#one of them will most likely not even get their name revealed for. Reasons

[linagram]

merry christmas from linagram!

merry christmas everyone.. merry christmas.. you get these guard plushies as a present. blessed miki plushie that says she forgives you and she will do anything to save you and cursed eiji and hinode plushies that drink your pepsi and say you're guilty and use the amnesia machine on you

this drawing in particular has t1 eiji and miki here but it's okay. it's okay

you can read the christmas special vd under the cut! also yes it's canon actually.

Hinode: So.. Christmas, huh? 

Miki: .. Hm? Is it Christmas already? 

Hinode: Well, if this calendar is to be believed.. 

Hinode: I've never imagined myself celebrating Christmas in a prison, haha. 

Miki: .. Right. 

Hinode: Is everything okay, Miki-san? You're not.. um, in a holiday mood? 

Miki: .. I guess. 

Hinode: Wait, what are these? So many boxes..

Miki: O-oh, I'm wrapping presents for the prisoners. 

Hinode: Really? Did they ask for something? 

Miki: I've asked them to write down what they want for Christmas and this morning I had everything prepared. I just need to make these things look.. well, like presents. 

Hinode: You still want them to have a nice Christmas even though they're in prison.. You are so kind, Miki-san. 

Miki: W-well, that's just a part of my job as this prison's goddess.. 

Hinode: "Goddess"?.. 

Miki: Never mind. 

Hinode: O-okay.. So, what did everyone ask for? 

Miki: Let's see.. 

Miki: Miyagawa-san asked for a diary. His head injury is slowly getting better, but his memory still isn't the best at the moment and he wants to write everything down so that he won't forget about it. He also just finds making notes useful. 

Miki: This diary here has a lock too. Miyagawa-san will have to come up with a password.. 

Hinode: W-what if he forgets the password too?.. 

Miki: .. Well, that won't be my problem. 

Miki: Aimi-chan asked for more cute hairclips. I have a lot of them here.. 

Miki: Though she actually asked for them not because she wants to use them for herself, but because she wants to do my hair. 

Miki: She said that my hair looks really messy these days. 

Hinode: To be honest, I can't help but agree with her. And what about your pigtails? 

Miki: .. I can't be bothered to take care of that. 

Miki: Ishizu-san asked for this anime figure. It looks pretty detailed. 

Miki: I find it interesting how he remembered the character's name, the title of the anime she's from, what this particular figure is called.. 

Miki: His memory really works well when it comes to things he likes. 

Miki: Chiba-san didn't know what to ask for at first, but then she wrote that her request might be a little bit too specific.. 

Miki: And she asked for a small glass figure of a cat.

Hinode: That's.. actually quite specific.

Miki: When I asked her about it, she said that she just misses her cat a lot. I offered to get her a plushie or something else that could remind her of her cat, but she said that she would like to have a glass figure specifically. 

Miki: She said that she used to.. collect them? But I don't remember her ever mentioning something like that..

Hinode: .. I think you should remember that detail just in case.

Hinode: Prisoners requesting something they wouldn't request in a different setting or situation should be considered suspicious. 

Hinode: I mean.. I've heard about what Riku did during the first trial.

Miki: .. Maybe you're right. I'll keep that in mind.

Miki: Now, Kei-san..

Miki: Kei-san asked for... spray paint?

Hinode: What is it with everyone suddenly getting new interests and hobbies..

Miki: When I asked him about it, he just went..

Miki: "Come on, Miki! I just want to make our prison more pretty! I want to make it more colorful! Everyone looks so sad these days.."

Miki: We can't ask Eiji-san about it right now, but I really doubt Kei-san really just.. "wants to make this prison more pretty".

Hinode: He's.. an interesting individual, that's for sure.

Miki: Now, Yoshioka-san..

Miki: Yoshioka-san asked for some new earrings and even described how she wants them to look like. She said that she just "kinda wants to try something new".

Miki: .. Even though it sounds like something she would ask for, I can't help but feel worried.

Hinode: Really? Why?

Miki: Yoshioka-san mentioned once that she got the earrings she wears now from her father. And if I'm not wrong, she has a very good relationship with her father.

Miki: So why would she.. suddenly want to get new earrings if these ones are so special to her?

Hinode: Huh..

Hinode: Well, Miki-san, I'm not sure what to say here, but..

Hinode: Usually something like that happens when a person gets disappointed in their family member and doesn't want to think about them.

Miki: ...

Miki: Also, Asahi-kun..

Miki: Asahi-kun's request was.. Here, let me read it.

Miki: "You know those stuffed animals that have stuff like candy or chocolate hidden inside and you can get it out when you unzip them? Yeah, I want one. Doesn't matter what it looks like, I care about the candy more anyway."

Hinode: His request is very in character for him, haha.

Hinode: But why would he ask for a plushie specifically? He can just ask for candy or whatever he wants to eat.

Miki: I don't know.

Miki: Maybe that's just him wanting to have something that he can play with. He's still a child after all.

Hinode: Oh, you're finally smiling. He really is important to you, isn't he?

Miki: .. Ahem.

Miki: So, Maruyama-san wrote..

Miki: "Whatever. Just give me whatever you want. Getting a gift from our savior is enough of an honor anyway."

Hinode: .. Yeah, the last part is definitely supposed to be sarcasm. 

Hinode: So, what did you decide to give her?

Miki: Well, here's the thing..

Miki: We never had to get whatever the prisoners asked for ourselves, we just.. had to ask everyone about their requests first and then write a list of the things we needed and everything appeared on the next day after that, we just had to bring everything to them.

Hinode: Actually.. How does this work?

Hinode: Does that mean someone else is.. buying these things for them? Or getting them from somewhere?

Hinode: Imagine if we had to go shopping for all these items. *laughs*

Miki: I don't know how this works.. And I'm not sure that I want to know.

Miki: But anyway, this morning, when I checked everyone's presents, I noticed that Maruyama-san's present was..

Miki: A letter.

Hinode: A letter?..

Miki: *nods*

Miki: I think it's also supposed to be from her.. manager?

Miki: It's signed too..

Miki: "Kanasawa Takame".

Hinode: Have you read the rest of the letter?

Miki: No, I didn't. To be honest, I just.. don't really care about their relationship.

Miki: I just want to know more about her crime and that's all.

Hinode: Hmm.. Well, we also can't be sure that this letter really was written by her manager.

Hinode: Maybe it's just someone who works here pretending to be her.

Hinode: *laughs* Imagine them writing this. That would be so funny.

Miki: If Maruyama-san realizes that this letter isn't actually from her manager..

Miki: .. I think she won't take it well.

Hinode: Well, that's what we have these things for, right?

Miki: .. Hinode-san, I will use these only when the prisoner is about to hurt someone or when it's okay to return their memories to them.

Hinode: Okay, okay. You're so strict.. You really are a perfect guard.

Hinode: .. I wonder what my brother has asked for.

Miki: His request actually wasn't that unique or out of the ordinary for him.

Miki: He just asked me for some hair dye again.

Hinode: Again?.. I thought he had already dyed his hair after the second trial. Wasn't it his first request after getting voted guilty?

Miki: He said that I got the wrong color for him.

Hinode: Oh..

Hinode: And what color did he actually want?

Miki: Black.

Hinode: Going back to his natural color, huh..

Miki: Finally, Himura-san..

Miki: .. She asked for a voice recorder.

Hinode: .. Are we even allowed to give her that?

Miki: Well, it's one of the presents, so.. I guess we are.

Miki: Listen, if I was allowed to give your brother a knife, I think voice recorder is more than okay.

Hinode: Well, I don't think whoever is in charge of this prison cares that much about the prisoners' safety, but if these prisoners find out something they weren't supposed to..

Miki: .. Whatever Himura-san does with this thing is none of my business.

Miki: A-anyway, I'm done with wrapping presents. Let's go, we shouldn't keep them waiting.

Miki: "I hope Eiji-san is doing okay.. I wish I could bring something to him as a present.."

***

???: Man, these prisoners are weird.

???: Spray paint? A cat glass figure?

???: I expected more from them.

???: To be honest, I have a bad feeling about this.

???: Really? Why?

???: I don't know, it's like..

???: Almost all of them are planning to use their presents in some way?

???: Why would someone request a voice recorder? Why would someone request spray paint? 

???: .. Are you telling me the third prisoner's gonna try to kill someone with an anime girl figure?

???: Do I look like I know what's going on inside his head?!

???: True.

???: Anyway, do you think you've done a good job with that letter?

???: I-I don't know. I've tried my best.

???: Well, now a poor lovestruck girl's mental health fully depends on how good you are at copying someone's handwriting, so..

???: If she snaps, that's gonna be on you~

???: Look, I'm already under too much pressure!..

???: Ehehe, it's okay. Come here, come here~

???: S-stop, this is embarrassing..

???: Also, do you think that girl.. you know.. has already watched the video I asked Jackalope to show her?

???: Well, judging by her suddenly asking for new earrings..

???: I think she's starting to understand something.

???: Do you think they will be mad at us?

???: Well, even if they will, who cares?

???: After all..

???: I am the real goddess of this place.

[amxthystiine]

RAHHHH IM NOT DEAD I HAVENT BURNT OUT TRUST

Canto VII is going absolutely insane rn GOD I hate THAT stage you know the one took me a day to complete it

BUT RAHHHH IM BACK!!! SELF INSERT UPON YE

I’ve been stewing on her lore a bit and have a possible scene that could play out in my mind but ye!!

[kripsybac0n125]

finally finishing the homestuck epilogues by golly this dirk guy sure is somethin

[cosmictheo]

𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 & 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 | hwang in-ho

( gif credits to @lalaray-457-canon )

—summary: between the chaos of the rebellion, in-ho finally reveals who he really is and tests you to see whether you are ready to take him exactly as he is, in all his glory and power. —pairing: hwang in-ho/young-il/player 001 x female!reader —word count: 5k (wow) —warnings: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), most definitely ooc!in-ho, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, some porn with some plot, fingering, power dynamics, dom in-ho!!!, body worship, praise kink, obsessive & possessive behavior, straight up manipulation, in-ho being a slut for the reader as usual, he wants that cookie so bad, use of guns, gunshots, blood, killing, yk usual squid game stuff.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ✶ part one ── part two

Everything was pure chaos. You could hear gunshots, screams, rushing footsteps, grunts of pain, the sickening sound of the bullet piercing flesh as you walked through the brightly colored corridors of the horrific, bloody place, a place that had turned into a war zone in the last thirty minutes. 

Gi-hun had decided to rebel against the guards, creating an effective plan that had worked, as unbelievable as it seemed. Other players supported him in his idea, having his back through the war zone and basically just shooting everyone who didn't have a player number on their clothing.

In-ho guided you with assured steps, holding your hand tightly, stepping in front of you to shield you at all costs, and that if any of his guards were stupid enough to shoot in your direction, then he might as well take the bullet for you.

You didn't quite understand the reason why In-ho had separated from Gi-hun and the main group, nor did you understand the way his face had somehow suddenly morphed, turning authoritative and somber. Sure, he had said he knew a way to go around the pack of guards that blocked them from getting through to the main control room of the game's higher-ups, but how could he possibly know that? You had been by his side the whole time and never really had the spare moment to study and memorize the maze-like passageways, they all looked pretty much the same.

You had a theory, but you didn't really even want to consider it, it was wild, totally insane. Only someone who worked there would know precisely which way to go and which corner to turn.

There wasn't enough time for you to stop and demand some explanation from him either, so you just followed him around like a lost little puppy, strolling through the endless corridors of the place, stepping up some stairs until you reached an area that seemed absolutely off-limits for someone like you to trespass.

“In-ho?” you tried to call his name, walking up some more stairs, your fingers entwined between his, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

But he didn't stop, turning yet another corner, until you reached what looked like an elevator.

“Mhm? I'm here, don't separate from me, yeah?” he replied without paying too much attention to you, he didn't have to actually glance at you to know that you were scared, full of uncertainty and hesitation.

“Where are we?” you tried to ask once you two stopped in front of the elevator, you turn your head to look at him, eyes big and puzzled, “We can't leave the others...”

He finally drags his attention to you and his expression instantly softens, pulling your hand up with his to press soothing tiny kisses on your knuckles, restraining the urge to crack a smirk at the sight of your pretty face all scared and anxious. He could already feel himself harden in his pants from seeing your lips curl into a small pout.

“They'll be fine, nothing will happen to them”

The loud beep of the elevator pierces the tense silence and it almost makes you jolt, pulling your gaze up to the reddish light flashing on in front of you once the doors open. The gunshots can now be heard far off in the distance.

In-ho begins to step into it, but when he feels your hand pull his, he spins to look back at you, finding you still stood in the same spot, your arm straightened, fingers grasping his, and you look up at him with conflicted eyes, pleading for his mercy. 

Quite literally, you stand firm on your spot, but at the same time, you hold his hand tightly and longingly.

“I need you to be safe, angel,” he began to tell you, trying to convince you, to follow him, to stay by his side, just as you had been doing so far, why would you stop now? “You are not safe here, with all those savages on the loose with guns, they are dangerous”

His expression darkens with revulsion, spitting out the words as if they were poison. You assumed he was referring to the guards...

“But my friends...” you mumbled, turning your head to look back, listening to the gunshots in the distance, beyond the long corridors, as if they somehow were somewhere else already, far away from you, an unreachable place.

In-ho placed his other hand on your chin, leaning closer to you and making you face him again, his thumb brushed the outline of your lower lip.

“Friends?” he grumbled the word with irony rolling off his tongue, his warm breath rasped against your mouth, his eyes gazed into yours with genuine hurt, he looked utterly disappointed by your words, “I'm the only one who cares about you here.”

Your lips half-opened as you held eye contact, scarcely whispering, as if someone else could hear you, “I know, but—”

“You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved,” his voice uttered your name like something familiar, something he longed for, he craved, “Are you really willing to die for them? People who wouldn't give a penny for you? They are killing each other for money, not for friends, not for love. They are here for the money and they don't need you. You know it, come on, you're a smart girl,” he lifted his eyebrows, his other hand dropping yours and climbing up through your body to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him, not wanting you to avert your gaze from him, “Would you die for them?”

You shook your head lightly, bearing in mind the weight of his words and absolutely locked in the darkness of his eyes, absorbing you in, “No”

He smiled, pleased by your answer and he kissed your lips once to praise you, his tongue lightly skimming the edge of your pouted lips, “Then, would you live for me?”

What he was telling you was crystal clear, it had a special significance, a special complicity, an intimacy there was between you.

To die for someone was not as meaningful as to live for them, to make them the purpose of life, to know what they were, what they had in their heart and beyond, and to love them anyway, to stay by their side, to be loyal to them and choose them above all else.

“Yes,” you breathed out before kissing him so passionately, looping your arms around his neck and just before you could jump his bones, In-ho stopped you, reluctantly detaching himself from you, his hands gripping the curve of your waist and squeezing you against his body, his forehead pressed onto yours for a few seconds, recomposing himself. 

“That's my girl,” he gently kissed the corner of your mouth before tugging your hands and leading you with him into the elevator, at last, “Let's put all this behind us, hm? We have to stop them, otherwise no one else will.”

But you wanted him, somehow, you pushed all the killing and the blood behind and then suddenly, it was all him, the way he was gazing at you, how his hand went wrapped around your waist, hand sliding down to your ass to pat it twice, almost in a reprimanding way as he felt your soft lips attach on his neck when the elevator started to go up. You had to wonder how it was possible that the mechanism could carry the full weight of your craving and lust.

“Baby,” In-ho snapped in a disapproving voice, yet he lifted his chin, giving you more free access to his neck, his eyes closing as he felt your tongue sweep across his throat. He patted your ass once more, a little harder now, fingers clutching your hip tightly, “behave”

His hoarse, authoritative voice took you by surprise, causing you to inch away from him, looking up at him with big eyes darkened with desire, your hand lingering on his shoulder, squeezing it with eagerness.

“There's a slaughter going on out there and all you can think about is my cock slamming inside your little pussy, hm?” his gruff voice pronouncing those nasty words made your pussy twitch, your body aching for him by carnal instinct, “My girl's a filthy little slut...”

Before you could respond, the elevator doors swung open and the digital panel on the side indicated that you had gone up two floors, signaling that the place was much, much bigger than you thought.

In-ho pulled your hand gently, taking you with him through a dark hallway, until you entered a main room of an seemingly apartment, spacious and elegant. The sofas were of velvet, the walls black as midnight, a large screen hung on one of the walls, the lights hung in fancy chandeliers above your head. It resembled a suite of the most luxurious hotel.

He stepped closer to you from behind, predatory-like, sliding his veiny hands around your waist and pushing you softly to pace forward, his wet lips latching onto your shoulder and neck, making you sigh tremblingly.

“Do you like it?” he asked in a whisper, fingers fidgeting with the waistband of your tracksuit pants, "I had it fixed and cleaned for you"

“What is this place?” you asked him back, your eyes narrowed as you took cautious steps, your legs wobbly from all the goosebumps that ran through you from head to toe with every kiss he pressed against the conjunction of your neck and shoulder, unleashing a rush of emotions in the pit of your stomach.

His long, slender fingers caressed your lower tummy with affection and to give you a convincing answer, he kissed your skin one more time, before detaching his mouth from you, just barely,  “Your home, princess. Isn't it what you always wished for?” a dark smile tugged at his lips, his fingertips slipping under your shirt, triggering goosebumps along your skin beneath his touches on your stomach. “A spacious and expensive place, that's what you said when they asked you what you wanted to do with the prize.”

“It's beautiful,” you awed, raising your big, marveling eyes to the gorgeous crystal chandelier just above you.

“A pretty home for a pretty girl,” he rustled against the side of your neck, too intertained in kissing and marking it with possession, “It's all yours— I'm all yours.”

A sheepish smile stretched wide on your lips as you felt In-ho pushing you with his body once more, urging you to walk towards the center of the suite, descending down two stairs until you stood in front of a set of sofas, with a dark glass table in the center, on it laid two glasses and a bottle of Whiskey.

