD, i had a tournament earlier and had to bust my butt running around court and dying inside LMAOOOO

BUT! I am so glad you love this chapter!!! It was quite hard to fit everything in DDD: Hehe Gold and DJ mwehehehe, but as well it's so sad to think that Gold has been alone for so long as well :((. And Gold does know DJ and King are one! He also knew that DJ (initially) is possessing his father, as well knows who White Eyes is.

If it wasn't for Gold taking him to the house, DJ would have been stuck in a state of limbo, hence he would be dead. Thankfully Gold took him to White Eyes.

I'm glad you like DJ's new look! That would be quite....permanent XDDDD, but he looks cool nonetheless!! White Eyes certainly gave DJ the worse possible way to merge with the block, but it was the most efficient considering it's much closer to his core than just trying to place it on his skin (Imagine a DJ where he has a random minecraft block stuck on his skin LMAOOO)

Thank goodness Chosen hid XDDDD, AND HELL YEAH NEPHEW AND UNCLE TEAM UP!!

And everyone was so happy to see DJ alive, and i swear i was laughing the whole time when i was writing this (I keep remembering how CS Alan's relationship with the others are so.....yeah) then i look at KOM where the CG, Purple and even Chosen are like super (whisper: Overprotective) of him XDD and you can literally see how they all love him (CS Alan, nooooooooo)

DJ and Dark fight, ahh i love DJ using Dark as a way to actually wreck havoc LMAOOO. We all know he did that on purpose, because at the last part he eventually just stacked a weakness effect on Dark when he's finally satisfied by the chaos and destruction LMAO (Dark you got used XDD)

And DJ and Victim, at some point Victim got himself mind fucked by DJ LMAOOO. DJ has always been an awful good manipulator at things LMAO. He deserved it after what he had done to Purple and Green and the others too >:(((

The reunion sleepover is just an icing at the top! Them dog piling and sleeping together in one bed after dealing with something terrifying is much needed, and DJ knew that (he probably also needed that considering he was dead for quite some time before he was back again XDD, we'll see more of the after effects on ARC 2, spoiler alert hehe)

And everyone holding onto DJ so they are sure he's still here :DDDD

Oh yeah when he says how he merged the block, they are deffo angry and super worried cause....THATS PAINFUL AS HELL, so i imagine them fretting over him and DJ is like...."Well, it already happened, and i feel pretty great now" *shrugs* and they're all staring at him as if he grew another head.

ARC 2 here we go!!!! Get ready :DDDD

AND AI ALAN FANART?? EEEEEEEEEEEEE I'M EXCITEDDD - S

[collidescopeeyes]

Time is a Roulette Wheel

Viego: Pt 3

League of Legends | Viego x F!Reader

Chapters: Prologue | Viego: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Crossposted on AO3 here

SFW

Summary: Turns out that Runeterra isn't the only place that has a Void. Plucked from your world into one of a video game with nothing but stolen time powers, an inability to die and a middling recollection of lore, you're prepared to do just about anything to get back home again. You just have to find the right Champion to help.

Viego doesn't follow you while you're in public. That's probably a good call, considering his past, and especially considering you've found yourself in Bilgewater. You finally tracked down Ryze, and he had approximately fuck all useful to say. You spend the week trying to decide whether you should just steal the World Stones and hope they magically give you some insight on how the fuck to get out of here, but you're also pretty sure taking those things out of this world would end it, and you're not that far gone. That doesn't mean you’re not so miserable about the decision you spend the next few days drowning your sorrows in the most moderately priced swill Bilgewater can offer. If there's anywhere a girl can get bed, board and booze for a reasonable fee, it's here.

After Viego showing up almost daily for the last two months, you kind of miss him. Maybe that's why you get shit faced drunk on overpriced wine alone in your tavern room that night, instead of going to a bar like you have been. You have no idea if Viego has some way of knowing what you're up to before he shows up, but you're halfway through the bottle by the time his boots appear in your periphery.

“What are you doing?” He asks dryly. You blink up at him.

“Is it not obvious?” You drawl, taking a sip from the bottle before offering it to him. He stares at it, brow furrowed. “Oh, don't tell me you've never tried getting drunk, either.”

He rolls his eyes and takes the bottle. “I have. It didn't work.” He drinks, then grimaces. “What is this swill?”

“Maybe you just didn't have enough?” you suggest, ignoring his other comment. Of course he'd have opinions on wine, the elitist. He drinks again, so it can't be that bad.

“What I meant was, what are you doing drowning yourself in cheap wine?” Viego reiterates. You make grabby hands at the bottle, and he passes it back to you empty. Bastard.

“It was not cheap,” you insist, and then have the bright idea to rewind the bottle to full. “Aha!” You crow when it succeeds.

“Iso,” he says, in a tone that is attempting to be patient.

