#its name is a click bait

[tesadict]

Stanford "Brain Guy" Pines vs common sense, go!!!

Though I must admit, it IS funnier to think your cat uses the covers of your books to swear due to not knowing swears in Morse code. Not that it may be a miserable little man instead of a nice smart kitty.

@dark-lord-of-awesomeness 's Cat Stan au has entered my mind and is refusing to leave it. You can say, it cat-burglared its way here. I was craving content, rereading the main story, until I realised I have the power of cartoonized cats on my side. Though it is unlikely that I will post a lot seeing as I'm currently drowning in study.

P. S. If you can't read my handwriting, check alt 😘

[prael]

Integrity

Newjeans Hanni x male reader smut

Happy Hanni Day!

Masterlist word count: 6,048 Kofi(donations/commissions)

It's a really long way to travel, and doubly so when you get fuck all from it. It's not like you were after anything ground-breaking—it's just a fashion show, after all.

It's about as close as you get to 'phoning it in' as a journalist. A few copy-and-paste interviews to accompany some snapshots of the season's latest designs. A couple hundred words, cut and run. Who wore what dress and who wore it the tightest. You could probably type most of it out on the plane without ever leaving your seat, and the public will still eat it up.

Somewhere over Austria, you mulled over that very fact.

Four days later, somewhere over Hungary, you're scrambling to do exactly that.

The whole thing is going fine. Fine, right up until it isn't. Maybe it's the sound of your fingers on the keys or the pocket of air that rocked the plane in that familiar gut-wrenching way, but her eyes are opening slowly. She's mouthing something, her fingers reaching around behind her, under the thin layer of blankets she is enveloped in.

"Are we there yet?" she murmurs, fishing her phone out of her blanket, sleepiness and all.

"Not even close," you say as flatly as you can, returning to a few words you'd been rolling over in your head for the better part of thirty minutes.

"What are you writing about?" She asks from down on her fully reclined seat that's moonlighting as a bed.

"You," you say with a small laugh, not looking away from your laptop.

"What about me?" Hanni's phone lights up, cutting through the darkness and finally making her face visible. The cabin is in full black-out since it's the middle of the night, and the dividers in first-class keep the two of you isolated.

"Your clothes, mostly. Generic fashion show stuff. Doesn't really matter. I put the names Gucci and Hanni Pham in an article and it sells itself. Instant clicks. S'like... two baits for one fish."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Probably is," you reply, knowing full well that there's little to be proud of in here. It's all surface level after all, since adding the things you know now might raise a few eyebrows. All the investigative journalism you've done over the past few days isn't exactly something you can write about. Though you can't deny it, an article about the beauty mark right below her waistline would probably send the masses into a frenzy.

You can hear her tapping on her screen a few more times, and with the silence in the first-class cabin at night, you find yourself focusing on those sounds more than your writing. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Sigh. Tap. Tap.

"What is it?"

"Can't sleep," comes her whispered reply as she pushes herself up with that strange grunt you often hear her make, propping her pillow against the bulkhead and stretching out.

"Drugs not working?"

She shakes her head. "Not doing much."

"If my typing is too loud I can stop—"

"No, you focus. I'll find something to keep myself distracted." She locks her phone again and disappears into the darkness again, her soft breathing almost inaudible. Minutes go by. You manage a full two paragraphs before hearing her moving in the darkness again.

"Hanni?"

"Shh."

The slow shifting goes on for another few seconds, and in the darkness, you can make out the movement of her blanket as she slides off the chair down to your feet. What hits you next is her fingers reaching into your waistband.

"Hann—"

"Quiet," she whispers back. You quickly pick up the laptop from resting on your lap before her attempts to undress you can send it crashing to the floor. You're quick to place it on her seat and close its cover, out of her reach just in time before she slides your pants down.

She doesn't say anything, just lets you lay there in silence as her fingers guide you into her mouth. It is almost unnerving how used to it you have become in such a short time—how easy it has become for you, a supposed professional, to mix business and pleasure to this degree.

Hanni goes on unperturbed, wetting you between plump lips that trail up and down your length.

There is nothing you can do at this point but give in and just throw your head back. You grow harder under her touch and her tongue and judging by the way she grows more aggressive with her movements, Hanni is starting to enjoy herself as well. You can't quite make out her face, but you already know the look she's wearing. Can practically see it in your mind's eye; the look of wide-eyed desire as she takes you further in, lips rounding out over teeth as she welcomes every inch you give her until her cheeks cave in from sucking.

It's fucking burned into your brain. You've seen it so much, among so many other filthy expressions, you aren't sure if you could ever forget it.

Your hand reaches down blindly in the darkness until it finds the back of her head. The mere fact that the both of you are sitting on this plane hundreds of miles above the ground is instantly forgotten, fading out from consciousness and sense as she holds on, massaging your balls with one hand.

You let yourself lay there like this, fingers tangled in her hair, cock buried in her mouth. The thought of pulling her up and reciprocating is never far from your mind, but her grip on your hips is certain. This is all her right now. She's in charge.

She does not lack the pace to prove it.

Her head bobs up and down in the dark, tongue guiding you further in with every motion, lips slipping further down along your shaft, saliva pooling at your base. Her humming is growing—you can't hear it, but you can feel it. It resonates all the way through you, down the aching hardness she keeps stroking with her tongue, and even further to fuel that tension building in your lower stomach.

"Holy fuck," you curse under your breath, voice catching in your throat, lost in the motion of the plane's droning vibrations and her eager motions.

She pops you from her mouth, stroking your cock with a twist of a wrist and something she is doing with her tongue at the tip. As your eyes begin to adjust, you can see that spit has mixed with precum, dribbling down and over the back of her knuckles. It's lewd and over the top and everything that Hanni Pham, an innocent idol, pretends not to be.

"What? You want me to stop?"

"Fuck no," you whisper back, heart pumping in your ears. The feeling of her strokes, suddenly more controlled and tense without the benefit of her mouth is as jarring as it is fleeting.

"Didn't think so." With that, she brings her head back down to take you in her mouth again, hot breaths hitting the spit-slick surface of your dick. It's dirty and clumsy, messy and wet, and each time she swallows you, your entire body shudders with pleasure, coiling every muscle and feeling it climb upward until your stomach goes tight and you find yourself pushing her down, further, faster, until she is sucking what little air she has.

You are wound tight. Agonising, torturous tension pulling ever outward from your centre with each motion she makes. Every twitch of her tongue—fuck, does she work her tongue—spurs some sort of response down to the very tips of your toes.

It's a complete relapse. Back to four days ago, in the back of the car, with nothing but a divider between you and the driver. Cumming inside Hanni's pretty mouth and feeling her swallow every bit, then going on like nothing happened.

-

There's usually not a lot of enthusiasm for an interview. You have spent the whole morning being shrugged off by star after star after star. To them, they're there to look pretty. To show face and represent their brands. Answers are pre-written garbage to be regurgitated over and over like everyone is sharing the same stupid fucking tongue.

Then there's little miss backless-top. Denim jeans and a shirt with frills that barely keeps her modesty. Big, brown eyes and a smile that fills her whole face. Add her vibrance and energy and she really gets your journalistic gears turning. There's something fresh about her. How when you approach her, she engages you in a conversation like you're an actual person and not just some cardboard cut-out of a journalist.

Hanni Pham knows her shit. It's part of the training. She handles media with all the grace of someone born to do it and the energy of someone who loves it. So not only does she give you answers there and then, but when you make the request to sit down with her later and get all you need to do a whole feature on her, she's quickly turning to the powers that be to make it happen.

She should have been a ten-minute addendum. An hourglass figure strutting and posing and laughing her pretty little ass off for cameras for the adoring public. Instead, Hanni fucking Pham, you've got her. For hours.

So you sit down in a quiet little room you managed to reserve with the company card, and she's right across from you, with two glasses of water and a notepad on a table in an otherwise empty room.

"Is this going to be recorded?" She asks first, though looks sceptical and unprepared.

"Normally, yes. But I would prefer us to be a little more comfortable. I'm going to take notes, that's all."

"I like that." She claps, like there's an imaginary audience watching, even if you're the only one there. "So, what are we covering?"

"Everything. To start," you shift a little closer to the table. "Think of this being more about you rather than what you're wearing."

She gives you a little bit of a quizzical look.

"I know. Fashion show. Just, work with me here. The Gucci brand gets the clicks, I want to introduce those clickers to the girl wearing the clothes."

Hanni nods, her eyes light up a little and you can't help but notice how she is really fucking adorable. Up close, she's even prettier. It throws you off for a second as you bring up the notepad. The blank pages stare up at you—mock you. Where do you even begin?

"We met briefly earlier, and you're standing alongside stars from many industries and the lead designer at Gucci."

"Yes," she smiles politely. "That was exciting. Kind of surreal, really."

"So what does it take to be who you are? A girl of Vietnamese blood, born in Melbourne, working in South Korea and travelling to Europe for fashion shows?"

"Uhm, like, honestly?" She shifts in her seat. "Really a lot of hard work. Endless and stressful and never-ending hard work. You know? From singing and dancing, to the language lessons and the dieting and working out. It needs hard work and, well, a lot of luck too."

"You make your own luck." You nod, before jotting down into your notepad.

She tilts her head in response. "I suppose so. That's very quotable if you want. I made my own luck by working hard."

"And yet you're still young, what, turning twenty?"

"Just." Hanni nods.

"Barely twenty and making waves. Do you still feel like you have so much more to give?"

"Oh fuck yeah," she quickly confirms. "Wait, don't write that down."

"Oh... fuck... yeah." You sound out the words as you pretend to write them in the notepad.

"Hey!" Hanni laughs, and it's beautiful. It fills the room and just makes her glow with warmth. "Cut me some slack."

"Alright. Alright. So is this what you envisioned? Being twenty and being here?"

"You mean in this room with you?"

You laugh too. The jokes come so naturally to her.

"I'm happy where I am, it really was always my dream."

"To be in this room with me?"

"Fuck you," she laughs. "But, in a way, yes. I wouldn't be here if I didn't achieve my dream, would I?"

"That's very true. Then what is next for you?"

"There's no end goal." Hanni tilts her head. You follow her hand as it passes through her hair. She's studying you just like you are studying her. "I don't think I'll ever sit back and say 'that's enough.' That's not who I am."

"Ambitious. The question now is what are you chasing?"

"Is that you asking or the article?"

"Both," you say with a wry smile.

"For the article: I want to tour the world, keep improving and working hard. Release more music."

You scribble down a few notes and then click the top of the pen. "And off the record?"

"To spend a little more time focusing on myself. Time is fleeting. I should try and enjoy it while it lasts."

"You're young, pretty and successful. You have plenty of opportunity to do just that."

"Is that flirting?" she jokes, cocking her brow with a seductive smile.

"I'm just stating facts. I'm married to the truth." You gesture to your notepad. "So let's get back on the record, shall we?"

-

One delayed layover later and you're back in the air, and after your brief break to let Hanni drain you into her throat, you managed to get back to finishing up the article, so for the final stretch, the two of you are lying together in one of the first-class beds, and the conversation kept going.

"How are you single?" she's asking, while you're spooning her.

"Mostly because of my job. Definitely the baggage and constant travelling. Takes a special woman to not hate this."

"Sounds like idol life. I know so many idols who try to date but you just never have the time to see each other. We tour constantly and are always on the road. A long day of practising and comeback planning and comeback filming and comeback rehearsing, and more hours of sleep and eating to prep for the next comeback, you're always too exhausted."

"Such a shame." You lower the blanket that's covering her bare chest. Her breasts fill your palm as you caress them, gently. "A pretty thing like you deserves so much better than empty hotel rooms."

"Flirt," she playfully chastises, pressing her ass to your crotch before sliding forward to give you some friction, grinning at you over her shoulder. "These past few days, all the sex, I'd be lying if I said I couldn't get used to this."

It's a sentiment so heavily shared, that even now you're thinking about how easy it would be to pin her onto her back and mount her. It isn't easy to shake the thought when her body is practically inviting you inside her.

You're asking instead, still exploring her naked form, "How do you overcome the needs?"

"Other ways..." Hanni replies through closed eyes, her cheeks blushing. "Toys. Helps and hurts. They're no real substitute."

You run your hand over her toned stomach, heading between her thighs and gently prying them open. And there she is. Right fucking there, wet and waiting for you. Your finger glides over her lips and runs the full length of her, and she strains to contain a gentle moan. The problem is, Hanni is really fucking loud, and the walls of this pod are paper thin.

"I want you again," she whispers, and it's a real fucking dilemma.

She guides your cock through the folds of her pussy and leans back her head as she takes it. Fuck, it feels so good being back inside her. Wet and tight and made to grip. A small whimper escapes her when you are in deep, which she tries to swallow.

"You gotta be quiet," you tell her, while all but refusing to move inside her.

"I can be quiet," she grinds against you, but you're not convinced, and with a firm grasp of her jaw, you pull her closer.

"Can you?" you speak under her ear. "Can the oh-so-talented Hanni Pham control herself?"

She lets out another trembling little sound of pleasure while pushing herself onto your shaft. "I think so. All I know is you need to—yeah, right there. Yes." She closes her eyes and tries to stifle that deep groan of enjoyment.

You hush her before it gets too loud with a hand over her mouth. Tentatively, you begin moving, an aching slow journey backward and forward. As tight as her cunt is around your dick, the movement becomes easy. Dragging more pleasure from both of you and as she rolls her hips again, grinding against the motion, the whimpering returns.

"Hanni," you scold gently, pushing further into her with each stroke. "Shhh."

She mouths an 'I can't' into your hand which elicits a laugh from you and turns a smirk into a smile. You're rutting against her ass, savouring the feeling of your hips hitting her soft flesh. Ample curves along with a narrow waist begging you to embrace her. A pretty little thing taking all your cock and urging you on. It's hard not to go harder. "Need you."

"Careful what you wish for," you whisper as she tries to lean back her head in bliss.

Her tongue brushes your knuckles, and the soft sweep feels like a warm, wet invitation to probe further. A few seconds of uncertainty follows, and then her mouth closes around the tips of your fingers and starts to suck. Sharing the same excitement that has gotten the better of you the past few days of endless debauchery.

You sink your fingers deeper. She sucks harder, her moans stifled behind her pursed lips. Anywhere but here and you would throw her face down on the mattress, fuck her into a state of bliss. Make her beg for you and claw the bedsheets. Such an innocent girl, a girl who should have stayed wrapped in silk and lace, but who demands you take her, just a moment longer, just a bit rougher, and how can you refuse a beauty like that?

Just as Hanni settles and relaxes, her body is dragged into tense peaks of delight. Tiny gasps leak from around your fingers as you thrust deeper. She chokes as she orgasms, digging her nails into the arm that is holding her close, her face going bright pink. Sweat on her temples, on her chest. An earthly aroma of wet skin and hot breaths. She swears and curses the pleasure as you pump your orgasm between her thighs.

You fill her. For a while, you are one, grinding together in mutual fulfilment, breathing heavily and lost in your actions. The mess you're making runs from her sweet cunt, down her thigh, onto the bed.

The rush leaves the both of you exhausted. Hanni does nothing to resist you pulling out and emptying the last few drops over her ass. It is all over as quick as it began. It comes with a strange realisation of how natural it all feels to cum inside Hanni Pham.

-

It's not often that someone you interview not only takes your card, but doesn't immediately throw it away, and actually uses the number on there. You're in the back of a cab when it rings. Today's show has just about finished and while you didn't quite manage to snag another interview like the one you did with Hanni, it has been a good day.

"Did you get enough to write about?" is the first question she asks when you answer.

"I got a few bits here and there. Some surface-level stuff from others, but you gave me the marquee piece. I'll fluff up what I have with the spec sheets released and I'm sure it'll be a nice little exclusive."

"That makes me sound important," she giggles.

"You're a fucking celebrity, of course you are important."

"No need to swear."

"Apologies." There's a momentary pause. You let it linger on the call and soon enough, Hanni's laugh fills the silence.

"I'm kidding. Keep up that energy,"

"So, why are you calling? Usually, when I get a call it's to recant some statement or explain a misquote. Did I make a mess of something?"

"Well, not yet. But I have some ideas."

"Ideas?" You repeat, brows raising.

"Where are you now?" she asks, and for a moment you wonder if you shouldn't be answering.

"Taxi. Headed back to the place I'm staying."

"Where are you staying?" It's a strange question for her to ask, you think. Or maybe, it's not strange at all, but timing and circumstance have you considering the way it sounds.

"A hotel."

"Look to your right," she says, making a confusing request, but you look. Of course, you do. Outside the window, in the next lane over, stuck in the very same traffic as you are, is a familiar face. She gives you the widest grin, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Are you following me?" you joke.

"Do you want me to?" There's something playful in her voice, an attempt at seduction that's not exactly subtle.

"Hanni, what are—"

"Just answer the question," she interrupts.

And that's it. There's no reason to evade the truth. Lying to yourself gets no one anywhere. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Good," she murmurs, "you know, I'm still wearing the same outfit as I was at the event. These jeans are getting really uncomfortable." She pulls the phone away from her ear for a second and you hear her call out, "Driver? See that taxi on our left? Follow it, please. And can I get some privacy back here?"

There are some distant sounds from the other side of the phone. An affirmation of orders. Then her voice is right back with you.

"As I was saying, these jeans are really uncomfortable."

"Fashion can hurt," you say flatly.

"You're supposed to tell me to take them off or something. You're not very good at this are you?"

"I didn't realise 'this' is what we were doing." You've developed a stupid fucking smile, even if it's going unseen.

"Hmm, it can be." There is a moment of quiet as if she's thinking. "Hold on a second," Hanni says. There are some vague sounds you can't make out before she comes back to the phone. "Got bored of waiting. Now, keep talking will you? I like the sound of your voice."

"Hanni, what—"

"Just keep talking. Tell me what you think of me." She can't see it, but the look of confusion must be shining bright on your face. At a loss, and under duress, you speak your mind.

"Well, you seem nice." It's a weak first effort. "Very funny, a little confident. You must know you're pretty. Young, but driven." The words you mumble are stilted, but telling the truth.

"Really. You think I'm pretty?"

"Yeah."

"Not sexy?"

"Hanni, you're fucking sexy."

"Thanks," her laugh is like bells, ringing through the car. "That's better. What did you think of my outfit?"

"Daring. Not often do I see an idol go completely backless. Risky."

"Sometimes a risk is worth taking."

"Seems so."

"Tell me more. Tell me what was the part you liked the most?" Her voice drops from that relaxed confidence to a pitch that has your head buzzing with possibility.

"Nice waist. Really looked good with the way those jeans hugged your hips."

There's a long, heavy breath from the other end of the line. Something rustling and then a deep gasp from Hanni.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing. Keep talking. Describe me to me." Her voice is fraught with need, a small tremble in each word.

"Okay." That was permission, or demand, whichever is. You swallow before continuing. "Backless was a good choice. Your bare skin looks great. I'm sure those pictures are going viral already. Betting they are all over the web, all over people's phones."

"Are we close to your hotel?" Hanni strains out the question as if it were hard to say, every syllable wrought in pain.

"Close."

"Good, are you excited?"

"To?"

"See more of my bare skin."