Why would you ever need to care about anything else, anyone else? When you had him, this precious place and his heart, body and soul to offer. All for you.

You turned on your heels to face him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close to you. Before he could even gasp for breath, you kissed him, supplying him with your breath, your oxygen. And what else did he really need to live?

His fingers went up to his neck, sneaking between your bodies so that he could begin to unzip the jacket of his tracksuit, pulling away from you just a little and hissing as he felt your fingers tugging at his hair.

In-ho nibbled on your lower lip as he ended the long, passionate kiss, making you wail against his mouth, “We've got to be quick, baby, I've got to take care of the mess out there. They are waiting for my command.”

He was the leader, of course, how had you even missed that little detail?

And of course he was, it all made sense now.

The thought of him in the dark suit, with a black mask, giving commands and having the entire place running under his authority made your whole body flush, core aching for him, for some friction, anything he might give you.

You kissed him again, momentarily thinking that with every kiss someone was dead, a bullet was shot and blood sprayed. But the blaze inside you, the heat pumping through your veins and the way your pussy was weeping for him didn't let you have more than one single thought in your head that wasn't him. 

Your head was possessed, your body submitted to him and your heart clutched in his hands. And all his undivided attention was on you, no matter that his place was under threat or that his guards were out there fighting, dying for him, no, all he could possibly afford to focus on was you.

So, soon In-ho had ripped your clothes off you, leaving you exposed, on full display for his dark, deep gaze to consume every inch in. Your arched back pressed against the velvety smooth back of the black sofa, his body right in front of you, like a starving predator. He was drinking a sip of Whiskey from his glass, never taking his eyes off you.

You blushed under his hungry gaze and motioned to close your knees, squeeze them together, but he was quick to lean down and rest a hand on one of them, caressing it affectionately and clicking his tongue disapprovingly. 

Tch, tch, tch.

“You should have no shame, you're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen,” he reassured you, setting the now empty glass back down on the glass table, letting out a shaky breath, “there isn't a moment when I'm not thinking about it, touching it, kissing it, fucking it...”

You threw your head back, panting as you felt In-ho's mouth kiss your ankle, caressing your leg with his fingers as he pulled it gently, forcing you to open them, with him standing right in between them. The gates of heaven unlocking for him.

“So fucking pretty”

He kept whispering over and over again, staring at your body in awe, as if you were the most beautiful work of art ever to be exhibited.

“My pretty baby”

He praised you and praised you and praised you, pressing kisses to your legs, your knees, your thighs, tongue flicking across little scars that cut into your skin, most likely as a consequence of one of the games. 

“There she is... so pretty— shit”

He drunkenly muttered over your cunt, gazing at it throbbing and clenching around nothing. 

Your scent was intoxicating and overpowering. He felt so weak and insignificant in front of the greatness of your body, the warmth it gave him, the beauty of your skin, your curves, welcoming him inside, calling for his name.

“In-ho” you breathed out, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes, feeling the way your wetness trickled down between your legs, dripping to the surface of the couch. 

You were soaked, drenched, so sensitive to his touch and every little friction. And he had barely touched you.  

“Mhm,” he hummed at your call, reaching with his path of sloppy kisses and wet licks all the way up your inner thigh. Your whole body buzzed as you felt his tongue swipe up your slick folds, getting a wet squelchy sound and he laughed huskily, looking up at you, “You're soaking wet,” he marveled, pressing the tip of his finger against your pussy, his thumb teasing just right your aching, swollen clit, instantly getting a whimper out of you.

The finger slid inside so smoothly and shamelessly that it had him choking back a groan.

“Could you take all of me right now?” his voice cracked, words crawling up his throat like groans, so hoarse and deep that it sent vibrations through your center throughout your body, “I don't think we have much time to play”

You were nodding your head the second he finished speaking, your throat making a whining noise that made him crack a smile as he gently placed a kiss once on your cunt, fingertips tenderly caressing the inside of your thigh.

“Yeah? Can you take me?” In-ho asked you once again, in a quiet tone now, your name uttered slowly through his lips, like a longing, a craving, a religion. His eyes softened completely once they met yours again, his fingertips tapped seductively the sensitive, flushed skin of your thigh, “Talk to me, baby”

In-ho was well aware of the hold he had over you, he had the ultimate power and you were shamelessly crawling all over him, profiting from the fact that you would do whatever he asked. Live, lie, kill....

“Y-yes!” you instantly replied between babbles and sniffles, your hands reaching for him, revealing the deep, raw desperation that was making your body tremble, “Please, In-ho, sir, p-please—”

In-ho's pupils dilated so much that all of his orbs looked pitch-black as he lifted and leaned over you to press a kiss on your lips, “You don't need to convince me, princess. If you want it, you got it”

He swiftly removed his whitish shirt, now ruined and stained with someone else's blood, maybe from one of his guards, it didn't matter, what really mattered was the way his skin glowed under the dim golden light and how his chest broadened with every breath he inhaled, your lips parted as you saw how toned and hardened his abdomen was. He looked... exquisite, glorious and majestic standing before you, ready to devour you.

When he pulled down his pants and boxers, your mouth watered with drool and your eyes widened in wonder at the sight of his size. He was big, bigger than you expected, perhaps. His length was impressive and his girth was just perfect, a bulging vein traced from the base to the engorged, leaking head, and you could see it throbbing. 

You felt your mouth watering, starving, but when you reached out your hand to his cock, In-ho backed away from your eager touch, making you look up at him with a pouty face, mumbling words like a spoiled brat.

“I want to—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed in an all too calm tone, leaning over the couch towards you to place a kiss on your sweaty forehead, positioning himself between your legs, one hand holding the length of his cock and the other reassuringly caressing your hip, “you got me right here, can't you feel me?” his hand travelled up your body to delicately stroke a strand of hair off your pretty, blushing face. “Aw, don't be so eager. I think I've spoiled you too much, hm?”

You gulped hard as he lined up his plump tip against your wet entrance, your whole body buzzing as you felt him press against your eager little hole, prepared to take whatever he gave it. But it was unlikely that you could be prepared to take something that big.

In-ho sighed shudderingly as well, just barely easing his head inside you, stretching you so, so good and slowly began to push his way through your warm, spongy walls. You gasped several little whimpers, looking up at the ceiling, as if somehow that would help you stop feeling the stabbing pain that spread inside you with every inch he pushed his length in.

“You have to loosen up for me, angel— hah—” he croaked out between gasps, squeezing his eyes shut for a few long seconds, letting himself be enveloped in the overwhelming hot, tight sensation that was your pussy clenching him, “hm— you have to let me in— fuck, you're so tight—”

In-ho pulled out, hissing between his teeth, lazily gripping his shaft, the tip running up and down your slit, gathering some of your wetness.

At your whining and complaining, he pressed again into your center, staring in awe as your hole struggled to swallow his plump head, stretching out your pussy so much.

He stopped right there, halting his hips, his head hardly inside you, your pussy fluttering and drawing him deeper inside, giving you a few moments to get used to his size. Your hands went to land on his forearms on either side of your hips, squeezing him desperately. 

As he tightened his grip on your hips, impeding you from wiggling away from him, In-ho hovered over you, catching your lips with his to muffle your whimpers with his own throat, thrusting achingly slow his hips and sinking inch by inch inside you.

“In-ho” you moaned his name, your nails digging into his skin on his arms, feeling so full, helplessly overwhelmed under him. Everything was him, everywhere around you, “Please—”

Then he kissed your cheekbones, wiping away the tears that escaped your eyes with his lips, bathing your skin with his drool instead, “Don't think, baby, you don't have to think about anything,” he murmured against your mouth, “just take me, yeah? Let me in”

The response he received was blubbering of unintelligible words and whimpers from you, blending in with the squelching sounds of your pussy stretching out for his cock. And that was music to his ears, the most delightful melody.

“Don't worry your pretty little head about a thing, I'll take care of it all” he promised you in a  gentle whisper and he is so tender, affectionately caressing the flesh on the side of your upper thigh just before giving it a quick spank, feeling the soft flesh jiggle under the palm of his hand, “Just like that”

He was so tender, giving you two minutes to adjust to his size before ramming the entire remaining length of his cock inside you, the bulbous head of his cock digging it's own way within your velvety walls and reaching so deep inside you that all the air was knocked out of your lungs. All too soon, you were a bawling, moaning mess, so loud and whiny for him.

“There you go, so good, so tight— fuck” In-ho dropped his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, drunkenly babbling words, intoxicated by the feeling of you everywhere, “Just fucking made for me, hm?”

“'Tis all—” you hiccupped, back arching impossibly for him, gazing up at him with adulatory, pleasure-darkened eyes, pounding you into heaven with each luscious thrust of his hips against yours, the bumping sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing against the walls. Slap, slap, slap. “All for you, In-ho— oh!”

You struggled to even use your brain to conjugate proper phrases, occasionally slurring nonsense words.

Your ass and thighs jiggled with each intense thrust, his flesh slamming against yours, the very noise itself sounding pronographic, sloppy and filthy. You could feel your lower body begin to slide down across the velvety surface of the sofa, your skin wet and slippery from all the mixture of body fluids.

So, he scooped you up in his arms, manhandling you back in your position under him on the couch as easily as if he was swinging a feather around, he even made your head bump against the back of the sofa with a particularly harsh thrust, his cock already recognizing it's own shape carved inside you. 

His dark gaze dropped to your stomach, noticing the sway of himself under your soft, sweaty skin, his eyes following the motion of the bulge adoringly. 

In-ho pulled one of his hands up from your waist, beginning to slide it across your skin on your lower stomach and he swoon as he heard your blubbering whimpers at the pressure of his palm on your tummy, both of you sensing the press.

“In-ho, G-god, I can't— ngh—” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back and closing them tight, feeling your insides tightening up. “You're so— hah— deep”

“I'm right here” he awed in a quivering, raw adoring whisper, feeling his own cock twitch inside you under the palm of his hand. “Does it feel good, baby?”

You immediately nodded your head, taking in the way his eyes roamed upward across your bulging stomach, past the way your tits jiggled with the power of his own motions.

“I bet it does”

You promptly reopened your eyes and he grunted when the static noise of the radio perched on the crystal table at the couch's side erupted in the sultry room, snapping him out of the mindspace of worshipping your body, just as his lips had parted to suck on one of your tits.

You both swung your heads towards the radio, but In-ho— so ruthless, did not stop his fierce thrusts against your hips, his veiny hands contouring your waist, marking your skin.

“Young-il?” the voice of Gi-hun burst into the room, calling your name more times than In-ho would liked, “Where are you? You're attacking already?”

In-ho just smirked, stretching out and reaching for the small radio over the table, leaving you a whimpering mess as you felt his cock dragging along between your gummy walls.

“Answer him,” he then commanded in a grunt, delivering you a particularly powerful thrust that made you see stars, on his hand he held the radio, right above your face.

“W-what?” you hiccupped, eyes flooding with hot tears, out of pleasure, embarrassment, by the whirlwind of thrills that was shaking your body into submission to his.

In-ho cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at him, offering no truce with his savage thrusts, the plump head of his cock tapping your cervix, grinding into that special spongy spot that drove you closer to your climax.

“Tell him you're sorry,” he bent toward you, swiping his tongue along your cheekbone, mopping up a big tear that had slipped from your pretty eyes, “tell him the Frontman got you.”

With the very last of your remaining strength and control of your brain, you actually succeeded in formulating the words he wanted you to say, just as he pressed the voice transmitter button on the little radio.

“I'm sorry, Gi-hun” you blubbered out in between whimpers, and In-ho flashed a dark smile, dipping his head down to start kissing your neck sloppily, lips sucking at your skin until they left dark imprints, “he—”

“What happened?” Gi-hun asked worriedly from the other side, his voice came out desperate as he called your name, and you almost felt sorry for him, but In-ho's cock twitching inside you knocked all thoughts of heartache from you, making you bite your lower lip to choke back a hoarse moan.

He just felt so good, how could you think of anything other than his dick inside you?

“He got me” 

“Who? Where are you? Tell me where you are—” he asked frantically, his voice full of desperation and concern.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt In-ho's mouth latch onto your nipple, sucking and flicking it with his tongue, his unoccupied hand landing on your other jiggling tit, squeezing just right.

“This fucking body....” he hummed more to himself than to you against the skin of your breasts, dampening it with his spit, “So pretty, so tight, all for me... I got you, I got you always”

“The Frontman, he got me— sorry, Gi-hun” you managed to utter, voice weepy, at least that part would be believable to player 456.

Then In-ho smiled darkly and brought the radio closer to his mouth, his warm breath brushing against your nipple, still looking at you as he spoke, his voice becoming gruff and almost unrecognizable, “You don't have to worry about her anymore, Gi-hun.”

“You sick bastard—”

In-ho turned off the radio, throwing it away, shattering a thousand pieces against the ground. And now, all his attention turned back to you.

Gi-hun's desperate words and suffering appeared to do the necessary effect on him to get his cock twitching inside you again, having you sniffling under him.

“Shh... baby, you're doing so good. You're my good girl, my favorite girl— mhm— yes you are,” he cooed, raising his hand and stroking your hair delicately, his other hand squeezed your hip, moving across your skin until he reached your lower stomach, applying a little pressure over your tummy to make you both gasp as you felt the push of his hand, “Now cum with me, yeah? I know you can do it, I know you can, you're my good girl— shit”

In-ho whimpered against your mouth, his fingers creeping down to your crotch in between your sticky bodies, stroking your swollen, throbbing clit just right and hardly ten seconds later, feelinf your walls constrict around him and seconds later, you both began cumming, riding your highs to reach climax.

He was pumping you with all he had to give, filling you with hot and heavy spurts of cum, making you feel so stuffed that the fluid begins to leak out your abused pussy, spilling down between the tangled mess of your legs onto the couch.

A minute long lingered in your post-orgasm ecstasy, slumping your head against the couch, struggling to catch your breath, every limb shuddering still by jolts of electricity racing through every vein, bone, and muscle. You felt yourself floating in the sky and didn't even feel how In-ho had been propped up against you, trying to level his breathing tucked tightly against your neck. It wasn't until he had gently kissed your skin and straightened up, suddenly pulling his softening cock out of you, very slowly and carefully, you snapped back to reality and down to the ground.

The "pop!" filthy sound and the sensation of his cum dripping down your thighs made you blush, feeling his eyes gawking at the way your gaping pussy was struggling to keep all his cum inside, so greedily.

He then scooped you up in his strong arms and carried you to a bedroom, whispering praises and soft words against your ear, all the way until he delicately laid you down on the bed.

Your hand sought his, halting his motion to move away from you, and he smiled softly, noting how you fought against the sudden, enormous exhaustion that had come over you like a flooding wave.

“I have to take care of the problem, my love, it won't take long, okay? When you wake up again I'll be by your side” he murmured, leaning down so he could kiss the knuckles of your hand, fingers affectionately caressing your smooth skin.

“Don't kill them,” your request made him look at you with a hint of disappointment, letting him know you still felt sorry for the players, how could you not? You were just so good, “They don't know what they're doing.”

But the sweet smile on In-ho's lips didn't even tremble, at your request, your demand, “You don't have to worry about them anymore. They're nothing,” then he moved closer, and kissed your forehead, ”And you're everything. You don't have to worry about nothing, right?”

“Right,” you replied, so naturally, even in that dozy, half-asleep state, still, your loyalty and trust was with him, a fond smile curved across your lips as you lay your head back against the fluffy pillows, drifting off to sleep as you felt his fingers tenderly caress the side of your face, “Thank you, In-ho.”

“Everything for my favorite girl” he promised against your skin.

[wingedshadowfan]

do y'all not even realize jinx altered caitlyn's entire arc by kidnapping her and that bcuz of it caitlyn had a good enough reason to hate jinx before jinx even bombed the council and killed her mother in the process??

yes, jinx kidnapped her but it was heavily implied jinx kidnapped her from her fucking bathroom. i'm sorry but how fucking terrifying is that? the one place where you're at your most vulnerable, literally naked. then, jinx must've forcibly dressed caitlyn up in her enforcer uniform (you can argue she just politely waited in a corner for caitlyn to finish showering and get dressed but it was late evening and caitlyn had nowhere to go and no reason to put her uniform on after a shower, and even if you claim jinx allowed her to get dressed herself - why the fuck would caitlyn choose her uniform, considering who was kidnapping her), then jinx took her to the undercity and held her hostage there by herself for an entire day before she got silco and vi to join the tea party.

during this time, of course caitlyn would've tried to escape, like did we all see her with that broken wine glass? she was just waiting for a chance. but the fact that she couldn't escape likely means jinx was there with her the entire time (aside from when she was gone for silco and for vi). and what do you think happened between them so that caitlyn wouldn't try to escape during the time jinx was gone? what do you think jinx had done to make caitlyn flinch when she approached her?

we may never know but i'll give you a hint. when jinx tells vi she made her girlfriend a snack, she pulls off the cloche to reveal... a single cupcake.

how would jinx know about that unless she'd forced caitlyn to tell her? vi gave jinx her name. that's what she was, a jinx. of course jinx would've wanted to know what name she'd given caitlyn. but you're so sweet, like a cupcake. of course caitlyn wouldn't have wanted to tell jinx that, not only bcuz of its implication for her relationship with vi but for the fact that it would only make jinx angrier, more insane and more destructive - her only reason to kidnap caitlyn and want her dead in the first place was the fact she thought vi had replaced her with caitlyn. so she somehow got caitlyn to tell her. eventually. if i had to guess how, i'd say jinx waterboarded her - since caitlyn's hair was wet when jinx pulled her chair in, and there's no way it wouldn't have dried since her shower (24hr ago), even though it's also possible caitlyn was so scared and nervous that it was sweat.

and unless i'm mistaken, vi doesn't call caitlyn cupcake again up until after caitlyn tackles her on the border of the noxian camp. so perhaps vi connected the dots after seeing the cupcake and this became yet another thing she felt guilty for her sister doing to caitlyn, or perhaps there just hadn't been an appropriate moment to be flirty again after caitlyn's literal mother died. but vi hasn't called caitlyn cupcake again since. and, metaphorically and only half-jokingly, caitlyn stopped being sweet. the caitlyn we knew from season one was gone. and i hate to say it, because i strongly advocate that vi calling caitlyn cupcake is not what made her decide to betray ambessa, but it had a grounding power over her and i wonder if it would've made a difference in caitlyn's choices if vi had done it sooner. if she'd been reminded sooner of who she was, and what vi meant to her.