“I'm just–” you stop, take an excessively long swig, and then slump back against the wall. Your cramped room doesn't have anywhere to sit save for the bed. Maybe you should've gone to a bar. “I'm stuck. I'm stuck in this shitty world and I'm never going to get back home because no one fucking knows anything and I have tried everyone. I've tried the mages, the Voidspawn, the chosen of the fucking gods, I've tried you–” you gesture agitatedly at him. “--and no one knows a single goddamn thing that can help me! And even if I could figure out how to get back into the Void and survive a second trip, I'd probably just end up in some other shitty fucking world!” You fail your arms out emphatically, and Viego takes this opportunity to snag the bottle from you before you spill it.

“How did you come to be here?” He asks. “In this world?”

Your lips thin with discomfort. “I can't tell you,” you say reluctantly.

He looks almost offended. “You have been inexplicably aware of my most painful and humiliating moments, even ones I myself do not remember, and you refuse to share your own story?”

“That's not–” you cut yourself off with a frustrated noise. “I mean I literally can't tell you, it doesn't…” he looks like he doesn't believe you. You sigh deeply. Maybe it'd work this time. It's not like he's alive, after all. “Alright, have it your way, but I'm only trying this once. I was–” and there it is, the burning, stabbing pain rending your throat into ribbons. You gag on your own blood, and Viego lurches towards you as you begin to cough up the shard. His hands are on your arms as he drops to his knees before you, looking so fearful you almost feel bad for him, even though you're the one eating glass right now.

It passes quickly enough. You grimace as you wind your timeline back to before your little demonstration, the blood and pain vanishing in a heartbeat. Only the mirror shard remains, which you cast aside with disgust.

He looks stricken. “I–are you injured? What was that?”

“I'm fine now,” you assure him, a little sheepishly. “It's just…my powers have rules. That's one.”

He lets out a breath, hands lowering from your biceps to rest on your forearms. “Do not do that again,” he orders harshly. “I do not care what the circumstances are.”

“You don't have to tell me twice,” you say with a shrug.

He gives you an unimpressed look. “Don't I? Why in the name of good sense would you possibly do that, simply because I asked?”

You shift uncomfortably. “I thought it might work this time,” you say, and your voice sounds small. “And if anyone could understand what I went through, it'd be you.”

He just looks at you for a moment, but you can't quite bring yourself to meet his eyes. Then, he stands, only to throw himself onto the bed next to you. The wine is in his hand again, though you have no idea where it went before. “Have you tried writing it?” He suggests.

“Doesn't work,” you say morosely, only to squint incredulously at his big armored boots. “Boy, get your fucking boots off my bed.”

He blinks at them like he's only just remembered he's wearing them. “Apologies,” he says, passing you the wine. The whole armored shin debacle is apparently held in place by a few buckles, and somehow seeing Viego's socks is more surreal than the fact that he's here at all.

“Have you considered wearing something that isn't what you died in?” You suggest, poking at a frayed lapel.

He blinks at said lapel, picking at the tattered clothing with a frown. “Is that what happened?”

Right. He didn't remember. “I mean, I assume you weren't rocking the half shirtless look for fun,” you say, poking him in the exposed midriff. He's not cold like you were expecting–save for being as pallid as a ghost, he feels perfectly human. You do it again, because huh, he's actually built, which you knew because of the shirtless thing and the abs and all but it's a little different when his abdomen feels like a fucking rock–He catches your hand, and you realize that oh yeah, you're drunk and should probably be thinking better of harassing the guy with the giant sword.

“Iso,” he says warningly. That's a new look on his face–Viego is no stranger to inner turmoil, but this time he also sort of looks like he can't believe this is a situation he actually has to deal with. Which, same.

You pull your hand back with a shrug, sipping your wine instead. “Just saying.”

He gives you an unreadable look, then demands the wine with an imperious beckoning gesture. “I must be able to summon the Mist unimpeded in battle,” he says before taking a sip, gesturing to the pitch cavity in his chest.

“So we bring you to a tailor who can make you a titty window,” you say easily. Viego chokes on the wine and then on his laughter. He's handsome when he's happy, you note.

He's looking at you oddly, his expression somewhere between strained and flustered. “I said that aloud, huh?” You note.

“How much of this have you had?” He asks, holding up the bottle and swishing its contests. You're grateful for the change of subject.

“Uh. Most of it?” You shrug. “I don't hold my alcohol well, historically.”

“Can't you just…” he makes a spinning gesture you realize is meant to evoke a clocks hand.

“If I wanted to be sober I wouldn't have gotten drunk,” you point out. To prove your point, you snatch the bottle back.

He does a little mouth shrug. “A fair point.” For a moment, he just looks at you, and hell if you've ever known what goes on in Viego's head but he looks almost discouraged. “Is it so bad, staying here?”