Fuck. The image floods your mind like a dam breaking. Suddenly, she's right there, unclothed and naked and spread open. Suddenly, she's right there, moaning in pleasure, your cock lodged deep inside her.

"Yes," you groan into the phone. It's a painful admission. "Really, Hanni. Really fucking excited."

"So tell me, what are you excited to see?"

"Your ass. Love the way you wore the jeans just a little too tight. Really framed it."

She whispers, "That's all? Anything else, anything special you wanted to see?"

"Your breasts. Like what the top does. Would like to pull it down and play with those breasts." This whole thing is obscene. You're shamelessly spilling your desire to a girl you just met and she's loving every second of it.

Another soft gasp is heard on the call. It's more than that, it's her panting, short snatches of breath as her little gasps become regular, heated and urgent. "And then what?"

"That's a surprise. We're here." The cab pulls up and her car pulls in behind you.

"Room number?"

"Oh-one-two-two," you say, handing over cash to pay the driver and stepping out. "See you there."

-

It's deep into the night now, and her back is pressed against the wall as you're kissing down her neck. For a young woman who looks ever so innocent, you're quickly learning the taste of her body could have the alcohol industry aflame. She's intoxicating and you're addicted. Lips sucking, teeth pressing lightly against tender flesh.

She told you to not wear a condom, not this time. She described your first load as a waste, a sinful injustice after all the things she had done to wring it from you. So now you're back inside her, thinking only of how you're going to decorate her this time, about the moment you can't hold back any longer and cum, uninhibited, spewing mess over her delicate, flawless little body.

So you're just fucking nailing Hanni against the wall, her leg pulled up and knee hooking around your elbow. Holding her there, pounding her cunt the best you possibly can. Her hands scratch deep lines into your back, and her fingernails leave dull aches along your spine. There's something primal in the way she's urging you to fuck her harder, stronger, faster. She wants all of you, just like you want all of her.

You lift her other leg and hold her there, folded against the drywall. The steady pounding begins to churn her insides, to break her fragile body to the rhythm. She's mewling a mixture of sounds in your ear. Begging. Incoherent sounds of need. Then you feel her cunt clenching and tightening, a sudden strength to the grip she has on your shaft.

Hanni screams your name, howling it at the ceiling and the walls while you drive her ever deeper through an orgasm that's torn apart her expression. Utter beauty, sheer excellence. Her quivering pleasure comes with warmth between the two of you. She cums so hard that she goes limp in your arms. Your legs really begin to strain as you pump her full of cock, and her lips find yours again.

Your kisses are savage, the gnashing of teeth and the crush of lips. She's asking for more. Demanding more.

So you throw her to the bed, turning her over and she instinctively drags herself to her knees. Her palms run to the edge of the bed, clawing the blankets as you climb behind her.

"Do you like my ass?" She breathes. Your grip finds the firm flesh with purpose.

"Love your ass," you mutter, taking a hold and angling her towards you.

"Then fuck me." Hanni arches deep, pushing her soft ass in the air and pressing her tits against the mattress. She backs right up to you, begging to be fucked, once more.

The penetration is perfect. Balls deep inside this horny little girl, grabbing a fistful of her hair and using it as leverage. It's hard, it's fast, it's a brutal rut. A sweaty, wet fuck driven by nothing but raw need. She's too wet, too accommodating, clapping herself against your pelvis, meeting your every thrust.

It's not the time to think. Simply let instinct take over. Leaning into it and fucking her.

More words spill from her mouth. More dirty, lewd praises that have your balls aching. It won't be long now. Every muscle, straining with effort, pulls taut. It's such a fucking trip. This once innocent-looking person sucking the life right from the core of your being, bending over for you to force a hand along her spine and bend her further.

"Cum on me," she whimpers again and again. Over and over. She's pleading with you. "Please, cum on me. On my back. Cover me."

There's no further thought, no plan, no point of focus. Everything narrows down to the slick friction around your shaft, and your stomach starting to become strained from the endless effort. To how her ass shakes as your fuck yourself to the edge and how she cranes her neck to watch you.

At the very last moment, you draw out of her and jerk yourself, quick and urgent motions of your wrist. Hanni's knees give way and she lies flat, looking back and watching you as you start to cover her.

The first spurts land high, just beneath her hair. They collect and pool before forming and dripping forward along her shoulder blades. The next spreads across her shoulders. A thin coating that has you shiver as it lands. It goes on and on until you're slathering her in thick lines and ropes.

Something about the sight is so fitting, so delectable, as she lays there and writhes with need, adoring the feeling of being bathed in your lust.

Her expression is an aphrodisiac as she cries out in ecstasy. Her tongue runs across her lips, and then she lets out a soft lass before crashing her face into the soft bedsheets with a moan. Your fist is still pumping rope after rope of cum across her until every muscle feels drained, and you manage to collapse beside her on the bed. You trace a finger across her smooth, plump ass as you catch your breath.

"This is the life," Hanni gasps. "If I could just have endless sex, the world would be a far happier place."

-

You could have been forgiven for thinking it would be a one-off. Just one night of wild sex together before going your separate ways and never speaking again. A nice memory of a beautiful girl to always sit fondly at the back of your mind.

But the very next night, you're in her hotel bathroom. Sharing a bath together, her back pressed flush to your front. You can't fucking resist running a hand between her thighs, working gently over her cunt to hear the wonderful noises she makes.

"Please," she whispers over and over, grinding against your touch.

Ordinarily, you might tease her, and have her beg a little more, but there's nothing more enthralling than the sounds and sights of Hanni's face when she cums. So instead, you're knuckle deep with two fingers and curling them into her cunt, hitting that magic spot just a little more, faster and faster.

On the brink of her second orgasm in ten minutes, Hanni draws a noisy, shuddering breath, the exhalation quickly becoming a sharp, high-pitched wail that fills the bathroom, her eyes glaze as she climaxes. "Fuck. I—that's—more." Her head falls backwards and rests on your shoulder, "yeah, more."

Hanni's petite frame writhes in orgasm. Back arched, panting breaths quickly turning to gasps for air. Eyes flutter and roll backwards before shutting entirely. Every muscle in her tight cunt grips your fingers as waves of pleasure pour from deep inside. She grinds on you, riding the sensation of your touch through the spasms until they finally slow.

"You're so fucking cute when you cum," you kiss her cheek.

It's the compliment that has her rising from the water, she stands in front of you, her wet ass and thighs dripping as she turns toward you. "Me? Cute?" She smirks, lowering herself onto your thighs, resting your cock against her pussy. "Am I really?"

"Cutest fucking thing."

She guides your cock to her wet pussy, sinking down and slowly filling herself, the both of you making a whimper at the sensation. She's in no rush, though. She prefers slow, she favours long, lingering motions where you're all the way inside her and stay there for just a few moments before climbing once more.

Her rhythm has you melting back against the bath. Long, even strokes have her ass lifting and sinking, and she rolls her hips so elegantly that it's natural to reach for her waist and run your hands along her curves.

"I hope you don't think I'm easy," Hanni whispers, her fingers grabbing the hair on the back of your head, locking her hot body against yours, keeping you close, wrapping around you. "But I'm twenty and sex-deprived, so deal with it."

"You're allowed to enjoy sex. Nothing wrong with that," you answer through closed eyes, focusing only on the heat, the skin, the feeling of your cock rubbing through her.

With a mischievous chuckle, she rests her weight on you. Chest to chest, nose against nose.

"Careful," she whispers, her voice fluttering in between soft sighs of excitement. "I could get used to having a man around. Someone willing to get me off, over and over again. You might be stuck with me. Wouldn't that be scandalous? A reporter who's secretly fucking a star like me?"

That alluring, seductive voice makes your body tense. Her kiss threatens to undo you right then and there. She's riding you harder now, bouncing her ass in your lap. Driving the pleasure, the friction, harder and deeper.

"I have a confession to make," you speak with heavy breaths, trying to restrain yourself. "I think I could get used to this. Every day. If I could."

"It's a deal then. How about we celebrate by letting you blow a load inside me? Would you like that?" She nibbles at your earlobe, giggling as she sucks it between her lips. "How good would it feel to feel your hot, thick cum slide all the way up inside me?"

"So fucking good."

"And maybe tomorrow I'll keep you inside me and let you fill me all over again, and maybe I'll do the same the day after." There's a devilish smile across her face as she continues, "I'll ride you again and again and again..."

She keeps repeating it, the word stamped into your head over and over and each time she says it, she drives her hips down into you. Hard. The water ripples. Her ass slaps the tops of your thighs. It's a relentless rhythm, an insistent grind, a desperate desire for more.

"You're filthy," you tell her as you take a firm grip on her ass, her flesh filling your grasp and the muscles rippling through her skin as she moves.

"Maybe. Maybe I am, and maybe you like it." She laughs. A sound as sweet as honey.

"You know I do."

"Then show me how much. Fill me. Let it go."

That's all you need, just her words and the way she fucks you. She's the one doing all the work, and it's all the reason you need to relax and let the bliss consume you.

Hanni is kissing you when it hits. She swallows your groans of release, sucking them into her lungs. Her hands press down into your shoulders, nails sinking deep into your skin.

She doesn't stop moving, not once. Keeps grinding. She maintains the pace until you can't take any more. Until there's nothing left. Only then does she ease her motion, settling onto your lap, keeping you deep in her.

"That was amazing," she sighs.

"Fucking was."

[milkbobatyun]

the emperor's mistakes

pairing: michael kaiser x reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: he let his anger get the better of him again and once more you were the one he directed his anger towards

word count: 968

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : injury, implied abuse

a/n: for you @nfekwefdskldm cus you're such a big kaiser simp smh

at the kitchen counter, a pile of steaming dishes in front of you as you sat, staring listlessly into the flickering flame, waiting for michael to come back. in the midst of the banquet sat a singular blue rose in its crystal vase—a flower michael had gotten you last week, to apologise for another fight the two of you had.

the old grandfather clock ticked away, steady like a heartbeat. it was almost 10, way past the time that michael normally came home. your hand itched to call him on your phone, but the memory of last time made your breath hitch in your throat. his fury echoed in your ears: “stop being such a busybody.”

he had come home after with fire burning in his eyes, screaming at you, his words blending into a blur of rage and hurtfulness. as if the verbal assault wasn’t enough to satisfy his anger, he had raised his hand against you. to this day, your cheek bore the scar where his ring had cut deeply into the flesh.

the flame flickered, throwing shadows that danced and taunted you across the walls. you couldn’t go to bed early, he expected you to greet him at the door after all. each second passed with a mix of fear and baited breath.

you were about to doze off, the quiet ambience lulling you to sleep, when you heard the jangling of keys at the front door. 

sliding down the bar stool, you padded to the door, quietly greeting kaiser as he entered. but just one glance from him and your words died in your throat. his face was thunderous, frustration emulating from his visage. the look sent a shiver of fear down your spine, as you bowed your head and averted your eyes, shrinking into yourself to make yourself unnoticeable.

it was best if you didn’t anger him further tonight, yet no matter what you did, it seemed to tick him off even further.

he stalked past you wordlessly, slamming the door as he entered his study.

under your breath, you counted silently to 3 before you heard the tell-tale sign of kaiser’s anger. the muffled thuds of books falling to the floor, intertwined with the tingle of pens created a symphony of fury, conducted by the egoist himself.

sighing, you sat down on the large couch, hoping he would calm down soon. on the kitchen table, the food slowly grew cold.

10 minutes, 20 minutes, half an hour passed before the house was finally silent again.

you gave yourself some time before taking in a deep breath and calming your jittering nerves. your worries were rational, no one knew what this wild beast would do in his fits of rage.

tentatively, you knocked on his door. once, twice, thrice. you called out his name, still no answer. you reached out a shaking hand, turning the cold doorknob, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

the chaos of scattered papers and pens, discarded paper weights and overturned chairs were strewn about the room, the remainder of a hurricane. in the eye of the storm, kaiser sat, slumped in his chair, his hands buried in his hair, quietly muttering words of german in anger.

hearing the door open, kaiser’s head shot up, frustration an ugly mask on his face.

“get out!” he roared, slamming his fist on the table. “get out! get out! get out!”

you were too slow for his liking, so he grabbed a nearby book, throwing it in your direction.

time seemed to slow, as you watched the heavy, bound book fly towards your face. pain exploded in bright hot bursts where the corner ripped through your skin, blood flowing freely down your temple.

surprise was etched on your face, as you reached out a trembling hand to your head, fingers staining with your blood. still in a state of white shock, you closed the door with a gentle click.

the door locked away the wrath of kaiser’s anger, but it still echoed in the silence. the sting of the book had turned into a dull throbbing, a ghostly trail of rusted blood on your face.

stumbling into the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of yourself. how had the bright-eyed, cheerful you, turned into this life-less, pathetic ghost of a shell?

gently, you disinfected your wound, hissing at the singing pain that ran through you.

back in the living room, you lowered yourself onto the couch, exhaustion weighing you down. you were tired, you wanted to sleep. to rest. forever seemed like a long enough time.

you were tired of this relationship. you wanted to be free, but your tender heart and lovesick brain believed you could change him for the better. how naïve.

when kaiser had calmed down from his fury, he began picking up the objects strewn around the room.

as he bent to pick down the book lying in front of the door, his fingers came away sticky and coated in blood. your blood.

guilt twisted and gnawed at his insides. once again, he had caused you pain. he was so weak-minded, every time anger consumed him like a flame, you were always the one to bear the brunt of his fury. the bitter taste of defeat was on his tongue.

 every time, he promised that he would do better, rein in the anger, but his temper always won. he was weak to anger, quick to give up. that was not the way an emperor should act.

it was also not the way an emperor should treat his empress, he thought bitterly. once again, his fury had caused you to be hurt. how could he make it up to you this time?

for once, he suspected that no matter how grand, how sincere his apologies were, it may never be enough.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki, @nfekwefdskldm

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[wileys-russo]

tiny red hearts II a.putellas

tiny red hearts II a.putellas

amid the pandemic everyone picked up a hobbie in lockdown.

if it be knitting, dancing, pottery, reading, cooking, puzzles. you name it, someone had likely perfected it as an art form during those weeks and weeks locked away from society.

for you it was no different. you'd tried cooking, reading, jigsaws, colouring in, sudoku, even gardening but nothing really clicked.

until one day you were endlessly doom scrolling your various social medias as again, everyone was, when you stumbled across a nail art video. intrigued you'd watched it, then another, and another, and another, the worm hole you fell down was one that was long and steep and swift.

then before you knew it you had package after package arriving on your doorstep, much to your girlfriends confusion at your sudden online shopping habits. normally you were quite the stickler for the 'its a want not a need' type attitude, but with the packages snatched up and hidden away in your room the days melted into weeks as you worked tirelessly to perfect your new art.

and a week of hard work and countless hours spent watching youtube tutorial after youtube tutorial later holed up in the guest bathroom, you'd done it.

that wasn't to say your clear dedication to your new hobbie was one your girlfriend enjoyed, forever trying to bait you into doing something with her but you'd just brush her off, eyes glued to your phone screen which was propped up against a bottle of shampoo.

which is how you came to be sitting on the floor of your living room weeks and weeks later, bottles of polish sat in perfect colour coded order on the coffee table with all your little brushes and tools neatly lined up in front.

your bottom lip was firmly between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed deeply with concentration as your eyes squinted and your hand moved slowly and precisely.

your girlfriend of two years whom you shared your home with and whom you'd been locked in with for the horrendously active period of this ghastly pandemic lay stretched out on the sofa behind you, toned tanned arms crossed firmly across her chest.

her face was stoic and seemingly stern as ever, you'd forever nag her about the frown lines she was embedding into her beautifully smooth skin with the scowl she'd not even clock was on her face nearly all the time when she found herself deep in thought or lost in her own mind.

but she'd merely brush it off with a wave or a hum, nothing unusual when she was reviewing game footage and given she wasn't currently able to play her studying of games when she could had only increased.

you were off in your own little world and she was in hers, you coexisted but knew how not to be codependent, something which had surprisingly caused your relationship to stay just as strong if not more so during this lockdown together.

one of the key things that made your relationship healthy was the fact that despite how long you'd been seeing one another you still spent time apart, and despite not being able to leave the house much you still had different hobbies and interests to preoccupy your time.

you would go shopping or out for drinks with your school friends you'd known for years, as alexia would often go for dinner or hikes with some of her own childhood friends, well that was when she wasn't chasing after ball and getting grass stains all over her legs.

but that's not by any means to say you weren't positively and certainly head over heels infatuated with one another, and whenever you did spend time apart you were increasingly clingy that night once you were reunited, but when out you knew to respect one another's time and space and didn't feel the need to be texting one another the entiere time.

after all there was seldom you loved more than laying down with alexia of an evening, the two of you knew how to treasure quality time and found that so long as you were together you could be doing nothing at all and still perfectly content.

with her body warm and strong it pressed against yours as you'd lay down squished on the sofa, soft gentle kisses littered across your shoulders as your fingers intertwined and you'd take turns filling one another in on how your days were since you'd spent them apart.

back to present day sat on the floor you gave a small exhale of relief when you finally finished the intricate design you'd been working on, your frown of concentration switching quickly into a grin of delight as you slipped your hand into the UV nail lamp and waited for them to dry.

as you had been every now and then you leaned your head back to rest against the couch, knocking it back into alexias good knee and puckering your lips expectantly.

then with a smile and a small chuckle your girlfriend pulled herself up to sit with a quiet grunt, leaning down and rewarding you with a soft kiss before returning back to her previous position.

punching the pillow behind her head and wiggling slightly until she was comfortable, her foot poked at your shoulder every now and then as if to reassure her you were still there without needing to look.

since a young age you had been known to daydream.

it got you into a fair deal of trouble in school, forever having a teachers hand or a heavy textbook slammed down onto your desk with a loud bang to snap you back into reality, your peers giggling and cheeks flashed bright red as you'd smile sheepishly and do your best to focus on your lessons.

your girlfriend however had always found it adorable as much as amusing as you'd zone out from reality and go somewhere she never understood.

sometimes as you drifted away into your own head alexia would just watch you with lovesick puppy dog eyes, filled with nothing but pure adoration that was so sweet it could give someone a tooth ache, though always in the privacy and intimacy of just one another's company.

after all the big bad la reina couldn't be known to be so whipped for her girlfriend (everyone already knew she was).

case in point right now where you'd clearly drifted off somewhere as the footballers eyes glanced down toward you and her hardened features softened, corners of her mouth curled upward into a smile.

"hola, princesa." you snapped right out of it as her foot moved to poke at your cheek this time, dragging you back down to earth as you pushed it away and sent her a playful glare, pulling your other hand out and flicking off the lamp as both of them were now dry.

"look amor!" you leapt up eagerly and dropped down on the lounge next to your girlfriend, sat practically on top of her, wiggling your fingers proudly at the blonde who hummed.

"muy bien bebé." alexia complimented, leaning up and softly kissing your cheek before turning her attention back to the television where the match had resumed, as did the stoic expression on her face.

"alee." you started with a coy smile, grabbing her hand and interlacing your fingers with a gentle squeeze. "mm?" the midfielder hummed, eyes unmoving from the screen.

"can i paint your nails cari?" you asked hopefully, alexia only letting out a puff of air from her nose as she chuckled, shaking her head. "por favor you know i am good and they will look good!" you pleaded, squeezing her hand again and even kissing over her knuckles a few times.