[retrosabers]

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

FICMAS DAY 3: GIFT-GIVING

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

contains: grumpy buck fluff, some angst, idiots who are crushing hard, swearing

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is a long one i’m apologizing in advance

i am SO SORRY for crickets in the ficmas department the past week, i hit a big brick wall with this and i’ve been so all over the place with my own holiday planning and such that i ended up having to cut the masterlist in half because i knew i couldn’t get it all done. i’m very sorry to anyone who was looking forward to what got scrapped, but i couldn’t bring myself to rush through writing and put out something i don’t believe it my best work.

also, do people even want avengers fix it fics anymore?? i debated between the “everything is fine the team lives at the compound together” vibe and setting this post tfatws, but ultimately decided the former was easier to write. and i think it worked in my favor because this turned out really cute :)

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

who’s idea was this again? wanda? tony? steve? it didn’t matter anymore. all that mattered right now was that you didn’t pass out in the elevator. a feat that was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to your destination.

a secret santa is supposed to bring you joy, not near paralyzing anxiety.

at first, you were 100% on board with participating in a gift exchange. as much as you wanted to shower all of your teammates with presents galore, not everyone shared the same sentiment, and thus the idea of a secret santa was proposed.

excitement courses through your veins as you reach your hand into the cheap santa hat tony grabbed from god knows where in storage, with little pieces of paper containing the names of your fellow avengers. you decided to wait until you were back in the privacy of your room to open it up, afraid of any wandering eyes taking a peak. the last thing you wanted was the element of surprise to be stripped away. it was half the fun after all.

as sam pulls the last name, you quietly excuse yourself and all but rush upstairs, too eager to get in the holiday spirit and brainstorm. as soon as the door shuts behind you, you hurriedly reveal the contents of the paper.

if it’s natasha, i can get her a pair of ballet slippers. she’s been mentioning how she wants to start dancing again.

what about bruce? maybe a journal for all his ideas? he always seems to be losing sticky notes in the lab.

a million different ideas swirl around in your head, reminding you just how much joy this time of year brings. to you, there was nothing better than seeing the gleeful looks on people’s faces when they opened their gifts. the corners of your mouth turn up at the memory of your first christmas with the team. how shy and reluctant you were, afraid of going overboard. now, a few years later, you’re completely unabashed in showing just how much you care about them.

your bright smile morphs into a deep frown as you unfold the paper.

bucky barnes.

quite possibly the most difficult person you could’ve chosen.

to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with bucky. he may be a bit grumpy and standoffish, but it’s with good reason and you know it. that also doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be impossible to try and shop for.

what do you get for the man who seemingly despises anything the modern world has to offer? the same man who you’re 99% sure hates your guts. come to think of it, how did you even pull him? he most definitely wasn’t downstairs 20 minutes ago when everyone scribbled down their names and tossed them in tony’s direction.

it was irrelevant now. you were stuck being his secret santa, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give james buchanan barnes the best christmas gift he’s ever gotten in his century-long lifetime.

the two weeks it took to come up with an idea sure felt like a century. if it wasn’t for the concerning amount of snooping you did, you’d probably be showing up empty handed. thankfully, at almost 1 in the morning on a random tuesday, a lightbulb went off in your brain. you scrambled bright and early the next day to go shopping, and by some lucky form of divine intervention, you acquired the perfect gift.

flash forward to now, and you’re carrying an insanely large box up to bucky’s room. in a blatant stray from what the rest of the team was doing, you decided to give him his present one on one, secluded from everyone else. partly because you were afraid of public embarrassment if he hated it, and partly because you knew bucky wasn’t very fond of being put on display.

you hope he’ll at least be grateful for that.

when the elevator finally chimes, signaling you’ve arrived at the dormitory floor, the box nearly slips from your grasp. not just from how heavy it was, but from the nervous sweat coating your palms.

the hallway is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, save for the faint sound of christmas music playing over the speakers. with careful, calculated steps, you make your way down the length of the corridor, dragging your feet the closer you get to bucky’s room. there’s a small part of you that hopes he’s downstairs in the gym, the kitchen, the backyard, anywhere but here. dropping and dashing wasn’t what you had in mind, but the anxious thumping of your heart was becoming unbearable. you know it will only amplify tenfold if you’re forced to stare into those steel blue eyes of his. the thought alone sends a chill down your spine.

you freeze in place when you hear the sound of a door knob clicking open.

please be wanda’s room, please be wanda’s room.

in front of you, the very last door on the left creaks open, revealing the tall and brooding super soldier whose company you were aiming to avoid.

it’s easy to forget how handsome bucky barnes is when he normally does nothing but grimace in your direction.

you still weren’t used to his new haircut, but it was clear he felt significantly more confident with it. is that a hint of aftershave, or cologne? whatever it was, the scent fit him perfectly; cedarwood with a hint of spice. the green henley he wears fits snugly against his broad frame, emphasizing all the muscles you’ve been caught staring at on more than one occasion. for once, he’s not wearing a scowl, though that changes when he catches sight of you.

surely you must look strange, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hall with a box covered in santa-printed wrapping paper and a big bow that you can barely hold. right now the floor opening up and swallowing you whole was at the top of your wish list. and st. nick better make it quick.

bucky’s expression shifts from one of disdain to curiosity as he quirks a brow wordlessly. your own knit together in frustration, knowing you now had no choice but to do this exchange face to face.

“need any help?” he questions monotonously. as much as you want to be prideful and reject it, your arms feel like they’re going to fall off any second. he seems to catch your drift despite a verbal response, because in the blink of an eye he’s striding towards you, sweeping the gift from your arms and into his own with ease. you try not to gape at the way his biceps strain against fabric.

you stutter out a “thanks,” as you straighten out your sweater. bucky grunts in return and eyes the package in his hands cautiously. you’re half expecting him to shake it like a child when you catch the tiniest twitch of his upper lip.

it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s ever shown in your presence. something that gives you the courage to actually form a sentence instead of continuing to gawk at him.

here goes nothing.

“this is for you, actually,” you manage to shakily breathe out. bucky halts his observations, a glimmer of surprise briefly dancing across his face.

a beat of silence passes between you. “don’t remember asking for anything," he finally says. it’s still laced with his typical dry sarcasm, but there’s a legitimate amusement in his tone that can’t be missed.

you narrow your eyes at him playfully, feeling a little bit more at ease now that he didn’t completely rebuff you.

“i’m your secret santa, smartass,” you jab with your hands on your hips.

for the first time ever, bucky smirks at you.

“don’t recall asking for that either.”

you throw your hands up in defense, offering him a surprisingly nonchalant shrug. “don’t blame me, i’m pretty sure steve was the one who put your name in.”

“punk,” the man grumbles. he shakes his head, attention turning back to the present in hand once more.

despite his apparent annoyance, you can’t seem to stop yourself from continuing on.

“i know you’re supposed to do this kind of thing with everyone around,” you start off shaky, afraid of upsetting him any more than you may already have. his gaze immediately falls to you upon hearing your voice.

“i also know you’re not a big fan of being the center of attention,” you continue, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “figured you’d like this better if it was in private.”

bucky’s features soften. his jaw unclenched, his eyes not so narrow and judgmental. he looks relieved, flattered; a myriad of things you can’t name or place.

“i appreciate that,” he admits, suddenly shy and impish. for a second, he completely forgets about the gift you brought. the simple fact that you were kind enough to consider his feelings, despite how cold he could be to you, makes his heart skip a beat.

you simply nod your head in reply, teetering back and forth on your feet awkwardly trying to decipher your next move.

“you don’t have to open that right now you know.”

he sets the box down on the floor next to his door. “kinda defeats the purpose don’t you think?”

you shrug. “whatever you’re comfortable with. doesn’t matter what you’re “supposed to do.””

why did you care so much about his comfort level? he hardly showed any concern for yours. the notion consumes his thoughts, prohibiting him from offering anything except a nod of acknowledgement.

that awkward silence comes once again, signaling maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome, or that the moment of peace is over. you check your watch in hopes that father time was ending this exchange for you.

just your luck, he’s right on schedule.

“i uh, better get downstairs,” you announce, pointing your thumb in the direction of the elevator. “don’t wanna miss thor forcing everyone to do christmas karaoke.”

a noise akin to laughter snorts out of bucky’s nose, evoking a delightful warmth in your chest. it was different than all the other times you’ve been flustered in the presence of the super soldier. this was less about intimidation and more about…camaraderie. now wondering if maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.

it’s exactly what you need to reignite your holiday cheer and shed any remaining worries.

before you can second guess, you turn on your heels, closing the gap between your bodies. wrapping a hand around his arm, his metal arm, and offering a gentle caress, the sincerity in your words is clear as day.

“merry christmas buck.”

your touch burns straight through vibranium all the way to his chest. across his entire body, igniting every cell ablaze. a fire consuming him in ways unimaginable.

and yet. he enjoyed the burn.

as you pull away, much to his dismay, the tips of his fingers brush against the inside of your wrist. goosebumps errupt on your skin, from the cool metal, or that fact that bucky was so pretty this close, only time would tell.

“you too,” he murmurs with a faint grin. the soft crinkles by his eyes are likely going to be the subject of your daydreams for the next week.

you flash him a smile over your shoulder before turning down the hall and averting his gaze, not wanting him to see just how much you were blushing.

while unbeknownst to you, bucky was now a very bright shade of red.

he waits until he can hear the elevator doors close before slipping back into his room and very carefully unwrapping the box. there’s a nervousness in his stomach that’s unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. as the bare brown packaging becomes exposed, he begins ripping back the numerous layers of packing tape. you really took your time on this, he thinks to himself.

that funny feeling only amplifies when he sees the contents of the box.

a record player, a very expensive looking one at that, sits inside with another three wrapped items that he concludes are vinyls, judging from their flatness. on top of it all, there was a small note shrouded in luxe stationary. bucky’s heart stutters when he sees his name scribbled delicately in your handwriting.

his fingers falter briefly before he digs into the envelope.

i know this isn’t like the ones from the 40s, but it’s the closest thing i could find. also got a few of your favorite records, and one i think you’ll like too. don’t forget i have quite a collection of my own in case you ever want to try something new.

merry christmas ♡

bucky unceremoniously plops down on the edge of his bed. the normally stiff feeling mattress now mirrored a sea of clouds and feathers. he’d gladly sink into the abyss of softness, if it meant pumping the brakes on his thundering heartbeat.

from the moment he met you, bucky knew he was in trouble.

you had an aura about you that was magnetic, always drawing people in and bathing them in your light. your unconditional kindness and consideration, hell, even your mere presence in a room seemed to liven it up entirely. it was a hypnotizing, almost dangerous thing for the man, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to push people away. for their sake, and his. bucky was certain that once he started keeping his distance, that you’d eventually give up in trying to crack his tough outer shell, or that the silly feelings he had would disappear.

but right now, as he’s staring at your handwriting and rubbing his thumb repeatedly over that little heart, he knows it was all in vain.

later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar croon of it’s been a long, long time wafting from his present. he tries to focus on the beauty of the song, or the lights he can see from his window twinkling out on the lawn, but it’s nearly impossible. you’re the subject of all his thoughts. have been since the moment he saw you standing out in the hall. from the scent of your perfume to the little intricacies of your penmanship. the thing that’s plaguing him the most, however, is your hand on his arm.

bucky’s real arm had been gone for over half a century, having stopped experiencing phantom limb syndrome ages ago. yet somehow he felt it there, clear as day. the same tactile sensations on his flesh, right arm, in the metal prosthetic of his left. an electric shock that he’s never recognized before, and that he wouldn’t be opposed to feeling again.

tomorrow, he plans to thank steve for mischievously adding his name into the lottery.

and to ask you about your record collection.

thanks for reading! <3

tag list: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[indecisivemuch]

Scandalous

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: The reveal of a scandalous detail about yours and Luke's relationship left you both flustered and everybody else gaping. Inspired by one line from So It Goes - Taylor Swift (fluff, established relationship).

Warning: allusions to sex, but no explicit details.

Word count: 2k

You and Luke have been going out for well over a year now. Yet, he never failed to make you feel like it would be an eternal honeymoon phase: whispers of sweet words about a lifetime’s worth of promises, delicate and sacred touches, looks filling in for unspoken words.

Loving Luke was as easy as having a daily routine - so natural and almost like a grounding thing from the life of a Demigod.

Currently, Luke was training with Percy. You were not too far away either, sparring with Clarisse. Despite the area being occupied by many other Demigods engaging in similar activities, Luke could not help but frequently glance over at you.

Luke has always been mesmerized by the way you combat, which he metaphorically compared to a ballerina. So precise, yet deadly. Every move was with intention and purpose. 

The way sweat glided down the side of your face, your cheeks flushed from fighting, eyes darting with strategy, heavy pants in between dodging and attacking your opponent, the smirk hinted on your face - all of it made Luke’s mind grow flustered. Somehow, he found everything you do attractive.

If he was honest, his mind seemed to be doing nothing lately but think of you, especially when you’re not beside him. The memories he has harvested over your time together only transformed his brain into a cinema, which constantly played montages of you. Every morning, he’d wake up from a dream about you to the sight of you in his arms - that is before he had to sneak out of your cabin back to his. You constantly occupy every cell in his mind, like an uncontainable virus spreading. Yet, for some reason, he was not scared. He welcomed this feeling with his whole arms wide open.

You broke eye contact with Clarisse to look at Luke. Almost instantly, your eyes melted into ones filled with adoration and his own eyes mirrored the same emotions - if not tenfold. 

You were absolutely enamored with how Luke looked at you. Even before dating each other, people have mentioned the eyes he was giving you. But being oblivious, you did not see what they were talking about. However, it all became clear when you started dating. You started noticing how he would look at you like you were a rare artwork he would most likely never see again or a shooting star - a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence kind of thing that left him in awe all the time. He would do it so endearingly as if it would help to absorb every detail of you and imprint them into his memory. His looks have always made you feel loved - like you were the only thing that mattered to him, as if he has not told you this verbally and through actions already. Usually, you’d feel slightly insecure if somebody was staring so intensely at you, but he did it in a way that made you feel like your flaws were created to be loved for. 

However, a gasp escaped your lips as Luke was showered by a wave of the ocean. Everybody else also drew their attention to the head of Hermes’ cabin and the newly claimed Poseidon kid.

When Luke looked back at Percy, he was faced with a sheepish grin.

“I had to get your attention somehow. I tried calling your name like ten times already,” Percy shrugged his shoulder with feigned innocence, but the glint of mischief told Luke that the kid was anything but feeling guilty about soaking him from head to toe. 

“Percy,” Luke groaned as he could feel the fabric of his clothes cling to his body. Percy bashfully chuckled and offered another sheepish look to the counselor who was meant to train him. 

The cool water did offer a temporary fix to the boiling summer heat. But mixing that with sweat, combat, and Luke's long-sleeved shirt underneath was disastrous. The Hermes boy sighed as he slowly took off the bright orange camp shirt. After struggling slightly, he managed to pull the shirt off from over his head. However, the gray shirt he was wearing underneath got pulled up more than slightly from the extra friction between wet fabrics, revealing the majority of his back to Percy and others. 

He did not think much of it until gasps - including yours - could be heard as this happened. Chris even whistled as he and everybody else spotted what Luke did not notice.

“What?” Luke asked as he pulled down his gray shirt and started wringing his camp t-shirt, trying to rid it from being as wet as possible. 

“Damn, did you get mauled by a minotaur or something?” Percy asked. 

Almost immediately, Luke paled at Percy’s words as he realized what the kid was talking about.

Indeed, as Luke’s gray shirt underneath got pulled up, which revealed the majority of his back, this had also put on display the scratches down his back left from nights that he spent with you. Some were evidently old and healing, as seen by how Luke’s skin was patching itself up and matching closer to his skin tone. Others were somewhat freshly red, while a few were like wounds being reopened. To make matters worse, they could spot the occasional crescent shape bruises that were indentations of your nails. 

Considering your guys’ relationship was not a secret, there was no room to deny it if somebody pointed fingers at you. You blushed as people now averted their eyes to you as if this was the most scandalous thing all year. Clarisse and Chris, on the other hand, were both smirking. 

The whole camp knew you were the one who left those scratches there, and you sincerely wish you could dig a hole to hide yourself from all the attention right now.

Luke’s eyes darted to you, and you offered him an awkward smile as your face grew a darker shade of red.

“No, seriously, dude, you gotta get it checked out at the infirmary. How did that even happen?” Percy only continued, somehow actually clueless about the cause of those marks. You could see Annabeth sending Percy a somewhat side-eye from nearby at his words while Grover let out a deep sigh. 

You started approaching the two, hoping you could intervene and save the both of you from this situation.

“Uhm…well,” Luke started, unsure how to even answer the kid or divert the attention elsewhere as his cheeks flushed and ears tinted pink from trying to ignore memories of what you two had done the night before.

The Hermes boy has jokingly sweet-talked you before on how he might walk out shirtless after one of your rendezvous to show off the marks you left on him. Never would you two think that that idea would ever happen like this.

“Yeah, I reckon you should get that checked out,” you decided to say as you reached Luke, settling your hand on Luke’s lower back and greeting Percy. “Thank you for worrying about him.”

“Yeah, no problem. I mean, it must have been quite a minotaur to land that much of a number on him,” Percy somehow carried on and was utterly oblivious to Clarisse and Chris, who almost bursted out laughing at his latest comment. You, on the other hand, squinted your eyes at the kid. You turned to Luke and you could see it in his eyes that the boy was on the verge of laughing as well. You were sure he would have done so if it were not for your glare.

