#please don’t do this and cut off your circulation

[phosphns]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ first time raw with jj maybank

⟢ warns. established relationship. no use of y/n. smut. dom!jj. rough sex. unprotected sex. explicit language & detailed sexual scenes. porn without plot. dirty talk. degradation kink. belly bulge. pet names [baby, doll, good girl]. spanking. slightly dacryphilia.

“you said you didn’t want this, didn’t you?” he groaned as he pumped his lenght inside you furiously, his fingers dipping into your hips inevitably leaving signs while your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “and yet here you are…”

it felt so good — the contact skin to skin. you wouldn’t have never guessed, that having sex without a condom could change prospectives. it was like that. it felt freeing, natural and passionate. it was much more than you expected.

“yeah — look at you gettin’ fucked all dumb on cock,” he continued to degrade you, tracing his pointer finger between your exposed breasts and down to your belly, pressing down and evidencing the visible bulge. “y’feel that, baby? y’feel me sooo deep inside you, mh?”

you couldn’t do anything but nod, making jj smirking darkly. your body bounced against his, his balls slapping against your ass at every thrust, adding to your state of pure bliss.

he suddenly stopped moving, making you whine in frustration. he quickly turned you around, forcing you to bend your knees and to push your ass against his crotch. you felt his hard dick between your ass cheeks, so you started moving your butt in search of some friction.

an hard smack arrived in response, causing you to flinch and hold back a moan, which didn’t go unnoticed by jj.

“y’like it rough, yes? such a little slut for me. gettin’ all worked up by me spanking you,” he said in a tone of mock, continuing to grind his cock on your ass.

“p-please… jay…” you chocked out, your hand flying to your little mound to relieve the ache that had formed between your legs. he pushed it away, delivering another harsh smack on your left cheek this time, when he finally pushed his dick back in.

his thrusts were powerful, sharp and frenetic, like fucking you was his only concern in life — well, in that moment, it kind of was. his mind was fogged in pleasure and lust just as yours was, so his movements controlled just by the pure carnal need, nothing else. you giving in to do it without a condom did something to him.

his hand pressed against your back, keeping your chest pressed down the mattress and your head on the pillow, muffling your desperate moans, which weren’t anything short of pornographic.

“feelin’ you around me, doll — fuck, you’re so tight,” he admitted through his teeth, his jaw clenching due the tension as droplets of sweat streamed down his forehead to his cheeks, to disappear into his hair.

you clenched at his words, feeling your orgasm closer by seconds. your pussy was pulsing hard, the need of cumming was your only thought by now. your breath was hitching and so was his.

he gripped your hip with his large and veiny hand, lifting your body closer to his, making his chest touching your back. he held the hand where it was placed before while the other one grasped your tit, squeezing it softly.

“fuck — jj,” you whimpered when he started pumping into you with more force but yet with more discontinuing movements, sign that he was close too.

warm tears started falling down your cheeks from the overstimulation, wetting your pump lips and jj’s hand, that had traveled over your throat, holding it quite tightly but not enough tightly to cut off your air circulation.

“you’re crying for me, doll? huh-uh, that’s right,” he replied, “show me how much you like my cock…”. he was in ecstasy, you being the only thing he could see in his mind. the way your body bounced against him at every thrust was enough to make him feeling on the edge, attempting to holding back from coming.

“i n-need to c-cum — please!” you asked pathetically, pushing yourself more into him, making him slid in up to his hilt.

“don’t,” he answered simply, knowing it was enough for you to don’t do what you wanted. you were just so submissive to him, he actually wanted to manhandle you till you couldn’t take anymore.

you moaned loudly, and thank god the pogues weren’t at home because they would have surely heard you loud and clear. he continued slapping his hips against your ass, making it jiggle, while his two fingers gripped your chin and turned it to him.

he connected his lips with yours roughly, not hesitating once before slipping his tongue inside your mouth and claiming it with a possessive tone. every part of you belonged to him: body, mind and soul.

“cum for me, whore, yeah?” he whispered to you hear, licking your lobe sensually. that was it. you felt a wave of relief engulf you, all the tension of the previous activities finally released. jj continued riding you out of your high, to reach his own.

“you milking my cock so well, huh?” he teased, feeling you creaming around him. “took it like a champ… so good babe.”

with the last bit of energy remaining in your body, you started rocking your hips back at his, to help him reaching his climax. the feeling of your flush ass against his thighs and crotch was more than enough to him. he quickly pulled out — as promised — and wrapped his hand around his throbbing dick, which was leaking lot of precum.

you turned around, finally facing him and lowering your face to his member. you smiled as you eagerly sticked out your tongue. spurts of cum landed on your mouth, a little even on your cheeks and hair. you closed your mouth and swallowed, savoring his sweet taste in your throat.

he then tapped your mouth twice for you to show him you swallowed every last drop. when you did, he nearly moaned at the sight, looking down at you in awe. “good girl,” he praised. his dick was still pulsing between his legs, almost hard as before from the sight. he collected some of the liquid that missed your tongue and brought it to your mouth.

when he saw you cleaning his fingers clean, he and his cock knew they were ready for round two.

yaps. ughhh i really really want to write short blurbs but every time i want to i end up writing a 1000+ words — help me😭

tags 💌 @ultrviolenxe

wc. 1k

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER ME!"

Vodou or Voodoo!reader x platonic Yandere batfam

You haven't gotten out of bed in days, lying there rotting away like a bone. Your amulet, once vibrant purple, is now dusty and dark. Your bedroom is cold, and your altar is neglected; the candles are out. You haven’t put food there, fixed the tablecloth, or done anything. You haven’t prayed or performed a ceremonial dance. You've never been this depressed, this sad, or this angry; you're in despair. Ever since arriving at the mansion, you've felt your life and soul being sucked out, which is strange—you were so lively before. You feel dead, yet you can hear the chatter and laughter downstairs seeping through your thick walls. Usually, you drown it out, but today you listen. You can feel their smiles, their joy, their anger—everything, yet you're not present.

“Why don’t you go down there?” a spirit says, its ghostly hand caressing your shoulder.

“They don’t want me there; you know that already,” you say, your voice cracks. Of course it did; you were crying for hours, maybe even longer, but better not count. “Don’t be like that; they’re your family.”

You scoff at what the spirit says. You want to slap its hand away, but you obviously can't touch it; you can't even feel it, just the cold air that caresses your dark skin.

“I’ll only ruin it,” you say, hovering overhead, letting your despair consume you. If you continue like this, how will you become a great Priestess? Your altar has no gifts, no offerings. You haven’t fixed your hair in days; you haven’t sent us anything, and we love your voice. “Please, my child,” the spirit pleads, “you do not want to go down there. At least do something.”

You don’t answer again. You curl up into a ball. The spirit sighs. “As you wish, young Priestess,” and they disappear into purple smoke. But all you can think about, deep in your head, is that it just isn’t fair. You’re a nice kid; you’re sweet, you’re kind, you’re honest, you’re polite—the nicest of them all. Even if there was a niceness contest, you’d come out on top, leaving everybody in your wake. But your father seems to favor the ones who are cruel, mean, and rude. Your younger brother, Damian—a little devil, held you at swordpoint, threatened to kill you, called you a bastard, and you’re supposed to forgive him with open arms? What kind of idiot does Bruce take you for?

And your older brother, who prides himself on family, barely even knows you—the sucker might have to look up your middle name, maybe even your birthday, on some celebrity website. He’s always spending time with the little devil; you have no clue why. You’re way more fun to hang out with than him. But who cares? And your second eldest brother is rude, scary, and he smells like pure death, as if he crawled out of his grave, clutching dirt from the ground beneath him. It makes sense—his eyes are naturally green, just like Damian's, but he’s alive. It just doesn’t make sense. Maybe Papa Legba, but him cross without knowing.

And the brother who is the same age as you, Timothy, makes you snore when you hear his name. He’s intellectual, so smart, and yet so stupid, so dumb, and so hypocritical. He’ll find everything and anything to correct you on, even if you’re right, just to ensure that you’re slightly off the mark. The brother you thought you would have an unbreakable bond with is so tight he cut off blood circulation; yet, this bond is flimsier than a piece of string. He’s always talking with Cass, and you're never invited. You have more in common than they think, but to them, you’re just another bastard of Bruce Wayne—Cass, Steph, and Babs are your sisters. You’re supposed to gossip, talk about boys, play hand games, and hold each other, but they are only close with each other and not you.

I mean, trios were never meant to be broken; who even wants a quartet? You pray to Bondye every night. You expel all the darkness within your amulet, and your wishes are always the same each night: “Please, Supreme Lord, let them greet me with open arms; let them see me as their kin; let them love me; let them notice me.” But each night, you are met with nothing but silence. Bondye is quiet, and so are the loa. They always talked to you, but whenever you beg for this family to see you, they can never answer; they can never give advice. At first, you thought it was a test—a series of trials you had to go through to prove that you were worthy of their love. So whenever you were met with hostility, it was like the sharp end of a blade. You opened your arms to them; the trials got harder, and it started to become impossible.

Maybe I have to go in a different direction; maybe meet force with force. But then you get scolded. Maybe you just don’t fight back, but if you don’t, then you will be forgotten. So what next? How do you pass this test, these everlasting trials? You have no clue, no idea, and in fact, you feel lost, and you start to lose faith. Maybe you were just not meant to be loved; you weren’t meant for affection, you weren’t meant to be held, dear. So you let that bitterness and anger swallow you whole as you wallow in your own sorrow and self-pity. This young High Priestess is filled with hurt.

[eternal-evergreens]

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Into the looking glass - VI"｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII

Post format: Multipart series

Pairing: Yandere!Male!DoL x Fem!Isekai!Reader

Word count: 4.6k

Synopsis: You gain the chance to wake up in the world of one of your favorite games. Unfortunately, the 'favorite game' happens to be one about rape, violence, and stalking. Not only that, but the game seems to be rigged against you. All you want is to find a way home and put this all behind you, but is that even possible...?

Warnings: Non/Con, Gore, Physical Abuse, Victim Blaming, Mental Breaks, Bondage, Abduction, Drugging, Murder/Death, Dissociation, Dissociative Amnesia/Lost Time,

Excellent Good Decent Okay Poor Bad Terrible

You’ve been trying to loosen your bonds for a while—the drugs long out of your system—but it’s hard when one of your wrists is injured. You can hardly move it without pain shooting up your entire arm. You can hardly even feel your fingers, and you’re sure that if you could look, they’d be white as a sheet—or, worse, purple. You stop your shuffling when you hear footsteps approaching the door. Kylar walks in, holding a sketchbook. He probably wants to draw you. 

“Kylar, can you take a look at my hands? I think the ropes might be cutting off circulation.” Please don’t be into gangrene, please don’t be into gangrene, please don’t be into gangrene. Kylar puts the food down and walks behind you. 

He touches your hand. “C-can you feel that?” 

“Feel what?” You say, trying to feign ignorance in hopes you’ll be taken more seriously. Kylar doesn’t say anything, but you feel him undo your restraints before retying them more lightly. Despite the pain, or perhaps because of it, you have to suppress a sigh in relief as you feel pins and needles begin to prick at your skin. 

“Better?” Kylar stands in front of you now.

“Could you just undo them instead? I’ll be good, I promise.” You bat your eyes and try to put on your best cutesy voice, but Kylar just shakes his head. You aren’t going to convince him this way. He wants you helpless. 

You’re going to have to try something else. 

Bile threatens to rise up your throat, but you suppress it as you allow your eyes to droop in a more seductive manner. “Really? That’s a shame…I was going to surprise you with something if you did, but if you don’t want to…” Kylar’s eyes go wide. 

“W-wait! I’ll do it!” He rushes behind you, scrambling to get your binds off with such haste that it actually takes longer than if he had taken his time. When you’re finally free, you don’t hesitate to rush to Kylar, pushing him against the wall with your uninjured hand. He doesn’t resist, and you can tell from his flushed face and his erratic breathing that his guard is nonexistent right now. You kiss him, pinning his hands above his head. When he closes his eyes, you knee him in the balls as hard as you can. +Control

Kylar crumples to the floor, but you doubt he’ll stay there long. You rush towards the door and swing it open, following the flickering and entering the room it leads to. You grab the flashlight and run out the door, fumbling to turn it on in the dark as you focus on running. 

You don’t make it in time. You run into Kylar, knocking both him and yourself over. You scramble to get up, but Kylar has already grabbed your arm. He’s not very strong, but your panic doesn’t allow you to recognize that, and you freeze. Only for a second, but a second is all it takes. You feel a sharp pain in your arm, and everything fades to black.