"no mi amor, no nails." alexia shook her head as you huffed, moving to rest your chin on her shoulder, lazily kissing her jaw. "sí nails. sí, sí, sí, sí, sí-" you repeated over and over, peppering kisses across her face.

now as much as alexia could be at times be a fierce woman, driven and passionate and willing to do absolutely anything to achieve whatever she set her mind to, she had a fatal soft spot.

you.

alexia would do nearly everything that you asked of her, especially with a few choice sweet words in her ear and a charming smile you had the catalan wrapped around your little finger, and you reveled in it.

so of course it was with a deep sigh that alexia inevitably gave into your demand, wordlessly placing her free hand in your lap as you beamed and perked right up.

clapping happily you sat up properly and grabbed her chin in your hand, pecking her lips a few times and reveling in the slight pink blush which coated her cheeks.

"tan lindo." you cooed, pinching her cheeks as her eyes rolled but she made no move to argue which only caused your elated grin to grow.

you moved her hand and sat back down on the ground, staring carefully at the arsenal of colours at your disposal, taking a few moments to decide what you wanted before nodding happily and grabbing what you needed.

you settled back down on the lounge as again alexia moved her hand into your lap, eyes glued to the match as her eyebrows turned downward in frustration at a fumbled tackle and an easily preventable shot at the barcelona goal, a shake of her head and an annoyed grumble under her breath.

"you will get wrinkles corazón." you teased, smoothing out her eyebrow with your thumb as the tiniest of smiles flickered across her face just for a moment which wasn't missed by you.

"déjame en paz." the footballer muttered as you chuckled and kissed her palm sweetly, turning her hand back over and adjusting your position a little.

warning her to stay still you placed her right hand down on your knee and grabbed the first colour, tugging the coffee table closer so everything you needed was well within reach to avoid anything being knocked or falling.

much as alexia might bend over backwards to do as you asked you knew well enough if you spilled even a drop of polish on the carpet or the sofa you knew you'd be hearing about it for weeks.

as you set to work your girlfriends face remained blank, but her bright hazel eyes flickered down to you curiously every now and then, corner of her lip curling upward at the look of sheer concentration on your face and the way the tip of your tongue poked out of the side of your mouth.

finishing one hand you blew gently on the nails, unable to use the machine which was plugged in on the floor and just out of reach. though not in any rush you awaited her first hand to dry as you kept a cautious eye that she didn't move as your head dropped to her shoulder.

there was a comfortable silence between you, the only sound the occasional grunt of frustration from the taller girl whose side you were curled into, a shake of her head and something mumbled under her breath at every costly mistake.

her first hand drying you tapped her knee, gesturing for her to swing her legs into your lap so you could reach her other hand. shuffling her body she did as you asked, sliding down a little as her head thumped backward into the soft cushions behind.

you couldn't do anything to keep the smile off your face as you worked on your girlfriends nail design, incredibly happy with how it turned out as again you gently blew on her other hand, settling it back into her lap to dry same as the first one.

warning her once again about not moving you crawled up the lounge and wedged yourself into her, sitting half on top of her much to the older girls amusement as you pulled her other arm to drape across your shoulder allowing you to tuck yourself even tighter into her side.

checking a few moments later you were happy they were dry and sat up a little, shrugging off your girlfriends arm and eagerly taking her hands in yours.

"listo!" you announced happily as alexia's eyes moved from the tv to her hands which made yours seem tiny, your own gaze falling to admire both the size difference and the small 11 tattooed on the back of her palm.

"i did more of a pale pink because i know you do not like them too bright, but i did tiny red hearts on each nail for barça!" you explained with a beaming smile, alexia melting at the confession as she stole a glance toward you and softened even more seeing the clear and pure joy in your eyes.

"muy perfecto bebita." your girlfriend gave you a small smile not giving much away, one of her hands slipping around to cup the back of your neck and bringing you into a tender kiss.

"can i put them on my story? i think these are some of my favourites." you asked hopefully as alexia shrugged, eyes having returned back to the final few minutes of the match, seemingly unfazed.

grabbing your phone you positioned her hands on her knees, taking a few photos and editing your favourite before adding it onto your instagram and curling back up on top of your girlfriend who held you tightly, eyes flickering down to her nails with a small hidden smile every few minutes.

~

that next day at training was a very different story though as alexia couldn't wait to show off her nails to the rest of the team.

the morning was spent with the midfielder very proudly boasting how good you were and that you were completely self taught, ignoring all the teasing remarks thrown her way about how she'd gone soft.

when you'd come to collect her that afternoon having dropped her off and borrowed her car for the day as yours was being serviced you were overwhelmed as a small group of the girls suddenly swarmed you in the carpark.

"hey hey hey back up!" alexia warned protectively, moving in front of you with a mean stare as a few of the younger girls cowered and hurried off to their own cars as the rest rolled their eyes, knowing that really she was all bark and no bite.

"me next amiga! maybe little black hearts? or...letters!" mapi beamed, eyes flickering toward her girlfriend who caught onto what she was wanting and blushed as you laughed.

"get your own! este es mío." alexia huffed, wrapping herself around you as her chin hooked into your shoulder and she sent her best friend a glare.

"tomorrow? but you must cook me dinner as payment maría." you offered with a grin, mapi agreeing eagerly as you promised to also do ingrid's nails when you caught her frowning at you over her girlfriends head.

"sí, sí! before the next game chicas, promise." you laughed as pina, salma and cata swooped in next undeterred by the murderous glare given by your girlfriend, who refused to unwind her arms where they wrapped tightly around your torso holding your back flush to her front.

"we are going! relax capi, you will get wrinkles." cata smirked as alexia's eyes narrowed even further and the three sprinted off and away.

with a small laugh you craned your back back staring up at your girlfriend with a wide grin.

"see amor? i warned you about the frown wrinkles."

~

you expected alexia to allow the nails for a couple of days before she'd want to return back to normal with a clean set again, so you were surprised when anytime you'd offer to help her take it off she seemed to come up with every and any excuse not to.

by the end of day five with the rigorous gym program and workouts needed with alexia's recovery the polish was cracked and chipped, most of it worn off and faded, hearts now barely recognisable as just small red blobs.

it was that night alexia finally seemed eager for you to wipe them clean, again swinging her long bare legs into your lap and settling her hands on her knee for you to work on.

the removal process compared to the creation was next to nothing and before even five minutes had passed you were finished, tapping her legs to let you up to move your things back to the bathroom where they normally lived.

when you returned it was to an empty and dark living room, so changing route you followed the light at the end of the hallway where you finally found your girlfriend once more.

you held a hand over your mouth to stifle the loud boom of laughter you wished you could get out, the catalan having fallen deep asleep on top of the bed, one of your favorite dramas playing in the background where she'd clearly intended the two of you to lay in bed together and watch.

with a small sigh of amusement you flitted back around the house ensuring everything was locked before you returned, closing the bedroom door behind you with a gentle click.

the room now only illuminated by the dim glow of the tv you flicked off the downlight and you made you way around to her side of the bed and crouched down.

"amor. amor. alexia!" you called out softly, moving one arm to shake her lightly when there was no response, the blondes chocolate brown eyes fluttering open tiredly once you shook her a little harder.

"hola bebé, into bed?" you ran a hand through her mane of hair, moving a few loose strands off her forehead with a soft smile as the footballer sighed tiredly but sat up with a curt nod as you tugged down the covers allowing her to slip in properly.

already showered and changed you ducked off to the bathroom to brush your teeth before joining her, chuckling as once more she was seemingly dead to the world, mouth ever so slightly ajar as her blonde hair sprawled across the pillow.

though as the mattress dipped, never the heaviest of sleepers alexia awoke a little, turning around to her other side and shuffling down the bed as her face pressed into your neck and her long legs tangled with yours, feet rubbing against one another.

you felt an i love you mumbled against your skin as her arms wrapped tightly around your torso, latching her taller body firmly onto yours making you smile and tangle a hand in her hair, lips lingering against the warm skin of her forehead.

"te quiero más."

~

a few days later you'd removed your own nail design and sat down to try a new one, having spent a few hours scrolling through for inspiration before it struck and within minutes you'd grabbed what you needed and settled.

though before you could even glance to the bottles of polish a body dropped down next to you and suddenly strong hands were on your hips lifting you up.

"ale!" you laughed as she set you down on her lap, long legs stretched out straight as you wiggled a little to get comfortable. "my turn first please." the girl spoke in her adorably accented english, hands moving around you and placing themselves on your knees.

"oh your turn?" you asked both equally pleased and surprised, turning a little so you could look at her properly. "sí, mi novia so my turn." alexia grinned, pointing to you and then back at herself before moving her head to press a soft and tender kiss against your lips.

you smiled as you pulled away, a hand softly carressing her cheek as your thumb pulled at her bottom lip, pressing another tender kiss against them with a lovesick sigh.

"of course mi amor whatever you want. so, what colour?"

[revehae]

!!!!

this but more cnc but also not cnc ??? but like what if experienced reader is so good at playing innocent and she plays into their fantasy of a naive stepsis on purpose. they so easily fall for it and “take advantage of her” fully believing that it’s real but it isn’t

am I making sense ?

the perfect victim type beat IM FEELING IT walk with me walk with me. this might suck because im sleepy but it’s either now or like 16 hours from now // tw dubcon(?), stepcest

stepbro!member who is always, always gooning. you can’t help but hear him beating his meat night after night, moaning and groaning, and the sound always makes you wetter than you care to admit. some nights you even dare touch yourself, always much quieter than he is though, and frustrated because it’s never enough to fulfill your fantasies.

until your laptop decides to take it’s last breath one day in the middle of a very hectic school week and you need something in its place until you can get it repaired. stepbro!member’s laptop is always available, somewhere in his bedroom, and you take it while he’s napping, not bothering to ask. you’re not surprised to open it and immediately be met with a porn browser. he probably had a nut so massive it put him to sleep. but you are curious as to what gets him off, and it does take you by surprise to see something about “Hardcore Non Con” in the browser.

in the comfort of your bedroom, you secretly watch the entire video, starting it over from where he left off. which is surprisingly far. he must’ve been edging the entire time. either way, you watch it for yourself, imagining him doing all the things that happen - cruel, disgusting things that you know you shouldn’t want but can’t help but picture him doing and saying. you get off way too fast, as always when he’s your muse. it’s not until you climax that you think of the unthinkable… how to bait him into fucking you. you would be whatever he wanted you to be if it meant you got what you wanted.

you manage to sneak his laptop back into his room before he woke up, but popping back a few hours later when he was wide awake. “i have a question,” you say, shutting his door behind yourself with your hands behind your back, pretending to be shy. “what’s noncon?”

he is surprised to hear these words come from your mouth, and immediately glances to his laptop that he hadn’t touched since… well, since before his nap. “why are you asking?” he questions, suspicious. you reply back quietly, “i may or may not have taken your laptop…” he is even more taken aback by this, and appears a little frantic. “you did what?” he exclaims. “you didn’t see the tab?” you knew that he would ask that, considering it was glaring you straight in the face upon opening his laptop, and readily lied, “no…? i didn’t click it, the screen opened on a youtube tab.” you continued seemingly obliviously, “is it a workout thing?”

stepbro!member snorts at this, amused by your innocence but immediately noticing the opportunity to take advantage of your ignorance. when he asks if you want him to demonstrate, you reply with a reluctant, “sure…?” trying to hide the way you tense with excitement at what’s to come.

he beckons you over. the shock on your face is only pretend when he presses you into his mattress, trapping you beneath his body weight. you try to move but he’s stronger than you, and being overpowered only serves to make your thighs press together with need. “stay fucking still,” he hisses in a tone darker than you’ve ever heard from him. you play your role too, reaching out to try and stop him when he yanks at your shorts, only for him to lock your arms behind your back. you call out his name, whining, “s-stop it, you can’t do that. we’re siblings.”

“i don’t give a shit. you wanted me to demonstrate, didn’t you?” he snaps, running his fingers over your folds. the sensation makes you gasp and your knees buck against his mattress. “you’re fucking wet. don’t act like you’re not begging for this. stupid slut.”

you shake your head, denying it, even though it’s true. your body tremors with excitement, but he mistakes it as fear and chuckles. “please,” you beg, “let me go. i’m sorry. i won’t take your laptop anymore!”

“no you’re not,” he says, freeing his cock from his pants. it never takes him long to get hard again. you start to salivate the second it presses against your folds. “but you will be, fucking bitch.”

[escapedaudios]

Popular YouTubers "reacting" to audio roleplay by trying to exaggerate how cringe they think it is fucking exhausts me man. Half the time they do Cinema Sins-style commentary but from this "what if I don't like beans" point of view of just refusing to suspend disbelief and roleplay as the listener character. The commentary is always them talking back at the audio like "uh, you're not my boyfriend, actually my boyfriend's name is Steven and he's in the living room right now" or just failing to accept the premise of the video they clicked on. Acting shocked when a character kisses them and going "UHHH WHY IS HE KISSING ME". It's because you clicked on a boyfriend ASMR video tagged [kissing], that's why. Don't be dense.

It feels like they want for it to be way more cringe than it actually is, so they put on this exaggerated display, or act shocked that an audio matches its premise. This shit would be like making a video called "Reacting to Horror Movies (try not to cringe)" and being like "UHHH WHY IS THE KNIFE GUY STABBING PEOPLE???? I'M SO UNCOMFORTABLE". Man shut up. Then there's YouTubers reacting to videos that are very obviously ironic, absurdist humor and refusing to get that it's a joke. No, "Boyfriend Gets Hit By a Car [Spicy]" isn't actually supposed to be spicy, it's a joke.

These reaction videos are, for many outside of the niche, their only window into audio roleplays. Anything that has a plot that takes more than two minutes to understand is left out because they don't have the patience to watch the whole thing and only want to "react" to thirty-second clips. Anything that doesn't look like it'll make for good cringe bait is left out because they decided ahead of time that they want to cringe to it.

The whole medium is already so unfairly stigmatized and poorly understood by most people. It's so agonizing seeing this be our community's main source of free publicity. I know I've taken a few shots at cheap fluff boyfriend/girlfriend ASMR before but like, it's friendly jabbing from someone very much adjacent to them. I still understand the value that comfort roleplays have to their audiences, even if their plots aren't as deep. The whole medium-wide dismissal that these YouTubers give for some cheap reaction content on a newer medium they don't understand is actually the worst.

I need to make a video essay or something to act as propaganda for audio roleplays because the publicity we get passively could not be worse I swear to God.

[k-nayee]

Between Faith and Flesh Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass

wc: 2.8k a/n: incase it was unclear, this is a little cross-over between Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass while also being an Actor!AU. Might be a lil confusing but wanted to make something new lol

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything....James 1:2-4." 

The familiar warmth of the chapel enveloped you as you delivered the final lines of your morning homily, your voice calm yet resonant in the quiet space.

Sunlight filtered through the modest stained-glass windows, casting soft hues of gold and amber across the worn pews where Crockett Island's tight-knit congregation sat.

The scent of salt and damp wood lingered faintly in the air—a reminder of the sea just beyond the church walls.

Your gaze swept across the group, catching the faces you had come to know so well over the past year.

The mayor's daughter Leeza Scarborough sat in the front row, wide eyes attentive on you as she folded her hands neatly in her lap.

Even Sheriff Hassan stood near the back as his son Ali sat near him listening intently, despite knowing how outdated many were to his Islamic faith.

These people, they had become your family in a way—this island, with all its quiet mysteries, had grown on you.

You closed your sermon with a passage on resilience, something that had always resonated with you—like how faith, similar to the sea surrounding them, could be both steady and tumultuous.

"We find strength not in the absence of struggle, but in how we rise after the waves pull us under." Your words hung in the air for a moment, met with soft nods and murmurs of agreement from the congregation.

"Let us pray," you began, your hands resting gently on the altar.

As you spoke your thoughts wandered briefly, like they often did, to Riley Flynn—a name you had known only through the accident that had first led you here.

His absence was a constant echo in the small populace community, felt even when it wasn't spoken aloud.

As the congregation stood to leave, you lingered near the altar to exchange kind words with those who came up to you.

A soft word here, a warm touch on the shoulder there—each gesture felt like a testament to how far you'd come.

This role, unexpected as it was, had become more than just a position. It was your calling.

"You've really made a place for yourself here," Anne said quietly, her expression sincere as she approached.

"Thank you Mrs. Flynn," you replied, offering her a gentle smile. "Means a lot coming from you."

And it did. Especially knowing how much of the weight of her son's sins pressed on her mind. 

It still surprised you sometimes how much the town had accepted you. Even when being the first ordained woman pastor—something that should have sparked outrage, especially in a small traditional community—the people had welcomed you with open arms.

Or at least most of them had.

The familiar sound of heels clicking sharply against the stone floor caught your attention.

Bev Keane.

She always had an aura of cold disapproval, her gaze flickering over you with barely concealed distaste.

"Another lovely service I'm sure," she said, compliment laced with her usual acidity. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she continued, "But I wonder if perhaps next time you might include more...traditional teachings? Some of the congregation finds your progressive messages a bit, well, out of step."

Her words stung, but you kept your expression calm refusing to rise to her bait.

Bev had never approved of your leadership from the start—the idea of a woman in your position, however temporary, was something she barely tolerates.

With every sermon you gave, every interaction with the townsfolk that went well, her bitterness seemed to deepen.

"I'll take your suggestion under consideration," you kept your tone firm. There was no point in arguing with Bev directly—it would only lead to more confrontation.

One thing you had long since learned about Bev's resistance was that it was more about control than doctrine.

She craved the power that came with influence over the church, and your very presence threatened that.

Bev's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. Well I'll leave you to clean up. God knows there's always work to be done."

With a stiff nod she turned on her heel and marched away, her presence lingering even after she disappeared through the doors.

As the last of the congregation departed, the chapel fell into a serene silence once again.

You exhaled softly, feeling the weight of the morning settle on your shoulders.

Despite the support of the community, moments like these reminded you of how precarious your position was.

You knew she was waiting for any excuse to discredit you—an outsider who had stepped into a role she believed was hers by right.

Busying yourself by tidying up, your hands smooth the fabric of the altar cloth as you cleared the space for the next service.

The chapel, now empty, felt both peaceful and solemn.

It was in these quiet moments that you often found yourself reflecting on the journey that had brought you here—from your small-town upbringing, to your studies, to this remote island where you now stood as the first ordained woman pastor.

The soft chime of your phone broke the stillness. Pulling the device from your pocket, you faintly smile at the name on the screen. Nick.

The message was short but familiar—a photo of him post-workout, his face flushed with exertion with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

Nick: Finishing up my workout. Just wanted to give you an update :)

Your could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

You weren't sure why you were smiling so much—after all, it was just Nick being...Nick. Friendly, teasing, always with that infectious charm.

But somehow, the way your eyes lingered on the photo for a beat too long made you acutely aware of something deeper. Something you weren't sure you should be feeling.

Shaking your head slightly, you reply back.

____: Glad to see you're keeping busy!

You hit send, already imagining the smirk he'd have seeing your response.

As soon you tuck away your phone, intent on finishing the cleanup, another buzz came almost immediately.