You slump. “I…” you don't know how to answer that. You scrub a hand over your face, trying to find an answer you're allowed to give. “The only thing that's kept me going is getting back to them. To my family. Everything, the pain and the endless fighting and all the times I thought I couldn't get back up again and then I did, it was for them. And now I…” your breath catches.

“You don't know how to live without a purpose,” Viego says like he understands, and you guess he would. “Without someone to live for.”

You rub your face. “I just…what was the point of it all? Why am I still here at all, if I can't go home?”

“There is no point,” he says calmly. “Life is cruel and senseless, and there is no reward for enduring the pain it so keenly inflicts on us. But we are not yet dead, so we must go on.”

You slide a sideways glance at him, at the hole in his heart. “I don't think I can die,” you say morosely.

He gives you a crooked half smile. “Then I suppose you and I will just have to find something to live for, hm?” He reaches for the bottle, and then grimaces. “Starting with some better wine.”

—

You smuggle him into a wine shop, using an oversized cloak (turns out he can turn the magic crown thing off, but he does not like it and will not specify why beyond making a face) and a pair of sunglasses you picked up on a whim in Piltover (“What are these things? Iso, I cannot see.”). Once you get to the shop, he spends the next forty minutes trying to explain the difference between a dry and sweet wine to you. He then spends another twenty arguing with the sommelier about trying to pass off a Malbec for Merlot. You're pretty sure his shitty disguise does not hold up for the time he spends leaning over the counter emphatically gesturing at the man, but this is Bilgewater, and if the sommelier knows who he is, he doesn't give a shit beyond the fact that he's trying to haggle.

You walk back with Viego at your side, still grumbling about the sub-par availability. You point out that they are under constant siege not only by huge murderous fish, but also by undead armies, which probably affects trade routes. You ask whether that's something he can, y'know, stop, and he sighs.

“The mist is as alive and hungry as the rats in that gutter,” he says, nodding at said gutter. “It is outside my control, unless you want me to usher in another Harrowing and make things worse. I'm very talented at making things worse, you see.” He spreads his arms with a self depreciating grin. The bag of bottles he's carrying clinks concerningly.

“Can't you, iunno, command the wraiths to chill out or something?” You try.

You can't see his eyes past the ridiculous sunglasses you have him in, but you're sure he's rolling them. “Can you command the gutter rats?”

You shoot him a reproachful look as you open the door to your inn room. Luckily, it faces out to the street, so you don't have to go through the attached tavern. “Hey, have some respect. They're trapped in eternal undead torment because of your fuckup, remember?”

He seems abashed for a moment as he follows you in. “I did not mean…” he sighs, taking off his sunglasses and tossing them on the table. “If you took the rats and put them in, say, someone's house, they would panic and start biting, yes? Because they are scared and hungry and all they know how to do is to hurt or to run. It is the same with the wraiths. I can bring the mist to a place, and the mist brings them, but I can only directly control a scant few from a horde.” He gestures up at his crown, which he apparently rematerialized when you were distracted. You suppose that's how the possession thing worked in the game, too. He hesitates a moment, then continues in a reserved tone, “I know their plight is because of me, but I have no way to undo what I have done, for them or myself–” and then he pauses, fingers on the clasp of his cloak, staring at you.

“Can I help you…?” You say slowly as the silence drags on.

“Yes,” he says. “I think you can. When we met, you made me human.”

Your eyes widen. “Is that…something you want?”

He pauses as if he's not sure how to answer that, then shakes his head. “Not for me, for the wraiths. If I bring their souls to you, can you restore them?”

“I…” you pause, considering. “I guess? I mean, it'll be harder the longer they've been like that, but if it worked on you I don’t see any reason it wouldn't on them.”

He nods sharply, and all of a sudden Viego is on one knee in front of you with a beseeching look on his face. “Come back to the isles with me.” You stare, and the look he’s giving you is almost pleading. “You were looking for a purpose, and I am looking for redemption. We could find it together. Please.”

“Why?” You say, blunt as anything.

His brow furrows. “What do you mean, why?”

You lean forward, looking him dead in the eye. “Viego, the Shadow Isles are ancient and the dead are countless. What you're asking of me will take years, and making them human again doesn't undo all of the suffering they've already been through.”

“Do you think I don't know that there is no fixing this wretched mist?” He shoots back, clearly affronted. “You restored my humanity, once, and my heart ached no less fiercely for it.”

“So why? For Isolde? Do you think she'll somehow forgive you, if you ‘undo’ what you did?” you persist. You know you're pushing too hard, but somehow the thought of him asking this of you for her irritates you.

“Isolde is gone!” He snaps, and you realize he's trembling. “She is gone, and every day my traitorous heart forgets a little more of the pain of losing her. I know there is no forgiveness for what I have done, in the dead or the living, but is it so wrong to do as she would have wanted in her memory?”