—————————

It is Sunday, the 13th of September, 2022.  It has been 9 days since the game started. The game started in autumn.  It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: Tears well in your eyes Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You feel refreshed Stress: You are strained Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 6 days to escape.

When you wake up this time, you feel much less under the weather than the first time you were hit. Probably due to the fact it had been several hours since you were shot. You feel capable of basic movement, and you’re confident that if you can just fight through the pain, you’ll be able to get out of these bonds. 

And you do. You rub against your restraints until you feel something warm and wet trickle down from your wrists onto the floor. Then you keep going. +++Pain +++Willpower

Your ropes are looser than they were. But it could easily take another day or even two until you’re able to get out of them. After your first attempt, Kylar double-wrapped you, and he added ropes to connect your legs to the chair. 

You hear footsteps approaching the door, so you stop struggling and wait. The next thing you know, the room is dark, and Kylar is on the floor with his head in your naked lap, seemingly sleeping. You feel slime on your bare skin between your thighs and fresh bruises all over your body. There are bandages on your wrists. He probably noticed your attempt to escape and hit you for it. You don’t know. You have no way of knowing. All you know is that you’re hurt and scared, your ropes are just as tight as they were this morning, and now even your waist is tied to the chair.

You can’t do anything about it without waking up Kylar, so you’ll have to wait until morning before trying anything else.

—————————

It is Monday, the 14th of September, 2022.  It has been 10 days since the game started. The game started in autumn.  It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: Tears run down your face Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are wearied Stress: You are strained Trauma: You feel numb Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 5 days to escape.

“Good morning, my little tease,” Kylar says, smiling and without a hint of embarrassment. 

Do you wish to view Kylar’s stats? Y/N

You blink twice at “Yes,” and a blue textbook appears beside him. 

Kylar The Loner Kylar is manic       Fascination: 100% Love: 10% Devotion: 10% Jealousy: 95% Lust: 55%

Before you have time to process the new changes in his devotion and love stats, Kylar begins to sob. 

“W-what are you looking at? I’m right here!” He waves an arm in front of the textbox, effectively blocking your view. +++Jealousy

You turn your gaze back to him, and he visibly relaxes, though he still looks on edge. 

“Sorry. I thought I saw a bug.” -Jealousy. Your voice is so dead that if it weren’t for the feeling of your vocal cords moving, you never would have recognized it as your own at all. Kylar tenses and quickly whips around, frantically searching for a bug that doesn’t exist. You use the opportunity to check his stats again, and see that in just the span of a few seconds, you’ve managed to up his jealousy from 96% to 99%. 

You should be feeling dread right now, but all that washes over you is ice-cold indifference. 

“I don’t see it,” Kylar says, voice low. “Were you lying to me?” You tilt your head but don’t answer. Kylar seems to be spurned on by this, though you know he would have found a way to get upset even with your input. “I don’t understand. Who are you thinking about?! I’m right here!” He grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you as much as your restraints will allow. You steal a glance towards the status window.

Jealousy: 100%

“Is…is it him? Were you thinking about him?” Kylar’s voice begins to take on a tone of insanity. “Wh-when we were together…were you pretending it was him?” His grip on you tightens, but you feel disconnected from the pain. He pushes your chair over again, leaving you to land painfully on your arms. Again. He starts hitting you, screaming incomprehensibly. You can make out a few words. 

“Cheater”

“Love”

“Hate”

“Bailey”

You stop listening.

He’s still hitting you, straddling your waist to get a better angle. You wonder if he even realizes he’s hard right now. You hope not.

Kylar pulls a knife to your neck, pressing it against the skin until you feel something warm and wet start to dribble down and pool onto your collarbone. You stay like that for a few seconds, with Kylar methodically applying pressure at a rate too consistent for him to not be at least partially clear-headed.

You swallow. It was involuntary, and you hadn’t meant anything by it, but the movement seemed to be enough to break Kylar out of his daze as he quickly repulses, dropping the knife and staggering backward. It takes him a moment to realize he should probably set you upright again, too. 

He doesn’t say anything, seemingly unable to do anything but meet your blank stare. You don’t say anything, either. You have nothing to say. Kylar hangs his head, muttering apologies to himself. You see tears dripping down onto the floor. 

An idea strikes you. 

“Do you want forgiveness?” You ask, trying (failing) to make your voice sound anything but flat. Kylar whips up, nodding his head vigorously. You see snot and tears running down his face, which is covered in blotches. Of course, he’s an ugly crier. You focus your vision away from his face. “Earn it.” 

“H-how?” His voice indicates a clogged or tight throat. You guess he feels terrible. Good. 

“Being cooped up at home isn’t good for anyone. Let’s go somewhere. Together.” 

It takes a bit of convincing to get him to agree, but as soon as you mention the word “date,” he’s all but putty in your hands. He wanted to tie you to him, but you managed to talk him down to just holding your wrist like a slightly less madman. Your clothes have been irreparably destroyed; you’ll have to borrow from Kylar. —Jealousy (Kylar’s current jealousy: 45%)

After getting changed and cleaning up your cut, Kylar and you leave the manor. As expected, this brief outing doesn’t automatically complete your quest. You’ll have to make it permanent. His grip is tight, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You just need to escape this place. Things will get better. 

They have to.

“You’re going to do whatever I want today, right?” Kylar nods with vigor. You try to smile. Your muscles don’t move. “Good.” 

You take Kylar to the shopping center. It’s school, so you don’t need to worry about running into anyone. You glance at the hairdressers. He’d probably go bald if you asked him to. You almost feel the urge to giggle. Almost. -Trauma

You take him to the clothing store, picking out everything that looks expensive, ugly, or extremely diffucult to get on and off. Kylar doesn’t say anything as you browse, but a few stolen glances indicate he’s extremely nervous. -Trauma

He let go of your wrist so you could look around, opting to switch his hold to a dart gun instead. You wouldn’t make it very far if you ran now. 

You hand him a pair of heeled boots to try on. He seems hesitant, so you offer to help him lace them up. He won’t be used to walking in heels, so running after you will be extremely diffucult. You’ll be sure to triple-knot the laces so he can’t undo them easily. -Stress

Kylar watches you as you kneel by his feet, a slight hunger in his eyes. +Lust +Stress

You suppress the urge to shiver. You finish getting him in the shoes and stand up quickly. Kylar struggles to remain balanced and has to hold onto you for support. His dart gun has been put back in his bag so he can better cling to you. 

You help him into a corset next, making sure to lace it much, much, much tighter than it needs to be. Kylar looks back at you pleadingly a couple of times, but you just show him your neck in response, and his gaze returns to the ground. +Lust

Running will be even harder. -Stress

You bring him an open-shoulder lolita dress next, simply because it looks difficult to get on and off. 

“I don’t need to help you get this one on,” you say, pushing Kylar into the changing room before he can protest, watching blankly as he lands on his butt. You close the curtain and wait until you hear the rustling of clothes before sneaking away, planning to switch to running as soon as you’re out the door. Unfortunately, Kylar seems to have been watching your feet, as he speaks up as soon as you move away from the curtain. 

“M-My love? Where are you going?” 

“Just pacing,” you say. +Jealousy

“St-stay where I can see you.” 

You run. +++Jealousy

You hear scrambling and falling from the curtain, as well as the sound of the curtain rod crashing to the ground. You don’t look back, but it wouldn’t have mattered if you did. 

A sharp pain hits you right in the back of your thigh. —Control

—————————

You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency —Status It is Tuesday, the 14th of September, 2022.  It has been 11 days since the game started. The game started in autumn.  It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain:  You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You feel refreshed Stress: You are tense Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 4 days to escape.

Kylar is already sitting across from you by the time you wake up, sketching something in his notepad.

…You should try to get on his good side again, though you can barely bring yourself to care. Right now, you’re operating out of sheer will alone.

“Can I see?” Kylar glances up at you but doesn’t say anything. He goes back to sketching. You try to smile. You feel your lips quirk, but you’re not sure if its upwards. “Do you have a favorite color to use while drawing?” You ask, sneaking a glance towards the status floating next to him. (Jealousy: 99%) Kylar glances at you but continues his silence.

“Maybe you can use something with my favorite color sometime. Do they call those monochromatics? When are there different shades of one color? Or does it have to be the same shade?” You thought asking about his interests might make him pipe up and let his guard down, but he seems hellbent on wasting your breath. 

“I don’t know if you know my favorite color, actually. I’m not sure if anyone does, actually. It changed a while ago, and I don’t think it’s ever come up since.” Kylar pauses, just for a second. The idea of exclusivity always gets people, especially if it’s about something they like. “Do you want me to tell you?” Kylar nods. 

“Promise to make me a picture in that color, and I will.” A look of hesitation flickers across Kylar’s face, probably wondering how you could use a piece of paper to escape him—you’ve really broken his trust, haven’t you? You may need to lay low for a few days, as much as the idea makes your skin crawl. 

At last, Kylar nods, and you tell him your favorite shade of the rainbow. He gets to work on your picture right after, tearing off what he was previously working on and leaving it unfinished on the floor. You sneak a peek at it. It’s a picture of you getting strangled. +Trauma

—————————

You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency –Status It is Wednesday, the 15th of September, 2022.  It has been 12 days since the game started. The game started in autumn.  It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are fatigued Stress: You are tense Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 3 days to escape.

Kylar didn’t bring you any food yesterday. You didn’t bring it up either, but now it’s hours past midnight, and your stomach is keeping you from sleep. Not having anything else to do, you use the opportunity to check on things. Primarily, you never did take a look at what Eden, Alex, or the two beastmen’s statuses ended up being. Hopefully you’ll never see them again and it won’t matter, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least curious.

First is Eden.

Eden The Hunter Eden is in town     Fascination: 80% Love: 0% Devotion: 0% Jealousy: 40%     Dominance: 0% Lust: 100%

Fuck. Fuck this. Seriously? This game isn’t going to give you even a moment of rest, is it? You don’t know how his jealousy got so high, but you suppose it doesn’t matter right now. You have to deal with Kylar first, and…as much as the idea makes you feel like vomiting, you’re going to need to contact Bailey. 

…You move on. No need to linger.

Black Wolf The Alpha Black Wolf wants to see you again

There's not much to see on this one. You feel relieved.

Great Hawk The Terror  Great Hawk wants you as his wife Fascination: 100% Love: 0% Devotion: 50% Jealousy: 0%  Dominance: 0% Lust: 90%

There isn’t much to this one, either. Honestly, it doesn’t even look that different from his usual status.

Alex The Farmhand Alex wants to start over Fascination: 80% Love: 7% Devotion: 100%* Jealousy: 0% Dominance: 0% Lust: 70% *Alex owes you an apology! You may request one favor to which he can not refuse. Devotion will return to normal after the favor has been spent.

…Huh. That’s weird. Really weird, actually. What’s his goal? Is he actually sorry?

No, if he were sorry, he wouldn’t have done it in the first place. He probably wants to use this as an excuse to get closer to you, now that his first plan has failed. Still, you might be able to leverage something useful out of this, if you play your cards right, that is. At the very least, he’s probably too busy with the farm to come hunt you down in town. 

Kylar enters the room, and the textboxes fade from your attention. 

You have a lot to think about, but for now, you have to play along.

—————————

You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency –Status You haven't eaten. Your physique has deteriorated slightly as a result. It is Thursday, the 16th of September, 2022.  It has been 13 days since the game started. The game started in autumn.  It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are wide awake Stress: You are tense Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 2 days to escape.

Kylar finally brings in food today after two days of starvation. 

“I-I’m sorry for not feeding you earlier,” he says, but doesn't offer anything in the way of excuses or explanations. You think you prefer it that way, honestly. At least he's not pretending to be anything he isn't.

At least you're the only one who has to pretend.

On second thought, maybe it would be better if he was lying to you. Maybe it'd be easier to play along, if he helped you out. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. You have the cards you've been dealt. No use in complaining. 

You plaster on the biggest smile you can muster. Your lips barely curl upwards. 

“It's okay,” you say. “I was bad.” Kylar seems to light up at your understanding of what he was saying implicitly. But his face then morphs into one of suspicion.

“Y-you’re lying,” he says. “You're manipulating me. You just want me to lower my guard so you can run back to him again.” You barely manage to suppress a flinch.

Kylar grasps you by the shoulders, shaking you. You don't even think, you can't think. You kiss him. ++Lust —Control –Jealousy 

Kylar's eyes go wide but quickly flutter closed as his grip on you loosens into something more affectionate than constricting. He straddles you, and you pull away gently, pushing your forehead against his so he knows you aren’t rejecting him. 