Nick: Hope you weren't doing anything unholy with that picture of me ;)

The heat had spread to your face and a startled laugh slipped past your lips.

You quickly type back.

____:  Behave Nicholas. I'm a pastor remember? 

You knew he was just being playful, but it didn't stop the way your heart skipped slightly at the implications.

Unholy. The word reverberated in your mind longer than it should have.

Before you could dwell too much on it, another text came through.

Nick: Sure sure I believe you ;) Anyways got a surprise for you

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard, curiosity piqued.

____: A surprise? What kind?

Nick: You'll see. Just finished that project I told you about. Check your email when you get home. And no peeking. You promised

The reminder made you chuckle. ____: Fine fine I'll wait. It better be good especially with all this mystery!

You added a playful emoji at the end, the excitement clear in your message.

His response was immediate, and you could practically hear his voice.

Nick: Oh it's good. Don't worry I know you're going to love it.

You smiled at the screen, shaking your head at his confidence. Of course he'd know.

The faint echo of your steps on the wooden floor snapped you back to the present, making your thoughts drift back to his arrival, how it had all begun.

It was almost a year at the time when Father Pruitt had left on his pilgrimage, leaving you in charge of the church—a transition you hadn't anticipated but had eventually embraced.

And just as you were starting to find your footing, Nicholas Chaves had appeared, adding a new dynamic you hadn't expected.

Before he arrived to Crockett Island, you recall the unexpected email you received: a simple inquiry from the actor who was looking to deepen his understanding of priesthood for an upcoming role.

He wanted to shadow someone in the clergy, someone who could give him an authentic insight into the life of a pastor.

And he'd heard about your rather unique position on the island...

You of course were slightly taken aback by his openness and easy way he'd talked about his work.

It wasn't every day someone like Nick came knocking, but you had agreed mainly from intrigue of the whole situation.

Even when Bev became immediately suspicious of him—practically interrogating him when he first arrived—the rest of the town welcomed him warmly, charmed by his easygoing nature.

"Another distraction," she'd muttered once when Nick had offered to help you carry boxes of hymnals inside one time. "This is a church not a social club." 

Her words always came with that same bitter edge, though by now you'd learned to brush them off. 

He stayed in Father Pruitt's old house with you during that time in one of the spare rooms.

As you finished locking up and made your way toward the small home, your thoughts drifted back to him.

You never planned on feeling so affected by him. Yes he was charming, but it was more than that—there was something about him that drew you in even when you tried to resist it.

And it wasn't just his looks—though you couldn't deny the way your breath occasionally caught when he smiled at you in that boyish way of his.

No. It was his presence. The way he carried himself—confident yet curious, never shying away from asking questions about your work and sermons, about faith itself.

He was genuinely interested, even if he wasn't fully immersed in it like you were.

In all, conversations with Nick were easy; late-night talks often ended up stretching longer than intended as you discussed everything from theology to the little absurdities of life.

And yet despite the growing comfort, there had always been a tension simmering beneath the surface.

The first time you felt the it was when he'd sat in on one of your late-night study sessions, helping you prep for Sunday Mass.

His quiet attentiveness as he listened to you practice, his casual lean against the doorway as he watched with a smile tugging at his lips.

Now, as you made your way up the steps, you wondered what this surprise of Nick's could be.

You pushed the front door open, the familiar scent of wood and old books greeting you.

It was home now—at least for the time being. Letting out a sigh, you set your bag down and make your way to the bedroom.

Changing your robes and veil into a more comfortable sleepwear, you grab your laptop and settle into bed.

There in your inbox, you find a sent email from him.

Three video files, each with a timestamp of about an 50 minutes. The subject line read simply: For You.

You frowned in confusion but quickly clicked on the first one. The video loaded, and as it played, the familiar face of Niecy Nash popped up on the screen.

A soft laugh escaped you—a TV show? It wasn't what you were expecting, but you were intrigued.

As the episode unfolded, you were drawn into the storyline.

It was refreshing actually, seeing a concept that brushed against the edges of a religion that's intertwined with your own daily life.

By the second episode you were completely hooked. You'd grown attached to the characters, loving the way they navigated this warped world of morality and sin.

The storyline itself was intense and unpredictable in how it blended the very faith you preached into something so viscerally raw.

But then your heart leapt a little as Nick—or rather, Father Charlie finally appeared on screen.

You smiled, unable to resist snapping a picture of the scene and sending it to him with a simple teasing text.

____: Look who just showed up on my screen.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly, but you ignored it.

You were too caught up in watching him; your eyes tracing the way he moved, the way his expression shifted with every word.

It was surreal watching him play a priest when just a few weeks ago, he had been standing beside you in the church helping with the altar cloths.

Every close-up of his face had your heart doing an odd little flip. You'd shared conversations with that face, shared jokes and moments of comfort. 

The goofy smile on your lips was hard to suppress as you watched him banter with Sister Megan, the two having a light giggle over stolen fries.

You couldn't help but draw parallels between the man on the screen and the man you had grown close to—the actor who had been nothing but kind, thoughtful, and, admittedly, a little flirtatious.

And then the scene change.

The camera panned across a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room. Your eyes narrowed, focusing in on the figure sitting at the edge of a bed.

It was Father Charlie—his broad, bare back flexing as he sat, hunched slightly. The room was silent except for his soft labored breathing.

You watch with growing confusion as his breathing deepens.

A soft sound escapes him—a low moan—and suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifts entirely.

Your eyes widened upon realizing what you were seeing. Father Charlie is pleasuring himself.

The sounds of his quiet sighs fill the room, and you freeze as you try to process what you're watching. 

The camera caught it all: the soft sighs, the slow measured pace of his hand, the quiet moans that grew more strained with every movement.

You felt your breath hitch, heat creeping up your neck as you watched too stunned to look away.

You know it's just a show—it's just acting—but seeing Nick, someone you know, in such an intimate and vulnerable moment...it shakes you.

Your body feels hot, heart pounding as Father Charlie quickens his pace, his breath becoming more erratic, moans growing louder.

A strange warmth unfurled in your chest that you immediately tried to suppress.

It felt wrong to watch this—wrong to feel anything about it.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for your laptop, the desire to pause or stop the episode battling with the inexplicable pull to keep watching.

And then it changed again.

The camera cuts to him standing at a basin, his back to the facing you once again, the muscles in his back flexing under the low light.

You blink rapidly as he begins to wash his hands, the sound of the water almost deafening in the silence.

That's when you notice it—the chaps. He's wearing bottomless chaps, the skin of his thighs and backside completely bare.

"Sweet baby Jesus," you whisper, hands shaking as you press a hand to your mouth in attempt to contain the heat that spreads across your face.

It wasn't over.

Father Charlie moved toward a small wooden box, opening it with a reverence that made your stomach twist.

He reached inside and pulled out a flogging whip—a thick, multi-tailed instrument of punishment.

His expression is solemn, his lips moving in silent prayer as he prepares the whip, his fingers brushing reverently over the strips before raising the instrument of self-punishment.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch, unable to tear your eyes away as Father Charlie strikes himself.

The sharp crack of the whip fills the room and you flinch at the sound.

Each lash is deliberate. His body jerks with every strike, a soft grunt escaping him with every hit.

His whispered prayers mix with the sounds of his punishment, the intensity of the scene almost unbearable as it goes on, each crack of the whip sending a shiver down your spine.

It's too much. You couldn't take it anymore.

Your hand shot out, scrambling to close the laptop with a thud. For a moment you couldn't move.

Your body felt both heavy and weightless at the same time, suspended in the strange space between what you knew and what you had just witnessed.

The room around you suddenly felt too small, too close.

Shakily, you brush a few stray strands of hair from your damp forehead, trying to steady yourself.

You were a pastor—dedicated to God, to the people you served. You weren't supposed to feel like this.

Closing your eyes tightly, you try to will the feeling to go away and dissipate like the smoke from the candles you had blown out earlier in the church.

But the heat in your face, the trembling in your hands, didn't fade.

You felt as though you had been thrust into a battle between your devotion to God and the temptation of something far more dangerous—something you could no longer ignore.

The dim screen of your phone in your peripheral catches your attention.

Hesitant, you picked it up, and your stomach drops at the sight of Nicholas's message.

Nick: What do you think?

[delta-chan]

Thoughts about Dawntrail map six

Needless to say, very heavy spoilers beneath the read more!

I was initially a bit wary of Living Memory's telegraphed "reverse Ultima Thule" structure until I got the prompt that the scenery would be irreversibly altered at the first terminal. I panicked because like a lot of people I thought "oh nice, I'll come back here later for some nice gpose shots". That this beautiful place would have to be taken away for you to progress was almost incomprehensible to me and in that moment the genius of it clicked. It wasn't just a reverse spin on Ultima Thule's structure--it was a reverse spin that was going to back it up to an extreme.

The ephemerality of life is something FFXIV has touched on many times before, including as one of the chief themes of Endwalker. But while in Endwalker this was on a grand scale as a part of radical acceptance as a whole, Dawntrail's second half explores this idea in a more focused, intimate fashion. While the WoL has no one they are close to that they can engage with in an experience with like Erenville, Krile, and Wuk Lamat--they have the environment. And being that you're the person behind the WoL with an investment in that environment on some level the finality of moving forward hits you like a sack of bricks.

I spent a lot of time being kind of awed by this--it's a very, very solid gimmick. I sort of paused at the first prompt going "haha there's no way, right…?" before going "wait" and immediately setting out to take a bunch of quick shots. That place wasn't going to exist anymore, and I wanted a memory of it. That beautiful place--a painstakingly detailed and gorgeous bit of gpose bait if I've ever seen it--wasn't going to exist if I wanted to move on. It was… weird. I took so many nearly identical shots trying to get perfect ones because there was only ever going to be that moment. In the future there'll be new game plus. You might have alts. But in that moment, experiencing it for the first time... it's… really effective. Startlingly effective.

The fact that when I was watching the map introduction and thought about how Living Memory was an almost tailor-made gposing space (and let's face it probably is for exactly this reason) that I would have a lot of fun taking screenshots at later made me think about how many other people thought, are thinking, and will think the same thing not knowing that they're taking it for granted. Who would...? It's absurd. Why would the map be altered to such a degree that it'd be rendered gone all but in name...? It hasn't happened before. So why would it happen now? Why would it even come to mind?

And the thing is--even if someone warns you, even if you're spoiled, even if you have someone fly you from place to place--the terminals are still going to have to be shut down eventually if you want to move forward. You cannot keep it. Living memory is made to be seen once then destroyed by your own hand.

I mean--at the end of the MSQ I thought, perhaps naively, that Living Memory was going to be restored because the threat was resolved. I mean--everyone's gone. There's no need for the environment to stay gone as well, right...? I mean, they put so much loving detail into it!

Wrong.

In the immediacy of when I first finished Endwalker during its early access I wrote that I never wanted to return to Ultima Thule because it creeped me out. The map was emotionally fraught, and my first experience with it was being released into an incredibly dark map with a discordant soundtrack, jumping out of my seat at another player passing by. But returning to it for hunts and the Omicron quests I saw it for the vibrant, beautiful place that it was. It changed for the better and stayed that way.

In spite of how much I've talked up Living Memory's beauty and how much it inspires the drive to capture the moment before it leaves you, it's also far more disconcerting than Ultima Thule from the very beginning in an altogether different manner. Living Memory is something that you want to be that shouldn't be. Both in the context of the MSQ and as a map in general--you want to take screenshots, you want to linger, but the unchanging weather effect and languidly pleasant music begin to push against you if you stay too long.

When everything's said and done Living Memory becomes a featureless husk that now has natural changing weather. At night there are motes of light, golden remains of the once oppressive reminiscence. And in the background as if being piped from distant speakers, the languidly pleasant and slightly warped BGM echoing through the nothingness like an amusement park's PA system playing music for no one after closing for the last time.

It's something you didn't want that needs to be.

[wosobrainiac]

Shelter

Pairing: Alessia x Leah x Pet!reader

With most of Arsenal rescuing pets, Leah and Alessia get talked into saving a traumatized pet from a shelter.

Warnings: This work includes Pet!play, and has themes of trauma and trafficking though nothing is explicitly stated. There will also be no sexual activities between the pets and the non-pets. Theres also nothing sexual in this fic. Its kinda cute if i do say so myself.

The univese is based on the Widow au universe found here

This is a side blog because I'm too nervous to post this on my actual blog. Please enjoy and let me know if you have more requests for this universe.

Alessia and Leah had never really considered getting a pet (human or otherwise) until their teammates started rescuing them. 

First was Steph and her partner, who rescued a former pleasure kitten, Bella. She was surrendered when her CEO owner upgraded to one of the newer HFeline models with upgraded sexual proclivity when he lost interest in her. 

Now she got to spend her days in a far too expensive cat tree, sunning herself and eating exotic treats from around the world. 

Next were Viv and Beth who saved an adorable pup named Lady from being a bait dog in a dog fighting ring. Caitlin and Katie soon followed with a hulking retired HK9 named Jax, who begged for scraps at every meal and was a sucker for belly rubs. Kim rescued a bunny, Peaches, from a cosmetic company and Lotte had gotten a pup of her own, Brownie, who was also a pleasurehound for a major network, rejected when he no longer drew high ratings. 

Arsenal was slowly becoming a zoo, filled with barks and purrs. Their team group chat had turned into a pet helpline filled with adorable pictures of the shenanigans 

And while Leah and Alessia had come to love the new additions to their team, the pair still had… reservations. 

Sure, the practice was widespread, and hardly considered controversial. And yes, some people willingly signed up to be pets when they turned 18. But many were surrendered due to debt, chose it over jail or were kidnapped and forced. 

It didn’t sit right with them. 

Not until they saw how their friends' pets were thriving after being treated properly. Not until they saw that they could offer the ability for pets to choose. The ability to show preference and desires and to have them honored. 

Plus, Beth and Viv had made a fair point. Rescuing a pup was different than ordering one from one of the many Labs, Tech Companies or suppliers. It meant taking someone who had been in a crappy situation and offering them a new beginning. One that would be a vast improvement. 

They could show them love, and give them dignity, something that was blatantly lacking from the pet trade. 

That’s how they ended up at a pet shelter on one of their few Saturdays days of trailing after two attendants, Kara and Lexa, as they introduced them to each pet and gave them a short description of their personalities. 

It was a nice way to do it, she thought.

It made each of the pets seem like more than just… objects. It made sure that they found the pet that fit them best. One they would click with. 

She also realized it let Kara and Lexa make sure that her and Leah would be good owners. 

Kara’s questions were subtle, asking about their jobs, the amount of time they could devote to a pet, what kind of home they lived in and what traits they valued. Lexa was more direct, point blank questioning them about what their plans were, and making sure that both of them agreed that many of the practices in both the pleasure and security sectors were despicable and not to be replicated. 

“And who is this?” Alessia asked as they moved on to the next kennel, her fingers trailing along the tall black bars that made up the space. 

Kara smiled widely, flipping the lock on the cage door and easing it open. “This is Missy,” 

She reached up to scratch behind the kitten's dark hair, as Leah followed her. 

“Hello Missy,” The blonde defender said, also reaching to pet the kitten, even as Alessia hovered by the door. 

The kitten batted at her hand, trying to catch it, earning a fond smile from the defender. “You’re a spicy one, aren’t you?”

“Missy is quite playful, and absolutely loves attention,” Kara hummed, scratching the kitten under her chin. “And cooking shows, or anything with fish on the screen really,”

“She does prefer elevated spaces,” Lexa added, gesturing toward the tower of platforms the kitten was laying on. “And will get depressed if she has to stay at ground level,” 

Alessia made a low noise, as Leah scratched gently behind the kitten’s ear, her eyes wandering down the line of kennels. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the kitten or any of the other pets they had seen, but she hadn’t felt that connection yet. 

Still, there were so many kennels left. 

It was heartbreaking how many of them were full. How many had little faces pressing against the black bars, trying to attract a potential owner? 

All except one down at the very end of the hall. 

She tilted back, trying to get a better look at what lay behind the bars, but all she could make out was a blue lump in the corner. 

She couldn’t deny the pull she felt towards the cage. 

“What about the one down there?” She asked, already stepping towards the dark metal bars at the very end of the hallway. 

A pained look crossed Kara’s face as she followed Alessia’s gaze. “She’s one of our newer arrivals,”

“Why is she all alone?” Alessia asked as they passed empty kennels on either side of the ones leading up to the one at the end of the hallway. 

“She’s having a hard time adjusting,” Kara explained, as Lexa walked in front of them. Leah trailed after them, looking much less enthusiastic. 

The tattooed handler grimaced as they got closer to the cage. “Given her circumstances, she might not be the best fit for first-time owners,”

Leah silently agreed based on the giant orange sign taped to the black bars of your area that read: 

Possibly aggressive

Two handlers are required during feeding 

“Less, what about Missy? We don’t want-” Leah suggested, catching the forward's arm. Alessia glared over her shoulder, effectively killing any further protests on her tongue. 

“The sign is just precautionary,” Kara said as they got closer, pausing at the door of the kennel. “She hasn’t been very interactive since she arrived, and we don’t have a good idea of her temperament yet,”

 “And she hasn’t seemed interested in food, or treats, so we require two handlers in case there’s a trigger there we don’t know about yet,” Lexa continued, unhooking her keys from her waistband and with a jingle. 

You pressed yourself into the far corner of the kennel at the sound, curling into a tight ball against the white bricks, and hiding your face from the group under a small blue blanket. 

Alessia couldn’t stop the coo that left her lips at the sight of your nose just barely peeking out from underneath the small blanket. 

“What’s her name?” She asked, shifting closer to the now open door, keeping her voice very soft. 

“We don’t know. Her previous owner only identified her by a number, and she hasn’t responded to any that we’ve tried,” Kara explained, her voice going very soft. “The only thing she’s liked since she got here is the blanket,”

As if you understood that they were talking about the thin fabric covering you, your fingers wound tightly on the edge like you thought they would take it away. 

All the movement did was shift the blanket to reveal more of your skin, littered with thick lines and yellowing bruises. 

“We suspect she was training to be a fighting dog and failed during one of the final checks,” Kara explained softly at their collective intake of breath. “She was in rough shape when they brought her in,”

Leah made a low noise of agreement, her eyes trailing the thick line of gauze that peeked out from the small flannel blanket you had tucked around yourself. It spanned from your too-skinny side, across your ribs, and to your back, where Leah was sure she could count each of your vertebrae.

It made her sick that someone could do this to another creature. “Final checks?”

“They put them with a bait dog to test their prey drive,” Lexa explained, easing the door to your cage open. You made no move to greet them. “From their records and the amount of titanium modifications they made, they thought she would be very… lethal,”

Leah made a low sound in the back of her throat. 

She knew about… modifications that people made to pets. The inhumane surgeries were considered upgrades. 

It made her sick that not only had you been physically abused, but you had also been surgically altered for someone else’s purposes. 

“Viv and Beth’s pup was a bait dog. She's such a tiny thing,” She murmured, thinking of how your scars mirrored those Lady bore. 

“They’re purposefully kept weak so the fighting dogs can beat them and gain confidence,” Kara said, stepping just inside the kennel and to the side so they had a clear view of you. 