“I–” you realize, looking at his shaking hands, that you're being an asshole. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. You…you know you can't be mad at yourself for moving on, right?” You ask gently. “You’ve grieved for long enough. Not hurting when you think of her doesn't mean that you didn't love her, that you don't love her still.”

He looks up at you for a moment, gaze oddly vulnerable, and then rests his forehead on your knees. “I know this in my heart. It is my mind that thinks it is a betrayal.”

“Well, stop it,” you say, and he gives a laugh that is almost a hiccup. “If you're betraying your wife by being happy then I'm betraying my family by not suicidally flinging myself into the Void on the vanishingly slim chance that I'll end up back home.”

He rolls his head to the side so he can give you a narrow look. Incidentally, this also means his head is now fully resting on your lap. “That's ridiculous.”

“Exactly,” you say. “But if you're going to hold yourself to an insane standard of authenticity in pain then you're going to have to hold it against me too, so checkmate.” He smiles ruefully, and before you can think better of it you card your fingers through his hair. It is insanely soft, and you can't help but be jealous because there's no way there's hair care products in the Shadow Isles. Does that mean you'd have to import some? Wait, why are you assuming you're agreeing? You had some great ethical standpoint about this a minute ago–oh, right, not letting him use you for free moral absolution. “Tell me again. Why do you want me to come with you?”

His eyes, which at some point closed while you were playing with his hair, slide open. “Because it is within our power to help. Because they were my people and my responsibility, and I failed them. And, to be very honest, because having you with me eases my heart, and I am at my core a selfish bastard.”

You laugh disbelievingly, and he smiles hopefully up at you. Maybe it's the look in his eye. Maybe it's the lingering wine in your system, or the fact that he's right and you have nowhere else to go. Maybe it's just that you inexplicably have a soft spot for him. Whatever it is, you say yes, and he smiles so brightly you instantly understand why Isolde married him on the spot.

Then he insists on trying to educate you on wine, and you get through 3 out of 4 bottles before he is forced to admit you simply have no taste.

(You also get so shitfaced drunk that you fall asleep on his chest, trying to see if he still has a heartbeat. He must also be, because he lets you.)

—

You give Viego a week to find a dozen of the most recently reaped souls, while you make other preparations. It's difficult to convince any ferry to come to the Shadow Isles, but you need a way for the freshly risen to make it back to civilization. You agree that he'll wait offshore for a day, and when you light a lantern he'll come to shore for the passengers. He makes you pay half upfront because he thinks you'll die.

When you appear at Viego's castle, he is instantly by your side. “Iso,” he greets, as if he's relieved you came after all. You think he's made some sort of effort to clean up, because he shows you to a room that is downright nice. He's clearly gone to some effort to find furnishings mostly unravaged by time and the Ruination, including the bed you restored; if the lost kingdom of Camavor had one thing going for it, it was apparently talented carpenters supplied with good quality wood. He assures you that he'll provide everything you need to assist with your work–he still has access to the coffers, after all, and Bilgewater merchants don't ask questions if there's gold on the table. He doesn't know what kind of food you like, but if you let him know he'll do his best to acquire it. His posture is ramrod straight and his accent is out in full force, and you are inexplicably reminded of coming over to a friend's messy apartment while they scour through their pantry looking for something edible to serve because they're too embarrassed to admit they've been getting takeout for a week.

“Viego,” you interrupt his stream of courtly assurances as you walk back to the main hall. “What are you so nervous about?”

His nose wrinkles, affronted. “Nervous? Me?” He repeats skeptically.

“Iunno, whatever you want to call the fussing,” you say, waving a hand at him.

“Fussing–” he repeats, offended. You give him an unimpressed look, and he relents. “I…suppose I might be a little on edge. If I had hosted such an important guest with such poor hospitality when I was a prince, I would be a laughing stock.”

You mutely point at yourself, baffled. He rolls his eyes, and there's the Viego you know–haughty, single-minded, and a little bit of a bitch. “Yes, of course you. You are healing the wound I made in the world for no reward but the deed itself. If the kingdom of Camavor still lived, you would be lauded as a saint and courted as an asset to the kingdom.” He pauses, looking into the middle distance. “If I am remembering correctly, I believe father would probably have tried to marry us.”

You blink, utterly unsure of what to make of that information. “He would've?”

Viego shrugs. “I was quite charming then, and seducing you would be a convenient way to secure your allegiance to the kingdom.”

“What, implying you're not charming now?” You tease.

He stops and turns to look at you, and you almost run into his shoulder. You brake in time to avoid a collision, but it leaves you much closer than anticipated. When Viego looks down at you there's an oddly searching look in his eyes, but it quickly vanishes from view as he leans down to murmur in your ear. “Should I be, to keep you by my side?”

You shiver without meaning to and hope he doesn't notice. “Alright, point taken, heartbreaker,” you say, quickly stepping past him and praying to any god who will listen that he doesn't see the flush on your face.