“Well, we best go heal those wounds now, right Luke?” you gave your boyfriend a look, hoping he would get the message to play along.

“Right,” he agreed almost instantly. 

“Alright, bye, Percy,” you hastily spoke, before dragging Luke by his hand away from everybody's eyes.

“Bye guys,” you could hear the kid’s voice as the both of you retreated. It felt like a walk of shame as the semi-crowd parted ways for you two to leave the scene. You immediately let out a deep breath as soon as nobody was near anymore.

“Gods, that was so embarrassing. The kid basically repeatedly called me a minotaur.”

“I mean…you can be my minotaur?” Luke cheekily jested, trying to tease you a bit more over the situation.

“Oh, no, no, no, we’re not making that a thing. No, absolutely not are you ever gonna make that a nickname,” Luke only laughed at your reaction before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you into a hug. As he did so, you wrapped both your arms around his waist, face colliding with his chest the way it would usually do when you guys cuddle. He gave you a few peppered kisses on your forehead, close to your hairline. 

“They’re never gonna let us live that down, will they?” You asked after letting out a muffled groan against his chest.

“Nope,” Luke admitted. Despite the Hermes boy usually easing away your worries, even he knew this would be the talk around camp for a while. Nevertheless, he unwrapped his arms around you and cupped your face with both hands. Using his callus-filled hands, yet gentle touch, he soothed your furrowed eyebrows by rubbing over them to urge you from scowling.

“But…you know what? I’m kind of glad this happened. Sure, it might be awkward and a tad bit embarrassing. But now, they finally get to see how lucky I am to have been given a chance by such a gorgeous and sweet Demigod. And…” he paused, giving you a quick kiss. “This way, any guy potentially still after you know to keep their hands off.” He cheekily winked at you after saying so. 

Gods, you remember how jealous Luke would get before you were together. It was lowkey hot to see him so riled up. Though, after the both of you got together, you have always reassured him that you had eyes on him and only him. 

“I guess that also means any girls still thinking they could steal you from me would know they have no chance?” you questioned, smiling ear to ear when he nodded eagerly at your words.

“Exactly. That’s a win-win in my book. I’m not embarrassed they saw what you left on me. They could talk for all I care. So stop worrying, or else you’ll start getting wrinkles,” he lightly flicked the area between your furrowed eyebrows. As you were about to complain, he quickly kissed you right where he previously flicked you, and that immediately melted away any bit of feigned irritation you had with him. He chuckled at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows untangling itself.

“Thank you,” you muttered, showing your gratitude towards Luke. 

If Luke had a superpower, it would probably be calming you down. He has always managed to tame your emotions whenever they were drowning you. He was like an anchor to you, always grounded you during chaotic times. Sometimes, you wonder how you got so lucky. 

You peered up at him sweetly, and the look alone made him lean down to capture your lips with his again. You chuckled at his action and kissed him back with just as much passion as he was leaving on your lips. Your hands started playing with the hair close to the nape of his neck. He let out a content sigh while still showing your lips just how much he loved them and you. However, he abruptly pulled away before dropping a question. 

“Are we really going to the infirmary?” Luke hesitantly asked, bringing up your words from earlier. He watched as you gave him an amused look.

“What did you think?” As soon as his eyes met yours, he knew exactly what you wanted. He gave you a sheepish grin before the two of you quietly giggled to each other before walking further away from the training grounds.

Let's just say you two did not follow through with your words of going to the infirmary, and neither were you tending to his “wounds”.

——————————

masterlist

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[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Here are some bnha ending implications about the League of Villains that drive me crazy:

We don't know if Touya thought Spinner and Mr. Compress were dead too.

Tomura never knew Twice was dead.

Touya and Tomura never knew that Toga tried to shapeshift into them and cried 'cause she couldn't :(

Mr. Compress last saw the LOV while he was trying to save them / help them reach a safe place. Next thing he was told is that most of them were dead.

Even if Touya was still alive long enough for Spinner to publish his book/comic, I doubt someone read it to Touya.

Since Toga showed up as Twice in the final battle, we don't know if Giran was aware of Twice being dead previous to that occasion or if he thinks Twice died at war there.

Although Kurogiri said that Tomura's friends were waiting for him, Tomura never saw his friends again.

They don't even know Tomura considered them his friends.

They don't know that part of the reason why Tomura died is because between the offer to change and forget his friend or stay behind and keep their memories, Tomura refused to be anything else but the villain's hero.

Most of them didn't get to hear Compress revealing his identity.

Toga "died" happily to save a friend, just like Twice did for her.

The last time most of the LOV saw Tomura, he wasn't himself / was possessed by AFO.

While the LOV's job was to sacrifice their lives for Tomura, it ended up being the other way around. Tomura died in their names and they got to die however they wanted.

Touya doesn't know Toga kept his words in her heart and got to smile again <3

All of them were doomed by the narrative.

The League of Villains has by far some of the most painful or torturous deaths in the whole series.

The villains have far better healing technology 'cause they somehow managed to save Dabi from being almost completely burnt, while he was doomed to die after the bnha finale.

Being part of the LOV was the highlight of most of its members lives.

Tomura probably doesn't know how much Kurogiri saw him as his own son.

Kurogiri probably doesn't know how much Tomura loved him, despite hiding it.

Spinner was probably never told Tomura's real story, so his version of the story will be forever incomplete. Even when he's Tomura's canon best friend.

Tomura saw his family die in front of him as a kid, but he died far away from all his friends.

Touya probably thought he was the last one of them to die.

Despite being called weak all his life, Spinner has to carry the burden of being the one and only last survival of the LOV.

[alyakthedorklord]

Batman the Playboy

Justice League, not quite early days but before proper identity reveals, though everyone knows Batman knows theirs, bc he has Opinions™ and Constructive Criticisms™ on their secret-keeping.

The issue is brought up on random occasions. The most notable incident- the Justice League, including Batman, being Drunk for Bonding, (or hit with some kind of drug while out saving the world) and Batman, in a fit of paranoid good intentions because he CARES about these idiots, damnit, why must they be so careless, starts insulting them.

Batman, leaning heavily on the table: “GL, you’re a mess, I don’t even know where to start with you. And Arrow! Your goatee is so distinctive, it’s a wonder no one has called you out on it-“

Green Arrow, also drunk: “Alright, there’s no need to insult my awesome facial hair-”

Batman, in despair: “It’s so ugly.”

Green Arrow: (offended noises)

Green Lantern: “Okay, the only reason you know our secret identities is because you’re a rude nosy bastard who needs to know everything about us like a creepy stalker who needs an ego boost! We’re not stupid, Spooky, we’re just polite. We could figure you out easily if we wanted to. Superman can see right through your mask!”

Usually, Batman would have a good response to that. Something smart and reasonable like “villains won’t care for your privacy, I’m testing you,” or something cutting like “I don’t care enough about you to go digging, I set your secret identity as a training exercise for Robin.”

However, Batman is Drunk, because for some reason imbibing drugs that dampen higher brain function is socially acceptable and often, for some reason, expected, because it’s “team bonding” and “come on just loosen up a bit.” (Also for him, drunk=Brucie)

So what Batman ends up saying is: “I could kiss you full on the lips in my secret identity and you wouldn’t know a thing.”

Superman, plucking the glass from Batman’s hand: “Aaaand that is enough alcohol for you!”

Batman nods. Thank God. He wants to go home and sleep. But first: “Superman, yours is so stupid it’s almost impressive-”

———

Of course, Green Lantern has smelled a challenge. And Green Lantern must annoy Batman. It’s his true superpower. So, the next time they meet (sober) he brings up the issue again.

GL: “So about what you said at the party… the part where you could kiss us full on the lips without us knowing. You still confident in that without liquid courage, Spooky? Bet you your real name you can’t do it.”

Batman, regretting the fact that alcohol has ever passed his lips: “I could do it, but I will not.”

Flash, curious: “Why’s that?”

Batman: “Informed Consent. I will not risk making any of you feel violated, or manipulated, for the sake of a stupid bet and my ego.”

GA, still offended by the goatee comment, trying to back Batman into a corner: “So if we give consent, we’re fair game? Try me, Batman. Even you can’t pull this off. Anyone else game?”

Some of the Justice League laughs, raising their hands.

Flash: “Come get me, hot stuff! I’ll call you out!”

Wonder Woman: “It could be amusing.”

Martian Manhunter: “I would be far too difficult a target.”

Green Arrow: “Not just you. C’mon, Spooky, flirting well enough to get a kiss from me? I’m a classy lady.”

Black Canary: “D-class, maybe.”

Superman, wants a kiss in on the fun: 🙋🏻‍♂️

“So that’s it then!” Green Lantern says smugly. “Batman, if you can kiss… how many people raised their hands? Ah yes- HALF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE, without anyone realizing it’s you, then you win.”

Batman scoffs and walks out, leaving the Justice League in stitches at their joke. Because- Batman? Being good enough at flirting to land a kiss on half the league, without it being forced or awkward, without them recognizing his body language, his voice, his build? How ridiculous!

The Batman is Autistic. The Batman does not understand jokes, especially not ones that are half truths. The Batman has consent, and something to prove.

And Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, and sexy DILF, has targets.

(Please tell me how you think he gets each League member.)

Edit: there have been a bunch of awesome additions in the notes! My own take here.

[moonlitstoriess]

Bound in Silence- Rhysand x fem!Reader part 1

Part 2 here

Y/n, Rhysand’s true mate, discovers their bond while under Amarantha’s rule. As they grow closer in captivity, Rhys remains unaware of their connection. When Feyre enters his life, y/n watches in silence as Rhysand falls for her, never revealing the truth of their bond, leading to a heartbreaking end.

Warnings: mentions of SA, abuse, character death, little fluff and too much angst

The first week under Amarantha’s rule was a descent into madness. What had once been kingdoms of power and grace now lay in shambles, High Lords stripped of their freedom, their courts brought to ruin.

Y/n, a lesser member of the Dawn Court, had survived the initial massacre, slipping through the cracks of chaos. She had always lived on the fringes, unnoticed among the more powerful, her quiet presence often overlooked. The beauty of the Dawn Court, with its pale skies and soft mornings, felt like a distant dream now. The dungeons were cold, oppressive—any trace of light long extinguished.

Word of the High Lords’ fates had spread quickly through the prisoners. Rhysand, the infamous High Lord of the Night Court, was said to be one of Amarantha’s most prized captives. His reputation as a cruel, cunning male echoed even in the darkest corners of their cell blocks. Y/n hadn’t expected to meet him, let alone stand face-to-face with the infamous High Lord during her silent wandering through the dim corridors.

Their first encounter was brief, in the murky gloom of a narrow passage. He was alone, his posture rigid, and his normally sharp features were bruised and weary, yet he still held that air of cold authority.

Y/n hadn’t expected him to stop as their paths crossed. But Rhysand’s steps faltered, his gaze locking onto hers. His violet eyes, piercing despite the fatigue, lingered on her face a moment longer than necessary.

“Dawn Court,” he said, his voice low and smooth, though roughened by days of captivity. It wasn’t a question—just an observation.

Y/n hesitated, her heartbeat loud in her chest. “Yes,” she replied softly, meeting his gaze, though her own voice was steadier than she felt.

For a long moment, Rhysand simply stared at her, his expression unreadable. There was no reason for him to notice her, no reason for him to care. She was just another prisoner, a face among many. And yet, something flickered in his eyes—something that made her breath catch, though she couldn’t name it.

They said nothing more, both of them knowing there was no safety in words here. But in that shared silence, a connection was forged—one neither of them could explain, and one that would only grow stronger in the long days ahead.

The second time they met was when y/n was in an injured state. Silently crying while trying to stop the gash on her shoulder blade from bleeding as she quickly made her way through the halls. Past the ugly laughters of Amarantha’s creatures, her loyal servants.

She didn’t know where she was looking or where she was heading as she entered a small washroom. But it was when she lifted her head and saw him, sitting down in the corner, all buttons of his tunic opened to display a toned chest with claw marks all over him, face devoid of any emotion, eyes staring but not truly seeing her.

They just stared like that at one another for long enough before the searing pain in y/n’s shoulder made her hiss and remove her bloody hand from the wound.

She was too busy with disinfecting her wound that y/n didn’t even feel Rhysand get up and come towards her, hint of worry slowly blossoming in his chest as he leaned down next to her sitting form.

“Naga?”

Slightly startled, y/n paused what she was doing and turned to look at his still haunted-looking face.

She shook her head. “Attor.”

He gave her a small nod before raising his hand towards the wet cloth she was gripping.

“May I? I do not believe that you will be able to reach and clean that wound properly.”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, clearly wondering if this was the cruel Rhysand everyone seemed to talk about.

He saw her hesitation and gave her the tiniest of smiles before going back to his indifferent expression once more.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bite you.”

Despite the pain, y/n smiled slightly as she handed him the rag. To say she was surprised with how gentle he was, would be an understatement. They said no words, despite the fact that y/n had questions of her own.

Why was he in such a state? Why did he have all these marks on him? Was he with Amarantha? It seems like he doesn’t get enough sleep either. There are dark bags under his eyes.

But she decided against speaking any of them out, still hesitant with her actions. Not to mention the eerie comfort their little moment provided for her. Y/n was sure that this would never happen again.

She was wrong; this happened again.

This time however, under the worst possible circumstances. In Amaranthas bed.

In the past weeks that they were all here, y/n knew that Amarantha would toy with attractive females and males. But she never thought she would one day be a victim to that cruel woman’s sinister desires.

Her greatest nightmare came true.

She did not even do anything out of the ordinary, always keeping to the corners, preferring to stay away from anyone’s gaze. But alas, it appears that y/n was not as invisible as she thought for it was during her moment locked away in the calm quietness of a small dusty bedroom, that she got dragged away by Amaranthas guards towards her bedchamber.

And you could only imagine the shock on her face when she saw Rhysand, half naked with only a towel wrapped around his waist, staring horrified at her while Amarantha, clad in her sheer robe, dismissed the guards and slowly came towards y/n.

Lifting her chin up with two fingers, the queen snickered as she said, “My my, you are even prettier up close, little mouse.”

Y/n could only gulp as she let the queen inspect her as if she was some sort of an animal. Y/n could feel Rhysands unwavering gaze on her as she stared at the ceiling, willing her tears to stay back.

Suddenly, she felt Amarantha's grip tighten as she was forced to look at the woman before her. The queen's gaze thinned as she inched closer to y/n.

"I suppose you are well aware why you are in here then, no need to waste time on explanations. Am I right, Rhys?"

That is when y/n's gaze slightly drifted towards the male standing next to the bed, his face a mask indifference, a relaxed smirk overtaking his features but his hollow eyes needed no explanation.

"Of course, it is a privilege for her to join us."

Amarantha smirked before dragging her towards the bed, marking the start of y/n's nightmares.

That night, she endured too much, did things she never wished to do, all to keep her head on her shoulders. And for some reason, y/n felt as if she was not the only one who suppressed her disgust and cries deep within herself. Rhysand may be a good actor but his stiffness did not fool her.

The fourth and most important time that they met was in a small, forgotten chamber tucked deep within the mountain--dusty, barely used. Y/n found herself there, seeking refuge from the chaos that constantly swirled under Amarantha’s rule. She didn’t expect anyone else to find the room, and yet, there he was again.

Rhysand stood near the entrance, as though he had only just stepped inside. They froze upon seeing one another. For a moment, neither moved, neither spoke. The silence felt almost too heavy to break.

She turned her back to him, focusing on her trembling hands. She didn’t want to meet his gaze, not after what they’d been forced to endure together under Amarantha’s cruelty. The air between them was thick with the unspoken horrors, yet there was an odd pull, a silent understanding that neither acknowledged.

“I thought I’d be alone,” she muttered, not quite sure why she felt the need to say anything.

“So did I,” came his quiet reply. His voice lacked the arrogant lilt she often heard when he spoke to others. There was something raw about him now, stripped of pretense.

A beat passed before she stood, avoiding his gaze as she brushed off the dust from her skirt. She intended to leave, to disappear before this fragile quiet shattered. But as she took a step, her body faltered, pain from her old injury flaring up again. She hissed through her teeth, clutching her shoulder.

Rhysand moved then, quicker than she expected, stepping closer without hesitation. “You’re hurt again.” It wasn’t a question, more an observation, but there was no pity in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, stepping back. Her pride wouldn’t let her show weakness in front of him.

He watched her for a long moment, eyes narrowing, not with judgment, but with something closer to understanding. He reached out slowly, carefully, as if giving her the chance to move away. When she didn’t, he gestured to the bench behind her. “Sit. I’ll help.”

She hesitated but gave in. She couldn’t bandage the wound herself—not again. Sitting down, she stiffened as he moved to her side, his presence too close, too intimate for comfort. His hands were steady as he inspected the gash. She tried to hide her discomfort as he worked, gently cleaning the wound with a damp cloth. The touch was too careful for someone rumored to be Amarantha’s most favored, the cold High Lord with a cruel reputation.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence was comfortable, though, more than it had ever been before. When Rhysand finally did speak, his voice was barely above a murmur. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” He didn’t ask for her name—simply left the sentence hanging, an invitation she could take or leave.

She glanced at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Y/n,” she said quietly, watching him closely.

“Y/n,” he repeated, as though testing the sound of it. He gave her the faintest hint of a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was the closest she had seen to something genuine.

For the first time, she allowed herself to look at him, really look at him, beyond the mask he wore so well. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight he carried. The cruelty he endured, just like her.

“You don’t act like them,” she found herself whispering before she could stop herself. “Like the others.”

He paused, his hands still on her bandage. “Neither do you.”

It wasn’t a comfort, not exactly. But it was something, a crack in the armor they both wore.

Y/n remained still as Rhysand finished tending to her wound, his touch light and careful, the silence stretching between them. She couldn’t help but glance at him again—his face too calm, too composed for someone who had just been through hell. The weight of what had happened in Amarantha’s chamber hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken yet impossible to ignore.

As he tied off the bandage, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, her voice barely above a whisper, “Do you… endure that every day?”