Leah’s nose scrunched, thinking about how sweet and tiny Lady was, always rubbing up against legs and asking for pets and scritches. “Nasty stuff,”

“Indeed,” Kara agreed, crouching and leaning against the bars. You just curled tighter into yourself, shifting the blanket to cover more of your back. It slipped higher, revealing the thick scars on your legs just above your ankles. 

The place where your tendons had been cut to prevent you from standing on 2 legs. 

Alessia frowned, crouching next to Kara in the kennel entrance. “But she didn’t pass?”

“No. Their notes said her prey drive was too low, and unfortunately, that’s all the information we have besides the condition she was in when their compound was raided,” Lexa sighed, rubbing her forehead. “It appears that they were trying to enhance her hunting instincts with bearings and starvation,” 

Alessia hummed, stepping into the cage beside Kara and squatting so she didn’t intimidate you. 

“Hey pretty girl,” She said gently. 

You peeked up at her, blinking slowly, most of your face still hidden, meeting her blue eyes. She could see the terror in them, masked only by the deepest sense of anguish. 

She made a cooing sound. “It must be scary in here, huh?” 

A low whimper left your lips, and you shifted towards the door, and Alessia, dragging the blanket with you. 

The three women behind Alessia froze, and Lexa and Kara shared a look. 

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever seen her move,” Kara murmured, reaching into the fanny pack around her waist and pulling a small slice of sausage out. At the same time, Lexa put one hand on the spray at her hip, and gestured for Leah to get low like Alessia and Kara were with the other. 

They didn’t think you would snap, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

She followed Lexa’s instructions, kneeling and placing a gentle hand on Alessia’s shoulder. 

“Try this,” The blonde kennel attendant kept her voice low as she passed the piece to Alessia, neither of their eyes leaving your timid form. “We haven’t had much luck getting her to eat, but maybe you can,” 

She held the sausage out to you with a flat palm, and all four women held their breath as you scooted forward, and stopped, watching them with wide, terrified eyes. 

“It’s ok, sweet one,” Alessia said, her voice soft, reassuring. “You can take it,” 

You glanced from the treat to Alessia’s face and back, your nostrils going wide as you sniffed in the new scents, sliding just a bit closer to them. 

You didn’t reach for the treat, instead you ducked your head and very gently raised it to touch the back of Alessia’s hand. 

She moved slowly, taking the treat with her free hand and flipping her palm over to gently scratch your head. 

You practically melted, pressing more of your head into her hand. Her nails ran over your scalp, and a sound that was cross between a purr and a growl fell from your lips. 

Leah couldn’t hold in her little awe.

“She’s adorable,” She mumbled, inching towards you and extending a hand to join Alessia’s. She picked a spot just behind your ear, gently stroking the place where your skin and hair met. 

You paused as you registered the new sensation, your body contorting like it didn’t know if it wanted to lean in closer or pull away. 

“It’s ok. It’s just Leah. She won’t hurt you,” Alessia murmured, though she could tell you didn’t quite believe her. 

She gently nudged Leah with her free arm, a silent order to say something that wouldn’t break the tenuous truce you had developed. 

“You’re ok,” Leah murmured, gently scratching behind your ear. “Less is right, you are quite cute,”

You made a groaning sound in the back of your throat that was a mix between a grumble and a purr. 

It pulled a smile from her lips. “You don’t like being called cute?”

You made the grumbling sound again, shrugging to displace Leah’s hand behind your ear. 

The defender chuckled. “I see how it is,” 

Alessia dragged her nails more deeply against your scalp, turning your grumble purr into a straight up purr, a wide smile pulled across her lips. “I want her,”

Leah hummed in agreement. 

You were clearly attached to Alessia, and she trusted that - despite the large orange sign on your door- that you wouldn’t hurt the forward. 

You were just scared and hurt, and you deserved a chance. 

“Kara can get you set up in a room so we can fill out some paperwork and go over some of our suggestions, and I’ll get this one set up with a nice new collar and a muzzle,” Lexa said, pushing herself to her feet. 

You flinched at the movement, causing the blanket to fall from your back. 

“Shh pretty girl,” Alessia soothed you gently. “You’re ok,” 

Leah frowned, gesturing towards where you were practically melting at Alessia’s touch. “Why does she need a muzzle? She hasn’t been aggressive,”

A pained expression crossed Kara’s features as she also pushed herself to her feet, more slowly than Lexa had. “The muzzle is just precautionary. We’ve had her isolated since she’s been here, and we don’t want an incident if she gets overwhelmed,” 

Leah sighed, she had to agree. 

The last thing she wanted was for you to lash out because you got frightened. 

“I don’t want to leave her,” Alessia murmured, and you nuzzled deeper into her hand. 

She took that as you saying you didn’t want her to leave either, but she knew she had to. 

“They’ll only be a few minutes,” Kara promised. 

“And I’ll take good care of your pretty girl,” Lexa added, smiling genuinely at them. 

Alessia’s fingers dragged through your hair one more time, as she released a long breath. 

“I’ll see you in a few minutes alright?” She said, giving your one last scratch before she pulled away.

You pouted as she stood, making a low, upset sound.

“I know,” She repeated. “Just a few minutes, and you get to come home with me and Lee,” 

You huffed, turning away from them, grabbing your blanket between your teeth and heading for your little corner.  

Alessia frowned, but didn’t stop you. 

She knew it would take a lot to earn your trust. 

“It’ll be alright,” Lexa said as she closed the door of the kennel. “We’ll come find you guys as soon as I got her all set up,”

OoOoOoO

“She’s had all of her shots, and her medical paperwork is in the file. The first issue we should discuss is her temperament,” Kara began, sliding a stack of papers across the table for them to read, pointing to the first page that listed dietary suggestions. “I would suggest hand feeding. It’ll help her learn to trust you,” 

“You said she hasn’t been interested in food,” Leah said, looking down at the page. 

Next to likes and dislikes almost nothing was checked. There were no notes. 

All except a little star next to the line that read Peanutbutter. 

“No,” Kara agreed quickly. “But that could all be down to stress. Variety will be your best friend in the beginning. Stick with finding foods she’ll enjoy first, and then we can worry about meeting her required macros later,”

Alessia nodded, her mind already working through the foods they had in the cabinet and the ones they would need to buy. 

The Arsenal meal team had done well to provide the growing zoo within the team with foods that fit their preferences. If they could grill Jax a T-bone steak for lunch every day, then surely they could grill whatever food you latched on to. 

It would just be at home they would need to worry about. 

“I’m also going to suggest obedience classes,” Kara continued, flipping the packet of papers to show them a flier. “We offer one three times a week that I think would help both of you and your new pup,” 

“This is the one Lotte takes Brownie to,” Alessia noted, taking the flier. 

Leah hummed. “Beth and Viv took Lady last week too,��

“Friends in class are good,” Kara nodded. “It will help her to be around the same pets, and she should feel more comfortable,” 

Alessia and Leah shared a look. 

Making you comfortable was their number one priority. 

“We’ll be there,” Alessia said, only looking away from her girlfriend when a light knock sounded G the door, and it slowly swung open. 

Lexa peeked her head in, before she looked behind her. “Alessia and Leah are in here, don’t you want to say hello?”

They waited another long second, before your face very hesitantly appeared beside Lexa’s leg in the doorway. 

“Hey pretty girl, you’re ok,” Alessia said, breaking into a smile. 

You perked up considerably at her voice, looking up at Lexa as though you were asking for permission to actually enter the room. 

“Go ahead,” Lexa smiled down at you, reaching down to unclip the leash from your collar. “I think they’re excited to see you too,”

You waited a long second before you eased your way into the room, your blue blanket tied around your collar so it fell around your back like a cape. 

“Come here sweetheart,” Alessia cooed, drawing your wary eyes away from Lexa and Kara towards her and Leah. 

It took you another long second to make your way over to her, gently nudging her leg with your head. 

She reached down to scratch the sensitive spot just behind your ear, over where the straps of the leather muzzle landed. 

“Are you sure she needs that?” Leah asked, watching you carefully paw the material that covered your mouth. 

“It’s just precautionary,” Lexa repeated, taking the seat beside Kara. “She’s not aggressive, but fear can provoke a reaction bite. I would suggest she wear it when you’re going to be around people and other pets, just until she’s socialized and loses that fear response,” 

Leah and Alessia shared a hum, though Alessia didn’t look thrilled with the suggestion. 

They understood, yes, but it felt… dehumanizing. You were a person after all, despite what you had been conditioned to believe. 

At the same time, they both knew they couldn’t risk you biting someone, even out of fear. 

“We just need a name for her to complete the paperwork,”  Kara said, flipping the packet to the last page. “You can use pretty girl if you like,”

Leah and Alessia shared another look. 

While pretty girl was a nice nickname for you, they had something different in mind for your actual name. 

“Let’s go with Y/n,” Leah said, looking back towards Kara and Lexa. 

You hummed contentedly at the name, leaning into Alessia’s fingers. 

“I think she likes that name,” Alessia cooed, digger her nails under the straps of the muzzle, making sure none of your hair tangled in it. 

You made another sound of contentment as Kara finished filling out the papers and slid them to Leah and Alessia. 

“Just sign on the dotted line, and she’s all yours,” 

It only took them a second to scrawl their signatures on the indicated lines, and then Alex’s was passing them your leash. 

“Enjoy your new super pup,” Lexa said, winking at you. “And treat her well,”

“We will,” Leah promised. 

They would take care of you, and fix the damage that had been done if it was the last thing they ever did. 

OoOoOoO

Getting you back to their apartment had been… interesting. 

You had not been thrilled about the chest harness they strapped you into, but you hadn’t minded the car ride, even enjoying it when Alessia opened the back window for you. 

It was fine until they pulled up alongside a car that also had a pup in the back. You had pulled away from the window immediately, nearly jumping into the boot of Leah’s jeep before he started barking.

By the time the light changed and Leah eased the car forward, you were shaking like a leaf. It struck both of them as slightly off considering you had been trained to be a fighting dog. 

You had been very hesitant as they got you out of the car, your eyes swiveling around as they led you into their apartment and showed you around. 

Since then you had been curled up on the soft pet bed they had stationed in the living room, not even letting them close enough to you to remove the muzzle. 

They knew it would take time for you to settle. Their friends had all warned them of that already, so they let you be, flipping through channels until they got to a shark documentary that seemed to catch your attention. 

Alessia was thankful that the kitchen was connected to the living room so she didn’t have to leave you as she made dinner. Not that she didn’t trust Leah to watch you, but she didn’t want you to think she had disappeared. 

The first step to building trust was to show you that they were there, and you were safe. 

She stuck with simple foods, chicken and rice, partially because Leah didn’t like anything remotely adventurous and partially because she didn’t know what you would enjoy. 

She and Leah ate first, sharing worried looks when you didn’t even patter over at the smell of food.

After their meal was cleaned up, they turned their attention to you. 

They started by sitting on the floor in front of their couch, a good distance from your pet bed, with your food bowl. 

“Hey pretty girl, are you hungry?” Alessia asked gently, holding the bowl out for you to sniff. “If you come a little closer I can take your muzzle off and you can eat,”

You didn’t lift your head off of hand, or make any move to approach them. 

Your nostrils didn’t even flare out to smell the bowl. 

It sent red flags spinning in their brains. 

They shared a look before Alessia passed the bowl to Leah and scooted closer to you, to the edge of your bed. “Ok pretty girl, will you let me take the muzzle off?”

Your eyes flickered away from shark show and towards the blonde briefly, before your head tilted minutely. 

She took that as the ok to reach for the buckle on the leather contraption attached to your face, carefully easing it open and sliding it off of your head. 

You yawned wide as soon as it was removed, scrunching your nose adorably. 

Alessia passed the leather contraption she never intended to use again back to Leah, and the defender passed her the bowl. 

She reached into the bowl and pulled out a piece of chicken, carefully holding it out to you with a flat palm. “Eat for me, pretty girl,”

You huffed. 

“Please,” Alessia said, her voice edging on pleading as she offered you the piece again. 

You sighed, clearly unhappy, but you leaned forward and took the piece of chicken from her gently, chewing and swallowing. 

“Good girl, Y/n,” The forward hummed, reaching into the bowl and pulling out another piece. 

You let her feed you a few more bites before you buried your face in your bed, clearly signaling that you were finished with your meal. 

Alessia sighed again, looking back at Leah who could only shrug. 

She turned back to you and slowly extended her hand, scratching behind your ear. “You can be done,”

You made a groaning noise that sounded like relief. 

Leah snorted, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the half-filled bowl of food from Alessia. “I don’t think I ever per a pet who was happy dinner was over,”

“Y/n is one of a kind,” Alessia agreed, her nails dragging pleasantly against your scalp. 

OoOoOoO

Bedtime was relatively easy. 

Alessia and Leah went about their normal routines, only adding brushing your teeth and showing you where there was a second bed for you at the base of their bed. 

This one had a fluffy red blanket and a stuffed dragon. 

You had been… hesitant at first to get into it, looking at the door for the blue bed that existed in the living room. 

You chose to sit just in front of it, curling in a little ball that didn’t look comfortable, and draping your favorite blue blanket around you. (Alessia longed to fix it since it was bunched and only covered half of your body). 

Again, Leah and Alessia let you be. 

Lights were turned off as a stupid show played on the television as all three of you wound down, and before you knew it, a silence had settled over the room. It was broken only by the sounds of breathing and the occasional shift on the bed.

It was… uncomfortable. 

You weren’t used to it being so… quiet. 

You were used to the sounds of barks, and chain link shifting lulling you to sleep. You were used to a corner you could curl up in. 

You weren’t used to a bed, and you wanted to lay in it but you were sure it was a… trap. 

Just like you had thought the chicken Alessia tried to feed you was a trap. 

It had always been a trap before. 

You huffed, shifting next to the pet bed. 

Maybe if you slept in it, but woke up before the two women who had adopted you, you would be safe. 

It was soft, and you would be warm. 

You shifted again, freezing at the sound of someone moving from on the bed permeated the room. 

You had woken them up, and now the other shoe would finally fall. 

You curled tighter into yourself and waited for the pain that never came. 

Instead, there were only soft footsteps. 

“Trouble sleeping?” 

Your eyes blinked open at Leah’s soft question, meeting her blue eyes in the low light of the television. 

You nodded hesitantly. 

“Me neither,” Leah agreed. “Let’s go get a midnight snack,”

You padded after the defender as she headed towards the kitchen, stopping by the island near the stove as she headed for the cabinet by the fridge. 

She grabbed a brown jar with a teal lid, setting it on the counter before rummaging around in the drawer below. 

“Ah ha,” She cheered, holding up a spoon victoriously, grabbing the Jar, and turning to face you. 

Your head tilted to the side at the object. 

“I think you’ll like this,” She said, unscrewing the top and dipping in the spoon. 

When she pulled it out, the most delicious-smelling substance you had ever encountered coated it. 

You watched with rapt attention as the spoon disappeared into her mouth and came out clean.

Your mouth watered. 

“Peanut butter?” Leah asked, tilting the jar your way. 

Your head tilted, and you just barely leaned forward on your knuckles as your nose flared, trying to catch more of the scent. 

Leah’s lips tilted up at how adorable you looked, as she dipped the spoon back in the jar and then held it out for you. It was just out of your reach, closer to her than you had ventured yet. 

You had an immediate connection with Alessia but were still incredibly wary of her for some reason, she tried not to let it bother her.

You were hesitant to take the step forward. 

But it smelled so good. 

Your tummy rumbled, and your tongue darted across your lips. 

Leah stayed perfectly still, watching you with bated breath. She knew this was the only way to build trust with you. To show you that they wouldn’t hurt you. 

You very slowly took a step, tilting your head towards the offered treat, your eyes moving rapidly between her and the spoon. 

Your tongue carefully made its way between your lips and licked the spoon. 

Your eyes went very wide at the taste, and you quickly leaned closer to take the spoon into your mouth. 

“Good right?” Leah asked with a chuckle as the spoon came out of your mouth, completely free of peanut butter. 

You woofed softly, using your nose to nudge the now empty spoon back towards Leah, eyeing the jar on the counter.

She followed your eyes, shaking her head. “How about we try something else?” 

Alessia would kill her if she found out all you had eaten was Peanut Butter when you hadn’t been interested at all in dinner. She would point out that you needed carbs and protein to help you get to a healthy weight while being healthy. Neither of them liked how… skeletal you were, and any food was good really, but so was balance to give you the most sustainable energy they could. 

Leah searched the counter, looking for something to pair with the only food you seemed to like. 

“What about some banana?” She asked, grabbing for the fruit. 

She opened it and broke off a piece, offering it to you. 

You leaned forward to sniff it and pulled back in disgust. 

“What about if we add some Peanut butter?” She asked, digging the spoon back into the peanut butter and sticking the pale yellow slice on top. 

You stared at her skeptically, sure that the fruit would ruin the delicious brown treat underneath. 

“It’s good, trust me,” Leah promised when your eyes flickered back up to her. 

You huffed, scrunching your nose up at it, and then flinching away when you realized what you had done. 

“No pretty girl, you’re ok,” Leah said, dropping her voice and immediately sinking down so she was on the same level as you. She didn’t want to frighten you. “You’re allowed to not like things,” 

You curled into yourself, tucking your body as close as you could to the island. 

Leah wondered idly if Alessia would have elicited the same reaction from you. You seemed to trust the forward more for whatever reason. 

She gently pulled the banana bit off of the spoon, popping it into her mouth and offering the peanut butter to you once again. 

You sniffed, barely peeking out at her. 

She understood now why peanut butter was the only food on your list at the shelter. 

It was the only thing besides Alessia (and maybe your blue blanket) that you would risk coming out of your shell for. 

“You can have it,” Leah assured you, keeping her voice soothing and calm, ignoring the soft sound of padding feet coming down the hallway from their bedroom. “You’re ok,” 

You sniffed again, wishing you had brought your blanket with you on this excursion. Bad things always happened when you forgot it. 

You wanted to trust Leah, and the peanut butter did smell amazing. 

Very slowly, you leaned forward towards the spoon, making eye contact with Leah before you took it back into your mouth. 

She kept still as you licked it clean with a satisfied sigh, and pulled away. 

“Let’s go to bed,” She said, slowly pushing herself to stand, placing the spoon in the sink to be dealt with in the morning, and putting the jar of Skippy back into the cabinet. 

You woofed again softly, padding after her once she was done. 

Maybe things would be good here.

[yandere-wishes]

⋆ Anomaly ⋆

❤Summary: Reader is an anomaly. A noblewoman of foreign descent. She doesn't belong here. But oh how she wishes to burn the world down just like William.

❤Author's note: A little something for Ana (@yandere-romanticaa) I hope you enjoy it!!

❤Warnings: Reader is traumatized, Yandere behavior, killing and blood, cryptic. I swear I know how math works…I've just been slaking this summer.

There are equations written over your skin. Complex formulas he's yet to solve. Exponents and variables freckle your body, scattered shards that try to tell him something, whispering the world's secrets every time he kisses your hand. You are an anomaly he thinks. Face full of cracks where the stars seep through. You're a mistake in the universe. A perfect doll misplaced. You are something, William is almost sure of it.

At heart, William is and always will be a mathematician. It just so happens that crime and math follow the same principles. Both require diligence and practice. Carefully throughout plans of how one must approach such a conundrum. One may call it a formula or a modus operandi or anything else as jejune. But in the end, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.