---

The first lot of souls Viego summons for you aren't hard. You lay your hands on the filmy substance of their being and spin their time back, back, to the sharp rending tear where they became something else. There is a strange ripping sensation you can't describe as their physical bodies snap back into place around their souls, summoned from whatever flotsam graveyard they were in at Bilgewater, and then there is a trembling woman in front of you. She immediately begins to weep, thanking you profusely and begging incoherently to be allowed to go home, and you cast Viego a deeply uncomfortable look.

He looks no more at ease with the situation than you are, but he steels himself and says in a far gentler voice than you expected, “You are safe now. No harm will come to you here. I cannot give back the time and pain that was taken from you and for that I am sorry, but you will return to your home and your family unharmed.”

She looks up at him, voice choked and shaky. “Y-you're him, ain't you? The Ruined King? Y-you’re letting us go?” Her eyes flick to you, and a realization flashes in them. “T-then you must be the Queen he was looking for! C-congratulations, your majesties, I'm happy, I'm truly happy for youse–” and she dissolves into hiccuping sobs that you don't feel comfortable interrupting just to say ‘no, actually, we're just friends’. At the same time, you're stricken with the completely inappropriate realization that that wouldn't even be entirely true if you did say it, because if he wasn't grieving his double-dead wife you probably would've tried some horrendous pickup line on him by now.

None of those are thoughts you're ready to deal with however, so you turn and restore the next soul.

—

After the shaken crowd is delivered to a shellshocked ferryman, it occurs to you that he didn't correct her, either. You ask, over a dinner of roast meat and veg (he's very remorseful about you cooking your own food, but you flat out refuse to leave it in the hands of a wraith he's pretty sure used to be a chef).

His eyes slide away from yours uncomfortably. “I thought it might be easier for them to believe in my intentions that way.” He looks down, idly pushing a wedge of potato with his fork, which is very unlike him because Viego usually has impeccable table manners. “And it is true, in a way. I am a changed man, because of what Isolde said to me, and because of what you have done for me.”

“What, are you gonna propose to me?” You joke, your mouth running ahead of your mind in a desperate attempt to break whatever this strange tension is.

He blinks at you. “Would you like me to?”

You try for a smile. “I’m joking, Viego.”

“I am not,” he says evenly.

You squint at him, trying to figure out which of Viego's insane personality traits you're up against now. Maybe he just didn't know how to have close relationships that weren't, in one way or another, legally family? Then you recall your conversation in the hallway earlier. “You don't have to marry me to get me to stay, calm down. Plus, can you imagine trying to get a priest out here?” You try for humor, and then belatedly remember that you should probably track down Yorick while you're at this ‘freeing the damned’ thing. Though he's been dead for a long, long time, and he could probably wait until you've found everyone who still has living relatives. “Wait, is that even how weddings work here?”

“Yes. At least, it was in Camavor. A priest and a ceremony and a grand party,” he says, looking almost wistful. “What does courtship look like, where you are from?”

“I mean, the same as here, I guess?” You hazard. “You meet someone, you spend time with them, go on dates, y'know, get dinner and walks in the parks and stuff like that?” He seems oddly unsatisfied by that answer, and you shrug. “I wasn't exactly royalty, so my relationships were probably a little more casual than whatever you were imagining.”

He raises a brow. “I have had my share of casual relationships in the past, you are aware?”

You almost choke on your food. The smile on his face is almost rogueish, and when you look at it like that, you can perfectly picture him flirting his way through the castle staff. “So you were perfectly capable of being normal about it, but you just decided to immediately propose to Isolde on the spot?”

He shrugs. “I know my heart, and I knew I wanted to give it to her. For now it, and all the weight it carries, is mine alone once more.” You're about to ask about the for now part, but he looks up at you seriously. “You know that they will not all be so receptive, the wraiths. There will be those who are angry and vengeful, and those who have been so broken by the mist for so long that they will not know how to be any other way.”

“I know,” you say. “I did think this through before I agreed to it.”

“You were also very drunk, and reportedly part of your reasoning was that I am ‘cute when I'm begging’,” he makes air quotation marks to ensure you know that he is directly quoting you, and his wolfish grin lets you know exactly how much he's enjoying your obvious dismay.

You blanch. “I said that part aloud too, huh?” He responds by laughing at you. You groan. “Look, be that as it may, I had a whole week to change my mind, and here I am.”

“Here you are,” he agrees, and there's something so terribly affectionate in his voice you think you must be imagining it, but it's there in his face when you glance at him too. Gods, he really is handsome.

You hurriedly return to your food, before you can say anything stupid like, say, suggesting he show you the other other blade of the Ruined King. Viego is your friend. Viego’s defining personality trait is being a widower. Viego is not someone you can casually proposition, even he's decided that teasing you is a form of high entertainment, the fucker. God, maybe you just need to get laid–spending all your time around the near-shirtless ghost king was doing numbers to your psyche.