You feel sick. You almost can’t bring yourself to speak. But you know what you have to say, so you shove those feelings so far down that not even the devil would be able to find them. -Control

“I’m sorry for running away,” you say. “But I realized something.” You try to steady your heartbeat as Kylar seems to salivate in anticipation. -Control

“He can’t fuck me the way you can,” you say, voice shaking and almost a whisper. ”No one can.” -Control

Kylar all but jumps you.

-Control

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You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency –Status It is Friday, the 17th of September, 2022.  It has been 14 days since the game started. The game started in autumn.  It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain:  You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are wide awake Stress: You are calm Trauma: You feel numb Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You must escape by today.

“G-good evening, my love!” Kylar is dressed in a full gothic suit. His makeup is sloppy. You don’t remember how yesterday ended. You don’t want to remember. 

You’re tied to a wheelchair this time, and dressed in an elaborate gothic gown lined with cloves of garlic. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t looked down. Your whole body feels numb. You won't be able to escape today. You went through all of that for nothing. Sold your pride for false hope.

“I wanted to introduce you to my parents. You have to be awake for that. You’ll be good for them, right?” 

Oh, so this is how you die. You try to nod, but your neck won’t move. 

“I gave you a bit of a sedative to calm you down,” Kylar explains. “I know how nervous you can get. I've been working on it for the past few days—that’s why I couldn't see you as often as I'd like.” You have no way of knowing how often he visited you. The idea of him talking to you in your sleep is something you'd rather not think about. 

Kylar wheels you out the door. You wonder if it'll hurt when they rip your throat out with their teeth. 

You'll find out soon enough. 

Kylar’s parents look about how you expected—looming androgynous figures with milk-white skin and sharp teeth. Their baldness and smooth faces make it difficult to tell them apart, but you think one of them has a slightly thinner face. You could be imagining it, though. 

“Mom, Dad, this is my fiancee,” Kylar starts. You think he might be skipping a few steps, but it’s hard to expect reason from someone who just sedated you in front of vampires. Kylar is still speaking, going on about how you met and how you fell in love (If you were recording this, it’d be some pretty damning evidence) while Kylar’s parents watch on in silence. They’re still, gaze transfixed upon you. It would be unnerving if you had the energy to care. 

Without warning, one of Kylar’s parents is upon you, nearly knocking down the wheelchair but just managing to avoid it. With a claw of silver, they tear through your bonds and lift you up, running through the house to the garden, then out the garden into the forest. They don’t stop until you reach the altar, setting you down and running away.

Well, it was nice of them to let you go, but with the drugs still in your system, you’re kinda stranded. Additionally, you notice that your quest for escaping the manor hasn’t been completed yet, meaning you’re still on their property. You stare up at the sky. It’s nighttime now. You’re running out of time.

Kylar emerges from the bushes sometime later, looking disheveled. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he says, approaching you. “I didn't know they would do that. You aren't hurt, are you?” You blink at him, unable to do much else. Kylar seems relieved despite your lack of response. You think you can talk now, but you don’t feel any need to. 

“Let's get you back home,” he says, attempting to lift you off the altar. He fails. He tries get you to lean on him, but despite the growing feeling in your legs, you still can't walk. “I-I’ll be right back,” he says. “I'll get your chair.” You watch him go from your place on the altar. As soon as he turns his back to you, you start flexing your fingers and toes. 

It’s not over until it’s over. 

Your movements seem to help, as within the next few agonizing minutes, you’re able to just barely drag yourself off of the altar, crawling with your arms and legs through the forest underbrush. It’s hard going, but you’re making progress. Still, you hope your legs will regain their strength sooner rather than later. 

You shimmy along the path, propelling yourself forward by your elbows and the movements of your hips. You feel sticks and leaves poke through and tear your gothic gown, trying to reach the soft skin underneath. You ignore the pain and press onwards, slowly inching towards freedom, though having no idea what direction it ought to be in.

It occurs to you as you’re crawling that you very well may be making a snail trail in your path, but you have no choice but to press onwards. You won’t find another chance. 

So, you keep going. You crawl and crawl until the moon is resting just shy of the center of the sky, and you hear rustling in the distance. You still, hoping it’s just a stray wolf or fox. Hoping that it’s not looking for you. Hoping that even if it is, it’s not Kylar that’s looking.

The rustling stops, and you think you have enough strength in your legs to sit on your knees, so you peek up from behind a bush, just barely above eye level to avoid being seen. 

Green eyes meet yours. 

In a moment, Kylar is on top of you, screaming unintelligibly. You can make out some of the contents, but it’s hard to focus on anything other than the feeling of his knife plunging into your stomach, dragging blood and viscera with it as he rips metal from flesh and plunges it down once again. 

You think you’re screaming, too, but it’s hard to tell. Hard to even see anything through the blur of blood and tears running down your face, your sides. You think most of the tears aren’t even yours. You think Kylar is crying harder than you are, that his tears are painting your face as yet another sign of ownership. 

You think you might be bleeding out. He must have stabbed you at least a dozen times. You can barely feel it anymore. All you feel is your blood pressure dropping into hell, that unique lightheaded sensation you only get when you’re on the verge of death. Your head is light, all earthly sensations feeling so far away, so disconnected to you. 

You feel calm. Peaceful, even. It’s not how you wanted to go, but maybe you can find peace in the fact that it’s over.

Kylar has stopped stabbing you, his knife held over his head in both hands, a look of horror on his face. You smile at him softly. There’s a ribbon tied to the handle of his knife—your favorite color.

It’s the last thing you see.

Feat unlocked—The end is never the end.

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<Prev Next>

[messyoungie]

HABITS TO DROP WHEN GETTING YOUR LIFE TOGETHER

➝ CREATING UNAUTHENTIC & UNINTENTIONAL GOALS

the biggest mistakes you can make when creating goals is making goals that aren’t true to you and making goals for the sake of making goals.

it can be so exciting when you decide to get your life together. I mean, of course it is! there are so many possibilities! but when you start planning, don’t just write down the goals you see circulating on social media. what works for someone else may not be what works for you. don’t make your goals and habits based on what’s trending or popular in the self improvement community.

think about what you actually need for a minute. what is actually necessary? your goals and habits aren’t here to be glamorous, they’re here to help regardless of how simple or small they are. the point of thinking up new habits is to improve your life, so be intentional with your goals. what will practicing this habit or achieving this goal give you?

when you’re first starting out, your goals don’t have to be anything too crazy or intense. for example, let’s say you want to become a pink pilates girl and get into fitness. you shouldn’t jump right into it and say your goal is to work out for 2 hours 5 times a week. let’s consider some factors first. have you been living a completely sedentary kind of lifestyle? then try looking for exercises that’ll wake up dormant muscles. your goal should then be to repeat those exercises for how ever many times a week. then you’ll work your way up from there. (it’s important we don’t harm the body, so be mindful with your fitness goals.) what about your schedule? how much time can you actually give to working out? can your body even endure working out for that long?

anyways, hopefully you see what I mean. when creating goals, it’s not about having the “aesthetic” habits and goals that you may see on tiktok or tumblr. it’s about doing what is actually good for you and what’ll help you the most with where you are now in your journey. so please put some thought into your goals and where they’ll take you. creating unauthentic and unintentional habits will also mean you’ll be less likely to keep practicing them after a few times. at the end of the day, that doesn’t help you achieve anything and you’re left with a broken promise you’ve made to yourself. which leads me to my next point…

➝ NOT KEEPING YOUR WORD WHEN IT COMES TO YOU

let me start off by saying this— if you don’t even listen to yourself, why should anyone else? (harsh, ik)

a HUGE reason as to why people have no self confidence is because they don’t listen to themselves or keep the promises they’ve made to themselves. if you have no self trust, how could you have any self confidence?

now, building discipline can definitely be a challenge so if you want to start somewhere easy, nip your false promises in the bud and stop yourself from making them. that’s what I did when I was first trying to stop this habit. when my addiction to tiktok was at its peak I would always tell myself the usual “ten more minutes and then I’ll stop scrolling.” when I wanted to stop making false promises, I knew I had no control or discipline so the only thing I could do is be real with myself. I’d cut myself off when I heard myself say “five more minutes” because I knew it wasn’t going to happen. if I wasn’t going to quit my bad habit, then the least I could do is be honest with myself.

the things that you are constantly telling yourself, whether they’re mindless or intentional, matter.

so, stop telling yourself seemingly harmless lies. unnecessary false promises that you know are false will only fill you with tension.

➝ SEEING FAILURE AS AN INVITATION TO GIVE UP

this applies to so many things.

you wanted to be consistent with your reading goals but haven’t read a chapter in a week? dont give up. don’t tell yourself that being consistent is too hard for you, that since you missed a week this habit isn’t for you. make your goal a bit easier or give yourself another chance.

you wanted to spend more time doing art but it’s not turning out how you expected? dont give up. dont give yourself the title of a “bad artist” and never pick up a pencil again. move forward, give yourself another chance.

you wanted to quit your Instagram addiction but after a couple days you went back to scrolling for hours on ig reels? Don’t give up. dont tell yourself that this addiction isn’t gonna go away, don’t go back to the bad habit because you slipped up. give yourself another chance.

I think a lot of us (myself included) tend to give up at the first sign of failure, instead of reminding ourselves to keep going. it’d be wonderful if you could get it right on the first try. if you could read ten books a month right away after not reading a book in three years. if you could watch hours worth of tutorials and sketch the perfect portrait on the first attempt. if you could uninstall instagram for good and never feel the urge to go back. that would all be so amazing, but it’s not always the reality. expect the best from yourself and do the best you can, but also give yourself some compassion. keep in mind that you won’t always do things perfectly right away and that’s one thousand percent okay. when you feel yourself slipping up on your brand new goal, don’t end it there at the first failure. allow yourself to move forward, because the only other direction to move is backwards.

[vampyr-ss]

laundry day | r. sukuna

summary: sukuna’s angry and desperate and you look so cute trying to fold your laundry.

pairing: stepbrother!sukuna x reader

warnings: 18+ + dark content (stepcest) + thigh fucking + slight dubcon + pervy!sukuna + choking + degrading + slut shaming + fingering + cum swapping + lmk if there’s more mwahhh

wc: 1.6k

others/author’s note: step brother sukuna save me….

sukuna came barging into the laundry room with a raging boner and anger clear in his expression. you were minding your business, folding your laundry with one of your earbuds in. you’d barely finished folding your sweatshirts when sukuna came in, his hands finding the edge of the washing machine to close you in. “sukuna-? what are-?” he hisses at you to hush, freeing one of his hands to tug your pants down.

“fuck.” he hisses in your ear. his fingers rub at your clit roughly, the rough pads of his fingers feeling so nice against your soft pussy. your hips just involuntarily, but your face scrunches as you turn to look at him over your shoulder. “what are you doing? this is wrong!” you’re whisper-shouting at him out of fear of your parents hearing. sukuna scoffs at you, sliding his fingers further forward to tease your wetting hole.

he presses kisses to the side of your neck, biting down to suck harsh dark spots along it. he laughs when you shudder. it’s painfully clear you’re trying to decide if you’re enjoying what he’s doing or not. “wasn’t wrong when you had your fingers in your cunt moaning my name. i’m giving you what you want and you’re complaining? ungrateful slut.” he hisses, slapping your pussy harshly. you let out a low moan at the pain that quickly fizzles out into pleasure, your eyes shutting tightly.

your eyes begin to water as disgust fights the pleasure building into your stomach. you shouldn’t want this, you really really shouldn’t. but sukuna’s fingers feel so good on your clit. they don’t rub you the same way you do, they feel better. “‘kuna…please. stop..stop ‘m sorry.” you sob quietly, hands pushing at him behind you. your step brother rolls his eyes, pressing his thumb against your clit as his fingers dip inside of you.

you feel your resolve practically dissipate as his thick fingers bully their way into your cunt. your eyes shut tightly and you lean forward onto the washing machine for support. your cunt gushes as his fingers bury themselves deeper into you, pushing and pulling quickly. you close your eyes impossibly tighter as the loud squish of your pussy fills the room, it’s an unmistakable sound that makes your body burn with embarrassment. “yeaaah, atta fuckin’ girl.” sukuna sneers the praise into your ear.