Her words lingered, and she saw it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes. Pain, perhaps. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by the same detached mask he always wore. Rhysand straightened, his expression carefully neutral as he moved away, putting space between them.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. “Amarantha has her ways of amusing herself.”

Y/n stared at him, not buying his attempt to brush it off. She had seen the claw marks, the bruises, the hollowness in his eyes. She had been there—seen the humiliation, the cruelty, the powerlessness they both shared. How could he call it ‘nothing’?

“It’s not nothing,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay composed. “What she does… what we endure… it’s—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice a little sharper than before. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

She blinked at him, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to reach him through the walls he had built around himself. There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say, but the weight of it all seemed too much, too heavy to put into words.

Y/n’s eyes flickered over his face, searching for something beneath the mask of indifference he wore so easily. His sharp retort had silenced her, but only for a moment. The silence felt too heavy, too suffocating, after what they had both gone through.

She took a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pain from her wound. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—maybe for prying, maybe for the awful reality they were trapped in, or maybe for the fact that she didn’t know how to help him, how to help either of them.

Rhysand’s gaze shifted, finally landing back on her. His expression softened ever so slightly, the hard edges dulling for just a moment. “Don’t be,” he said quietly, almost as if he regretted snapping at her earlier.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, both of them staring into the distance, lost in their own thoughts. Y/n thought of the nightmarish hours she’d spent under Amarantha’s cruel hands, of the helplessness that had consumed her. She glanced at him, wondering how he endured it—if he truly had to endure it every day.

“Does she—” she hesitated, her voice catching in her throat. “Does she make you go through that every day?”

Rhysand’s jaw clenched slightly, his eyes hardening once more. “What does it matter?” he said, his voice a touch colder than before. “We all suffer under her. It’s just… the way things are.”

Y/n frowned, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. “It matters,” she insisted, her voice firmer this time. “You shouldn’t have to—none of us should.”

Rhysand didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, he looked away, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the stone wall behind him. His silence told her more than his words could. He was used to it, accustomed to the horrors that Amarantha inflicted.

She swallowed, her heart heavy. “I—I don’t know how you do it,” she admitted softly, her voice barely audible. “I don’t think I can survive this… not like this.”

Rhysand’s gaze returned to her, softer this time, almost contemplative. “You will,” he said quietly, his tone lacking its earlier sharpness. “You’ll survive because you have to.”

There was something about the way he said it—a quiet strength, a stubborn determination that made her believe him, even when everything around them felt hopeless.

Y/n didn’t respond. She simply nodded, grateful for the small comfort his words offered, even if they both knew there were no real solutions to their nightmare.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—two people trapped in hell, offering each other a sliver of solace in the aftermath of horrors too cruel to fully comprehend. Neither of them said anything more, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t affection. It was survival.

And, for now, that was enough.

After that moment, something significant shifted between them. Slowly, their random encounters turned into frequent secret meetups each planned with a sense of urgency and longing. They began to seek each other out, carving out spaces in the darkness where they could share their thoughts, fears, and dreams, knowing that, in this hellish place, they were the only ones who truly understood each other.

Y/n discovered that she felt safe with him in a way she hadn’t expected. In the quiet corners of the mountain, they would talk for hours, sharing fragments of their lives, their laughter echoing softly against the stone walls. Rhysand learned about her past life, about her love for creating things, about her resilience, how she had survived Amarantha’s cruelty by retreating into herself, clinging to the memories of a life before the darkness. In turn, she learned about his burdens—the weight of his responsibilities as the High Lord, the pain of leaving his people and his family behind, possibly to never see them again. They were both trapped, but in each other, they found a flicker of hope.

They often sat close, their shoulders brushing, sharing the warmth that lingered between them. There were moments when words felt insufficient, and they would simply sit in comfortable silence, allowing their thoughts to intertwine without the need for spoken language. Each small interaction deepened their bond, and soon they were exchanging not just stories, but pieces of themselves.

One evening, while hiding in their usual alcove, Y/n noticed the weariness in Rhysand’s eyes. She hesitated before speaking, her heart racing. “Do you ever wish you could escape?” she asked quietly, not expecting an answer.

Rhysand turned to her, his expression contemplative. “Every day,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know it’s not that simple.”

Y/n nodded, understanding the truth behind his words. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Pretending to be fine when inside, you feel like you’re breaking.”

He looked at her, surprise flashing across his features. “You feel it too?”

“More than I care to admit,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. “Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end. If I’ll ever be free of this.”

Rhysand sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I think about that a lot. But then I remember the people who are counting on me. If I give up, what happens to them?”

She could see the heaviness of his thoughts weighing him down. “You’re strong, Rhysand,” she said softly. “Stronger than any of us realize.”

He chuckled, but it was devoid of true mirth. “Strength doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain.”

“Then we can feel it together,” she offered, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’d rather share the burden than carry it alone.”

He met her gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think I’d like that.”

From that day on, they became each other’s refuge. They shared not only their burdens but also their dreams, hopes, and fears. Rhysand learned about the small things that made Y/n smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of the stars, the gentle way she held herself, as if trying to protect the light within her from being extinguished.

Y/n discovered Rhysand’s love for stories, how he could lose himself in the tales of distant lands and daring adventures. They created their own world within the confines of the mountain, where laughter could exist amid the pain, where dreams could be whispered even in the darkest of nights.

With each passing day, they grew closer, their friendship blossoming into something beautiful amidst the horror surrounding them. There was an unspoken promise that they would be there for each other, no matter what. And in that, they found the strength to keep going, to endure the trials that awaited them, together.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months turned into years as they kept enduring the horrors under Amarantha’s reign, no one strong enough to defeat her. The passage of time blurred in the darkness, a relentless cycle of survival. Each day brought new cruelties, new horrors that left Y/n and Rhysand feeling more and more hollow inside. Yet, through it all, they clung to the solace they found in each other.

Their secret meetings had become a lifeline. Whenever they could steal a moment away from the prying eyes of Amarantha’s spies, they would retreat into the shadowed corners of the mountain, seeking each other’s presence. Their conversations had grown more comfortable over time, the once hesitant exchanges now flowing with ease. Y/n learned more about Rhysand’s burdens, about the sacrifices he made each day to keep his people alive, even at the cost of his own soul.

In return, Rhysand slowly unraveled the mystery of Y/n. She was no longer the quiet, invisible courtier he had first met in the halls. Her resilience and strength had revealed themselves with each passing day, though she remained ever-watchful, always cautious. The horrors she had endured were scars, both physical and emotional, yet she never let them break her. And Rhysand admired her for it, though he kept his thoughts carefully hidden behind his usual smirks and playful retorts.

They didn’t talk much about what happened in Amarantha’s bed that night. It was an unspoken thing, something that lingered between them, always there, but never addressed directly. It didn’t need to be. They both knew the depths of the hell they were living in, and acknowledging that shared nightmare in words would only make it worse.

Still, there were times when Y/n would look at Rhysand, her gaze searching, wondering how he bore the weight of Amarantha’s twisted games day after day. She saw the toll it took on him, even if he never spoke of it.There were days when he would return from Amarantha’s bedchamber with new scars, fresh wounds both seen and unseen, and Y/n could do nothing but offer her quiet companionship, hoping that in some small way, her presence was enough.

On one such occasion, after another brutal encounter with the queen, Y/n found Rhysand sitting alone in the dark, his usual mask of indifference slipping for just a moment. She hesitated before sitting beside him, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

“Why does she do this to you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.

Rhysand didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on some distant point. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” she said, her heart aching for him in a way she hadn’t expected.

For a long time, he didn’t respond, and Y/n wondered if she had overstepped. But then, in the quietest of voices, he said, “Because I am her greatest weapon that needs to be kept under control.”

The weight of his admission hung in the air, and Y/n felt a pang of sorrow deep in her chest. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she knew her words could do nothing to ease his pain.

Rhysand shook his head, brushing off her concern with a forced smile. “Don’t be. It’s the price we pay to survive.”

But Y/n could see through the facade. She knew him well enough by now to recognize the cracks in his armor, the moments when the strain of it all became too much. In those moments, she stayed close, offering her quiet support without pushing him to speak. She had come to understand that Rhysand didn’t need words—he needed the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone.

As time passed, their bond deepened, a quiet understanding settling between them. They no longer had to speak to know what the other was feeling. A glance, a touch, the smallest of gestures—these were enough to convey the unspoken trust that had grown between them. Together, they weathered the endless torment of Amarantha’s rule, finding strength in their shared moments, no matter how brief.

But as the years dragged on, a sense of hopelessness began to creep in. Amarantha’s power seemed insurmountable, her cruelty unmatched. The courts remained shattered, the High Lords too broken to mount any sort of rebellion. The mountain felt like a prison, and escape seemed impossible.

Then, whispers of a new arrival began to spread through the court. A mortal girl, brought under the mountain to fulfill some kind of bargain with Amarantha. It seemed like just another piece of cruel entertainment for the queen, another pawn in her twisted game. But something was different this time. Rhysand’s gaze would grow distant whenever her name was mentioned, as if he knew something no one else did. Y/n noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his usual indifference was replaced with a flicker of… hope?

As Feyre’s presence in the court grew, so did the undercurrent of tension that seemed to ripple through Amarantha’s throne room. Something was happening, something none of them could quite understand. But Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this mortal girl—this Feyre—was important. That maybe, just maybe, the end of their nightmare was closer than any of them realized.

What y/n also realized, was that Rhysand was her mate.

It happened suddenly, during one of Amarantha’s night feasts, a regular, twisted event that Y/n had come to despise. This particular one, however, was the night before Feyre’s first trial.

Y/n stood in the corner, as usual, staying away from the crowd. She preferred to inspect rather than socialize, to keep her distance from the cruel games and manipulations happening all around her. Rhysand was on the opposite side of the grand hall, his mask of indifference and cruelty firmly in place as he entertained conversation with a few other high-fae, Amarantha’s loyal followers. He played his role perfectly, as he always did.

But then, in a fleeting moment, their eyes met.

Y/n felt it immediately—the rush of warmth, the pull so strong it almost knocked the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t just the connection they had built over the years or the understanding they shared. No, this was deeper. A primal force that surged within her, a tether she had never felt before, snapping into place.

Rhysand was her mate.

The realization hit her like a blow, sharp and undeniable. Her breath caught in her throat, and her body froze as the bond thrummed between them. She had heard of the mating bond before, of course, but to feel it, to know that it was him…

Her heart both soared and sank. She couldn’t deny it, couldn’t push it away, but looking at him—his cold mask in place, his focus elsewhere—made her chest tighten with an ache she didn’t know how to suppress.

Rhysand didn’t seem to feel it, didn’t react in any way that might indicate he knew. His gaze lingered on her for a brief second before turning back to the high-fae beside him, the moment passing without acknowledgment.

Y/n stood frozen, the world around her muted as the bond settled within her, painfully unreciprocated.

As Feyre passed her first trial, everything began to shift.

At first, Y/n tried to dismiss it as coincidence—Rhysand had his own burdens, after all, his own games to play. But soon, the cracks in their fragile friendship became too large to ignore. Where before, he would seek her out, find quiet moments in the hidden corners of the mountain to sit with her, to speak about everything and nothing—those moments became fewer and farther between.

The subtle change came in waves. Rhysand started missing their meetups. First, it was only one night, then two, then an entire week would pass without a word. Y/n waited in their usual spots, always hoping he would walk through the door, but instead, she was met with silence. The longer the absence stretched, the deeper the ache in her chest grew.

But the worst came during Amarantha’s nightly feasts. Poor Feyre, clearly not jn a right state of mind, was paraded around the hall, her limbs loose and her eyes unfocused, as Rhysand dragged her onto the floor to dance. Y/n could barely stomach it.

Night after night, she watched as his focus shifted to Feyre—the human girl who was just trying to survive, just like them all. Yet it was in those dances, in the way his eyes lingered on Feyre’s face, even behind the mask of cruelty he wore, that Y/n felt her heart begin to shatter.

She tried to tell herself it was all part of the act, a necessary facade to keep Amarantha’s eyes off him, to protect the bigger plan. But each night, as she watched them dance, watched Feyre’s body against his, her hope withered.

The bond that had once filled her with warmth and joy now twisted inside her, a cruel reminder of what he couldn’t possibly know. Of what she could never tell him. Rhysand had no idea that she was his mate. How could he, when his attention had shifted so completely to Feyre?

And Y/n—heartbroken, invisible—could do nothing but endure it, watching as the only person who had ever understood her slipped further and further away.

The nights dragged on, the darkness under the mountain becoming suffocating as Feyre moved through her trials. Each one more harrowing than the last, each step pushing her closer to death. And with each passing trial, Rhysand's attention shifted further away from Y/n.

Y/n had never felt more alone. Every night, she stood in the shadows, watching as Rhysand danced with Feyre, his hand on her waist, his voice soft in her ear. It had started as part of the game, part of his endless manipulation of Amarantha’s court, but Y/n could see it—he was changing. His mask, once a weapon, now felt more like a shield protecting him from the truth. And the truth was devastating: Rhysand no longer came to her. He no longer sought her out in the quiet corners of the mountain.

The bond between them, once so unmistakable, now felt like a heavy chain around her neck, pulling her deeper into despair with every passing day.

When Feyre passed her final trial and was killed by Amarantha, Y/n’s world collapsed. She had watched it all unfold—the moment the human girl fell, her chest stilling, her life snuffed out in an instant. And Rhysand—he was the first one to cry out her name. His voice, filled with anguish and desperation, echoed through the hall, and Y/n’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

He rushed to Feyre's side, his face twisted in agony, and without hesitation, he was the first to give a sliver of his power to bring her back. His hands trembled as he leaned over her, tears brimming in his eyes. His voice cracked when he whispered her name again, as though she was the only one who mattered, the only one who had ever mattered.

Y/n stood there, frozen, her own pain drowned out by the overwhelming scene before her. Rhysand hadn't even glanced her way, hadn't acknowledged her presence. It was as if she no longer existed.

And when Amarantha finally fell, when Feyre was brought back to life as an immortal by the combined powers of the High Lords, Y/n felt as though the final thread of her connection to Rhysand had been severed.

Afterward, in the aftermath of Amarantha's death and Feyre's new immortality, Y/n tried—she truly tried to speak with him, to make him see her again, to understand what had been between them before all of this. She sought him out in the quiet halls, waited for him in the places they used to meet, hoping, praying that he would remember.

Finally, on the last night, before they all left this 50 years of hell behind, she found him standing alone on a balcony overlooking the endless expanse of darkness. She approached him, her heart in her throat.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes, once full of shared understanding and adoration, were distant, hollow.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” she began, her words faltering as she took in the emptiness on his face.

Rhysand looked away, his jaw clenched. “I’ve been… distracted.”

“With Feyre,” she finished, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to remain composed.

There was a long, heavy silence before he spoke again, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “I think… I think Feyre is my mate.”

Y/n felt the world tilt beneath her feet, the words hitting her like a dagger to the chest. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him the truth, to scream that she was his mate—but the words wouldn’t come.

Rhysand didn’t notice her silence, didn’t notice the way her hands trembled. He kept talking, his voice growing softer, more introspective. “I’m falling for her, Y/n. I didn’t expect it, but... I can’t stop it.”

Y/n’s heart shattered all over again, the bond between them twisting into something unbearable. She had lost him.

The dawn was cold, a pale light creeping over the horizon, casting the mountain in a dim, unforgiving glow. Y/n stood alone in the shadows, her heart heavy with the weight of the last fifty years, the torture they had endured, the nightmares that would never fully leave them. But now, with Amarantha dead, it was all over. The chains were gone. The horrors were fading into the past, and everyone was finally going home.

Everyone except her.

She had known it was coming—the end of it all. She had prepared herself for the fact that Rhysand might leave, that Feyre might take him from her entirely. But no amount of preparation had lessened the crushing weight in her chest as she watched from the shadows. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t even wanted to. The last few days had blurred together in a haze of pain, confusion, and heartbreak.

And now, standing in the pale light of dawn, she saw them.

Rhysand and Feyre.

They were on the balcony above, just as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over the both of them. Feyre, still recovering, stood close to him, her face soft with something Y/n couldn’t bear to name. Rhysand was beside her, his posture relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked out over the horizon. His arm brushed against Feyre’s, the contact so light, so natural, as if it had always been that way.

Y/n’s throat tightened, her heart splintering with every passing second. He hadn’t come to say goodbye. Not a word. Not a glance.

Just silence.

She had spent fifty years enduring alongside him, had suffered the same horrors, shared quiet moments of solace when everything else was falling apart. She had been there when no one else had, and yet, as the dawn broke over the mountains, Rhysand was leaving—without a single word to her. Without a goodbye.

Her fingers gripped the stone railing as she forced herself to breathe, to stay steady, even as she felt herself crumbling from the inside out.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was his mate, that they were bound by something deeper, something that should have been unbreakable. And he never would. Because in his heart, in his mind, there was only Feyre now.

As she watched him smile at the mortal-turned-immortal girl, Y/n felt the devastating finality of it all settle in her bones. She wasn’t just losing him—she had lost him. Completely. And there was nothing she could do to bring him back.

The bond between them, the one she had hoped he would feel someday, was nothing but a silent scream in her chest now. Unheard, unnoticed, unacknowledged.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, not wanting to let herself break. Not here. Not now. Not when it was already too late.

She took one last look at them—at the male who had once been her solace, her anchor in the storm, and at the woman who had unknowingly taken him from her.

With a shaky breath, Y/n turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer. Each step she took felt heavier, like the weight of the entire world was pressing down on her. The corridors were eerily quiet now that Amarantha’s reign had ended, and the mountain had become a place of ghostly memories.

Rhysand would leave. He would go back to Velaris, to his Court of Dreams, to the freedom they had all been denied for so long. And he would do it without a second thought for her. Feyre had captured his attention, his heart, and Y/n was nothing but a shadow now, left behind in the wake of a love she would never know.