—

You do not find the opportunity to seek a no strings attached hookup, because your time is taken up either sleeping or restoring the souls of the damned. Viego was right when he warned you–in the next lot, a burly man waits long enough to get used to having limbs again before throwing himself at you with a howl. You barely have time to blink before Viego intercepts him, blade at the ready. He swings, and you cringe, expecting a spray of blood, but at the last second Viego glances at you and twists his blade so that he strikes the man with the flat of it instead. It's still an incredible amount of force behind solid (ghost?) steel, so the man goes sprawling, wind knocked out of him.

“You will show her respect,” Viego hisses, standing over him. “I understand your rage and your hate towards me, and I cannot blame you for that, but she has saved you from damnation and you will not raise a hand against her.”

The man spits at his feet. Viego lets out a hissing breath, but otherwise doesn't react as the man picks himself up–only to once again throw himself at Viego, who easily bats aside his wild swing before grabbing him by the throat. “I do not want to do this, but if you cannot behave yourself–” Viego says in the approximation of calm, mist curling up and around the man's head into a glowing crown. All at once, the man stops struggling, and as Viego releases him he complacently goes back to his place in the crowd. The others look at him nervously, an uneasy whisper circling through them.

A woman in a heavy woven shawl steps forward. “Um, your majesties,” she begins nervously, because apparently something about you and Viego just screams ‘married couple’ to the newly risen, “Is he…okay?” Her eyes flit between the crown on the man's head and Viego’s sword, as if she's not sure which is more worrying.

“He will return to himself after you leave the Isles,” Viego explains placidly. You nudge his side and give the sword a significant look, and he glances at it like he forgot it was there before vanishing it into mist. “I will ask the ferryman to keep an eye on him, do not worry.”

She looks at the man for a moment, then ducks her head gratefully. “Well, I thank you for your graciousness. I'm sure he will too, after he comes to his senses.”

After that, he stands a little closer to you while you raise the shades.

—

“How does it work?” You ask, after Viego has seen the risen off to the ferry and you've had a chance to stop swaying on your feet. You like to sit in the gardens, and Viego thins the mist enough to let a soft glow of sunlight through. Viego sits next to you on the stone bench, so close you're almost touching. He’s by your side pretty much constantly these days, save for when you're sleeping or bathing–though, you also wouldn't be surprised if he watched you sleep just to have company. “The whole…possession thing?”

Viego looks up at you from the book he was reading. “It simply does.”

You turn to him, incredulous. “What, that's it?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “I cannot explain how I summon my sword or compel the mist to move, and the crown is the same. I wish it to be so, and so it is.” You squint at him, and he shuts his book with a soft sound. It always boggled your mind that he perfectly remembered what page he was on without any bookmarks. “How does your manipulation of time work?”

You open your mouth, and then realize he's got you cornered, because you're not sure how to explain that either. “You could find out,” you challenge instead.

His brows knit. “You don't mean…?”

“I do,” you confirm.

He frowns. “No.”

“What, you'll marry me but you won't put a crown on my head?” You joke. “C'mon, I'm giving you my explicit permission.”

“That is not–” he begins, then shakes his head. “Everyone I have used my crown on seemed quite distressed by the experience. I would not do the same to you.”

“Was that because of the crown, or because of the sudden and unexpected loss of bodily autonomy paired with you using them to try and kill people?” You say dryly. He frowns, but doesn't answer. “Look. I'll admit, I'm curious, but more importantly…if I'm unconscious or otherwise incapacitated, and we need my powers, I want you to be able to use them. So, please.”

He goes very still, and you belatedly realize exactly what he's picturing–you, unconscious and hurt, unable to rewind your own wounds. “If I were able to deny you anything, it would be this,” he says, sighing deeply. You eagerly turn to face him, crossing your legs on the bench like a kid. For a moment he just looks at you like he's regretting all the choices that brought him to this point, and then begins to strip his gauntlets off. You're sure he could avoid stabbing you with their pointed ends, but Viego also treats you like you're made of glass sometimes.

He cups your face between his palms, and his hands are so much warmer than you expected. You're suddenly stricken with the intimacy of this pose, with you two so close. His eyes flick down to your lips, and for a moment you think he's going to kiss you–

And then a cold sensation snakes it's way into your blood, like drinking ice water. It spreads throughout your limbs until you feel numb from it, and Viego’s eyes glaze as the crown forms on your head.

“How strange,” he says distantly. “It's as if the entire world is singing a song only you can hear.”