“take my fingers sis, i just need this pussy wet.” his fingers curl over that soft little spot inside you and your knees buckle. there’s a loud bang! as your forearms hit against the washing machine and sukuna simply refuses to stop. he uses his free hand to grab you by the throat, forcing your head towards him. “not even doing what i fucking want to you and you’re about to fall? no wonder you haven’t been fucked yet, you can’t fucking take it.” you moan louder than you’d intended at his words. you shake your head, opening your eyes just for tears to fall freely from them. “you’re so mean, ‘kuna! i can t-take it!”

he scoffs at your pitifully whined words. he grips your throat tighter, making sure he cuts off some of your circulation. “then shut the fuck up and take it. ‘m not fucking this pussy yet, don’t worry. wanna take my time when i do.” he mutters the last part before thrusting his fingers harder into you. he watches your face as your eyes gloss over with pleasure, lips parting without any sound leaving them. he watches in amusement as panic settles in your eyes when you can’t find the oxygen you need to breathe.

your pussy has to be the most responsive thing he’s ever touched. every time he slides his fingers in and out there’s a loud, defining squish! it makes him want to ignore his precious plans and bend you over the washing machine. he wants to know what sounds she makes when he’s pounding mercilessly in and out of your virgin cunt. you’re so fucking wet it slides down his fingers and down his wrist. he bets if he looked down there would be a pool of cum on the floor because she’s so fucking sloppy.

he frees your throat temporarily—just enough for you to catch your breath. sukuna’s hot breath brushes your lips from how close he is, it’s too much and your cunt flutters in a way that only means you’re close. sukuna entertains the notion by watching your lips part and eyes squeeze shut. he waits until your cunt tightens impossibly around his fingers to rip them from you. “noooo! no! ‘kuna please!” you whine, eyes sliding open to look at your step brother who only grins down at you.

“you didn’t think i’d let it be that easy, did you? i said i wouldn’t fuck this cunt, not anything about not teasing it.” you pout at him so cutely he almost feels bad. almost. he tugs his sweatpants down for his cock to spring into the cold air of the laundry room. you glance down behind you and your breath hitches, eyes widening in fear. “‘s not gonna-” sukuna squeezes your throat again out of pure annoyance. “i already told you i wasn’t fucking you today. shut the fuck up.” he punctuates his last sentence by tightening his grip on your throat.

you’re rendered speechless again by your lack of oxygen, and you can only claw at the washing machine as you begin to feel light headed. sukuna grabs his cock with the hand he fingered you with, sliding his soaking fingers along himself at an attempt at lube. he won’t make you take his dick down your throat today. that’s for another day when he has the time. your stupid fucking mother is around the house somewhere and his dad’s at work. he doesn’t have the circumstances he needs right now.

“pull your hips back.” his voice is harsh in your ear but you oblige him anyway. you pull your hips back, allowing him to push your legs together around his cock. “now be still and let me fuck you like this, okay?” you nod so hard it loosens his grip on your throat. sukuna regrettably lets you breathe, watching you take heavy breaths before he thrusts forward. the way his cock angles it catches your clit every time he moves forward. the moan that tears from your throat is impossibly loud. you can only pray the dryer is loud enough to conceal it.

sukuna tugs your head back to press his lips to yours. the kiss is sloppy and needy, your stupid fucking brain can’t process the complexity of french kissing currently. your lips glide messily against his, tongues dancing as his hips snap back and forth and back again. sukuna’s tip keeps bumping your clit perfectly. so fucking perfect that your cunt keeps twitching and hole clenching around nothing. sukuna bites down on your lip as your wetness begins to build on his cock, white cream dripping onto him and down the thickness of your thighs. he wants to cum in your underwear and make you wear them all day. oh fuck.

sukuna kisses away from your mouth, pressing a kiss to your jaw until he finds himself in the space between your neck and shoulder. he kisses, sucks, and licks at the spot before he bites down harshly. his hips are moving faster, arousal flooding his senses as the softness and tightness of your thighs and how fucking wet you are begins to catch up to him. he can’t help himself, really. his step sister is so fucking cute, all puffy eyed and drooling. your lips are parted, though he thinks he’s managed to rub the intelligence out of you.

he growls low in his throat when you clench your thighs. you’re trying to fight off your orgasm because he hasn’t cum yet but he doesn’t care. he wants however many he can get and he always gets what he wants. sukuna moves his hand from your throat to place both of them on your hips. he pushes your further into the washing machine, bracing your hips so he can shift his own faster and harder into you. the loud plap! plap! plap! of his hips hitting yours fills the room. he ignores the sound for the sake of his sanity. he needs you to cum.

“oh my god! oh my god ‘s- ‘kuna! oh my god.” your whimpers become music to his ears as your hand slides behind you. you slap at his side, trying your best to fend off your orgasm despite no longer remembering why. your eyes roll into the back of your head and your pussy clenches. you cum with your entire body. your toes curl, fingers digging into the metal of the washing machine and the warmth of your brother’s skin. your legs tense and your pussy gushes as sukuna continues hitting your clit perfectly.

he snickers as he watches your orgasm, reaching down to rub at your clit. “stupid slut, you’ve never cum like this before have you? only used your little fingers, hm?” he takes your babbling as a yes. he keeps rubbing your clit, fucking into you harder as his own orgasm begins to taper over the edge. he hisses your name, his lips finding that space between your shoulder one more time. this time, he bites down harshly as he cums. his cock twitches, balls tightening as his hand on your clit reaches down to pull your panties up. he cums in the seat of your cotton panties, panting softly.

“atta girl. taking your step brother so fucking good.” he reaches down to collect some of his cum, dragging his fingers through your pussy lips to gather some of your slick. he brings his fingers to your lips, shoving them in despite your gentle protests. “look at you. fuck, you need to suck my cock next time.” he watches you in pure admiration. he leans forward and removes his fingers to kiss you. this kiss is nastier, sloppier as if it had even been possible. “i’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (8)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n : I had to cut some scenes, explained in the notes below, to be saved for a bonus chap or drabble. Also, I altered the outline, and this story isn't ending with 9 as originally intended. Happy Chem Ov release day! Enjoy 🖤

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader is left confused by Ewan's online stunt. If he really is content with keeping things casual, then why is he acting otherwise? Tensions reach their peak and Ewan is forced to face the consequences of the arrangement.

Day or night, Ewan will answer your call. 

Even when you seem overly irate at him, greeting him with, “Ewan, what the fuck was that picture?”

He exhales haughtily, your tone almost bringing him some twisted sense of pleasure. Like a ‘this is what you get’ type of reaction. Was he 7 or 27? He’s been labeled sensitive before, but right now, he can’t muster the energy to care.

“Hello to you too, darling,” he says, smoke billowing out of his lips as he lounges on his apartment balcony in London. He had convinced himself that his worries about you and Matt vanished the moment he reaffirmed you as his to the world. In this day and age, in your profession, that can easily be accomplished by something called a hard launch. The first image he posted was supposed to do just that, but the internet has a fickle memory. 

Several months had passed with nothing concrete circulating about you and Ewan, leading fans to readily accept the possibility that you were now dating Matt, prompted by the recent Deuxmoi feature. Granted, Ewan was spotted sneaking out of your building once, but what does that really prove?

Unfortunately, some others spun the story beyond recognition, protected by the anonymity afforded by their black mirrors. Aided with nothing but conjecture, they took it upon themselves to accuse you of infidelity. 

All in all, it had been an eventful 24 hours. His impulsive act of possessiveness quickly turned into a mutable gossip headline.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you reply immediately. “Why would you post that? I didn’t even know you took it in the first place.”

“I was doing you a favour. Don’t you see? People are under the impression that we’re still together.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Darling, you know it matters. It’s not a good look that you were spotted with someone else, you know what people are like,” he said. 

“Oh, thank you so much for saving me from public ridicule, Ewan,” you say, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Since when do you care about what people say? You stay offline for this exact reason.”

“I know some mean things were being said about you.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” you insist, but you no longer sound sure.

“I’m doing you a favour,” he says. “If that picture remains, then it’s basically a ‘fuck you’ to all the people who accuse you cheating on me.”

“How can I cheat on you, Ewan? We’re not together.”

He bristles at that statement, the truth that sits unpleasant in the back of his mind. It hurts that you’re right. “You know what I mean,” he musters. 

He hears nothing for a while, save for some shuffling in the background. Are you screaming your frustrations into your pillow? Is your fist raised at the skies, cursing his name? Tell him you hate him, and he will crumble. The three words will come out of him unrestrained. I love you, followed by, please don’t leave me. 

But they already have spilled out of him, lost among his tearful pleas in the car. That night in September, he crumbled and he lost you anyway. What good would it do now? What difference would it make?

You finally speak, and he hears the frustration in your voice, even as it softens, “You’re so fucking infuriating.”

He can’t help but chuckle, the sound low and easy, “Hey, baby, you’re the one who called me.”

But your next words wipe the smile right off his face. “Ewan… this isn’t going to be the last of it. Sooner or later, we’ll have to make it known that we’re not as in love as everyone thinks.”

He frowns, not accepting that you’re pressing on the topic. “Why?”

“Your memory must be so twisted, Ewan,” you sigh, and he can picture you shaking your head, “Don’t you have that ironclad PR arrangement for your new film?”

His chest tightens. Leave it to you to be the bearer of harsh truths. “That… That might not happen.”

“Might not? Oh, for fuck’s sake, you didn’t quit, did you?”

“No, I didn’t quit,” he answers quickly, trying to keep his voice steady. “But can we not talk about the film? It’s not what matters right now.”

“But it does, Ewan,” you insist, the concern in your voice gnawing at him, “you’ve got this important thing, and I… what if I want out? What if I want something real?”

“Something… real.” It's like a punch to his gut, nightmare fuel, and he scrambles for a response. “Like what?”

“I don’t know… I just – ”

“This isn’t real enough for you?” There is no hiding the vulnerability in his voice now. It wouldn’t even work if he tried. “I… I’m not…”

“Ewan.”

You refuse to answer his question, and he thinks it’s for the best. He responds with his usual, “Darling.”

“What are you going to do about that picture?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” he finally decides. 

“What?”

“I’ll get rid of it.”

“Okay. Good.” He can hear the relief in your voice, but he’s not done yet. 

“But you can’t get rid of us,” he says firmly, leaving no room for negotiation. “I won’t let you.”

You groan, “Ewan… ”

His reply is curt, daring you to disagree, “Darling.”

He’s met with a long and uncomfortable silence, the air thick with everything left unsaid. He needs to break it. He needs a diversion. “Are you home?” he asks.

“Why?”

Even over the line, he can feel you pulling away, like your tether to him is loosening. He can’t let that happen again. “Are you still angry with me?”

“Why?”

“Why don’t I come over and we can hash it out?” His voice drops into that rhythm, the one he knows you couldn’t resist. 

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Maybe so,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips, “but I want you.”

He waits with bated breath, ready to run out the door at your word.

“I can’t believe you, Mitchell,” you sigh, your amusement at him bleeding through. It’s all he needs.

“See you soon, darling.”

All throughout the night, he doesn’t let you go. The moment he steps through your door, the tension from the call dissolves into something more primal, something neither of you can resist. Every touch feels like a desperate attempt to hold onto a love that might slip away, even if just for a moment.

Deep down, he knows, just as you do, that this can’t last. But as the night stretches on and he holds you close, he pushes that thought away, burying it in the recesses of his mind. 

This is enough, even for now. 

And so the song remains the same.

Clad in full costume, you tread the halls of the set, your posture noticeably straighter. Alyna’s attire has a way of transforming you, making each step purposeful, each glance sharp. The familiar weight of the prop weapons at your side makes you feel like a true fighter. 

The Watford studio is buzzing with energy as the Entertainment Weekly photoshoot unfolds, the set alive with activity. It is one of the actual sets used for the show, so you feel right at home - Alyna Rivers in her natural habitat. 

You weave through the crowd, careful to avoid Ewan, whose presence you can never shake off. You’ve never actually been together, in a big group setting such as this, since the beginning of the arrangement. The cast definitely knows something is going on, especially after Ewan’s last daring post on Instagram. Ewan hadn’t deleted the post – he simply deactivated his profile instead. You noticed it the next day when you tried to check, only to find his account gone.

The realisation left you conflicted. On one hand, it meant the picture wasn’t out there anymore. But on the other, it felt like a temporary fix, a way of avoiding the real issue rather than confronting it head-on. It was a pause, not an ending. The post still existed technically, suspended in some middle realm. 

Since the cast is not privy to the sordid details of your arrangement, you think it best to keep interactions with him at a minimum. It had been constantly nagging at you, the thought of being with him but not really. Are you even allowed to hold his hand in front of your friends? Won’t that be crossing the line, breaking the rules that he set when he promised that, you won’t be his and he won’t be yours?

Alyna would never, not in a hundred years, allow herself to be put in this position. Especially not by Aemond Targaryen, of all people.

Just as you start to relax, Matt materialises by your side, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the fiercest bastard in the realm,” Matt says, looking every bit as Daemon with his Targaryen blacks and silver-blonde wig, giving you an exaggerated once-over. “Looking for your next conquest?”