And yet to Moriarty, you are an equation that refuses to be solved. An enigma he's desperately sought to unravel since your first meeting.

William notices something odd as you stroll down an exquisite exemplar of the golden ratio. Something the lord of crime can't fully place. You're akin to a puzzle missing far too many pieces to properly depict its picture. Maybe it's the setting he ponders as he watches you take careful steps in heeled shoes. Maybe it's the music from the ballroom or the meaningless prattle of the aristocrats that robs your form of all logic. Something is amiss with you and he's frantic to find out what it is.

William introduces himself when you reach the bottom of the staircase. He's never been one to show primary interest in the ladies. Rather he waits in the faint glow of the moonlight until someone approces him. Maybe it's the need to distinguish himself from the other aristocrats, maybe it's the repulsion for their customs and manners that refrains him from ever commencing idle chatter. Yet with you, a girl he's never met before, he finds it fitting to say hello first. To talk, about nothing and everything in the same breath. He mentions his admiration for the staircase in passing. Never expecting you to latch on to the words and morph them into the divine proportion. "My father was a mathematical enthusiast, he's passed that on to me as well." Your words slip into his veins like a narcotic, like the melody of an ancient tune lost to time.

William smiles, easy and bright like the melting rays of the desert sun. "Quite the coincidence, I'm a mathematics professor at Durham University". There's a giggle that bleeds from your rose-tainted lips. Reverberating in the chambers of his heart. "A toast then" you propose "to the lethal magnificence of calculation"

You click your champagne glass against his, as something feral festers within the young nobleman.

It's only days later when he's replaying that night in his head as he sips his afternoon tea. That he realizes your champagne glass was empty that whole time. How strange he pondered, wondering if he'd even seen you touch a single intoxicant all evening.

Four days and three sleepless nights later William finds himself tracing the letters of your name with tender adoration. As if he's engraving prayers upon his bones. He needs to see you again as desperately as he needs to breathe. The letter he writes is aloof, meticulous. Prying on your curiosity, hoping you'll take the bait. One miserable day later Louis delivers a letter bathed in your fragrance. Informing the lord Moriarty of your acceptance of his invitation for tea. William folds the letter with the leniency of a biologist regulating their slides. Tucking it away within his breast pocket.

You wear red when you oblige his invitation. An odd red, one that breaks his perception of the color. It's too vibrant yet too opaque. He's beginning to wonder if everything about you is an irregularity. When he ushers the conversation to your garment you merely laugh and brush it off as having belonged to your mother. There's something wrong with that reply as if the universe weeps at your every word. William watches astonished as if he's been told a secret lost to time.

It becomes a habit, an obsession, an addiction really. Tea thrice a week with the woman who plagues his dreams. He lets his cover slip between sips of tea. Permitting you glances into his dark affairs. There's a moment that breaks the norm. A bizarre instance when you ask him to spare no detail in recounting how a poor tormented man murdered the marquess that raped his wife. William stops the proclean cup mere millimeters from his lips. His voice dies in his throat as his mind races to find an appropriate way to tell a lady such a bloody tale. For a second reality slips away.

Reality has a tendency to slip away unnoticed when he's with you.

You weave William tales of foreign lands that sound like they belong in children's fairytales. You tell him about heroes who've done the impossible and kings whose hearts are as pure as the summer skies.

Something about you reverberates in his subconscious. Oh, how he wishes to engulf you, to pick apart your flesh revealing all those dainty secrets you keep in your pretty little chest.

He asks how you know of such utopic lands. You smile. "Because I once lived there"

One day, as Louis serves black tea with rose petals, you bring up a rather peculiar request. "Permit me to assist you in your quest for equality lord Moriarty." William's beginning to believe he's going mad when he hears you. Albit it may as well be expected. Any sane noble lady would have run away many times over. Yet you remain. Forever poised in your adorned seat. Now more than ever William wishes he knew what you truly are. "I want to help you", you plead. "Allow me to aid you in burning this world down and starting anew". He shouldn't have accepted, he shouldn't have nobbed. He shouldn't have left his seat to trace the side of your face with more love than he knew he possessed.

Sometimes, William wonders if something is haunting you, an apparition nesting within the depths of your heart. He ponders what could drive a brilliant mind such as yours to crave the blood of the rich. You once told him about a heritage disrespected. A legacy buried under sand and water lilies. He's yet to find the true meaning behind those words. Does that make you a threat or an ally? Can either be exalted to a lover?

Moriarty promises you the world. Promise you revenge. He's not sure if he too will burn away in your vendetta. Yet he's willing to take the risk if he can hold you close after every murder case.

"I've tried to kick the habit of strolling around the cemeteries at night. Yet I must admit I rather enjoy this." William smiles at your twisted words as he leads the way. If everything has goes as planned -which is most often the case- then the two of you should be prepared for quite the spectacle. A certain Count - who had shown more interest in you than Moriarty could permit- would be getting knifed by his butler whose life he had ruined. A whole new meaning to the term 'the butler did it'. Quite comedic from William's perspective.

You lean on a withering oak tree, hidden by London's thick fog. William stands by your side, the personification of a grim reaper. You watch the play begin, the cobblestone stage illuminated by the blood-red moon. The confrontation, the knife being thrust into the rich vermin's heart. Again and Again and Again. The butler screams into the bloodstained night. His words quelled by his sobs and screams of agony from his dying tormentor. You only catch half of his reasoning, half of his allegations. And yet that is more than enough to comprehend his motive. You sympathize with the poor man, one whose scars mirror your own.

William's scarlet gaze befalls you, as the performance nears its end.

You pick at your nails in a manner that William finds a little too adorable.

You are an anomaly masquerading as a human. Depression lays heavy over your bones as stardust gathers in the corners of your eyes.

You pray to the creator of the moon, pray for a place long since destroyed.

"I've yet to find someone who truly understands me," you say as the two of you begin the journey back to the Moriarty estate.

"Then we share the same burden, my lady," William says, stopping in his tracks.

He lays a firm hand on your shoulder pulling you backwards into his embrace. Somewhere in the distance, three crows consecrate you with their blessings. Willian's hands rest heavy on your sides. He holds you like a little boy holds his father's arithmatic books. Full of care, full of wonder. "What are you" he whispers into your ear. Leaving a playfully hard bite to the shell. His lips trace yours like one traces a treasure map. Trying to unearth all the riches of the world. "My anomaly" he mutters before he finally commits.

When Moriarty kisses you the whole world melts away.

There's an intriguing lightheadedness that follows. As if the stars themselves have exploded within you. You wonder if basking in his presence will mend your tattered heart.

"My precious little anomaly"

Tag list: @elvyshiarieko @himerurun @latolover @aru-nightmare @guidingstarsstuff @myfancollections

[7grandmel]

Character Archives - [FILE-07]

Grand Dad

"Mario seven, uh, was that the one I played? Oh, let's check it out..."

For Walt Disney, it all began with a mouse. But for SiIvaGunner, it all began with a bootleg game, a streamer, and a pinch of insanity. Many have come after him, and many can claim to be funnier - but Grand Dad will forever hold the title as the first ever figment of imagination to come out of the bubbling mind of SiIvaGunner [FILE-01]. As a result, he has come to be a symbol for the channel in its entirety, the very embodiment of the SiIvaGunner ethos, and something of a dear friend in the eyes of its creator.

In 2014, a certain streamer under the name of Vinesauce Joel was going through the motions of his typical streaming routine - playing games of the oddest variety, and bellylaughing at the absurd results they'd deliver. Even as part of this greater whole, however, Joel's reaction to 7 GRAND DAD immediately became a standout moment, a series of events so perfect that the comedic timing couldn't have been coordinated to be any better. A mumbling Joel clicks on the game bizarrely labeled as "Mario 7", and is to his great shock met with the imagery of a garishly discolored Mario, placed onto an equally garish blue background, as bold letters declare the game's name to be "7 GRAND DAD". Before Joel can even properly process the twist he's been subjected to, only letting out a reading of the game's name, the game twists all expectations once again: An 8-bit rendition of The Flintstones theme, originally from The Flintstones: The Rescue of Dino & Hoppy, kicks in - prompting a bewildered reaction of "FLINTSTONES?!" from the thoroughly befuddled streamer.

This is a sequence of events you're all too familiar with if you're a fan of the SiIvaGunner channel, yet nevertheless a necessary one to properly recount to understand just how core Grand Dad is to SiIvaGunner: Through this one 15-second clip of one streamer's reaction to the unpredictable world of bootleg video games, a small subset of internet dwellers on the platform SoundCloud realized that they'd uncovered a whole new genre of derivative audio work. Mashups and arrangements were always alive and well on the internet, yet always delivered with upfront honesty: To play into their derivative nature as part of the reaction, to present these edits as if they were the nostalgic, authentic real-deal video game music that you grew up loving, only to have the edit serve as an unexpected punchline, was the kind of brilliant idea that just had to be capitalized on. Thus, in January 2016, one lone internet dweller by the name Chaze the Chat started the SiIvaGunner (then GiIvaSunner) channel, and uploaded "Wild Pokémon Battle - Pokémon Ruby & Sapphire". The bait-and-switch foundation that laid the groundwork for all of SiIvaGunner, all built upon the concept of a bootleg Flintstones game pretending to be the seventh entry in the Super Mario franchise.

In our world, Grand Dad's debut to the online world is now over ten years old, his legacy on the SiIvaGunner channel being that of a figurehead mainly representative of the simpler times that the channel has long since grown up from. Yet in the SiIvaGunner universe, to SiIvaGunner himself, Grand Dad is the beating heart of the entire channel, the first spark of imagination which binds his whole universe together. Every figment made since the channel's inception owes its existence to Grand Dad, and with every step SiIvaGunner underwent across his original 2016 run, Grand Dad was right there alongside him, an enduring voice in his head steering the channel onward. And even as his creator fell into a deep slumber, as The Voice Inside Your Head [FILE-03] set his plans into motion to extract SiIvaGunner's figments into the real world, Grand Dad was at the front lines of the resistance fighting in his name - and remains a symbol of hope for all figments caught in The Voice's tyrannical reign.

Across eight years of the channel's life, Grand Dad has gone through so many phases in reception: As a novel joke, as a beacon of hope, as a redundant and played-out bit, looping around into being used ironically, followed by a loop-back-around into being genuinely appreciated. Event after event, album after album, Grand Dad has become a genuine symbol of everything the channel does, and continues to appear to represent it across all of its twists and turns. It's no small feat for a figment to have endured in relevancy for as long as Grand Dad has, and no matter where the channel is headed, you can sure that he's here to stay.

[gothicminxx]

Part 1 here

Part 2 is finally here! It took me forever to write, there’s a happy ending in this one I promise!

Satosugu x Fem! Reader

CW: Angst, mentions of death, mentions of blood, pet names (baby and angel), established relationship with Gojo, mentions of sex if you squint. A slight razzle dazzle of the Shibuya arc.

WC: 5.2k

Also do y’all like love and deadspace? Thinking of posting a Zayne one shot soon.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Late hours of the night brought the city to life, lights glittered brightly and it hid the beauty of the stars in the dark sky. Any attraction given to the charm of nature was only given to the full moon, bright and massive with a tint of blood orange to it tonight— a fitting color for Halloween night. The streets of Shibuya littered with college students and foreigners from different countries that had come down to experience a party of a lifetime. Common and unique costumes alike wandered drunkenly on the pavement, stumbling not only over their feet but words as well.

Halloween night in Shibuya was known for its array of bars, genres of music that boomed loudly in the city, and the small community of party goers that it created— a splendid environment for extroverts. It set the perfect trap for those with intentions that were the least bit pure to bait and capture the great Satoru Gojo, the man that had dampened the lives of curses the moment he was born.

The night had begun like any other, Satoru stood in the rather large kitchen with a gray towelette resting on his shoulder. He wore an apron that wrapped tightly around his slender waist as he concentrated on perfecting his tonkatsu chicken for dinner. Quietly he hummed along to a random playlist on his phone, tongue sticking out slightly from the corner of his mouth. His back muscles flexed the moment he began cutting up vegetables for dinner.

You stood in the kitchen with your husband, preparing a sweet cream that would accompany the matcha swiss rolls you were working hard on. Satoru, being a greedy man, adored having sweet pastries after dinner made by his lovely wife. He constantly begged you for a delicious confection, coaxing you with a much needed massage, or even a bath for two which always ended in a moment of tangled moans. You never complained when it came to indulging his addiction to sugar, it was a mere excuse to spend time together in the kitchen for a couple of hours, even if you already spent a lot of time with him.

Satoru grabbed plates from the cupboard to assemble your dinner as you popped your tasty dessert in the oven. Sauntering over to the small dining table you began to set everything up, allowing Satoru to pull a chair out for you before setting your dinner in front of you. Together you savored the flavors of each item of food, sharing in conversation about mundane things that held no importance at the time.

As dessert cooled down from the oven both of you sat on the cozy sectional couch in your living room, sitting on his lap to feed him dessert. Giggling as he threw compliments your way like a love sick puppy dog after each bite. Even if you had been married to Satoru for three years now the two of you acted like teenagers in love.

You laid snuggled up in his side with his arms wrapped tightly around you, watching a movie, slowly dozing off. Before a perfect night could conclude, Satoru’s phone rang loudly, begging for attention obnoxiously snapping you out of a sleepy haze. Groaning loudly he reached for his phone, pressing the green accept button with a roll of his eyes, “What is it now, Nanami?”

The deep gentle voice of Nanami flowed through his phone as he pressed it to his ear, furrowing his brows as he listened along. Being the nosy person you were, you tried your hardest to listen to the conversation but his voice was muffled. Whatever Nanami was telling Satoru it appeared to be serious, his body stiffened underneath you, “Uh huh, be there soon.” Satoru’s slender finger clicked the red decline button before he tossed the mobile device to the side.

A loud groan escaped his lips, rubbing the length of his face with his hand. A sense of worry washed over you as you quickly sat up, “I'm sorry baby, but we gotta get going.” He stated, standing from the couch as he extended his hand down to help you up.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, a perplexed expression falling on your beautiful face.

“It seems a veil has been casted down in Shibuya. Non-sorcerers are trapped inside without a way out, sorcerers may move freely in certain areas, while others are blocked off.” The situation sounded grave, it was concerning to be left in the dark, nobody had any idea of who could possibly be behind it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Leaning back against a metal pole you let out a loud heaving breath, clutching your cursed tool tightly that the white of your knuckles were visible. The head of a deformed human was held in your hand, blood spilling against the tile before you discarded it on the floor. Your lungs felt as if they were on fire after the relentless pace of bolting through the crowded subway station, slicing each deformed human that came near you. Mahito had an endless supply of these things, spitting more out from his mouth in globs that it seemed nearly impossible to kill them all.

Satoru had been separated from you for a mere second which was absolutely devastating for the powerful sorcerer, his main goal as it always has been, was to keep you safe in the confinements of his limitless technique. But Hanami and Jogo had different plans, separating him from you the moment an opportunity presented itself. You were ultimately the biggest thing he cared about, the cursed spirits had an understanding that as long as you were near Satoru, he would be reckless in his movements. Without hesitation he would hurt those that stood near as he used infinite void to destroy the cursed spirits if it meant keeping you safe. A technique that without fail would earn him victory.

Mahito had been put in charge of tiring you out, to exhaust all of your cursed energy, he doubted your abilities believing that you were a mere weakling. But as soon as his doubt came, it quickly deteriorated, the blade of your Katana burned bright red and pink resembling a wildfire. It terrified yet intrigued the patch face curse to witness first hand, he had only been warned that you were a reversed curse technique user with the special ability of bringing back the dead. The power of your cursed energy, the way you transferred it to the blade burning it, causing it to turn a lovely shade of glowing orange-- excited him, “I never knew you’d be this much fun!” Mahito giggled, twirling with his arms extended like a child.

Wiping sweat from your brow a smirk etched itself on your face, “I didn’t expect you to be this annoying.” You hissed, gripping the handle of the katana, digging your heel into the ground preparing to race towards him.

The cursed spirit had become a nuisance rather quickly that it had gotten under your skin. Your main focus was to run downstairs towards Satoru to be by his side, where you belonged. You knew better than to be worried about him, he was the strongest after all but you couldn’t help it— something was off. Digging the ball of your foot on the tile ground you lunged forward, the fiery blade coming in contact with the cursed spirit. Mahito’s eyes widened as your movements caught him off guard, piercing through his abdomen causing a choked cough to escape him. You twist the blade, listening to the squelch of his organs before pulling the Katana away, “I’m getting sick of your shit.” Your words are dripping with venom.

Another cackle stems from his lips that it only manages to enrage you more. The moment you had arrived with Satoru to Shibuya, warning bells rang in your head, the thick layers of the veil were enough to give you a clear sign. “Awe, you don’t mean that.” Mahito cooed, jutting his lips in a pout.

Igniting the katana with more cursed energy, your legs lept into another sprint, quick to dodge a blow from Mahito’s fist that stretched out like a rubber band. The fiery blade makes contact with his abdomen once more earning a groan of pain from his lips, crimson blood decorating the blade of your katana as it’s ripped away from Mahitos stomach. You could feel the familiar burn in your lungs and the ache in your muscles from exhaustion, constantly running circles around him for the last thirty minutes was draining.

Annoyingly enough for the patch face curse, exerting your physical stamina would never be enough to exhaust the cursed energy stored in your body. You were far too calculating, too aware of how much energy you needed to exude from yourself in order to take an opponent down; it was infuriating. If Mahito hadn’t been instructed to keep you alive, he would have touched the essence of your soul and morphed you into a doll he could play with.

Mahito tilted his head, clutching his fists tightly almost as if he was preparing to send another attack your way. Instead, he snickered as his gaze drifted to the stairs that led to the lower level of the subway station, “Come play some more, doll.” he licked his lips almost predatory as he sprinted toward the stairs, listening to your feet not far behind him-- it was all according to plan.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Cerulean eyes held a barbaric gaze, wild grin plastered on his face as his long legs took strides toward the volcano head curse, that coward in fear from the mere sight of him. His pale cheeks stained with crimson blood and his breath was frantic from eradicating deformed humans. The plan of separating him from you failed, ultimately he had released his infinite void domain for a tenth of a second to rid of the nuisances that were Mahito’s doing.

“You crying?” Satoru snickered as he stepped closer to Jogo, rage and adrenaline coursing through his veins; he felt like a god. His head tilted to the side in a mocking manner, dusting his blue blazer with a displeased look on his face, “I don’t take too kindly to being separated from my wife, you understand that… right, Jogo?”

Satoru had become fed up with the constant battle, the pathetic back and forth with curses that believed they could defeat him; he was a force to be reckoned with. As he stared at the trepidation in Jogo’s eyes; though it brought him satisfaction, he simply wanted to be at your side again to protect you. Reaching his large hand out, Saturo took a hold of Jogo’s arm, ripping the appendage off his body, a giggle escaping his lips. The curse let out a panicked yelp, trying his best to create distance between him and the six eyed sorcerer; he had to keep him busy for a few more minutes but it was starting to feel like an eternity to him. Being put against Satoru was pure misery for the volcano head.