You try to move your hand, but nothing happens. Still, you can still distantly feel his hands on your face, as if your skin was so chilled it barely recognizes the touch. You try to project the thought that you're fine, that it's a bit weird but honestly not that bad, but you have no idea if it gets through. “I can feel it, when you struggle against me,” he says softly, and, hm, maybe it's for the best that he can't hear your thoughts, because you've gone somewhere absolutely filthy with that. “I have never held a soul that trusted in me so, that did not rail to reclaim itself.” There's a strange look in his eyes, somewhere between awed and something much darker and deeper, and it occurs to you that you have willingly placed an insane amount of power in his hands. Then again, you already offered him everything you could think to give, and he said no.

Viego sits back, and unbidden your hand raises to one of the shattered pots in the garden. You feel second hand as he fumbles along its time, his brow furrowed in concentration, before slowly winding it back. When it sits whole again, the chill fades, and your body is your own once again. You flex your hands and wiggle your toes, feeling sort of like your limbs had just fallen asleep but without the pins and needles. You then realize Viego is looking at you anxiously.

“If we ever go to Shurima, you're doing that to me,” you say casually.

“Excuse me?” He says, bewildered.

“It was like going into a nice cool swimming pool,” you describe, tapping your chin as you try to find the words. “Or opening a fridge. Wait, you don't know what that is.” You frown. “Also, I hope you recognize how good I am at this time stuff now, it is not easy.”

He laughs, instantly relaxing. “Of course, my heart, I am forever in awe of your talent and grace,” he gives you an exaggerated little head-bow, and you're so busy preening that the pet name doesn't even register until a moment later. Then, you promptly find it very important to start rambling about how, you know, you should try replanting something in this garden, since it's getting sunlight anyway. The indulgent look on his face as he agrees yes, whatever you want, does nothing to still your heart.

—

“Are you sure–” Viego begins.

“Where do you intend to find a chef who's gonna come to the Shadow Isles?” You ask pointedly.

He blinks. “I'm sure that for enough coin…” he catches the look on your face, then sighs. “Very well, I see your point.”

“If you want to help, I'm not going to say no,” you suggest instead. He looks down at the carrots as if he's never seen one before. “You've never cooked before,” you realize, and he has the grace to look a little abashed. His discomfort with you cooking your own meals makes a little more sense–he must feel like he's making you do servants work, from his lofty frame of reference as literal fucking royalty. “Okay, here. Wash your hands.”

He blinks. “You want me to…?”

“To wash your hands and then help me cook,” you confirm. “I'm not a guest, Viego, I live here. I know you've got your own ideas about what hospitality looks like, but where I'm from, if you're cooking for someone they damn well better help you chop the veggies.”

He looks bemused, but complies. You gesture for him to take your place in front of the cutting board. “Hold the knife like this, cut off the ends, slice them like so.” You demonstrate, hip bumping into his as you lean across to the board, and then hand him the knife.

The concentration on his face as he tries to match your cuts is rather endearing. He glances at you for approval, and your nod and smile seems to bolster him, so you start on cleaning the mushrooms. The ingredients aren't exactly the same as what you're used to, but you've managed to put together a respectable assortment for a stir-fry. Your ferryman, Captain Brigg, was very skeptical about the crates of fresh produce you procured him to haul back, but him and his crew also treat you with an odd sort of reverence now that stops them from asking questions. Still, you've got enough of a stockpile of ingredients frozen in time to last you for a few months.

You talk Viego through what you're doing, why you should cut the carrot thin and the bell peppers thick, how you're hoping this soy-sauce like substance from Ionia works the same way as what you're used to, but it's also made from a nut so you're not sure. He asks you about food from your home, and you spend fifteen minutes complaining about having to cook rice manually. He doesn't seem to mind when you automatically slip into bossing him around–your mother always said that idle hands in the kitchen were volunteers who didn't know it yet. He does stiffen slightly whenever you pass behind him, and it takes you a bit to realize it's because you're automatically putting your hand on his lower back so you can squeeze behind him–not that the kitchen is particularly small, but rather that he is not a small man. It also takes you a bit to realize that that part of his back is bare, because he's still wearing nothing on his torso but that ripped open doublet. You've long since figured out that Viego likes being touched, but maybe that was a bit much even for him.

He hovers around even after you don't need his help with prep anymore, watching you stir and experiment with the ranges of sauce you have on hand. “Okay, try,” you announce when you're satisfied, taking a spoon of your hard work and blowing it cool before holding it up to him. Viego doesn't hesitate, and you're momentarily struck with the sensation that this, spoon feeding the Ruined King stir fry you press-ganged him into helping with, is a ridiculous situation to be in.

“It's nice,” he says, touching his lips. You try not to be distracted by the motion.

“Does it need anything? Salt, pepper?” You prompt, scooping some up for you to try yourself. Needs pepper. You look at him expectantly, and his face creases like it does when he's thinking hard.

“Pepper?” He says hesitantly, and you beam at him. He was teachable, and that was better than a majority of your exes.