“Careful, Matthew,” you shoot back, smirking. “Alyna’s got a list, and you’re edging pretty close to the top.”

“Good to know I’m on your mind, and as a top priority, nonetheless,” he teases, nudging you playfully. “But let’s be real, you’d miss me too much.”

You laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “Miss your terrible jokes, maybe.”

“You love my humour,” he insists. “I’m just saying, when you get tired of shooting arrows and swinging swords, let me know. I would like to take you out into the real world.”

You raise an eyebrow, cheeks heating up. He caught you off guard, so thank the gods for the sheer boldness that Alyna wears like skin, rubbing off on you as you stand in her shoes. “Is Daemon asking Alyna on a date, Smithy?”

“Depends,” he quips, a sly grin on his face. “Is it working?”

Before you can respond, Tom saunters over, clearly not one to miss out on the fun. “What’s this I hear? Matt finally working up the nerve to ask his on-screen sidekick out? Either I’m going mad or my five espresso shots are working.”

“Watch it, you,” you warn him playfully, unable to suppress a grin. “Alyna’s still got some arrows left. And I’m not his sidekick.”

Tom smirks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re all talk.”

“Want to test that theory?” you challenge, raising an imaginary bow. Matt lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest as if struck.

“See? Deadly,” Matt says, winking at you. “So, what do you say? Coffee, next week? Somewhere far from dragons and politicking?”

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. “You know, that doesn’t sound half bad. As long as you promise not to reenact your last attempt at flirting.”

“Ouch,” Matt laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll do my best.”

As the photographer calls for everyone to take their places, you catch a glimpse of Ewan watching from a distance, his jaw clenched. The amusement in Matt’s eyes tells you he’s noticed too.

“You’re playing with fire, you know,” you whisper to Matt as you walk toward the set.

He grins, lowering his voice. “I wasn’t called the Rogue Prince for no reason. Besides, I am the blood of the dragon.”

“Sure you are,” you reply, but you are unable to ignore the thrill of Ewan’s intense focus. 

The set buzzes with activity, cast members instructed to maintain their character’s demeanour for the photographs. The Greens go first, with their designated groupings, with Ewan and Gayle sharing a close-up shot. From where you stand behind the cameras, you can feel Ewan’s gaze locked on you, his presence heavy and distracting. After a while, you feel the need to step away, walking further to the side. 

He remains silent, his focus clearly split between you and Matt, who keeps up a steady stream of clever remarks that make you laugh. Each one seems to darken Ewan’s mood further. The tension becomes so palpable that the director finally calls out, “Ewan, can we get your attention over here, please? You’re off your mark.”

Liv and Phia, still awaiting their cues, scurry over to where you stand. Liv leans in with a knowing smirk on her face, whispering in your ear. “Trouble in paradise?” Of course they’ve noticed Ewan’s odd behaviour. 

“More like purgatory,” Phia quips, scrunching her nose.

“Something like that,” you murmur, eyes flicking over to Ewan, who’s now talking with Gayle and the director, looking over the shots taken, though his attention doesn’t stray far from you.

“Well, if you need an escape route, just say the word,” Liv offers, her voice full of concern.

“Do you want me to stare back at Ewan?” Matt cheekily offers, making you punch him on the shoulder. He only laughs openly, the sound free and uninhibited and just Matt. 

“Thanks, guys,” you say, grateful for their friendship. But you know there’s no easy way out of this tangled mess. Not with the way Ewan is watching you and Matt like he’s one step away from bringing The Battle Above The Gods Eye to fruition.

Not long after, it’s time for the Blacks to step onto the set. As you move into position, you can feel Ewan’s gaze practically searing into your back. You fight the urge to laugh. Or grimace. Or shoot him a questioning look. The idea of Ewan in his full Aemond costume brooding over you is something indeed. The fangirl in you would have been sent reeling, if only he wasn’t so fucking infuriating. 

You spot Liv, Tom, and Phia swooping in like a rescue squad with a mission to derail Ewan’s brooding. Phia, ever the animated theater kid, practically throws herself in front of Ewan, waving her hands like she’s recounting the world’s most thrilling tale.

“Ewan, did you catch that last shot of Helaena? Absolute perfection,” she says, grinning.

Tom saunters up, “Care to explain why you are standing here lurking like some stalker? You’re scaring the crew, mate.”

Phia gently nudges Ewan away from your line of sight. “Come on, Ewan. Let’s go for a smoke, it’s stuffy in here.”

Ewan’s clearly torn, but he’s powerless against his friends’ instigation. You bite back a laugh as you see him getting pulled in every direction. Your makeshift rescue team really needs to get their act together, but you love them anyway. The camera snaps away, and you focus on your poses. Knowing that Phia and the gang are running interference, you’re free to enjoy the moment and be Alyna as the photoshoot demands. You can save the enjoyment from watching him squirm later. 

The photoshoot wraps up in the evening and everyone begins to gather their things, preparing to leave. Cast members chat, stretch, and discuss plans for the week.

“So, coffee next week?” Matt asks again, this time with a bit more seriousness.

“Yeah,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll see what I have scheduled then I’ll give you a call.”

“Great. I’ll even let you pick the place. Well, I’ll be off, love, I’m meeting my sister.” he says. Then, as if sensing something, he leans in closer. “But I’d better give you something to remember me by.”

Before you can react, Matt pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you warmly. The embrace lingers just a moment longer than necessary, and as he pulls back, he plants a soft, teasing kiss on your cheek. You catch the mischievous glint in his eyes. What is he up to?

As Matt releases you and heads out of the studio, you spot Ewan coming toward you, his presence all too familiar. He doesn’t say anything at first, and just stands there, his silence more charged than anything he could have spoken. His expression is stoic, but with the way his lips are pursed and his nostrils are flared, you would say that he’s bothered. He’s jealous.

“You seemed to be having fun,” he finally says, his tone casual, though the tension is unmistakable.

“Mmm, maybe I was,” you reply, meeting his gaze head-on. “Is there a problem?”

Ewan’s eyes narrow slightly, but he shakes his head. “Not at all. Just… nevermind. I’m sure you know, we’ve been booked for a magazine feature coming up in a few days.”

You freeze. “Yeah, I heard. What about it?”

“I’m just making sure that you’re okay with it, darling.”

“It’s work, Ewan,” you reply tersely. “We’ll deal with it.”

The tension breaks when Fabien swoops in, his flawless smile in place. “So, you’re stealing Matt away from me now?” he teases, and there’s an edge to his question. He’s still on the fence about you and Ewan, as he feels protective of his friend. But he’s aware that there’s no simple right or wrong here. You both hurt each other; that much is clear. 

“Maybe,” you quip back, shrugging with feigned innocence. “He seems to like my company.”

Fabien laughs, though there’s a hint of something serious beneath it. “I’ll allow it – this time. But don’t forget, I’ve got dibs on him for the next round of drinks.”

As Fabien’s laughter fades, Ewan’s voice cuts through the lightheartedness. “I don’t think she needs your protection, Fabien.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, rolling your eyes. “I don’t need looking after, Ewan.”

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice dropping to something darker. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop.”

There’s a challenge in his words, one that sends a thrill of anticipation through you, even as you know it’s a dangerous game you’re all playing. The fire between you smoulders, waiting for the next spark to ignite it. Is Matt that spark? No, you realise, both your actions will be enough to bring everything crashing down.

For now, you step away, leaving Ewan to stew in his misguided jealousy. 

“See you around, Fabs,” you wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a hug goodbye. “I’ll see you for our shoot, yeah?” you tell Ewan, making it clear that you’re not up for another dalliance in between. 

He gets the hint, nodding tersely. But he doesn’t just let you go, not without making his mark, the thing he ached so badly to do in front of Matt, but couldn’t. 

He briefly casts a glance around the room to make sure no one else is hovering, then presses a soft against your lips, leaving you no time to protest. 

You’re exhausted. You’re frustrated. You shouldn’t give in to this, but you do. He feels right; he feels like home. 

If home is a Motel 6 along the highway, ready to kick you out at a moment’s notice. Isn’t that just a knife in the gut?

You pull away after a second, and he smiles, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek.

Fabien shakes his head, a feeling of warmth rising within him at the sight of his two friends who clearly belong together. If only they would get their heads out of their asses.

You seem to remember his presence, pushing away from Ewan’s hold.

Fabien can only roll his eyes. 

Only two days later, and you’re back to work once more. The British Vogue photoshoot has its focus on high fashion, set against the backdrop of an American West-inspired ranch. It doesn’t dwell on you and Ewan as celebrity figures, which is why you agreed to the shoot in the first place. 

Walking onto set, you’re struck with awe at the dramatic tableau of worn wooden fences, hay bales, and lasso props. But your amazement reaches its absolute peak when Ewan emerges, in full cowboy attire. 

Fuck. You bite your lip, and you can almost hear your heart pounding. Unbeknownst to you, the crew notices your flustered state, but they think it’s just you admiring your boyfriend as expected. 

He meets your eyes from across the room, then saunters over to you, that characteristic smirk set on his lips. Your breath catches in your throat, when he tips his hat and greets, “Howdy, darling.”

“Why, hello, good sir,” you try to match his tone, giving a playful curtsy. 

“Ready to give them a show?” he asks, and you’re sure if he’s referring to the photoshoot or the possibility that the two of you might have to play at being a couple as these people expect. You opt to believe the former. 

As the shoot progresses, the tension between you and Ewan becomes almost unbearable. You’re clad in an elaborate, haute couture cowgirl outfit. A sculptural corset made of brown leather, with a tailored vest on top. A floor-length skirt with a high slit reaching your upper thigh, dyed to a rich gradient of burnt sienna. Knee-high heeled boots. A leather choker with a central silver pendant rests on your neck, dangling provocatively. 

For the first set of shots, both of you casually lean against the fence. Ewan poses beside you, watching you with an intensity that is both electrifying and maddening. His gaze is hungry, almost predatory, and you almost forget about the elaborate set around you. Thankfully, each blinding flash of the camera pulls you back into the real world. Keeping you from riding a cowboy right down on the hay bales. How does the saying go? Save a horse…

The photographer snaps you out of it, as he shouts a direction for you to pose solo with a lasso draped over your shoulder. Ewan steps out of the frame, leaning against a wooden post, his eyes locked on you as if he’s trying to memorise every detail of this look. 

“Alright, let’s try a more dramatic pose,” the photographer instructs. “Maybe something with a bit more attitude.”

You adjust your stance, twisting slightly to emphasise the curve of your waist. As you do, you momentarily meet Ewan’s gaze. His eyes are dark with something like desire, and his lips are set in a grim line. 

“I can’t even articulate what you’re doing to me, darling,” Ewan murmurs in your ear, when the photographer calls for a 5-minute break. Set assistants run onto the scene, adding and rearranging props for the next round of shots.

You smirk, “Speak for yourself, Mitchell.”

“Mmm,” he hums, satisfied. 

The next shot calls for Ewan to stand behind you, his arms wrapped around your figure, the position as intimate as can be. Each click of the camera seems to heighten the tension.

His breath is warm against your neck, the sheer proximity electrifying, causing your entire body to heat up underneath the layers of leather and cotton. His heartbeat matches yours, quick and erratic. His voice is a mere whisper, barely audible over the camera clicks. “You’re making this incredibly difficult, you know.”

You tilt your head slightly, “Difficult how, exactly?”

“Keeping my hands off you is the hardest part of my day,” he replies, his voice husky with restrained desire. “It’s like you’re daring me to break every rule we’ve set.”

That you’ve set, you want to correct him, but you bite your tongue. A bitter chuckle escapes you, the sound a mix of frustration and amusement. “So what if I am,” you tease, bending back slightly into his embrace, feeling his body heat against yours. He welcomes your closeness, leaning into you. 

For the next few minutes, it’s a game of seduction and denial, every movement aimed at tormenting the other. The crew, blissfully unaware of the full extent of the tension, is generally pleased about the atmosphere of the shoot. In their minds, you and Ewan are simply leaning into your real-life chemistry and romance.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Little do they know.

In the brightly lit break room, the hum of distant chatter from the set fills the silence between you and Ewan. He’s seated across from you, his gaze unyielding as you check your phone.

His voice breaks the quiet, his tone deceptively casual but laced with curiosity. “Doing anything tomorrow?”

You look up, meeting his eyes, before tentatively answering. “Actually, yes.”

His brows lift, his curiosity piqued. “Care to elaborate, darling?”

You shift in your seat, trying to mask the tension in your voice. “I’m supposed to grab coffee with Matt.”