She found herself walking to the same small, hidden room they had once met in—the one where they had shared their darkest fears and moments of fragile comfort. But those days were gone. Everything was different now.

Sitting on the bed, Y/n let the silence engulf her. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but she welcomed it. It was better than the numbness she feared would consume her next. She had thought, somehow, that once Amarantha was gone, things might get better. That they could both move forward, together, maybe find peace in each other’s presence. But that had been foolish.

The truth was undeniable now—she was alone.

The mating bond, the one she had felt so fiercely, was not enough. Rhysand had made his choice, whether he knew it or not. Feyre was his future, his heart, his everything.

And Y/n? She would be forgotten.

The bitter taste of rejection burned in her throat as she closed her eyes, trying to will away the memories, the stolen glances, the nights spent in shared pain. Everything she had held onto was slipping away, dissolving like smoke.

For the first time in years, she let herself cry. She cried for the love she never had, for the bond that would never be fulfilled, for the pieces of her heart that would never be whole again. She cried for the girl she had been before all this, before Amarantha, before Rhysand, before the endless cycle of hope and despair had shattered her into something unrecognizable.

By the time the sun had fully risen, her tears had dried, leaving only a hollow ache in their place.

Rhysand would leave, Feyre at his side, and Y/n would remain behind, her presence a forgotten whisper in the chaos of everything else.

She rose from the bed, her movements slow, mechanical. There was nothing left for her here. The mountain, the memories, the unspoken bond—it was all gone. She had to leave, too. But not with him. Never with him.

As she walked out of the room, out of the mountain, her heart broke all over again. This was her ending—quiet, unseen, devastating.

Rhysand had left without a goodbye, but perhaps that was the greatest goodbye of all. A final, unspoken severing of whatever connection they had once shared.

Y/n wandered through the wilderness, aimlessly walking with no direction or purpose. The vast world around her felt empty—silent. She had no family to return to, no place where she belonged. Every step she took was heavy, each one pulling her deeper into the pit of despair she could no longer escape.

For years, she’d clung to the hope that she mattered to someone—that perhaps in Rhysand, she had found solace, a connection that could keep her afloat through the darkness. But now, after everything, it was clear. She had never mattered—not to him, not to anyone.

The night before, she’d watched him with Feyre, saw the way his eyes had softened, how he had stayed by her side, even after the final battle had ended. He had fought for Feyre, bled for her, mourned for her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. And Y/n… she had been invisible, a forgotten shadow in the corner, her existence as meaningless as it had always been.

She had seen him and Feyre on the balcony that dawn, the soft glow of morning casting a light around them as Rhysand whispered something only Feyre could hear. Y/n had watched as Rhysand came closer to Feyre, giving her a devastatingly charming smile that shattered her heart beyond repair.

Y/n continued walking, the cold wind biting at her skin, but she felt none of it. The ache inside her, the hollow feeling in her chest, drowned out everything else. She had no reason to go on, no reason to fight anymore. She had fought for years, survived the unthinkable, only to come out of it more broken than before.

There was nothing left for her. No purpose. No place. No one.

Her steps slowed as she reached a cliffside, the jagged rocks below barely visible in the early morning light. The sea roared beneath her, its angry waves crashing against the stones. She stood at the edge, staring into the abyss, the overwhelming emptiness pulling her in.

The bond she had thought was hers belonged to someone else now. Rhysand had chosen Feyre, had found his mate in her. Y/n was nothing more than a fleeting moment—a forgotten soul in a sea of others.

And now, she was ready to let go.

With one last breath, Y/n closed her eyes, stepping forward into the void, letting the wind carry her into the nothingness where she had always belonged.

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[ghosts-and-glory]

Is Shamura training martial arts after being taken into Lamb's cult? If they enjoyed complexity and bloodshed of war than it'd be probably dissapointing for them if they had to... drop it all

Full under the cut because this turned out really long

Upon joining the cult Shamura was a shell of their former self. They join the cult dissenting, the long term effects of the crown still clawing at the edges of their mind, but after a few days they’re mortal, just themself. Without the crown to hold them together they suffer like their injury was yesterday.

The Lamb has the doctor, Puar, perform their usual tests on them. Shamura is hardly there. They don’t know their own name, can hardly speak, can’t stand or track movement.

There was no wisdom in their slurred words. No power in the way their hands shook.

The outlook is bad.

The Lamb doesn’t really want to help them, after everything, why should they. Shamura who had The Lamb’s entire race and family killed, who killed them aswell and countless of their followers. It would cost them so much, to try and help someone who spent so long just trying to destroy them and everything they had. The time, energy, resources it would cost and they didn’t even know if they could get better.

Deciding it wasn’t worth it was one thing, but getting the other ex bishops to understand was a whole other, even the doctor disagreed with them.

Dr Puar took on being their primary caregiver. They’d been a doctor for the past hundred years and seen concussions and dementia but nothing nearly as severe as this. They wanted to help Shamura but didn’t know how.

It wasn’t until Narinder joined the cult that The Lamb saw any reason to help Shamura. But there was something wrong with him and Shamura knew something, they just had to get to it.

Kallamar was the ex bishop Puar wanted the help from the most. He was scared of the lamb and red crown but he loved Shamura more.

The Lamb took Puar and Kallamar to the ruins of the temples in Anchordeep and Silk Cradle. They spent days digging through the decimated remains of the libraries for something, anything on this type of injury.

It seemed that they where looking down possible years of intense recovery. Needed herbs and medicines that may no longer exist, techniques Puar had never heard of. But they would try.

Puar took careful and detailed notes. Timed Shamura’s responses, wrote down everything they said, tracked eating, drinking, sleeping and every symptom they displayed. Improvements where slow and sometimes nonexistent at first. They took full minutes to respond and only in single words, barley moved, couldn’t feed themselves and suffered constant migraines.

The one thing that seemed to help them the most was their siblings. They didn’t remember them most days but every time one of they came to check in it raised their spirits. One of their faces was the only thing they could focus on sometimes.

Kallamar insisted he wasn’t a doctor but still worked around the infirmary, helping Shamura was the only thing he’d do without complaining. Heket spent hours sitting in silence with them, brought them food and flowers and changed their bandages. Leshy was the only thing that could get them to smile and they where the only person he would ever lower his voice for, he told them stories even though they hardly listened.

Improvements brought new challenges. They got better at speaking full sentences and following conversations but it revealed how fractured their memory was. Forgetting names, places and important events, how often they forgot where they where, they asked the same questions over and over again.

They complained of seeing and hearing things, phantom pains with seemingly no rhyme or reason. The sun hurt their eyes, rain gave them headaches, always sleeping but always tired. They would suddenly backslide constantly. One day could walk with minimal help and the next, couldn’t even hold a pen in their hand. Have a full conversation one day and hardly spit out their name tomorrow.

Until the day Puar looked Shamura in the eye and for once they saw him. Didn’t look past them with their blank stare but looked at them. They would ask to sit outside at night in the fresh air. They seemed to know now who they are, what they where, what they lost. A tinge of grief in their words.

Improvements brought frustration. On days they remembered who they where they were overcome with a mix of anger, guilt and despair. They where a god. They had bore down on armies, killed men with a twitch of a finger, brought other gods to their knees, and now they could hardly bring a cup to their mouth.

Emotionally, their siblings said they’d never seen them like this before. Before Shamura could be frustrated but their temper was cold and quiet. Now they wore a short fuse and suffered constant mood swings. It angered them that they couldn’t read, that their hands were numb, that they couldn’t walk without a cane, couldn’t go out in the sun, couldn’t string a full sentence together, couldn’t recognize their siblings faces, couldn’t feed themselves, couldn’t sleep without drugs, everything they lacked and lost wore them down.

Regardless, they where unusually steadfast. They would always pick back up. If they got frustrated they would try again in a few days. They tried anything Puar asked of them, anything for the smallest iota of improvement.

The outlook was better.

—————

This got out of control and took me like three days between the art and write up. I got really excited when I saw this ask cause the answer is so devastating. If I was taking Narinder’s trauma seriously I’m not gonna just ignore Shamura’s traumatic brain injury.

As a side note, I’m very unsure how to write the medical stuff, my guess is that cotl is based around 1300’s-1700’s but that’s a wide net to cast. My excuse for the stronger understanding of medicine and trauma is magic.

[kjsfandoms]

Secret Santa

Eddie Munson x Reader

Description: Mrs. O'Donnell's yearly Secret Santa finally went well this year for Eddie Munson

Word Count: 870

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Each year Mrs. O’Donnell had the idea to have her class take part in secret santa. Whether you liked who you got or not, you had to participate. It was a grade. As for Eddie Munson, someone who didn’t give a single fuck about his grades and shitty classmates, always managed to skip it for the last two years. This year though, he was way too determined to graduate to care about any of that. Plus this year it was different. Y/N was in his class. 

The two had never actually spoken to each other, but they would always steal glances at one another. There was something about her that he was so drawn to. That’s why he was secretly hoping he would get to be her secret santa. He’d finally get a reason to talk to her.

But alas, luck is never on Eddie’s side. He reached into the Santa hat that had the class names inside and pulled out Tina’s name. ‘Great.’ He thought to himself. He watched as the hat got around to Y/N as she went to pull out a name. He didn’t see the name, but he most definitely did see how she didn’t look his way. ‘There goes my chances.’

—

The day of secret santa Eddie walks into class holding a little gift bag with some candy. No way was he actually going to try getting a genuine gift for these assholes. He sat in his seat as the class started to pile in. 

“Alright class, now that everyone is here you may all hand out your gifts.” Mrs. O’Donnell says, wearing that stupid cursed santa hat.

The whole class starts moving around and Eddie makes his way over to Tina’s desk. He places the bag down without a word, knowing she wouldn’t want to speak to him anyway. Eddie makes his way back to his seat and slouches down into it. He knew nobody would actually care to give the freak a gift, so he reaches into his bag to pull out his notebook full of campaign ideas, deciding to work on that instead. 

From the corner of his eyes he can see the chair beside him being pulled out. To his surprise, it’s Y/N. 

“No way you actually got Tina a gift.” She smirks and sits down.

“Nah, just some candy. Didn't even try.” Eddie says calmly, even though he is internally screaming right now.

Y/N lets out a small laugh in response and then reaches down to her backpack. “Well, in case you were wondering why I’m here, I am in fact your secret santa.” she says as she pulls out a little gift box and then an even smaller gift box sitting on top.

Eddie is in so much shock he doesn’t even respond and lets her place the gifts on his desk. She doesn’t seem bothered by his silence and instead smiles and says, “I didn’t really have the money for an actual gift, so I made you some stuff instead.”

He reaches forward and grabs the smaller box first. He opens up the top to reveal a bracelet made out of guitar strings with some added charms of a skull and spider. “No way. This is so cool!” Eddie says through excitement, nearly jumping out his seat. Some students looked over at his mini outburst, but he couldn’t give a single shit right now. “I thought you might like that.” Y/N says with a grin, happy to see him enjoying his first gift.

“How’d you know I play guitar?”

“Well, it wasn’t hard to guess," she says as she looks him up and down, "but I did see you at the music store in the mall a few weeks ago buying some new guitar picks. That’s what gave me the idea for your next gift.”

Eddie had almost forgotten that there was another gift box sitting in front of him. He slips the bracelet onto his wrist and then reaches to open the other gift box. This time, he was truly at a loss for words. He reached into the box and picked up a little mini bouquet made out of wires for stems and guitar picks as the petals.

“Do you like it?” 

Eddie looks up almost in disbelief, “Do I like it? What kind of question is that? Y/N, this is insane!” He twirls the three flowers in his fingers to inspect them even more. Dark red and blue picks held together by hot glue, and even had some green picks as leaves. 

He looks back up at Y/N, trying to contain his smile, and says, “I have to get you something now. These are way too good for me to not get you anything in return.”

“Eddie, it's fine. It’s a part of the game, you don’t need to get me anything.” Y/N replies, also trying to contain a smile.

“No, that’s so unfair! C’mon, just one gift. I’ll even let you pick. It can be anything, well, almost anything. I’m on a tight budget here, but you get my point.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“How about a date?”

Up until this moment Eddie had never given a damn about Mrs. O'Donnells, but holy shit was he sure thankful for her right now.

"A date it is."

[incognit0slut]

MASTER OF PERSUASION

Part 4 of kinktober | main masterlist

meandom!Spencer/Hotch x fem!reader; Threesome, creampie, dumbification, degradation, brat taming, abuse of power, edging, dubcon

Your involvement in a heinous crime was questioned by the two FBI agents who were eager to do anything to get you to talk.

Words: 6802

a/n: This one is dedicated to my nasty, touch-starved btches who secretly wants to be manhandled by two older men. Enjoy this pure filth🫶

YOU WERE FAR FROM BEING A GOOD PERSON. From the surface, you seemed like a normal, typical woman, just one of the countless faces within the crowd. But when the doors shut behind you, you find yourself involved in endeavors you should never have pursued in the first place.

You knew too much. You were acutely aware of how many crimes happening in your vicinity. The number of deaths resulting from these heinous acts should be enough to terrify you, but it didn't, because unbeknownst to your peers, you were one of the reasons why they happened.

Although you never played the role of the perpetrator, you were the person these criminals came to for information. You were good with technology, you could hack into any secure system in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if you were a deity of the dark web, a mastermind whose mere presence served as a godsend to those carrying out these crimes.

It was easy money; you gave what they wanted, received what they paid you, and most importantly, you made sure to never look back. You always wiped everything out after each job was done, but somehow, after working on so many deals, your luck finally struck out.

Somebody hacked into your system—no, somebody good hacked into your system. This person knew what they were doing. They managed to hack through your firewall and retrieve a few of your data while also discovering your identity.

You honestly wanted to praise whoever was on the other side because you had never encountered someone who could match, if not surpass, your own skill. But it wasn't until you heard the loud banging on your front door, followed by people in uniformed vests rushing in and pointing their guns at you, that you finally realized who had breached your system.

It was the FBI.

So that was how you found yourself sitting inside an interrogation room hours later with two agents across from you. A very tall, intimidating man stood at the corner, his arms crossed as he watched you silently. Dr. Spencer Reid was how he introduced himself, and the way he emphasized the title in front of his name, you were certain he was the type of person who took extreme pride in his intelligence.

He seemed a little too cocky.

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, on the other hand, was hard to decipher. The older man appeared somewhat guarded as if his job had forced him to put on a facade devoid of genuine emotions. Maybe it did. He was, after all, a federal agent. Both of them were. These men were probably taught to master the art of maintaining an inscrutable poker face.

Nevertheless, they were both intimidating, and you wondered to yourself, was good cop bad cop not a thing anymore? Because as far as this was going, none of them seemed inclined to make things easy for you.

The man in front of you cleared his throat, his voice was a well-practiced blend of authority and curiosity. "You've been quite elusive, haven't you, Miss Y/L/N?"

You leaned back, studying him through half-lidded eyes, your fingers tracing the edges of the table with a cool, almost casual detachment. "Elusiveness is a matter of perspective, Agent Hotchner. I prefer to think of it as adaptability."

"Adaptability?" He leaned in closer, his sharp gaze never wavering. "You've made quite a name for yourself. You've infiltrated government agencies, stolen classified data, and even orchestrated financial heists... Impressive, I must say."

A faint smile danced upon your lips, revealing just a glimmer of amusement. "I simply explore the hidden avenues of the World Wide Web. It's not about the thrill; it's about the knowledge."

His eyes narrowed. "But your actions have consequences. You've caused quite a chaos, don't you think?"

"Consequences are a part of every action, whether in the digital realm or the physical world. As for chaos..." You met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Well, sometimes chaos is necessary for evolution."

He leaned back, his expression unyielding. "Evolution or anarchy?"

"As I said, everything is a matter of perspective, even anarchy," you replied, your voice smooth as silk. "In the grand scheme of things, I'm just a catalyst. Society's flaws were there long before I came along."

The man in the corner took a step forward. His eyes bore into you with resolve as if he had grown weary of the ongoing debate. "You've had your say," he interjected with a steely tone. "You know why you're here. Our victim's files were found on your computer, we need to know who requested them."

You met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, unfazed by his direct approach. "Doctor Reid," you said, your voice laced with a hint of mock surprise. "Always chasing ghosts in the machine, aren't you?"

His expression remained composed, his intellect undeniably sharp. "We're not here to discuss my pursuits. We're here to talk about the life you've disrupted."

"Disrupted? I'd say I've merely revealed the cracks in the system. Your victim, as you call them, was a casualty of a much larger game."

"Games have rules, Miss Y/L/N. You seem to operate outside of them."

"Rules are made to be broken, Spencer," you retorted, your tone cutting like a blade through the air. "I can call you that, right? I hate having to speak with such formalities."

"It's Doctor Reid," he corrected. "Tell us who you're working for."

His unwavering determination was met with a subtle, knowing smile from you. You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with a hint of intrigue.

"I don't know, Spencer," you began, your tone slightly softer, as if you were letting him in on a secret, "The digital world is a labyrinth of information. Files come and go, they disappear and reappear... It's like trying to catch a shadow in the dark. It's useless."

He addressed you with a cold stare. "You're playing a dangerous game here."

You raised an eyebrow, your voice honeyed with allure. "Oh, I'm well aware of the game we're playing. But don't mistake my refusal to cooperate for arrogance. It's just that some secrets are meant to stay hidden."

The room seemed to contract, the air thick with unresolved tension. Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes fell back on him. "Miss Y/L/N, give us a name and we can make things easier for you. But if you don't cooperate..." His eyes traveled down along your body, the goosebumps rose on your skin in response to the heat of his gaze. "I'm afraid we have to resort to extreme measures."

A brief pause hung in the room. There was something in the way he was staring at you. He was looking at you with a profound determination that seemed very different from the way he assessed you before. Under the weight of his scrutiny, you felt your body growing hot. Your breath hitched, and a flush of warmth crept up your neck and tingled in your cheeks.

You regarded him for a moment before you finally spoke, your voice calm but tinged with a hint of defiance.