He pushed through the crowd of frozen bodies that had been affected by his infinite void domain, finding joy in the chase. Jogo was quick on his feet but Satoru wasn’t too far behind, in his panic he found himself throwing balls of fire at the white haired man; bouncing off his limitless. Jogo knew it was a desperate attempt, that he would never be able to hit Gojo, his limitless too powerful.

Racing footsteps echoed throughout the lower level of the subway station, laughter bouncing off the walls; it sounded all too familiar to Jogo. His footsteps slowed down as the shadow of a figure danced along the wall, long blue hair flowing in the wind— Mahito appeared down the stairs, giggling like a maniac. The new presence halted Satoru the moment he laid eyes on you chasing after the patch face curse, your katana blazing an angry red.

His heart fluttered as relief washed over him; you were okay. His focus soon shifts towards you, the chase soon dispersing from his mind as Satoru’s feet quickly move in your direction; planning to shield you in the confinements of his limitless technique. It felt as though he had gone a lifetime separated from you, the worry had been gnawing at him. Yet he knew better, knew that you were capable of defending yourself in the face of danger, but it never made him worry any less.

Mahito raced toward Jogo, a smirk evident on his face, “Jogo, it’s time!” He exclaimed.

Milky hair came into your view, hand grasping your shoulder, pulling you into his side. His hold was firm as if to shield you from the world, hearing Mahito’s words was enough for the six eyes to sense a threat approaching. “Stay close to me.” Satoru instructed his jaw clenched tightly, you could only nod in response.

It was a late reaction as your eyes widened, feeling his firm body against yours; wanting to feel you close to him. Since the events that had perspired with Suguru a few years ago, Satoru kept you under lock and key like a guard dog protecting its home. It was rare for you to be out of his sight, never too far as the fear of losing you too stayed with him, sticking like gum. He requested the higher ups to keep you at Jujutsu High where you spent most of your days training the students and helping in the infirmary. While most of the teacher’s received missions often that required their attention, to keep you safe, he made sure you stayed busy at school. It was never that Satoru didn’t believe you to be capable of defending yourself or even that he doubted your abilities, he knew you were strong. But you were also the most precious thing in his life and he would be damned if even a tiny scratch scathed your pretty skin.

Jogo followed Mahito, a loud whistle erupting from his lips as if he were signaling something or someone. Satoru’s arms tightened around your waist as a figure appeared in the distance, responding to Jogo. Your throat felt tight as the silence was deafening, the footsteps rang loudly in your ears, the air impossibly thick. Instinctually your hand reached Satoru’s blazer to grasp it tightly, afraid to be separated from him once more.

“Satoru and Name, been awhile.” The voice was gentle, a silky melody that made your hearts drop to your stomachs. You knew that voice anywhere.

As the figure approached from the shadows of the subway tunnel, long raven hair entered your peripheral vision. Your grip on Satoru tightened, a lump forming in your throat that it felt as though it was closing up your esophagus. The face of the lover you lost to the grim reaper a few years ago now stood in front of you. Memories of his limp body falling in your arms that nearly crushed you, your wails and screams filling every crevice of your mind. Suguru’s bloody face flashed before your eyes, bringing you back to the field of the school-- begging Satoru that it didn’t have to end this way. You blinked a few times as he approached, how was a dead man walking? You looked up at Satoru as if asking for reassurance that he too was seeing the same thing as you. His jaw was clenched, his face drained of any color, and his lip quivered slightly-- he saw him too. “You’re the one behind this?” You blurted, unable to halt the words from escaping.

Suguru smirked, he appeared to be looking around him with admiration at the chaos that the curses caused. His coffee eyes soon focused on the two of you, “I guess so,” he chuckled, he took a step closer, “Didn’t you miss me?”

Satoru dug his nails inside of his palm the longer he stared at Suguru. His features were the same as if he had never died, as if he never left his lovers. He gritted his teeth preparing his red technique, to muster the courage to do it all over again-- to end it, but he couldn’t, “My six eyes keep telling me it’s Suguru Geto, but my heart and soul know otherwise!” He hissed, the agony he felt evident in his voice.

“So observant.” He cooed. Suguru tossed a metal cube in front of you, using the shock of the situation to his advantage. The cube opened, quick to entrap your wrists and Satoru’s tightly like cuffs.

The raven haired man reached up and pulled at the stitches engraved in his forehead, pulling up his scalp to reveal Kenjaku, a curse that has the ability to use the victim's body as his own. “Someone was kind enough to leave this body for me.”

Kenjaku’s words confused you. Satoru had taken you to the crematorium after Suguru’s death, a place where they laid sorcerer's to rest. It was a small place just outside Kyoto, surrounded by cherry blossom trees. Satoru had picked this crematorium for this reason. Suguru admired the pink color, the sweet aroma the flowers brought each season. At the time he picked an apartment with a cherry blossom tree in the backyard. Every spring he would pick the flowers to make mochi, sitting outside to delight in the sweet confection with the two of you. The cherry blossom tree held a special meaning for the both of you, it was Suguru.

The white haired man had taken you by the hand, leading you to a small koi pond. A marble tombstone with Suguru’s name had come into view, a few flowers already scattered on his grave. You reached out your fingertips to trace his name, tears rolling down your face as the reality had finally set in that he was gone. You remember setting down his favorite tea and Cherry blossom mochi that you and Satoru had stayed up all night to make that wasn’t nearly as good as his. It never made sense to you as to why your husband never allowed you to have an urn with Suguru’s ashes. You had begged him, pleaded with him to let you have that last piece of him but Satoru insisted he’d be better off somewhere lovely. His ashes were placed in the ground that would one day make a cherry blossom tree.

As he stood here now, you realized Satoru had never gotten rid of Suguru’s body. That when he had instructed Shoko to take him to get cremated it had never happened. The grave you had spent hours at, talking to him, dropping him gifts-- it was empty. “What?” You choked, your eyes immediately falling on your snowy haired lover.

Satoru avoided your gaze, dropping his head to the ground ashamed that a secret he had held onto for so long had finally come to light. He had planned to tell you one day, but as time passed and visits to Suguru’s ‘grave’ became more frequent-- he couldn’t. Kenjaku tsked, “What a pity, it was quite simple to retrieve this body. Surprised you would be so weak to not tell her.”

You winced at his mocking tone, each word stung deeper than a knife. Satoru had lied to you, kept you away from resurrecting the man you each had spent decades loving. You understood Suguru’s values would never match up to your own, that his existence alone was a threat to human society, and yet, none of it mattered. The love you held in your heart for him was much greater than the mistakes he had made, than the lives he had taken. You could never see him as a monster, Suguru had always been misunderstood. “Sato-”

He shook his head, cutting you off, “How much longer are you going to let it control you, Suguru?!” Satoru called out.

Suguru’s hand began to twitch, his hand lunging forward at his own throat causing Kenjaku to laugh in amusement, “I’ve never had a body fight back before. How entertaining.”

“You’re one of the strongest, don’t let it consume you, Sugu.” You added, his hand doing anything it can to choke the curse living inside of him.

Kenjaku laughed, peeling each finger off his neck with brute force, “Times up.” The cube that had surrounded you and Satoru slowly began to close, muffling the sounds of the outside world as it entrapped you inside its prison-- each surrounding going black.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The prison realm was compact, reeking of death from the various skeletons from past prisoners that surrounded you. The bones made for an uncomfortable mattress, Satoru had laid you on top of his body to provide you some form of cushion. It was silent in the metal box that imprisoned you compared to the noisy outside world that continued with or without you, it was a bleak thought. You laid your head on your husband’s chest, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to suppress your tears, the last thing you wanted was to be near him. Your heart felt heavy in your chest almost like a fifty pound weight rested there, it ached an agonizing pain that you could barely ignore it.

Satoru’s heart steadily beat against your ear, the only other sound that could be heard besides his breaths. He held you tightly, his arm around your waist and the other moved from your hair to infront of your eyes, obscuring your vision to total darkness, “Don’t think.” He murmured.

Your lips quivered, his words setting off each emotion you felt deeply, a choked sob raking your body. A few of your tears touched the palm of his hand, Satoru’s heart stung the more you gripped his hand, whimpering like an injured puppy. It pained him to see the damage his actions had caused, he swore to himself that he would tell you the truth on Suguru’s birthday. The day you had tirelessly baked a chocolate cake for hours in the kitchen, trying to perfect it just for him. Dolling yourself up in the mirror, that day you made sure to wear Suguru’s favorite dress that he had bought for you, a white one that made you appear like an angel sent from above. When you sat at his tombstone with balloons, cake, and sunflowers, lighting up candles on the cake as you and Satoru sang him happy birthday. He promised then that he would tell you, but he never did.

He kissed the top of your head, holding his hand still over your teary eyes, providing the only darkness he knew would calm you down. It was his form of silencing the world around you, allowing you to focus on the atmosphere around you-- acknowledging each emotion you felt that you often failed to discern. “Don’t think, just focus.” Satoru instructed once more.

Another wail left your lips that caused him to wince, holding you tighter as he buried his face in your hair. A tear slid down his face as he listened to you cry, he hated himself for the agony he had caused you. Holding his wrist tighter to keep his hand as a blind fold you listened to the quiet atmosphere around you, that stench of death that made your stomach churn reminding you of the prison you were in. Trying to grasp at the emotions that overwhelmed you, “How could you do this to me?” You choked out.

Nuzzling his cheek against your hair, you could feel the wetness-- he was crying. Satoru held onto you as his life depended on it, petrified that if he let go that you would disappear and leave him alone in this cruel world. The person he loved with his entire being, the one he would sacrifice his own life for in a heartbeat because you were absolutely everything to him. He felt like an idiot for lying to you, the truth always came out, he was a fool for believing otherwise, “Baby, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” Satoru croaked, “I wanted to tell you, I was going to tell you but I…”

“Decided to be selfish and lie to me instead?”

“Name-”

“No, you thought I’d be reckless and bring him back,” You shoved his hand away, sitting up on him, “Didn’t you?”

Your face was flushed, sticky with tears that persisted on falling from your eyes. Your chest heaving up and down, a clear indication that you were furious at him. Satoru sat up, averting his gaze from those pretty sad eyes of yours-- he felt sick. “Look at me!” You pleaded, taking a hold of his chin to force him to look at the hurt he caused.

He placed his hands on your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze as he found the strength to muster words, “I did.”

You dropped your hand from his chin, dropping your gaze to his abdomen as you frantically wiped at your tears. He doubted you, but was he wrong? His death had affected you gravely that it took months to cope, even now you still struggled on certain days. Suguru’s birthday was the hardest date to get by, alongside the day he passed, those days you wore his clothes that had already lost his scent. You drank his favorite tea even if you preferred coffee, you just wanted to feel close to him again. Satoru clung onto you those days, he sought after your comfort-- as you did his. It was silent around your home for long periods of time, embracing each other tightly to communicate how much you missed him, to remind one another that you were still here.

Suguru’s spot in bed remained untouched, a cold spot that reminded you of the once warm body that lay there. His things never left your house, not even after you and Satoru moved to a new home, there was always a piece of him there. Thinking now, if Satoru had told you that Shoko stored his body somewhere safe you would have spent days, even months searching for it-- you’d bring him back. You had been blessed with the ability to bring those back from the dead, it didn't matter how long they were gone, if the body was well preserved you could bring them back. Playing with death would have its consequences someday, but you would have risked it for Suguru. Your husband wasn’t wrong to hide the truth from you, you couldn’t let Suguru go.

“I would have.” You chuckled bitterly, resting your forehead against Satoru’s, “I still would.”

His hand cupped your cheek, gently wiping away the fat tears that cascaded down your face, “I know.”

“I miss him, Toru.”

“Me too, baby.”

You stared up at the black sky, Kenjaku now had Suguru’s body. It was a harsh reality. While he created chaos as your deceased lover, you were locked away in a box, hoping to be rescued by the other sorcerers. The time of when you’d be free from this hell wasn’t certain nor was it definite, you relied on those outside to save you; you had faith. Once freed, it was inevitable that Satoru would fight against Kenjaku, face the reality of hurting Suguru’s body once more-- something he hadn’t forgiven himself for. “I can bring him back, once we get out… I can bring Sugu back.” You blurted.

Satoru sucked in a breath at your words, it had never left your mind to bring him back. He knew you still thought of the days where it was just the three of you, he did too. The six eyes craved to have his old life back where the raven haired man was in the picture, his gentle smile, his soft voice-- he missed it all. It sounded like a dream come true to have that life back, perhaps the old Suguru would return, at least that’s what he told himself.

His silence was deafening, “Please,” You choked, more tears fell from your eyes, “Please let me bring him back, Toru. We can eat mochi under cherry blossom trees again, just like we used to. You can drag us out of bed on snow days and I won’t complain, I promise. Then he’ll scold you for eating too many sweets and for buying candy behind his back. Please… I-” Your head fell against his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck, pleading with him over and over again.

He buried his face in your hair once more, holding the back of your head with his hand, gently rocking your bodies together. Satoru wanted that fantasy life more than anything, your promises sounded like honey. It was a life that had once been reality before Suguru disappeared to pursue his own ideals, a life that remained cherished. Satoru cried with you, biting his lip to suppress his whimpers; he knew better. Suguru had changed, too stuck in his ways, his values so engraved in his brain that it was impossible to persuade him differently. His own lovers couldn’t stray him from the society he saw fit, Suguru would return to his old ways-- Satoru would let him, neither of you would deny him that anymore and that terrified him. “We can’t.” His voice weak, the words struggled to come out almost as if he didn’t believe what he was telling you.

Your body shook with each sob that left your lips, each tear staining his navy blazer. Your husband held you tighter, silence loomed overhead as you both cried. In the end the both of you knew that your love for Suguru remained, neither of you have stopped grieving him. “I can’t let him go.” You rasped.

It was Satoru’s turn to sob, cradling your head in his hand. The rocking of your bodies pacified the emotions from causing anxiety, his body was warm— a big protective blanket that you found yourself sinking into further. A sharp pang spread through his heart as he reminisced on the past. It would be selfish to bring him back, to turn the world upside down as Satoru and you finally stood by him. He couldn’t let him go either.

Pulling back from the hug, Satoru cupped his hands on both of your cheeks, he was a selfish man. Two selfish lovers disregarding the pain of the innocent for a love unforgotten.

He had lived for others, sacrificed himself for the greater good. Satoru constantly fought tooth and nail to protect the weak, constantly worrying about you because the weak could not control their cursed energy— curses would continue to be born. But they were only human. The guilt was gnawing at him, his thoughts spiraled out of control the more he looked at his precious wife. Suguru was right, it was your turn to be happy.

“Okay, once we get out of here… let’s get our Sugu back, angel.”

Maybe it was selfish, but neither of you cared anymore. The decision had been made. When the prison realm freed you, and the battle became a gruesome bloody mess. With Kenjaku ripped from Suguru’s body, you did the only thing you knew— resurrect the man that held onto your hearts after all these years.

As he wrapped his arms around you both, holding you close. The smell of cedar wood and jasmine enveloped you like he never left, he held your dizzying body tightly that felt exhausted after using up your cursed energy for the day. Perhaps it wasn’t selfish, the long lost lover had returned, never to be separated from either of you again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

beginning snippet of something i’ve been working on. baby sub ian you compel me so tags: sex club, first time sub! ian, experienced dom! mickey, ian is nervous and cute and doesn’t know what he wants exactly, all he knows is he’s very into mickey

Ian is minorly freaking out.

The room is like something out of Fifty Shades, but slightly more intimidating in real life. Slightly warmer. Slightly overwhelming, with its wall of mounted whips and multiple surfaces to be whipped on.

It’s not that Ian has to worry about those because he definitely steered clear of them on his terms and consent form, it’s just overwhelming to see - to look up from the pillow they told him to kneel on in the center of the room, to a sight of ropes suspended from the ceiling.

It’s a lot.

Ian definitely wants to be here, but he’s minorly freaking out, every second that ticks by as he waits for the dom to come into the room feeling like its own brand of torture.

But he wants this. God, he wants this so fucking bad - practically needs it at this point, even though he’s nervous. So he sits and waits, his back to the door and time ticking…ticking…ticking, until finally…

Behind him, the doorknob twists.

A rush of air, otherwise silent.

And then the click of the door closing again, sealing him back inside.

Only this time, he’s not alone.

Ian balls his hands on his thighs, his heart beginning to beat uncomfortably under his t-shirt. He waits. Because that’s what a sub is supposed to do, right? Wait? That’s what the lady told him to do before she left.

More silence.

Anticipation wracking up his body.

Nerves popping off and okay, maybe just a little peek.

He turns to shoot a glance over his shoulder, but doesn’t get much. Not enough without kneeling off the pillow, and he definitely shouldn’t do that, right?

“Hi…” he tries. A shot in the dark. But it’s better than nothing, and- “I uh-… I know you probably know this, but it’s my first time here...” Unclear whether this is helping or not. If it makes him feel better or more frantic. “I’ve never-… I mean, I don’t really know how to-”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

The voice that cuts him off isn’t unkind, but it’s commanding. Certain.

And fuck, does it have Ian’s mouth snapping closed for a moment as he tries to process the effect that has on him, something plucking teasingly at his nerves.

No. It’s okay.

He can do this.

“I just-…” Breathe in. No need to freak out. It’s a simple question. “I always have to…do everything.” In bed. Which is fine - he’s kinda built for that - but deep in his heart of hearts he knows that’s not him. Not all the time, at least. “I don’t wanna have to do everything…” Hopefully that makes sense.

“So you wanna be lazy.”

Ian frowns, twisting for another look over his shoulder but getting nowhere. Seeing no one. Just a shadow in the corner. “No.” That’s not it at all.

“What, then.”

This is bait, isn’t it?

Or is he actually asking?

Ian tries to go over the options again in his head, just as unsure where to slot himself, now that he’s in this, as he was when he was filling out his terms.

Why is he here? What is he looking for tonight?

A dom to serve…? A dom to challenge him…? A dom that’ll give him structure…?

He shifts on his knees, pulse quickening. “I don’t-… I’m not sure.”

Yet.

He’s tired of making decisions, remember?

“What’s your name?” he finally asks. Because as hot as lurking in the shadows is, his curiosity is getting the best of him. Especially when he hears that voice again.

“To you, it’s sir.” The air shifts behind him in slow steps - rounding…rounding…rounding. “‘Yes, sir’… ‘No, sir’…” And when he finally comes into view, the payoff is as overwhelming as it is gorgeous. “‘Whatever you want, sir’…” he smirks for that one in particular, measured playfulness shining over dark features. “You get it…?”

He knocks the breath right out of Ian’s lungs - the words from his throat - lips parting, but producing nothing more than a nod as he takes in the man in front of him.

Holy fuck…

Ian was expecting something flashy - leather and buckles - a harness, maybe. But there’s something impossibly hotter about the gold chain and black tank that fits across this dom’s chest. How it shows off the tight, defined muscles in his shoulders - his arms - the sturdy cut of his waist that leads to even sturdier thighs under black denim - the kind Ian definitely wouldn’t mind worshipping a little if he told him how.

He posts up right in front of where Ian’s kneeling and all at once, it’s like he’s drawn every ounce of energy from the room right here - right in his stance.

Power.