“Matt.” Ewan’s voice is low as he repeats the familiar name. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause, his expression morphing from curiosity to something more intense. “Is it… is it a date?”

“I think that was implied,” you reply, your tone deliberately nonchalant as you try to maintain control of the conversation.

“Really.” His voice tightens, his response loaded with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

You notice the obvious shift in his demeanour, the way his jaw clenches and his eyes darken. “Why the long face?”

Ewan’s hands ball into fists on the table, his composure breaking. “Fuck, I—”

Before he can finish, you cut him off, your own frustration simmering. “Forget it. Don’t answer that.”

“No, just…” His voice falters, his emotions raw. “I don’t want you to go.”

You blink, taken aback by his admission. “Are you being serious right now, Mitchell?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Ewan’s eyes lock onto yours, filled with a mix of hurt and possessiveness. A concoction borne out of circumstances of his own making. Or had it been you, last September? You can no longer keep track of whose fault reigns over everything. The truth of the matter is, you love him. Of course you do.

But nothing feels right anymore. 

“I don’t know,” you retort, your voice rising slightly, “I hope you are. Because you can’t just say that to me.”

“But I am.” His tone is resigned but unwavering. “I don’t want to watch you with someone else.”

The words hit you like a cold splash of water, freezing you in place. “Then I’m ignoring what you just said. This isn’t fair to me.”

His face falls. “You can’t just ignore it. It’s not that simple.”

You stand up abruptly, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. “Well, I don’t see how this conversation is going to help anything.”

He stands as well, his expression pained and conflicted. “I just – damn it. Wait a minute, darling – ”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Look, if you’re going to act like this, then maybe we need to rethink – ”

“No,” he interrupts, his voice desperate. “I don’t want to rethink anything. I just… I need you to understand that this isn’t easy for me.”

The room falls silent, both of you breathing heavily. The unresolved problem lingers, the weight of it all hanging heavily between you. 

You take a final look at him, feeling a mixture of anger and longing. “I’m gonna go get some air.”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and walk out of the break room, the doors closing sharply behind you. Ewan is left alone, frustration clear on his face as he stares at the empty space where you once stood.

Ewan is sprawled on his couch, a half-empty bottle of beer resting on the coffee table. The warm light of a lamp casts a muted glow over his apartment, which is littered with the remnants of his evening alone. He has seen the latest headlines about you and Matt, enjoying a date in Hyde Park.

Hyde Park Outing: Is it Love in the Air for these HBO Actors?

He tries to ignore them all, but the nagging bitterness won’t let him be. The images and headlines keep flashing in his mind. Unable to shake the frustration, he sends a quick message to Tom and Phia, inviting them over for a casual distraction.

A short while later, they arrive, carrying a six-pack and a box of takeout. Ewan greets them with a tired smile, which barely masks his despondence.

“Evening,” he says, opening the door wider to let them in. “Glad you could make it.”

Phia gives him a sympathetic look as she steps inside, setting down the food. “We came prepared. Looks like you could use a break.”

Tom follows, his eyes scanning the cluttered room. “And some beers. We figured you might need them.”

Ewan leads them to the living room, where they settle onto the couch. As they crack open the beers and start munching away, the initial wariness fades, replaced by casual conversation. His two guests are careful not to broach the topic of you, but they know it’s inevitable. Soon enough, it will be time to get down to business, which is essentially what they came for. They’re the rescue squad after all. 

“So… we have a feeling we know what’s been eating at you,” Tom says, taking a swig of his beer. “We saw the headlines, mate. Don’t even deny it. It’s gotta be rough.”

Ewan grimaces, his hand gripping the bottle a little tighter. “Yeah, the headlines. they’re , uhhhh … oh, what does it even matter?”

Phia raises an eyebrow, glancing at him. “Come on, kid. It matters. You can talk to us. We weren’t cast as siblings for no reason.”

Ewan lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “We have this thing, this casual thing. But seeing her with someone else... it’s like a punch to the gut.”

Tom nods sympathetically. “I get it. I’m sure it was fun at first, but – ” 

Phia’s concern wins over her, leading her to interject, “Ewan, maybe you need to bloody talk to her. Figure out where you both stand.”

Ewan shakes his head, though his expression softens, and his unmistakable vulnerability shines through. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to see where that leads.”

Phia reaches out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “Ask her why she ended things last year.”

“I know why – ”

“Just… ask her again? You might find out more than you expect.”

Tom waits a beat before butting in with a light-hearted chuckle, “It’s better than letting it fester. At least you’ll know where you stand. You owe her that much.”

Ewan huffs out a laugh, the bitterness in his voice giving way to reluctant amusement. “Maybe. I just don’t want to make things worse.”

“Mate,” Tom shakes his shoulder, “look at the state of things. How in the bloody hell can you make it even worse? I don’t think it’s possible.”

Phia just smirks at his boldness, but she agrees, nodding to Ewan, “He’s right, you know.”

Tom raises his beer in a mock toast. “To Aemond and Alyna.”

“Oh, you absolute rascal,” Phia laughs in disbelief. 

But they all clink their bottles together, the gesture a small comfort amidst the confusion. The evening winds down after an hour, and after they depart, Ewan’s mind is still consumed with thought.

Day or night, you will answer Ewan’s call.

“Hello?” your voice patches through after a few rings.

“Darling,” he says, “I think we need to talk.”

💌 next chapter

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Some notes in the margins...

I did have Matt and the reader's date written out, but I thought it seemed superfluous for this one. Maybe in a bonus chapter?

In the next one: 'THE talk', Ewan dealing with stuff for his film, whippets, interviews, MORE headlines... will they finally resolve everything?

Also, if yous want, I can give a glimpse on what would have happened if Matt got the BV shoot instead :)

The end isn't even within reach. More angst to follow. How can there be more, you ask? Let's hash it out below 😉💙

[bradleysass]

under - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 416

Evan Rosier had been tied to a chair for approximately three hours and thirty-two minutes, not that he was counting. The ropes were too tight to wiggle free, but not tight enough to cut off circulation. His kidnapper, a man who had clearly seen one too many crime thrillers, had spent the first hour trying to intimidate him. The second hour was a monologue about how powerful and dangerous he supposedly was. By the third hour, Evan had tuned him out entirely.

Now, with a knife to his throat and a phone pressed to his ear, Evan exhaled in mild boredom.

"Call him," the kidnapper snarled. "Let's see if your boyfriend values your life."

Evan hummed, unimpressed. "You think this is going to end well for you?"

The kidnapper ignored him and dialed. It rang twice before Barty answered.

"Who the fuck is this?" came Barty’s voice, sharp and impatient.

The kidnapper grinned, pressing the speaker button. "If you want your dear Evan back, you'll listen very carefully."

There was silence for a moment. Then Barty scoffed.

"Oh, you’re under the impression I could care less about you having Rosie? That’s adorable."

Evan barely suppressed a smirk.

The kidnapper blinked. "What?"

"I mean, good for you, I guess?" Barty continued, sounding distinctly unimpressed. "Bold move. You kidnapped my boyfriend, expecting me to do what? Beg? Cry? Start gathering ransom money? Please."

Evan could practically hear the eye-roll in Barty’s tone. He decided to make it worse.

"Barty, love," Evan drawled, entirely unconcerned about the knife still pressed against his skin, "he's really trying his best."

"Is he?" Barty mused. "Because he sounds pretty fucking incompetent to me."

The kidnapper was growing increasingly flustered. "I—this isn’t a joke! You’re supposed to be afraid!"

Evan sighed. "Afraid of what? Barty?"

The kidnapper hesitated, glancing at the phone like it might explode. Evan lifted a brow, amused. "You did look into who you were dealing with, didn’t you?"

Barty made a thoughtful noise. "Yeah, Rosie, I don’t think he did. Should I give him a hint?"

Evan smirked. "Be my guest."

Barty’s voice dropped into something quieter, something lethal. "I hope you had fun while it lasted, mate, because I’m already on my way. And when I get there, you’ll wish you never fucking touched him."

The kidnapper’s face drained of color.

Evan tilted his head. "You’re really in for it now."

The call ended.

The kidnapper looked at him. Evan smiled. "I’d run if I were you."

[spicycinnabun]

🤖🤖 (one of my favourite AUs of all time 🫶🏻)

wahhh I'm honored it's one of your faves. have some post-bar whump! 💙🤖

“What are you doing?”

“Putting the dishes away,” EB answered. “If you have any laundry, I’ll do that, too. Then, I’ll clean the fridge, restock groceries, take out the trash, mop the floors…”

Tommy could practically hear him adding more tasks to his internal clipboard. 

“I don’t want you to do my housework,” he said, brows knitting. 

“Y-you don’t? I thought—oh. My mistake.” EB's shoulders slumped a bit, his LED blinking red. 

They needed to talk. Tommy needed to confess a few things—and he was ready to. He just didn’t want to do it in their current state.

EB was putting the plate back on the drying rack when his knee unexpectedly buckled. Of course, it was his bad leg, and since he was still Thirium-drunk and lacking coordination of his biocomponents, he went down fast and hard with a shout. 

Tommy shot forward and caught him just in time to avoid a collision. “I got you, I got you.”

Tommy made a mental note to check EB’s knee joint soon. It clearly needed maintenance. 

EB was quiet as Tommy pulled him up and steadied them, his arms around Tommy’s neck. He let go sooner than Tommy wanted, using the counter as support instead.

“The plate.” It hadn’t been as lucky, in pieces by their feet. “I’ll clean it up.”

“No,” Tommy said, frowning again. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll take care of it later.”

That seemed to make EB's shoulders slump even further, his head hanging. “I’m not doing anything right,” he said. “I’m a bad bot.”

How wrong he was, and not in the way he thought. Tommy was the bad person. He wished he could’ve made EB happy tonight instead of how he was now. Miserable. Thinking he somehow wasn’t good enough for Tommy fuck up Kinard. 

“EB, that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

But it was like EB hadn’t heard him at all. What he said next was completely mystifying. 

“You’re going to put me back in the b-b-box, aren’t you?” His tone was filled with dread. Rising panic.

The box?

Something cold slid down Tommy’s spine. “What?”

When he caught EB’s eyes, all the color had left—irises and pupils replaced with black and white, scattered and dancing like TV static. “Please, sir. D-don’t leave me in there again. Don’t let her disable my optical units. I-I don’t like the dark.”

If that wasn’t incredibly fucking alarming. What had happened to him? And who? Sir—a previous owner? He would’ve thought Gerrard if not for the inclusion of her. 

Tommy cupped EB’s jaw, trying to pull him back from whatever nightmare he was visiting. “Hey, I’m not putting you anywhere, EB. I’m not going to disable anything. We’re just going to relax for a while.” 

Emphasis on the we. 

EB shuddered, taking a gulp of oxygen. His breath was hot when he exhaled, his fans likely working hard from the sudden stress. He blinked a few times. “T-Tommy?”

There he was.

“That’s right. It’s Tommy. Focus on me.”

EB nodded after a beat too long. “Confirmed. F-focusing. On you.”

Tommy smiled gently, injecting as much warmth into his voice as possible. “Good bot.” 

EB made a needy noise—a crackle, a vibrating buzz. “I-I am?” 

“Absolutely are.” He was. No doubt about it. “Come with me.”

Tommy led EB to the sectional in his living room. It was big and comfortable. Tommy coaxed him to sit and then lie down with soft commands. EB followed them eagerly. 

EB’s head settled on his lap. When Tommy placed a hand on his stomach to ground him, in the spot just beneath his synthetic ribs, EB grabbed it and held on tightly—like Tommy was going to take it away at any moment. His grip wasn’t bone-breaking, but it was enough to cut off Tommy’s circulation in a minute. Tommy didn’t tell him to ease up or let go.

Tommy’s other hand found his curls, petting through them. “I’m right here,” he murmured. EB’s eyes were still snowing, still haunted, but he watched Tommy raptly, hanging on to his every word. “I’m not going to leave you alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

EB hiccuped. Thirium leaked down his temples. Tommy wiped it away slowly as the blue of EB’s irises started to return. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Tommy said. 

⚙︎

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previous parts

i made a lil spotify playlist for eb, too. still adding songs. c:

[getaapologist]

A Haven with Two Faces

Emperor Geta x married!reader

Warnings: adultery; mentions of sex (brief); 18+ only

A/N: Just something I became possessed by and wanted to write out before the idea left me. Image below is credit to @inseparabiles and taken from this brilliant post mentioning Geta's lips

The dress was chosen just for his satisfaction. Stones sewn in, glittering rubies. Crimson. Shining. Spilling. Urgent and alarming. A warning. Red silks. As if bathed in blood. A vision, a fury. The red thread of fate. It wound tighter and tighter, cutting off circulation, threatening to take the hand with it as it breaks skin.