"If you think you can break me, Aaron, you're gravely mistaken. But if you're interested in the name..." you leaned back, crossing your arms. "I guess you'll have to earn it."

The tension in the room escalated as your words hung in the air. His jaw clenched, and when you thought you had won the upper hand over this battle of wits, he surprised you by waving his hand in the air, and Spencer came forward.

It was as if they had planned this. The way Aaron instructed his partner to move seemed rehearsed and calculated. Spencer walked over to you and before you could register what was happening, he grabbed onto your arm and wrenched you out of your chair with a force you didn't know he possessed.

Your voice carried a mix of anger and frustration as you protested, "What the hell are you doing?"

You suddenly felt him run his hands along your arms. "Checking for weapons."

The scoff you gave him was loud. "Oh, now you're treating me like a criminal?"

"It's a mere precaution."

And then you felt it, the way his touch lingered on your body. It was far from any normal search. His hands felt warm on your skin, even over the material of your shirt, as he continued to pat down your arms. There was a certain roughness in his movements as he slid his arms around your backside and you couldn't mistake the way he gripped your ass more than he should probably have.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath. "You won't find anything."

"I'll be the judge of that." He slightly shoved your shoulders. "Put your hands on the table."

You reluctantly did as you were told, silently gritting your teeth. His hands moved with purpose, and as much as you wanted to stop this questionable act, your body was reacting in a way that had you questioning yourself instead.

Why was your heart beating so fast as he stood behind you? Why was it getting so hard to breathe when his hands slipped around your waist? And why did it seem you were anticipating more when his palms slightly hovered over your breasts?

"Is this really necessary?" You asked quietly, trying to act as if his rough hands on you weren't affecting you. "This feels more like an attempt for intimidation."

You could practically hear the smugness in his voice as he asked, "Are you intimidated, Miss Y/L/N?"

You liked to think that you weren't, but honestly, you didn't know anymore. You had tried your best to put on a mask to avoid appearing weak, but as he started to squeeze your breasts in the palm of his hands, it finally dawned on you what was happening—You were finally caught, there was a high chance of you ending up in jail, and now a federal agent was touching you inappropriately, groping you in a crude form of patting you down.

And to your dismay, you actually liked it.

But you had too much of a pride, that was why you found yourself lying through your teeth. "No."

Spencer hummed a reply as if he didn't believe you. He squeezed your breasts through your shirt again, palming at them as he slightly felt your nipples stiffen through the material, and he couldn't resist rolling them as his touch continued lower. Your breath hitched as he mapped out your curves, one of his hands delving between your thighs before he stopped right at the center of your heat.

You let out a gasp.

"I-Is this even legal?"

Your mind went blurry as you felt his fingers touching you through the thin fabric of your pants. "Are you questioning how the law enforcement works?"

You couldn't answer him. Not because you didn't want to, but because you weren't able to form any coherent words as he continued to palm your sex, his fingers continuing to rub you. You were suddenly so focused on the way he was touching you, your head hanging low as you felt the sensation throughout your body, that you didn't even hear Aaron calling out your name.

It wasn't until Spencer retrieved his hand from between your thighs, and yanked your hair from behind, that you were forced to meet Aaron's gaze. "He called you," Spencer mocked, tightening his grip.

Aaron leaned forward, assessing the way you were arching your back with both of your hands planted on the table. "You have two options. One, we can play nicely, you give us a name and we'll go easy on you." His voice dropped lower as he continued, "Or two, you keep with this attitude and we might have to coax the answer out of you."

You locked eyes with him, a silent challenge burning in your gaze. Despite being in this vulnerable position, there was an undeniable strength in your stare, a refusal to surrender to their intimidation. Aaron met your gaze with a profound understanding.

"The hard way it is then." You saw him lean back in his chair as he crossed his arms, the subtle movement actuating his broad chest. "You know what to do, Reid."

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way Spencer handled you after those words. He shoved you, knocking the air out of your lungs as you gasped, your body pressed against the cool surface of the table. Somehow between your struggles, he managed to slide his hands around your waist, unbuttoning your pants before pushing them down your legs.

The air hit your bare skin, and even when you felt the cool breeze, your body was seething with fire, burning through your veins. The warmth spread along your cheeks as you realized you were wearing your skimpiest underwear, a flimsy material of dark lace that barely covered your sex. He gripped your ass with the palm of his hands, fingertips digging into the plush skin as he spread you apart.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" You felt him shift behind you and you imagined him kneeling right in front of your heat. The moment his knuckles brushed along your wet patch, your hips bucked involuntarily. "She's wet, Hotch, I think she's getting a little too excited."

"I'm not surprised," the older man said. "She does seem like a slut."

Your head snapped at him. "I am not a slut."

"Oh, you are a slut." He leaned forward and reached out his hand, holding your chin in a vice grip, forcing you to look at him. "And we'll prove you how much of a whore you actually are."

Right on queue, a surprised gasp left your lips when Spencer's large palm burned your skin, giving your ass a harsh slap. The sound echoed in the room and he repeated the motion, watching in satisfaction the way your ass rippled for him. You fell into a false sense of security as he began to soothe his hand against your burning skin before pulling back to give another loud smack, and your mouth fell apart in pleasure.

"Not a fucking slut?" Aaron taunted, his thumb brushing on your lower lip. "That's the most farfetched lie you told us ever since you walked through that door."

You glared at him, but your defiance slowly shattered when you felt Spencer pulling down your panties over the curve of your ass, slipping them down your legs. The evidence of your arousal stuck onto the fabric and you felt your cheeks going warm in embarrassment. Spencer sucked in a gasp as he took in the sight of your lower half completely naked for him.

"Barely even touched you and you're soaking wet," he murmured, letting his thumb brush over your pussy, gauging your reaction. Your nose scrunched as you tried to bite back a moan that threatened to slip out. He started with gentle strokes, keeping his fingers only on the outer side, yet you could still feel his touch everywhere.

Each downstroke he made gave a light pull against your clit without giving any direct contact, and each time his fingers came back up, he slowly spread your folds open for him, briefly allowing your slickness to come in contact with the cold breeze of air.

Your mind became hazy, and just when you thought your body couldn't react more to his touch, he slipped a finger between your folds, feeling your slick against the dainty flesh. The motion caused your hips to buck erratically and your hands immediately reached up to grip onto the edge of the table.

He slipped deep inside you as your arousal coated him, circling your tight entrance as he felt the way your walls fluttered around the tip of his finger. He let out a low grunt as he felt how tight you were around him, curling at the knuckle while he began to drag his calloused pad against the soft spot inside you, making your body shake just from the mere contact.

The subtle reaction didn't go unnoticed by Aaron and he watched as your eyes glazed over. He couldn't stop himself from smirking, his features revealing a hint of amusement.

"You're enjoying this too much. I'm starting to think you're keeping your silence for the sake of this." You moved your head away from his grasp, only for him to grip your jaw harder. "Don't fucking move. Keep your eyes on me while he fucks your tight little pussy."

You never thought you'd be hearing such crude words from him, not with his stoic demeanor and polished facade, nor did you expect your body to react the way it did when those words filled your ears. You couldn't help it, your body betrayed your mind as your cunt continued to throb between your thighs. You could feel the desire building inside you, threatening to burst as you felt your body shake, and Spencer was well aware of this as he felt your walls clenching around his finger.

The laugh coming through his lips rang in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. "She liked that."

Aaron raised his eyebrows at you. "You like it when I talk like this?" He taunted. "You like it when I tell you how much of a slut you are taking his fingers so deep inside you?"

Your eyelids dropped lower at his words, and right at that moment, a lewd squelch filled the room as Spencer slowly slipped another finger into your dripping cunt, stretching you out as he began to thrust them inside you at a steady pace. Your body quivered as your breath quickened, and you found yourself grinding against his touch, desperately trying to get him to press the same spot inside you.

"Look at you fucking yourself on my fingers," Spencer cooed, his free hand smacking your bare ass again, and you found yourself arching your back. "You really are filthy."

Aaron laughed. "Acting like you didn't want it a second ago." He gripped your jaw tighter, forcing a gasp out of you at the subtle pain. He took advantage of your opened mouth by slipping his thumb inside. "Suck on my finger, Sweetheart."

You didn't know which one surprised you the most, his sudden term of endearment, or the order he gave you. You hesitated, because the moment you willingly sucked on his finger, you knew you would lose. The moment you followed through to his demand, he would have the upper hand and you would simply be the pawn in this game.

Aaron, as you realized, wasn't a patient man. His other hand reached for your hair and then, with a sharp and sudden yank, he tore at your hair. "Don't make me use more force than I already am."

Your roots tingled, your scalp throbbing, and a few tears welled up in your eyes. You blinked them away, not wanting to show any sign of weakness, and leveled your gaze at him.

He pulled your hair again. "Suck."

The pain was so much for you that you found yourself wavering. You swirled your tongue around his thumb before closing your lips and sucking with an approving hum. A husky moan was pulled from deep within him, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth on him, and, especially, the sight of you. "That's it," he praised you. "Suck on it as if you're sucking my cock."

Your walls clenched again. A sound of pleasure erupted from Spencer as he felt your cunt sucking in his fingers, and without warning, he pumped them into you with so much force you couldn't stop yourself from moaning this time. He laughed, as did Aaron, and your body shook as you felt that familiar sensation tightening along your body.

The room around you seemed to blur and melt away at the pleasure coursing in your veins. It started in the pit of your stomach, a warm, liquid sensation that spread like a slow-burning fire, radiating outwards in waves. Your hushed moan was muffled by Aaron's thumb in your mouth, but the sound of your pathetic whining didn't go unnoticed by both men.

You were so fucking close you could feel every nerve in your body on high alert. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and your body quivered with the intensity of the sensation. Your eyes fell shut as the lewd sound of your arousal filled the room, and just when you were about to let go, Spencer suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, wrenching away that peak of pleasure you were desperately chasing.

Your eyes shot open, dilated pupils now wide with shock and confusion. Aaron met your gaze with amusement, a sadistic smile dancing on his lips as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop. "Stupid girl, thinking we'd actually let you cum."

The abrupt contrast between the heights of your pleasure and the stark void that followed was jarring. But before you could comprehend your disappointment, you heard a shuffle behind you followed by footsteps circling you. Spencer finally came back into your line of vision and with no one standing behind you, you tried to push yourself from the table, only to be shoved back down by Aaron.

"Fucking stay where you are," he commanded, his sharp voice piercing right through you. Your eyes were fixed on him, gaze unwavering as he slowly rose from his seat. And then suddenly he was the one behind you, and now Spencer stood right in front of you, looking down at you with amusement.

"You know," he started, his fingers trailing the side of your face. You moved your head away from his touch, but unlike Aaron, he didn't force you to look at him. He merely chuckled as he continued, "You wouldn't be in this position if you had given us the name."

Hearing this, you finally glanced up at him. The self-confidence he carried was starting to annoy you and you couldn't stop yourself from spitting venom, especially when he had ripped away the pleasure thrumming in your body. "I told you to fucking earn it."

The remaining air was knocked from your lungs when the palm of his hand collided with your cheek, your head jolting to the right from the force of the impact. Bright white stars danced behind your closed eyelids, and for a second you thought that you were dizzy from the shock. But then you felt it, the pressure that had been building in your core giving way, a wave of pleasure washing over you.

"Dirty girl," he taunted. "Here I was trying to shut you up and you actually liked that? You like being slapped around?"

You remained quiet, looking away from him.

"And don't worry, you will tell us by the end of this." You faintly hear the sound of metal ringing in your ears. Your eyes fell back on him and your heart sank when his hands moved down to his belt, unbuckling it as he let it hang around his hips.

His fingers moved to unbutton his pants before tugging down the fly. The sight of his hard cock tenting beneath his briefs had your cunt clenching in anticipation, as much as you hated to admit it. Then his thumbs dipped into the hem of his boxers, tugging the fabric down, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He was bigger than you'd expected. He was thick and solid, veins danced along his length and the droplet of wetness on his tip was too mesmerizing you couldn't look away.

He wrapped a fist around his length, hissing in relief as he made his way towards you. "Now let's put that filthy mouth of yours to good use." He pressed the head of his cock against your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you as he leaned forward. "Open."

The musky scent of him overwhelmed you as you breathed in and you involuntarily opened your mouth wide to accommodate his girth. The flat of your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as he gave soft, shallow thrusts inside your warm mouth. His fingers held onto your face as he watched his length disappear inside you.

"God, look at you—" Spencer rasped, his voice sounding strained. "Good fucking girl."

Each roll of his hips has more of his thick cock slipping inside your mouth. His palm moved to the back of your head, holding you steady as he forced his length further down your throat, watching as your cheeks darkened and your eyes watered. Your hands moved up to push at his thighs as you struggled against his grip, the desire to breathe overwhelming as you tried to push him away.

You suddenly felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and you began to cough and splutter around him, your throat constricting as the sensation flowed directly through his cock. The sensation made him groan out in pleasure as he finally eased his grip on your head and leaned back, allowing you to breathe as you continued to splutter, drool dripping down your chin as you gulped for much-needed air.

Your head felt delirious. You were too focused on catching your breath when you unexpectedly felt something thick pushing into your cunt in one swift motion, knocking you over as you let out a scream.

"Hotch," Spencer laughed, tightening his grip on your hair while he positioned his cock back onto your lips again. "You shocked her."

Aaron merely grunted a reply as he held onto your hips and started to thrust his cock into you. His thickness sent a ripple of pain between your legs. He was definitely bigger than anyone you'd been with before, your breath coming out in soft, shallow pants as he drove more of himself inside your tightness. Your teeth bit down on your lower lip as a dull ache filled your body, trying to ignore the pain as he continued to stretch your tight heat.

There were no words after that, the room was hazy with desire as the heat built within the small space. The two men focused their attention on your body as you took them at the same time. It was filthy, depraved, and something you'd never done before. You never thought you would be in this position, nor did you think you'd actually enjoy being used like this.

Because you did, you really fucking did. Your entire body felt hot, a scorching fire flowing through your veins as you embraced the sensation, an indescribable pleasure taking over as Aaron's cock curved towards that delicious spot inside you with precision.

Your body was pressed against the table, sweaty and exhausted. It was torture, the way he was slamming his cock inside of you at the pace that left you breathless, it hurt and burned with pleasure at the same time. Each thrust had you hanging on the edge of release, unable to think straight as your mouth continued to mindlessly babble around Spencer's cock.

Every so often he'd hold the back of your head securely so you couldn't move away as he continued to bury himself in your throat. A pleased sound escaped his lips as you started to choke around his girth. It felt like you were starting to drown yourself as he shoved into you ruthlessly. Your lungs cried out for air as you began to feel woozy from the lack of oxygen, desperately trying to breathe through your nose.

"Fuck," he hissed, finally easing his hips back to give you relief. You spluttered as you gasped for air, a mixture of his arousal and your spit dribbled down your chin. "So fucking messy."

You tried to calm your breathing, but it didn't take long for your brain to turn into mush again because Aaron snapped his hips, pulling a moan from your lips as he started a harsh pace. Fingertips dug into your hips as he buried more of himself inside your tightness, your inner walls pulsing around him.

His thrusts were hard and you were certain you'd have marks on your skin from the way he was rutting against you, a dull ache panging inside your lower half. Your mouth fell open in a constant moan as you tried to hold your body up against the table. A throb coursed through you as you tried to hold onto the edge, your breath coming out in harsh pants. You were so desperate for your release, your body so close to coming undone.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, are you going to cum?"

You mumbled out a garbled reply as he continued thrusting into you relentlessly, your fingertips digging into the table as you felt his cock dragging against your inner walls. Aaron grunted at the sensation of you clenching around him. His eyes drifted down to where your bodies were connected and watched the way his cock slid in and out of your tight cunt.

He was on the edge of his release, you could tell by the way he thrust into you desperately. You prepared yourself for your own pleasure, your hips moving involuntarily, meeting his erratic movement, as you seek more friction from him. You whimpered, feeling his fingertips dig into your skin almost painfully and you felt the familiar sensation traveling along your body. Fuck. Fuck yes. You were finally going to—

A drawn-out whine left your lips when he pulled his cock out from your tight heat. The sudden emptiness had your body shaking violently. It wasn't until you felt a streak of wetness spluttering on your back that you realized he had reached his own high without letting you reach your own.

"Shit," he gasped, slapping your ass as he watched his own liquid seeping down the curve of your back. "That was incredible."

You groaned. Fucking selfish man.

"What was that?"

It then dawned on you that you actually mumbled those words out loud. You shook your head and he groaned at your lack of words. "That didn't sound like nothing."

And suddenly, as if you weighed nothing, he grabbed onto your body and turned you over, pushing you onto your back. You were too weak to even fight him as he shoved your pants off your feet before spreading your legs apart. You watched as he leaned down and a long string of clear liquid fell from his lips toward your cunt, letting it trickle down between your folds.

"Knew you were a slut," he hissed, before straightening himself and tucking his cock back in his pants. Your eyes drifted toward him. He was big, just as big as you felt him inside you. But it wasn't his sheer size that surprised you, it was Spencer standing by your feet that had your heart peaking up its pace. Aaron smirked as he stepped back and Spencer quickly took his place between your legs.

"Look at you still holding back," Aaron taunted, genuine curiosity lacing in his voice as he paced around the room. "You're worn out. You're filthy. Aren't you tired of playing this game?"

You looked over at him tiredly. Amidst the pulsing waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, you fought to maintain your focus. "Y- You haven't done anything m-much to earn—"

His laughter sent a chill through the room. "Oh, Sweetheart, you think you're winning, but you're not." He then locked his gaze on you. "Trust me, we already have you in the palm of our hands."

You tried retorting back but the once-sharp edges of your concentration began to blur when you felt Spencer's throbbing cock right between your pussy. Each pulse of pleasure sent tremors through your resolve as he eased his hips back to drag the thick, swollen head through your outer lips. His eyes focused on the way you spread for him as though inviting him inside.

"You're already fucked out," Spencer murmured, dragging the tip of his cock through your wetness, feeling it catch against your tight entrance. "Yet look at you swallowing me."