—

You struggle with the corset for about three minutes before you give up. “Viego?” You call, because he's never far these days. The air goes cold on the back of your neck, but there's a suspicious silence. When you crane your neck around, he's there staring at you.

“Can you help me lace this?” you prompt, gesturing at the partially done back of your corset. The dress is a deep navy color with silver embroidery on the long flowing sleeves and skirts, and the silvery ribbons that make up the back have been making themselves a true pain in the ass.

He blinks, as if just realizing you're there. “I suppose,” he says tersely, sounding almost puzzled as he examines your work. “What have you done?”

You shrug, turning back to the mirror. “Corsets weren't common in my world, and all the ones I've worn came pre-laced. I didn't think it would be this complicated.”

He hums, and you repress a shiver as his fingers brush the space between your shoulders. He's taken to wearing his gauntlets off, when you're just around the castle. “How strange. Why the change from your travelling attire, then?”

You shrug. “This might sound strange to you, but I get tired of wearing the same things all the time, even if I can keep them clean and fresh forever.” You smooth down the front of the dress, admiring the fabric. “And this is such a nice dress.”

“It was made with skill,” Viego says. You glance back at him, and he makes a tutting noise as your hair falls across your back. You do not succeed at suppressing the shiver as he brushes it back over your shoulder. “And you look lovely in it,” he continues, and you're sure you're imagining the husk in his voice. You meet his eyes in the mirror, and they're hooded with a feeling you don't want to name, so you cast around for something to say while staring fixedly at your reflection.

“I look like I'm going to a ball,” you blurt.

“This is a dinner dress, not a dancing one,” Viego says, blessedly accepting your sudden change in subject. “At least, not in Camavor. The skirt is too long and the bodice too stiff.”

You shrug. “I've never been to a ball. Can't even dance.”

He spins you around so you can see his offended expression. “Excuse me?”

You blink at him. “We didn't really have them, where I'm from? Unless you were really rich, which, I most certainly was not.”

He waves a hand. “No, no, not that. You don't know how to dance?”

You blink, taken aback. “No?”

“Outrageous. Give me one moment,” he says, and then disappears into mist.

“What–” you have enough time to say to the empty room before he reappears, this time with a dented hunk of metal in his hand.

“If you would be so kind?” He asks, holding it out. You touch it, and the tarnished metal flickers back into the shape of a music box. “My thanks. Now…” he winds it, places the box on your dresser, and lifts the lid. In it is a beautiful figurine of a bird in flight, and out twinkles a lilting melody. You stare, flabbergasted, as he dips into a very princely bow and offers you his hand. “Lady Iso, may I have this dance?”

You laugh disbelievingly, but take his hand. “Viego, I don't know what I'm doing.”

“That is why I'm showing you,” he says easily, placing one of your hands on his shoulder and keeping the other held aloft. His other hand goes around your waist. “This one is simple, just follow my steps.” It's similar to what you vaguely remember a waltz to be, except you seem to be stepping in a pentagon rather than a square and there's a lot of spinning. Still, you feel like he's overestimating your abilities, because you struggle to match his steps.

“Eyes up,” he chides when your gaze drifts to your feet. You blink up at him, offended.

“How am I supposed to see where I'm stepping?” You ask, offended.

“Do you need to look at your feet to walk?” He retorts. You stick your tongue out at him, and you're so close you can feel it when he laughs. “Don't think so hard about it. Just listen to the music and stay with me.”

He's talking about the dance, you remind yourself. Suddenly, keeping your eyes on his is difficult, so you stare somewhere off his left shoulder instead. “How do you remember all of this?” You ask, brow furrowed as you try to match his steps without looking.

“I’ve always loved dancing, ever since I was young,” he says, sounding pleased he remembers the fact. “I remember my brothers would tease me, because I preferred my dancing lessons to my swordsmanship ones.”

You look up at him curiously. He doesn't talk about his family often, though you're not sure if that's because he doesn't want to or because he doesn't remember much about them. “I suppose you've had a lot of practice, then?”

He spins you, and you think that returns you to the first part of the steps. “Yes. I attended whatever balls I could, even the ones hosted by those on poor terms with the Crown.” He reels you back in with a little flourish. “My brothers teased me for that, too.”

You're about to ask more, but you trip over your skirt. Viego catches you easily, though you smack your face against his aggravatingly solid chest. “That is why this is not a dancing dress,” Viego says, and his tone is light but his expression when you look up at him is tinged with want. You realize you're very, very close, his arm still around your waist and your hands on the bare skin of his torso. Your chest is pressed to his, and you're abruptly aware of how much this corset emphasizes your cleavage. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted and looking oh so soft–

Whatever this moment between you is, it's interrupted by the dissonant click of the music box playing it's last note. Viego steps back and bows. You clumsily mimic a curtsey, and he looks up at you with a crooked smile that makes your heart ache. You staunchly refuse to examine why.