The gods certainly had the capacity to be cruel.

The lust burned like Prometheus fire. There was no thought of a husband, or rules, no thought given to adultery and its grave punishment. You would submit to it to keep these hands gripping your flesh, his soft lips on your skin. How you wished he would give in. A bite to break skin. Possession. A great seizing of flesh with no intention of letting go. The neck held close, fangs sunken in, eyes sharp like a wild animal. 

They could march you down to the river and fill your pockets with stones, accuse you of being a sorceress, stealing the vitality of one of their Emperors, and you would look up at Geta and smile as you waded in.

If only you had met him first. If only. And he seemed to agree, finding every opportunity to send your husband away on another campaign. He had watched your husband beg to be allowed to remain, to have an opportunity to start a family. Laughed in his face, sent him anyway. As if he would allow him to impregnate you. And each time, Geta hoped some error would allow him to fall in battle. If your husband did not return, you could be his, always. A widow in title, but not in spirit, for your soul was long ago wed to his.

It started with a glance. Playful, coy, if also a little nervous. It wasn’t every day you were invited to a party at Palatine Hill. It was your fresh, new husband who had really been invited, though Geta didn’t know that. Not at first. And even once he did know, it did not seem to be as much of a deterrent as it should have been. The same could be said of you.

And then it became a habit. A need.

“You wear this to provoke me, I know it,” Geta accused, his lips at your neck, hands searching lower.

“It is too open, Geta, we will be seen,” you warn, still clinging to him, not pushing him away, as heated and voracious as he was.

A cruel laugh. “What if your dear husband finds us here, buried in each other?” 

It should fill you with dread, it should make you second guess it all. But it doesn’t. “You would have to kill him to keep this secret.”

He growls, and it settles into your bones. “Do not tempt me.”

“I do not wish to leave you again. I cannot bear it.”

He lifts his head to look into your pleading eyes. “My heart, you know it cannot be that way, not yet.”

“Convict him of something, send him away, just please, I need more than these stolen moments. I can only fend him off so many times, Geta.”

He hides his face, his emotions, in the skin of your neck. “Tomorrow he departs for Persia. A lengthy campaign. I will call on you as I please.”

You halt his hands, gripping his wrists. “It is so awful that I wish for him to fall. I make for a terrible wife, don’t you think?” you laugh bitterly.

“I will not hear of it,” He orders, his hand gripping your chin, forcing your eyes to his. He looks down at you with sorrow. “You belong to me, not him, in body and in soul. You know it in your heart. You feel it the same as I do. When you spoke your vow beside him, you were saying it to me.”

Unable to help the swelling of emotions, like a great wave, you hide your quivering lip against his, submerging yourself in his affections to galvanize you for the moments you’d inevitably have to spend without him near. 

You felt as if you were Venus, and he Mars, forever cursed to be bound to another, forced to find your way to each other in secret. When would Vulcan entrap the pair of you with his metal net, expose you to mockery and ridicule? And punishment.

“If you were my Empress, you would want for nothing,” Geta whispers into your ear as he plunges into you, his brows drawn together in concentration as he holds you up, his touch firm but gentle. He’s always careful to not leave a mark. “I would shroud you in the finest silks and jewels. You would be worshipped so thoroughly. Mine.”

As you sit at the table, dress righted, hair smoothed down into place, your husband bumps shoulders with you, a drunken smile on his face. You feel a bit sad for him. He was not mean, or cruel. He did not deserve this violent betrayal. But it was how things were.

“Get lost? I know the palace is so large. Perhaps next time I’ll join you.” 

His implication is not lost on you, and it sends a flush to your face, your neck, though not because of thoughts of him dragging you off somewhere private. It is for all the stolen moments you spent looking up into Geta’s deep amber eyes. But your husband certainly doesn’t know that.

Geta steps around the table, clasping a hand to your husband’s shoulder moments before he reclaims his seat at the head of the table, beside his brother. Flaunting his power to himself. His eyes fall to you, a practiced expression obscuring the affection in them.

“Do not drink too much, wife. I leave tomorrow, and I would like to enjoy you before then.” The words spoken against your ear do not inspire the clench of your thighs as Geta's do.

You offer a small placating smile to your husband and you shoot a concerned glance to Geta, your eyes leaving his shining form as quickly as they could, to not arouse suspicion.

“I have prepared a treat for all of you,” Geta later announces, grinning, the look not unlike how he looks at you, right before he hides himself beneath your skirts. But it’s not directed at you. “Fine soldiers deserve fine celebrations. Come, join me in the courtyard. Ladies, you must forgive your husbands, for they deserve a little gift before we send them far away,” he winks, as smooth as ever. As if he wasn’t doing this for a single, selfish reason.

The look he sends your way tells you that this is his way of keeping you reserved just for him. This is how he protects you tonight. And soon, he can have you to himself.

When your husband finally came home, he did not seek you out. There was a loud clattering and the sound of a chair scraping the floor as it was righted. Drunken footfalls echoing, tired, whiny groans as he made his way into his room. You turned back over once his quiet snores started from the other side of the wall, fingers tracing the band of the ring in your palm. 

A gift. From Geta. And with it came a promise. A promise you hoped he could keep.

[dearrafayel]

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 & 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍-𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍.

rafayel’s exhibitions seem to leave a trail of mysterious disappearances in its wake.

content. yandere!fem!reader (or mc) x rafayel. dark content. canon divergence. fluff. 9.3k words. established relationship (you’re married). graphic depictions of murder. don’t act like this irl please. sexual content. unprotected (shower) sex. obsessive behaviour. cursing.

notes. two things in life are undeniably true; rafayel for sure gets hard from seeing your 'devotion’ and he curses in lemurian during sex, send tweet.

Rafayel was cursed. That is, if you were to ask any person within the art community. It was, after all, the most recent rumour to circulate amongst the socialites. Lately, every person that was perceived to have stood an inch too close to him, been a tad too friendly, or even hoarded his attention for a bit too long than one would’ve deemed appropriate, had strangely vanished off the face of the earth.

With no trace left behind, the authorities and the victims’ families were left grasping at straws to figure out what exactly had happened to them. Though, the one common denominator had been the fact that all of them attended an exhibition of Rafayel’s before their disappearance. The turn-out had been affected by this over time, but there were plenty of people left who didn’t believe in such a silly superstition—much to Thomas’s relief.

Rafayel himself didn’t particularly care much about the attendance record of his exhibitions, nor about the event in general, really, even before its dwindling popularity. However, the reason for their fears still felt so silly. In no world could Rafayel find a logical reason for someone to target people who’d tried to lay some of their moves on him; or rather, he couldn’t think of a person who’d do such a thing.

He’s keenly aware of anybody that surrounds him, and he certainly hadn’t taken notice of a stalker, so the possibility of an obsessed fan cutting down the competition seemed deluded. As for other romantic options. . .The only one who’d been granted permission to be in such close proximity to him, ever, and whenever their heart desired, was you. You were the one in his heart, but you were far from the jealous type—even if Rafayel sometimes wished you’d be.

To fear something as ridiculous as being murdered simply for being near him was, therefore, bordering on the edge of stupid.

Or so he thought.

Rafayel’s mind short-circuited at the sight in front of him; His darling, plushie-adoring, kitty-card fanatic, public servant of a wife bent over an individual that lay bleeding out on the cold, concrete ground of an alleyway. You kneeled in front of the man—Rafayel recognised him as the waiter that had been a little too close to him for comfort earlier this evening—and twirled your hunter’s knife between your fingers. A peculiar feeling arose in Rafayel’s chest. One he definitely should not be having at such a sight.

Ah. Who would’ve thought? You do have a jealous side.

Rafayel suppressed a smile.

In hindsight, he thought he must have been blind not to notice it sooner. Recently, you’d started coming home later than usual, and always insisted on quickly rinsing yourself off in the shower since you felt grimy from fighting all those wanderers. A believable excuse, truly, though when he asked your colleagues about the increased amount of assignments lately, they were none the wiser. Wanting to have some faith in you and your relationship, he’d simply chalked it up to coincidence—perhaps you and those five, six, alright seven, colleagues he spoke to weren’t assigned on missions together.

Rafayel did anything to avoid thinking of the, increasingly real, possibility of you being unfaithful to him. He didn’t want to believe it—couldn’t believe it. For, even if you express your love for each other in very different ways, Rafayel is sure that you do love him; confirmation of it came as soon as he finished the thought. And as he watched the waiter cough up blood onto the pavement, he could do little about the butterflies that erupted in his stomach.

The part of him that wished to take in the sight before him for a bit longer was quickly defeated by the bubbling excitement he felt at the discovery, and he watched as your movements seized with his first step forward. With the heels of his dress shoes clicking on the ground, his footsteps were loud in the otherwise silent alley.

“How lucky must I be to have such a devoted bodyguard,” he called out, a familiar lilt to his voice. Slowly, as if you couldn’t believe what you’d heard, you turned your head towards him. Rafayel hid another smile, attempting to remove the smugness off his features upon seeing the way your eyes widened and your jaw clenched. “There are very few people who are that committed to their job nowadays.”

You blinked at him. Once, twice. Rafayel tilted his head to the side, not breaking eye-contact.

“. . .What are you doing here?”

A hint of a smile broke through. “I could ask you the same thing, cutie.”

You scrunched your nose up, huffing. “I asked first,” you mumbled. Cute. Your eyes trailed over his figure as he moved closer to you and your victim, never letting a second pass without having him in your line of sight. Your gaze was focused, analytical, as if trying to gauge what he will do next. “What are you doing here, Rafayel?”

He hummed at your question. Acknowledging it, without answering it. A soft, pity-filled sigh slipped past his lips as he crouched down in front of the waiter, and next to you. “Y’Did a real number on the guy,” he commented. The artist frowned in disgust as he poked the man’s face.

The waiter made a sound that resembled a garble, and a plethora of groans were heard throughout the alley as Rafayel’s quick poke seemed to bring the man back to consciousness. He blinked, and started breathing heavily again, panting, nearly, as he realised he hadn’t passed away, yet. Frantically, the man looked around, and flinched when his eyes fell on you—though, they filled with hope when he saw Rafayel.

As soon as they did, Rafayel heard you scoff.

“Rafayel!” The man shouted, or tried to, with his voice as hoarse as it is. He coughed again, and more blood came up with it. Rafayel scrunched his nose up, and inched backwards to prevent it from getting on his shoes. “Ra—Rafayel! P—Please, you. . .you have to help me, she—!”

The waiter reached a hand out for him. A few seconds later, a knife was stabbed through the palm of it.

“None of you have any manners,” you said, chastising him. With narrowed eyes, you looked down upon him as he cradled his palm close to his chest while screaming bloody murder. “Who do you think you are to address him so casually?”

Rafayel’s heart skipped a beat.

It seemed you had taken the time to remember one of his latest pet-peeves; strangers being overly comfortable with him and forgoing all honorifics. In all honesty, Rafayel knew he rambled quite a lot about seemingly everything, so he hadn’t expected you to remember it. Such a considerate wife, he has.

Wails continued to sound through the darkness of the night, and you swiftly grabbed the source of them by the collar and slammed his head into the pavement to make them stop. It was effective. You and Rafayel sat in silence shortly after. He looked at you, a certain sense of glee dancing in his eyes, while you did everything you could to avoid his gaze. Was it wrong to think you had never looked more beautiful to him?

Even though your hair was a bit ruffled, and your fingertips were stained a dark red, and even though there were tiny specks of blood decorating your face—Rafayel fell for you even more.

“So,” he spoke up, and watched as you stiffened. He rested his elbow on one of his thighs, and placed his chin on his hand; glancing at the corpse laying at both of your feet. “What do you usually do with them?”

You turned towards him again. Scarily slowly, just like before. Your eyebrows furrowed, but you didn’t answer him immediately. Every thought you had was reflected in your eyes, visible to Rafayel, and only to Rafayel for the mere fact that he knew you best. You sought to deflect, but quickly gave up on that. Then, you thought about denying, which seemed even sillier. Confused, you decided on staying quiet a little longer.

His lack of reaction was strange. It threw you off. When you finally met his gaze, Rafayel’s restraint broke and a small smile started to form. Without much effort, he could see the gears in your head starting to turn at an even faster speed as they desperately tried making sense of the situation.

“Well?” He goaded. One of his fingers poked your side, but you didn’t squirm away and giggle like you would usually. It helped bring you back to him, mentally, though, and you cracked a tiny smile.