He let the underside of his cock split your folds open, resting it between them snugly as he let out a low groan at the heat radiating from your core. The sinful noise that left your lips had his cock throbbing painfully, the thick veins protruding from his length. He angled your body against him, pushing more of his thick girth inside your trembling body, feeling the way you squeezed around him as he stretched you out.

Spencer pressed his fingers into the curve of your hips as his gaze flickered between your face and his cock splitting you apart. You gasped, your breaths growing more erratic as he managed to push all of his length inside you. He ran his hand over your abdomen as he tried to feel his cock inside you, pressing against your pelvis as he pulsed at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, "Taking me so well."

And then he slowly dragged his cock away from you, keeping just the tip in your entrance before plunging back inside in a harsh, jarring movement, jolting you in surprise. You arched your back and tipped your head back in pleasure, just to find Aaron towering above you, looking down at you with an eerie smile.

His fingers trailed down your shoulder blades before they hovered at the buttons on your shirt, slowly unbuttoning them. "I think it's time that you give us a name."

Your body writhed in response to the waves of sensation as you tried to ground yourself. But it was hard to keep thinking straight when he grabbed onto the underlayer of your bra and lifted it over your chest. The way your perky breasts spilled out from beneath the fabric made both men hum in satisfaction.

Calloused palms grabbed onto your breasts and your eyes rolled at the back of your head at the sensation. His thumb brushed against your soft nipple, watching as it began to rise to a stiff peak as he mimicked the action on your other breast, all the while as Spencer began thrusting into your cunt at a painfully slow pace.

"Come on, Sweetheart, don't you want to cum on his cock?"

"Fuck," Spencer grunted, feeling you clench around him. "Keep talking to her."

Aaron chuckled as he continued playing with your breasts. "It's torture, isn't it?" He closed his index finger and thumb around your nipples, pinching ever so gently. You let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes as arousal flushed through you. "Give us a name and we'll give you what you want."

And then you felt Spencer rocking his hips at a steady rhythm, burying himself deeper and deeper before he slowly began increasing his speed. Your body jerked wildly each time he pushed deep into you. Noticing this, his thumb moved to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. It felt too good, so good that you could no longer hold back from moaning out loud.

Your cries of pleasure snapped him into action and his hands moved down to your ass, holding you up to him as he started pounding harder into you. Your head fell back, chest heaving up and down, and that was when you felt Aaron closing his lips around one of your nipples. You writhed, your body thrashing underneath both men. Your senses reeling, the warmth of multiple hands on your skin sent jolts of electricity down your spine, igniting a wildfire of pleasure within you.

Aaron pulled away from you and your eyes flickered open at the loss, only to be met with Spencer hovering above you. Your eyes swept over him, and you looked down where you were joined, watching how his hips moved in constant thrusts. He was enjoying this, you could tell by the way his fingers burned your skin and the occasional grunt escaping his lips.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up at his face, glistening with a sheen of sweat while his messy hair tousling over it. The moment your gazes met each other, something inside you snapped. The muscles in your core began to coil, tightening and constricting around him right as your climax slowly pushed through the fog inside your head. Spencer felt it too, and he suddenly slowed his pace, throwing you a cunning smile.

You felt your resistance starting to crumble. The intensity of your pleasure grew almost unbearable, and you could no longer deny it. Your eyes welled with tears at the overwhelming sensation, and the thought of having your orgasm ripped again from you seemed like another torture you didn't want to endure.

You were going to regret this. You definitely would. But you couldn't dwell on the consequences of your actions when desperation coursed through you like a fever, an all-consuming hunger that you couldn't deny. Your body ached for release and craved it with an intensity that was maddening. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and then your eyes, wide and filled with desperation, pleaded with him silently as you found yourself finally giving in, muttering a name you had tried to keep to yourself. A name involved in the crime these men had been pestering you for. A name that had Aaron smirking devilishly as he leaned over to you, brushing his knuckles on your cheek in a caress that was so foreign.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his voice lacing with satisfaction at the way you finally crumbled. He was right, you were already in the palms of their hands, it was simply a matter of time until you caved in. "Good fucking girl."

Once you surrendered, you couldn't stop the whine falling through your lips. Your desperate moan rang deeply in the room, snapping something primal inside Spencer, and he trusted his hips into you roughly. A gasp escaped your lips, legs falling open wider as he split you wider than you already were.

Your mind went absolutely numb with pleasure as he kept rutting up inside you, your body becoming nothing more than a mess, overtaken by a wave of sweat and erotic bliss. You felt yourself trembling, your breathing becoming more ragged as his thrusts became sloppier.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, noticing the way your mouth fell open as pleasure engulfed you. "That's it, baby, let me fuck you dumb."

You cried out, babbling incoherent sentences as he thrust harder, grabbing your hips and tilting into you slightly, making him go even deeper as he moved with you.

"Go on, cum on my cock," he growled breathlessly through his rapid pounding. "Let me feel you."

“Fuck—” You cried out for him, your overstimulated body shaking beneath him. Wave after wave of pleasure came rushing through your body, erupting in the most intense way. He watched the way you convulsed beneath him in your release, watching the way a white, sticky liquid circled his cock every time his skin brushed your inner walls. His thumb was unrelenting against your clit and you tried to angle your body away from his touch, the pleasure too intense as your lower half throbbed around him.

You continued to clench around him between your bliss, your legs trembling from the position as he arched his back, focusing the power of his thrusts straight into your tightness. A shiver burst through you at the sensation. And with one final thrust, his whole body tensed. He pushed forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, spreading his warmth in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips.

You were breathing hard, trying to regain your composure, and a moan left your lips when he finally pulled out. Cringing at the fluid slowly leaking out of you, you tried to close your legs only to be stopped as he gripped the back of your thighs, spreading your legs apart to expose your body. You were so wonderfully disheveled, your cunt clenching around nothing, gleaming with your arousal and his own release.

“Look at the mess you made." Piercing eyes watched you as white liquid trickled down your ass. A feeble mewl left your lips as his thick fingers moved down to catch it, deliberately pressing against your folds as you wriggled in his grasp. A laugh left his lips as he dragged the string of wetness along your sex, pushing it back inside you.

"I think I ruined her."

Aaron's laughter filled the room, and just as you were about to push yourself off the table, you felt him grasping both of your hands, pushing them above your head. Your eyes widened in shock. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Then you felt it, the cool metal wrapped around your wrist, sinking into the flesh of your skin as you tried to move from his grip. An unexpected panic surged within you. "Sweetheart, we know you're involved in more than one crime." The soft click of the metal lock was loud in your ears. "You need to give us more names."

Your body, still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, now felt more exposed than ever. You looked up to find both men staring down at you, and at very moment, you realized, as you felt the handcuffs digging into your wrist, that you were going to be here for a very long time.

[astraeus-tree]

Disparities Between Our Souls

PROLOGUE - Someone I Have Loved, But Never Known

Retelling of this

Prologue -> Chapter 1

Lonely.

That’s what it was like in this manor.

It wasn’t forsaken, quite the contrary actually. It was full of life, many resided in this plot and many more visited, but those figures were strangers to you. Strangers whom you knew the name and face of, strangers whose secret lives were known to you, but strangers nonetheless.

Much to your misfortune, your father was one of these said strangers. Your only proper conversation with him was when you first moved to the mansion and were introduced to your father.

From the first moment you met him, you knew your relationship would be strained. After all, he didn’t even bother to pick you up with the butler when you were revealed to be his daughter. His public persona of a playboy certainly didn’t help this opinion of yours towards him.

Alas, your instincts were right. You barely saw him in the manor—in fact, you saw Alfred more than him.

What you didn’t realise at the time though was that your siblings would also leave you in the dark. That you would be a lonely person despite not being an only child. Excuses piled upon excuses whenever you tried to talk to them.

Dick was “busy with Bludhaven, he’s sorry he can’t come.” You envied him, he had good relations with almost everyone in the family and everyone connected to the Waynes or Batman.

Jason… Oh dear. He was your baby brother that went through too much, too young. He was your sole companion in the manor before he died, but now, your relationship was just as strained as it was with the other members of your family.

Tim’s time was taken up with solving cases or taking naps in the most random spots. You knew more than most that it was better to leave him alone to his own devices.

Damian had hated your very existence. Initially you tried but eventually you gave up, like what you did with the others, when you could see that harboured nothing other than hatred for you.

The only exception to this conundrum of yours was Cassandra. You two were finally forming a friendship after the barrier between you two finally crumbled. You weren’t close just yet, but it was getting there. Hell, you’re even proud to call her your sister.

Your upbringing was vastly different to your current life. You grew up with your aunt, your sweet lovable aunt. You dearly missed the simpler times when it was just you and your aunt, not with this ‘family’ of yours.

If you could, you would still be living with her, but the circumstances were not in your favour. Instead, you spent your days alone in a manor as big as the hole in your soul created by the loneliness you’ve been living with for the past few years. In fact, that’s what you were doing right now. Eating your dinner separate from your family in order to not felt left out, ironically enough.

You didn’t hate them, no. In fact, you held admiration for them for protecting Gotham and other cities, but when your auntie sent you to live with the Waynes in hopes to live a better and more social life, disappointment was inevitable.

Another day passes by in Gotham, nothing of note worthy happened during the day, and nothing that differed from the usual happened at night. Batman and Robin were on patrol, and the rest were doing their own patrol or dealing with other things, which you assumed were criminal-related as well.

You slept in the quiet of your room. The only thing seemingly out of place was the barely audible sound of small legs scattering on the floors. An anomaly in the usually clean and arachnid-free Wayne Manor. Not as if you would hear it though, after all, why would you be awake in the dead of night?

The pain that was induced to your arm was definitely a reason why. Your eyes snap open and although your mind was still half-asleep, you could tell that this pain was like no other. To make matters worse, lifting any part of your body felt impossible, like your flesh was suddenly replaced with lead.

Your vision becomes blurry, tears welling in your eyes as you suddenly felt the room get hotter and hotter. Or was that your body getting warmer? You couldn’t tell with everything happening almost all at once. Your breaths shorten and become shallow from not only the sudden fever, but also the overwhelming sensations.

In the corner of your eye, you think you see a colourful circle, oddly resembling a portal that people would see in movies, but you were pretty sure your mind was deceiving you. You definitely didn’t care right now, all you wanted was to get rid of all this pain and go back to sleep. You wanted to call out to Alfred, but he was most likely in the Batcave and something in your gut told you your voice wouldn’t reach him even if he wasn’t.

Your vision faded in and out, everything was swirling, even when you closed your eyes. You could feel the sensation of being pulled, but you had no chance nor energy to fight against it.

All too fast, yet simultaneously all too slow, your mind faded to black, the pain too much to deal with.

Taglist

@kik1010 @cxcilla @00hellohello00 @bluepanda08 @frankie-moon3 @guyfuitty @lumi320 @type-ink @kye-chen-r @sugasweettea @sillyheartmoonnyx

Finally done this oml. Sorry this is so short, I wanted to add more of the original idea, like introducing Miguel, but it didn't feel like it fit as a prologue so I cut it and moved it into the first chapter, which I will try to make longer

This isn't edited, so there will most likely be mistakes, feel free to point those out and I will fix them as soon as possible. I also don't speak Spanish, only English and Tagalog so if those two words were kinda cringe for all you Spanish speakers, just tell me and I'll remove them lmao

I was writing this through a writer's block and a splitting headache so I apologise if the writing is a bit sub-par

I'd also like to mention that this story will be a bit slower paced, so do with that what you will

Thank you all for the support in the OG post as well, that honestly made my week

Have a great day/night everybody <3

[celestiamour]

Hej, czy mógłbyś stworzyć grę fem-reader x thanos (gra squid), w której oboje mają ten sam klimat i są najlepszymi przyjaciółmi z dzieciństwa, ale thanos zakochuje się w niej i w końcu mówi jej o tym w pierwszej grze??? (Jeśli uważasz, że to głupie, pomiń) Miłego dnia/nocy 😁🙏

ft. choi su-bong (thanos) x gn! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ childhood best friend! reader┊0.6k words

contains: thanos is his own warning, mentions of bullying, canon-typical violence, drug use, love confessions, they have the same energy, this sucks I'm so sorry

➤ author's note: i forgot how to write!! please be patient with me!! (i hope i translated this right)

╰₊✧ let’s get one thing straight, you probably teamed up to steal lunch money from other kids and maybe even pushed them into lockers afterward: a troublesome duo who ended up in the principal’s office more than once and had to be seated far away from each other or else the entire classroom would erupt into chaos. your parents told both of you to stay away from the other as they were a terrible influence, but it just had you guys sneaking out in the middle of the night to hang out at a nearby park.

╰₊✧ that’s when he realizes you’re his first love probably, pushing you on the swing set at two in the morning with nothing but a dim street light to light up the night, barely in high school and yet determined to make you his. unfortunately, while he’s trying to figure out how to tell you or figure out how you feel about him so as not to ruin the friendship, you tragically move away for some reason and leave him broken-hearted.

╰₊✧ he wrote his first rap about this experience, and it touched hearts all around the world, probably launched his career, and remains in his top ten most streamed songs. 

╰₊✧ alright, now to the games, the second he laid eyes on you, it was like all the young love buried from years ago hit him like a ton of bricks. he audibly gasped as if he had just run into the queen of england, even making his fans turn their heads, jogging up to you to see if you remembered him. he’s so excited, he almost trips on his way over.

╰₊✧ on your end, you remembered him obviously, he’s made quite a name for himself and you’ve seen clips of his music videos/performances which you look into every now and then out of curiosity. you would be lying if you said he wasn’t even more handsome than the screens do him justice, his brightly-colored purple hair seemed to suit him so well and he’s grown so tall. you’re also pleased to see that little has changed about his attitude, still the same old su-bong you remember him to be.

╰₊✧ you two are probably near each other when the true nature of the game is revealed, and he offers you one of the colorful pills hidden in his cross necklace which you smack him for getting into drugs, but you can’t say you’re surprised. he becomes so carefree afterward that he blatantly pushes three other people over and watches them get shot for the fun of it, but he also does the contradictory action of hiding you behind him to make sure you don’t get shot. 

╰₊✧ the smile that splits his face when he hears you laughing and going along with his antics is worthy of being photographed when it hits him that this experience would be much like the times you both shared as kids. he finally reunited with his childhood best friend, and he’s going to make the most of the time you have together— death games be damned! 

╰₊✧ keeps you close throughout the voting process and confesses his love once he sees you press the blue button. the amount of time you both have left is uncertain, but if you both help each other out and make it out alive, then the leftover money will go to the future he dreamed of having with you. he doesn’t care if it seems unrealistic or too ideal, he’s thanos and nothing was ever impossible for him.

╰₊✧ of course, you say yes and become a force to be reckoned with!

[moonlightcycle571]

The Pros Of Being Omni-Lingual

Saw a while back someone saying Captain Marvel (or Shazam or Captain Thunder or whatever name you choose for him) is omni-lingual. I have no idea if it’s actually cannon, but it lives rent free in my head, and I got no plans of evicting it any time soon.

But anyways, the reasoning makes sense. He got his powers from The Wizard, to be The Champion of Magic, so it makes sense that among his other powers, he’s got all the languages down. And that works in his favour when connecting with Heroes

In general, people are more relaxed and open when speaking in their mother tongue, and with Cap knowing all the language cause of ✨magic✨, no one can blame him for knowing even the most top secret and heavily guarded languages (like Themisquiran, Atlanlantian or other).

See, when someone like Batman or Martian Manhunter speaks to you in your native language, it’s intimidating. When another JL member does it, it’s a pleasant surprise, but you can sense they aren’t that comfy with a language also do it for work purposes.

But when Cap does it? It’s “oh you speak …” “oh, I’m omni-lingual” type dialogue. If he gets a cult after mentioning that it was a gift from the Gods, then that’s a while other story

Pair that with his sunny attitude, and his golden retriever attitude, of course he gets people to like him. He’ll understand all the memes, have fantastic insight (Wisdom of Solomon) and political views (Whiz Kid radio host). To put it blankly, he has amazing conversational skills, and I am convinced that discussions can be the most meme filled talks or the most profound stuff you have ever heard, especially if it’s about Magic.

To get back on topic, these facts make him especially loved, not just by civilians he saves (head cannon that he knows what’s your preferred language of you speak more than one and reassures them in that language), but also by other heroes.

He can be seen with Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian (speaking Martian) while helping them cook some food from their home world.

Or with Supergirl in the lounge Kryptonian (Kal is great and all, as are the other supers, but Kryptonian is not their first language, not like her).

Or with Aquaman, talking about various Sea Gods in Atlantian. Whenever he’s got some Magical duties in Atlantis for whatever reason, he always gets invited for dinner with the Aquafam. He, Mera and Gar have the best Magic discussions

He tries to avoid speaking Themesciran, cause he’s a guy and he doesn’t want to disrespect their culture, but Wonder Woman is always more relaxed when speaking in her mother tongue. Most of the time, he will settle for Greek though (it’s her second language so it’s close enough). Although he did take it upon himself to teach Cassie when Diana couldn��t

For any of the Batfam, he switches languages, every other sentence. They love it, especially Bruce, Dick and surprisingly Alfred. It’s enrichment and tests their knowledge. When Clark and Diana aren’t here and his kids are in the watch tower, they go to the Captain to help with their language education (they don’t know he’s a kid, which makes Billy think he’s adulting right). Later when it was revealed he’s a kid, it makes the JL groan that a child was the better designated Baby Sitter (now Batman sends his kids in to hopefully adopt Billy)

When meeting new heroes, it’s the same shabang. He can instantly acclimatise to them and is just a walking talking Pitbull (looks scary, is a sweetie pie)

The lantern corps love him, and keeps sending him rings. My guy has to give the GLs a bad full of rings before every meeting (although they do wonder why there’s the a red, and sometimes yellow rings in the bag). holy shit I need to make a post about lantern corp and Captain marvel

But anyways, that’s just me ranting as someone who was raised bilingual and who definitely prefers English.