Ian doesn’t know if he’s supposed to, but he can’t get himself to look away. Can’t drag his curious gaze from those eyes as they peer down at him, heavy-lidded but piercing.

When he speaks, he asks it clearly. Not strict or mean or anything, but still somehow cutting right down to the nerve. “When’s the last time you been touched?”

Ian swallows. Shifts on the pillow, gaze flicking away before coming right back. “Uh… Do I really-…”

“Asked you a question.”

Right. Yeah no, of course he did - of course he did. “Um…” Ian’s brows draw together as he traces back for visions of his last hookup. “Like…a couple months, maybe…?”

“‘Maybe’?”

“A couple months,” he confirms, eager to convince. “Two. Two months.”

Is that a long time?

Too short?

“And you’re here ‘cause you think I’m gonna touch you…”

Ian processes. “I mean…” That’s what this is, right? That’s what all the consent forms were about? “I…was kinda hopin’… Yeah…”

He’s really starting to feel the control slip through his fingers. The dizzying dance of trying to keep up, even when the pace is ultra slow like this. The only thing he can focus on is how the dom steps closer, thick black boots sending his pulse thumping in his chest.

“I only touch good boys,” he explains. Then, tilting his head just a bit as he looks down at him, “You gonna be my good boy, Ian?”

And…

Holy shit. That’s-… That’s something, isn’t it? “Y-… Yeah, I can-”

“Say ‘yes sir’.”

A rush of heat floods Ian’s chest and then seeps downward, pooling low in his belly. “Yes sir…”

And it’s the ink he notices first, dark and swirling over the man’s inner forearm - printed crudely across his knuckles as those fingers reach out, closing the space between them as he hooks below Ian’s chin, plucking his pulse and face briskly upward.

Fuck…

Okay…

Ian breathes back in the gasp before it can escape his stretched throat.

Blinks up at the dom - drawn to how the room’s lights glint off the metal pierced across the dark arch of his eyebrow.

“You’re prettier than most guys that come here.”

And Ian’s heart flutters in the weirdest way. Because oh. “…really?”

“Mm… Got a real sweet face on ya…” He takes his time making his point - using his hold to tilt Ian’s head in all sorts of admiring ways, in control of every angle. “Almost cute enough to letchya slide on not remembering your manners.”

Oh.

Shit.

He just told Ian he’s pretty.

“Oh uh- thank you, sir,” he backpedals, the sudden desire to please setting him off in an unsure ramble. “You’re-…pretty too, sir…?” Is that right?

Judging by the little brow pinch he gets, it’s not.

But the huff of a chuckle that follows sure feels good, doesn’t it? Even if it’s Ian he’s laughing at.

“Fuck,” he grins, giving Ian’s cheek two promising pats before stepping away, “you’re gonna be fun.”

[liillyliilly]

A Fishy First Date

kageyama tobio x reader words; 1071 synopsis; a favor gone wrong, or hilariously right. kageyama believed it to be the latter.

“How do you feel about going on a date with my cousin?” Nishinoya asked calmly, which was the first sign to Kageyama that something was extremely wrong here.

“A date with your cousin?” Kageyama spun the volleyball around in his hands, he was going to start his cool down but was intercepted by Nishinoya’s request.

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool. But hasn’t been on a date before, so like, I was wondering if you could take her out on one. You know, as your favorite third year it would mean a great deal.” Nishinoya examined his nails, before looking back to Kageyama.

Kageyama thought about it, and didn’t say anything.

“3, 2, 1, Okay thanks for taking her on a date, no take backs!” Nishinoya blurted out and ran out of the gym, his shoes squeaking slightly against the floor. Kageyama just stared at the space where Nishinoya had previously occupied. As much as he wanted to tell Noya that he wouldn’t do it, his sense of pride was too strong for him not to take the girl on a date.

He just didn’t expect her to be so cute.

Hinata had explained to Kageyama that he should take her on a memorable date, something that would make her remember it vividly. Seeing as Kageyama was both a second year, and his wallet practically had flies fly out of it when he opened it, Kageyama knew he couldn’t do anything too crazy for the date. So, he settled for the aquarium.

Sitting on the bench inside the aquarium, Kageyama looked around for the girl he had been texting frequently.

Nishinoya thought that it would be better if his cousin didn’t know about the little arrangement, so Nishinoya gave Kageyama her number and told him to make conversation. At first it was awkward, trying to avoid why he had her number and making his introduction. Soon the stumbles of beginning interactions turned into a flowing friendship.

Even so, Kageyama actually started to worry over asking her out on a date. But he reasoned that he was doing it as a favor to Nishinoya.

“Kageyama?”

Even her voice is pretty, he thought. From the way his family name rolled off her tongue and lightly left its mark on her lips.

“Yeah, hey.” Kageyama held out his hand, but she just pushed his arm down and gave him a big hug. That’s when the family resemblance clicked with Kageyama. He cleared his throat and smiled lightly.

“It’s nice to see the person that I’ve been talking to for all this time.” He offered his thoughts as bait for her to take.

“Definitely. Now c’mon! I want to see the jellyfish!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the large tank.

As she peered over the glass to stare at the creatures, Kageyama stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled at her even though she couldn’t see his face. After the jellyfish, Kageyama took the chance to take her to the touch pool, knowing that she liked stingrays a lot from how she talked about them when they texted three or so weeks ago. She rolled up her sleeve and ran her fingers against the smooth backs of the stingrays.

“Are you going to even try and touch them?” She asked, putting her wet hand on her hip, ignoring the way her shirt became slightly damp and stuck against her skin. Kageyama shook his head.

“Animals don’t tend to like me very much.” He admitted with his face heating up.

He found it embarrassing how easily he was able to say the truth without a mask of false confidence around her. She stuck out her tongue slightly, biting it in a thoughtful manner.

“A stingray is technically a fish. If that makes a difference. Here, there’s no reason to be scared.” She took his hand and placed her hand over his and submerged both of their hands under the water. When a stingray floated up closer to his hand Kageyama tried to pull his hand out, but she just pressed back down and made him touch the wing.

The rich, delicate skin of the stingray was cold and almost freezing when Kageyama’s fingers skimmed the wing.

“How is it so smooth?” Kageyama asked, facing her, and when he did, he realized just how close she was to him. He liked that she was this close to him. He forgot that this date was supposed to be a favor, because he thought that a favor for someone shouldn’t cause him this much joy.

“I don’t know, but it's wicked awesome isn’t it?”

He liked that she talked to him like she was happy about life. She spoke like the world was made of endless ways to be joyful. The opportunities to be satiated were endless.

After the aquarium, he decided to prolong his time with her by taking her to get ice cream. When Kageyama had accidently got his strawberry ice cream on his nose, she laughed and wiped away the food with her thumb. Kageyama may or may not have bumped her elbow when she went in for more of her own ice cream so he could do the same.

“Thanks for asking me out on this date.” She swung their interwoven hands back and forth as Kageyama showed her around a park he grew up around.

“Thanks for letting me take you out on one.” Kageyama squeezed her hand. And she squeezed back twice, causing him to chuckle at her antics.

“This was actually my first date.” When Kageyama opened his mouth, she covered her face and interrupted him, “Just forget I said that okay? Goodness, I find ways to embarrass myself all the time.”

Kageyama removed her hands from her face, lifting her chin so she could meet his gaze.

“It was my first date too.” He was being honest. “But I want my second and third, and fourth, and fifth, and a bunch of others. I want them to all be with you.”

Maybe watching all those dramas with his older sister did have an effect on his ability to smooth talk. He would have to tell Miwa all about the date.

“What about your first kiss?” She stood on her tiptoes, pressing her hands onto his chest.

“Haven’t had one yet.”

“Since you gave me my first date, how about I give you your first kiss?”

“Seems fair to me.”

[hopelessromantic5]

Because that last one was so short, here’s a merthur clip with a hopeful ending for Morgana.

Morgana thinks she’s captured Merlin, when really he’s allowed himself to be captured so maybe Arthur would be smart enough to just stay away this time.

He was wrong. As is usually the case with Arthur.

Arthur knew he’d found the right place when he heard Merlin’s anguish audibly ground out of him, followed by Morgana’s cackle.

The shack was only a half days walk from Camelot.

How could she have thought Arthur would not find them?

Maybe that was the point.

“I don’t understand it, Merlin. You’re nothing but Arthur’s servant, yet time and again you’ve proven yourself willing to lay down your life for him. Why?” Arthur was inching closer to the broken window, not making a single sound. Not a rustling leaf or a toe scuff in the dirt.

He carefully peered around the window pane, only to be met with the most horrifying sight he’d witnessed in years. Merlin, hands chained to the roof, dangling there like a fish, was bruised and bloodied. But he was still Merlin.

Arthur almost vomited on the spot from relief at finding him alive, or from pure disgust and rage at the state he was in.

Arthur would never let that beautiful bumbling fool out of his sight again.

Suddenly Merlin jerked his head up, where it had been hanging low, eyes on the ground.

He spat, what looked like a mouthful of blood, in the direction of the Morgana, who was circling his body like a vulture waiting for its next meal to die.

“I preferred the beating to your incessant rambling.” He groaned out.

Arthur had never heard Merlin speak like this to anyone before.

The King Regent’s manservant was like the moon. And there was always a side that Arthur couldn’t fully see, he couldn’t get it into the light just right, couldn’t put his finger on it.

Perhaps this version of Merlin, is connected to that side of him.

The hair on the back of Arthur’s neck stood on its end.

Another cackle followed his statement.

“I rather think I’ve hit a nerve, dear Merlin. Don’t want me acknowledging your beloved Prince Arthur? I wonder why?”

She was playing mind games with Merlin, she’d done similar to Arthur when they were teenagers, he swore, at one point, that she could read minds.

Fortunately, Merlin is much wiser than Arthur gives him credit for. He doesn’t rise to the bait.

He chuckles low and deep, Arthur would be a bit scared if he didn’t know that a little bunny of a person lived in that same skin, in that same mind.

“That’s King Arthur, to you. Or haven’t you heard? Your invitation to the coronation must’ve gotten lost on its way.” He clicked his tongue, in that annoying, pestering way. “A shame really, it’s supposed to be the celebration of the century.”

Arthur almost wanted to laugh.

“My brother will get what’s coming to him. I’d bet my hands that he’s on his way here, now.” She smiled that sickly sweet thing with all her rotting teeth. “Stumbling around in the woods, calling out your name, and all he will find is empty air. And this quaint little shack.”

“If you think the son of Uther Pendragon is going to abandon his castle to come searching for someone like me, you’re sorely mistaken. As you said yourself, high priestess, I am nothing but his servant. Perhaps you should’ve strategized a bit wiser.”

“Your falsehoods cannot alter what I have seen with my own eyes. Arthur has never deigned to care about anyone, noble or peasant, the way he seems to care about you.” As Morgana spoke, she dragged the tip of a sharp dagger across his blood-muddied flesh. Shredding his tunic down the middle as she trailed its edge across the expanse of his chest.

“That’s not true, Morgana. He cared about you.”

Arthur nearly flinched, as he expected Merlin to get a nasty response. But it was almost as if something flickered. She froze, momentarily, staring Merlin directly into his eyes, yet seeing something else entirely.

As quickly as a little flame of home lit on his heart, it was snuffed out.

“Arthur is no different to his father, he cares only for himself!”

“Well now you’re just contradicting yourself, my lady.” Even from the distance, Arthur saw the look appear upon Merlin’s face. He was puzzled, eyes narrowed and calculating as he tried to figure out the problem. Maybe Merlin sensed exactly what Arthur had always felt upon meeting his sister in the last year, that she was not his sister. Not entirely.

“Morgana would know better than that. Madness or not. You are not Morgana are you?” Merlin peered at her, if you looked close enough, you’d see the golden burning in them. But Arthur decided that it was a trick of the light, as he had every other instance accidentally witnessing Merlin’s magic. He took a big deep breath and wordlessly thanked the gods it was him that saw, and no one else.

“You-“ Morgana was startled, stumbled back and fell on nothing but air.

“Yes. And you are a nothing but an empty shell that’s been filled with your sister’s hate.” The chains holding Merlin to the ceiling fell away, he fell to his knees, legs too weak to hold him. Arthur wanted to run in and help him but he wanted to see what Merlin was planning.

“She’s locked your humanity away in the dark. Hidden from you.” He shook his head. “I am sorry I did not see it sooner. I might’ve saved us both heartache.” Slowly, he reached out and gently took her hand. To Arthur’s surprise, she did not pull away.

“Will you allow me to help you?”

The air was thick for three heartbeats before she nodded, Arthur could tell that something, in that moment, was purely Morgana. The Morgana he had known since he was eleven years old. It had emerged from its hiding place long enough to go willingly. Perhaps Merlin had found a weak link in the chain and pecked at it, metaphorically speaking, until it broke through.

“This may…I am not sure it will be painless. But you will be you, again.” With a deep breath, eyes constantly glowing were hidden as he closed them. Arthur held his breath; waiting, hoping.

[pinkofatom]

An irresistible offer

Cassandra put her glasses down on the wooden desk. She tried to alleviate a headache by pinching her nose. Again this insistent company sent an offer. HEXBIM. The name elicited a huff of annoyance. Red hair fell freely as Cassandra rolled her neck. The constant pressure of non-stop messages built up uncomfortable tension.

How dare these corporate drones thought she needed their help. Cassandra became a successful therapist on her own merits. Yes her methods were unconventional — and light on prescriptions. But every single person that reached out for help, left only satisfied.

Bing! Another offer filled her mailbox. Bleary-eyed the therapist read the topic. Letters swam in front of her eyes. Rubbing her eyes Cassandra put on her glasses. With a sigh she opened the cursed message. Maybe if she gave a scathing answer they would finally cease.

Dear Cassandra,

We are HEXBIM, a company specializing in cutting edge technologies, dedicated to helping people reach their full potential.

We recently became aware of your exceptional therapeutic practice. After much consideration, we have decided to adjust our sponsorship proposal to suit your unique requirements and ensure it meets your needs.

The font made the letters dance. Cassandra had to reread it a few times. It did not help her headache. But — she had to admit — it sounded good. Shaking her head the redhead continued.

We are proud of the exceptional success rates our sponsored therapists have achieved, with 100% client satisfaction guaranteed.

By accepting this proposal, you'll receive top-of-the-line technology and cutting-edge therapeutic techniques, ensuring your clients experience transformative results like never before.

Cassandra's eyebrow rose. This sounded far too good. And tailored to her. A twinge of worry curled inside her. However the redhead couldn't stop.

To prove our expertise we have included a simple sample in form of a program.

Please inform us of its effectiveness and of your agreement.

Best regards,

Annika, HEXBIM Connect

Cassandra let out an undignified snort. Did they think she was stupid enough to fall for such bait. Her long fingers moved over the touch pad. Cassandra was going to write them an answer they wouldn't forget. Her mouse pointer hovered over the file. This headache killed her.

Cassandra clicked it. And a new program popped open.

Soothing music filled the office. It made the redhead relax. Her eyes grew heavy and Cassandra's head nodded forward.

A flash of light made her flinch. A simple image of concentric circles appeared on the screen. The colors moved in waves.

Relaxation spread through the redhead's body. Her mouth grew slack and drool collected on her tongue. A single drop escaped Cassandra's lips and landed on her blouse.

Another wave of sounds assaulted the redhead. They mixed with the pain. She felt a strange, unbidden need to keep staring. Her mind tumbled towards it, her focus narrowing as all other thoughts fell away.

Cassandra tried to tear her gaze from it. She tried to move her hands. To close her eyes. But all she managed to do was let out a soft whimper. It felt like something had a hold of her mind. She sagged into her chair.

The redhead felt helpless, her mind trapped within an inescapable web. With each futile effort to free herself, her willpower waned. The music, the light... they seeped into her mind. Every note, every flicker of the colors seemed designed to chip away at her resolve, ensnaring her in their hypnotic grip. Panic surged within Cassandra as she realized the true extent of her peril.

And then a voice came through. It cut through her thoughts like a hot knife, making the therapist whimper.

"I know it feels bad." Cassandra whined.

"Your head is a mess of worries. You feel powerless, unable to help." Her hands clenched the desk. Her knuckles grew white. Cassandra's face contorted.

"But that ends here." A soft gasp escaped the therapist's lips. It was true! All those thoughts that swirled through her head, all that stress. She couldn't stop herself. Tears fell down Cassandra's cheeks and the redhead sobbed in relief.

"HEXBIM has the solution." Cassandra felt the tension and worry drain. "All you have to do is accept." Her face lit up.

"And that's all." She sagged back in her seat. Cassandra felt... relaxed, almost. The redhead felt so light, like she could fly. A soft moan of bliss fell from her parted lips.

"Your clients will become happier, better. They will transform into perfect versions of themselves." Cassandra smiled. "Drones owned by HEXBIM." Her smile became an expression of utter happiness. "And all you have to do is guide them." She felt such an urge to help.

"Open your mind." Her thoughts slowed to a crawl. Cassandra couldn't form a cohesive thought if her life depended on it.

"Listen." She did, listening to the soft music and the dulcet tone. "Watch." The redhead stared into the shifting colors, her eyes growing wide.

"And learn."

🌀🌀🌀

Cassandra let out a long moan. She was in the back of her clinic. Strapped into reclining chairs rested her receptionist and assistant. VR-headsets obscured their faces. The redhead remembered the instructions from that message. Cassandra was going to guide them to become better versions of themselves. To transform into drones for HEXBIM.

Another shiver ran down the redhead's back. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. It felt right, she knew that this was the correct way to help — the only way to help. In response to her thoughts the tight latex uniform buzzed. Vibrations danced over her sensitive skin. A gasp of delight and lust escaped the redhead. Her head nodded forward as she enjoyed her obedience.

Cassandra had to make sure her assistants would be transformed properly. That they would reach their full potential and become the best versions of themselves — perfect, happy drones for HEXBIM.

Her long fingers flew over the controls and a soft moan of pleasure escaped her lips. The two bound women followed suit. It made Cassandra's nipples harden as a shiver ran down her spine. Her clit throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

The redhead bit down on her lips, a faint moan escaped anyway. She had to focus on the task. Cassandra was going to transform them into HEXBIM drones.

The redhead's fingers flew across the keyboard as she made the necessary adjustments. The buzzing and humming of machinery filled the air, adding to the already electrifying atmosphere. She still remembered the delicious drones that installed them. Encased completely in glossy latex. Cassandra imagined her future patients inside such uniforms. The redhead licked her lips at the mental image.

A sting returned the therapist's focus back to her employees. Cassandra felt a wave of bliss and obedience crash into her. It was a reminder of how much easier life was now. How she didn't have to think for herself. The redhead just had to do what HEXBIM wanted. And in return the redhead experienced this amazing pleasure and bliss.

Cassandra concentrated on the task. Her hands danced over the keyboard. She could see their minds being rewired, transformed. Their previous lives erased. All of their wants, dreams and aspirations. The therapist had no doubt that her assistants were experiencing the same euphoric sensations she had.

A warm hug that caressed their minds, slowly replacing their individuality with uniformity. They would lose all of that pesky, annoying willpower. In their place Cassandra knew that they would gain the drive to become the best version of themselves. The willpower to become perfect HEXBIM drones.

And once finished all of them would continue with bringing the freedom of thought to all patients.