Taking a deep breath, you shifted on your feet. The crouching position you were in was starting to get uncomfortable. “I toss them in the ocean,” you confessed, looking at him. “They’re offerings.”

His eyebrows raised. “Offerings? To whom?”

“The Sea God.”

Rafayel’s eyes darkened. His breath hitched in his throat, and suddenly all he could think of, all he could feel, was you, you and your devotion to him that was so much stronger than he’d initially thought it to be.  His hand cupped your cheek; his thumb caressed it, not caring about the blood that clung to your skin. You gazed into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, and then a few more, until Rafayel let out a shaky sigh and released his hold on you.

He cleared his throat.

“Dibs on the head,” he called out, and finally got up from crouching. You blinked at his sudden departure, entirely dumbfounded as you watched him bent over the body and take a firm grasp of its head. He tilted his own head to the side again when he noticed your lack of movement. “C’mon, it’s not gonna walk itself to the sea, you know? Not anymore.”

“I. . .” You started, but it appeared that your sentence would forever remain unfinished. With a sigh, you interrupted yourself, and with a quick shake of your head, you went and lifted the lower part of the body. Together, you carried the corpse out of the alley, engulfed in the shadows of the night and hidden by it from any prying eyes. You grunted, and Rafayel looked at you. “My car’s over there. We can. . .”

“Gotcha,” he said. Wanting to lessen your apprehension, Rafayel cut in before you could finish your sentence. He knew what needed to be done, anyway.

No further words were exchanged as you walked towards your car. He still kept a watchful eye out for any potential witnesses, but was relieved to find the streets of Linkon entirely deserted. That would certainly make this entire debacle less of a hassle. Once arrived, you wasted little time in opening the trunk. Rafayel raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Came prepared?” He asked. There were a variety of things in there; a plastic sheet—no doubt so the blood wouldn’t stain—gloves, two clean knives, some cable ties, tape. It made him wonder how often you’d done this. Were there any people he didn’t know of?

You sniffed, and cleared your throat. “What are you? A cop?”

Before he smiled, Rafayel bit his lip. He looked at you from head to toe. “Aren’t you?”

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek. Amid the tiny sliver of annoyance, he slowly saw a hint of amusement fighting its way onto your face.

“You’re driving,” you said, and threw him the keys. He caught them with practiced ease, having little time to protest. Rafayel laughed softly. Right before taking your seat, you paused to look at him. “And I’m a public servant. Not a cop. You know this.”

He does. Still, Rafayel laughed again. The door to the passenger side closed, and he finally deemed it time to get in the car himself. As he hoisted himself into the driver’s seat, he glanced at you for a few seconds with a small, adoring glint in his eye. It wasn’t long before you caught him, and he took it as a sign that it was time to start driving. To the beach. Ah, the amount of things you’ve done together on a beach. It seemed that, as of today, disposing of a body will now be added to that list.

A few minutes into the drive, Rafayel first felt your eyes on him. Your face still carried faint traces of anxiety, visible to him even if he only glanced your way every now and then. Without a doubt, your mind must still be going at a hundred miles an hour; trying its best to decipher him, trying to gauge whether he truly wasn’t affected by this in the slightest—whether he truly wasn’t disturbed at all. Oh, on the contrary.

Rafayel felt elated.

After staring at him for a little while longer, you finally spoke. It was a question he could have expected to receive, as you’ve never shied away from asking the hard-hitting ones. Seeing you return to your usual antics was a good sign.

“Have you killed before?”

His answer was immediate. “Of course I have.”

Confessing his darkest secret didn’t feel like that big of a deal anymore. In the past, Rafayel thought of you finding out as one of the worst things that could happen to him. Funny how things can change.

You didn’t make a sound after that. Merely staring at him from the passenger seat, blinking every now and then as your mind struggled to comprehend all of the information thrown at it. However, Rafayel wasn’t one to allow uncomfortable silences to appear with you, which mostly stemmed from the fact that he never wanted you to feel uncomfortable when he was near.

“I didn’t have such an obvious pattern, though,” he teased, shooting you a quick glance. The smugness was radiating off of him, and you scoffed. It sounded like music to his ears. “Bit of a rookie mistake.”

Glancing at him, and throwing in the world’s cutest-scariest glare, you shifted in your seat. You grumbled something under your breath, but Rafayel couldn’t quite make out what. “Turn left here,” you said eventually, nodding towards the next cross-road. “It’ll bring you to a cliff.”

He did as he was told. It was hard to stay focused on the road in front of him, especially so with you huffing and puffing all cutely next to him. He’d gaze at you all night if you let him. Well, there was always later. Just as he’d turned back to look at the road, you murmured a sly remark.

“It wasn’t that obvious.”

Rafayel suppressed another smile. “Meh, it was preeetty obvious,” he responded, and watched as you acted offended once again. You, too, hid a smile, though. He was lucky enough to catch it in time. “There’s no need to worry, though, cutie. I’m flattered.”

Something changed within your eyes when he said that. You looked at him, really looked at him. His nonchalance when sitting behind the wheel, the calm exterior he was carrying, the calm interior he was feeling. And then, you laughed—or scoffed—he couldn’t really tell. It sounded like a mixture of the two, giving birth to a sound of disbelief.

“You’re insane,” you concluded.

This time, he let himself smile. “And you aren’t?” He asked, and thoroughly enjoyed seeing the slight fluster on your face when he shot you a quick wink. “Need I remind you whose murder victim is in the trunk?”

You tried your very hardest not to smile, he could see it in the way your tongue poked the inside of your cheek. “Alright, alright, Mr. Rafayel,” you said. “You’ve made your point.”

And all of the sudden, the air felt light again. It shouldn’t be, especially not considering the current situation, but it was—and Rafayel couldn’t get enough of the feeling. He had seen another side of you, and you knew about that other side of him; still, it felt like little had changed. If anything, he felt even closer to you. What more could he need to be on cloud nine?

“Dibs on the head,” you called out quickly, words slightly strung together as you rushed to get them out. Rafayel opened his mouth, pretending to be appalled at your hasty proclamation. He parked the car in one of the many free spots; it was easy, the entire row was empty. Slowly, he turned to face you, looking as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. You grinned a bit sheepishly. “The feet were a pain to carry.”

He narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t even my kill. Why should I get the short end of the stick?”

Your smile turned cheeky. “Because you love me,” you said. It wasn’t a question, more so a statement. A truthful one. “Please?”

“Fiiiine,” Rafayel sighed. He acted as if it were one of begrudging relent, but in all honesty, he’d already decided to indulge you the second you smiled at him. “Oh, the things I do for love.”

Though, with the way you did a short celebration, triumph decorating your face, fists pumping, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret his decision one bit.

As a true gentleman, Rafayel helped you out of the car shortly after. Together, with much more ease than the first time you’d carried the body together—practice really does make perfect—you lifted the corpse towards the very edge of the cliff. Your eyes locked for a second. He glanced between you and the ocean beneath you two, the wild waves hitting the bottom of the cliff. Rafayel waited, and it didn’t take long for the body to land in the deep waters after your nod of confirmation finally came.

A silence hung in the air between you as the corpse floated away, washed away further and further from the shore and towards the Deep Sea. It would never resurface again; Rafayel would make sure of it. He tore his eyes away from the ocean first, which was unusual, as he was normally the one to gaze a little longer at the place he once called home, but he did so regardless—to look at the one he now called home. He huffed, the thought he used to carry now seemed so ridiculous.

“I thought you were cheating on me,” he confessed.

Immediately, you looked at him, the sea long-forgotten. “I could never.”

He smiled. It was so small, any person that wasn’t you wouldn’t even notice the way the corners of his mouth were slightly curled upwards. “I know,” he said, and paused. “It didn’t even feel right. The thought of it, I mean. I just couldn’t comprehend it, but you were acting sooo sketchy, really it’s a miracle you haven’t been cau—Ouch! Hey, hey, hey, I’m not one of your vic—Hey!”

Rafayel laughed. Truly laughed, all while taking the playful hits to his chest. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and a dimple on his right cheek appeared. “Alright, enough, enough,” he said, still chuckling, and grabbed your wrist when you went in for another swipe at him.

You giggled, and if Rafayel had to choose between hearing another siren’s singing, something that has been deemed the most beautiful melody in the world, or your blissful laughter—he would forever choose the latter. With a lovesick smile on his face, he tugged on your wrist and gently guided you towards him. You bumped into his chest, eyes twinkling in the moonlight as your laughter dialled down into a careful smile upon eye-contact with him. For a few seconds, you merely allowed yourselves to get lost in the other’s embrace, relishing in their closeness; and not just on a physical level.

“I’m sorry,” you said, breaking the silence. “For making you feel that way. It was never my intention.”

Rafayel shrugged. “S’okay,” he mumbled, and caressed your cheek. He frowned, noticing the specks of blood that now lay underneath his thumb; dirtying your soft skin. “Trust me, you more than made up for it.”

You huffed, a little flustered still at his discovery. Your cheek felt hot under his touch, which was an indication of your sheepishness. Rafayel wouldn’t have immediately guessed it otherwise. Your sigh in relief captured his attention, slightly popping the peaceful little bubble you two had created together at the cliffside. Quietly, while he was still busy caressing your cheek (and assessing the other spots you’d managed to get blood on), you decided to take the opportunity and ask him what you’d been thinking of since the drive over.

“Who did you kill?”

Rafayel paused for a moment. He wet his lips, thinking about his answer. “. . .Dunno,” he said eventually. It was the truth. “I don’t remember their names. Some of them, I never learned.”

He felt your reach for his hand. Looking down, he smiled as he watched you intertwine them; your smaller hand wrapped around his larger one, and you started playing with his fingers. Cute, again.

“And, why? Why did you. . .”

“The world is filled with bad people,” he said, purposefully keeping his answer a little vague. Your eyebrows furrowed at him, mind hard at work trying to decipher his words. “Some of them try their hand at hurting the ones I hold dear, others think they have the right to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Rafayel caught the exact moment his words had been figured out. Your features softened, and a small, loving smile took place on your lips. “I see,” you said, clearing your throat. Though you did your best at hiding the flattery you felt, it still didn’t escape his keen eye. Certainly not when he’d been feeling the exact same way all evening.

The only two that Rafayel had killed for; you, and Lemuria. You, and his home. However, the longer he looked at you, the more the line between you and the word ‘home’ started to blur. Rafayel sighed. What a night. His movements seized—his thumb no longer caressing your cheek—instead he moved it so he was cupping your chin. Little by little, he guided you towards him, watching with a fond smile as your eyes fluttered shut, before leaning down and pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips.

That familiar flame that always appeared when you’d allow him to kiss you showed itself again, a fire in him that was so different from the one he’d make himself, so very different from his Evol. Though, it was the one he greatly preferred. Rafayel let out a soft groan against your lips, the sound travelling from his mouth to yours, it seemed, considering you echoed it right back at him. He had to put an end to this, or he’d be taking you right here, on this cliff.

He was panting when he pulled back, as were you. A string of spit connected the two of you, and Rafayel gave you another chaste kiss to get rid of it. You nuzzled your nose against his in response, and it made him smile; brightly, boyishly, and incredibly mischievously. He looked at you again, utterly enamoured.

“Alright,” he cleared his throat. Looking you up and down, he stole another peck in-between his smiles. “Let’s get you home, you insane cutie.”

Rafayel’s reaction, or rather lack thereof, had been a surprise. Not an unwelcome one, no, certainly not, but a surprise nonetheless.

Admittedly, your heart had gotten stuck in your throat upon noticing his arrival in the alleyway, and within seconds, your mind conjured up every possible doomsday-scenario. Fleeting images of your wedding bands laying discarded on the kitchen isle, of your hand being held by his own to force the signing of divorce papers, and of flashing lights as the police came to take you away after Rafayel proclaimed his wife to be a psychopath came rushing in immediately.

Luckily, they stayed just that—Fleeting.

Your ring finger was still, and forever will be, adorned by a personally, hand-carved gemstone that was entirely too big for it. It stayed where it belonged, as did Rafayel’s own ring. The word divorce hadn’t been so much as mentioned, let alone been given serious thought. And the police. . .the police were still left grasping at straws, aimlessly chasing leads that will bring them nowhere.

As for your husband, he was rather touchy. More so than usual. The kiss shared at the cliffside was the suspected denominator, as he started sneaking in lingering touches wherever he could reach after that; a featherlight brush over your thighs as he fastened your seatbelt, a subtle kiss to your cheek as he pulled away from you, and the firm clasp on your hand as soon as you’d gotten out of the car.

Rafayel seemed restless. Again. It’d been a good while since he acted this way, with the most recent occasion being a few years ago in the desert of Aridum. The mere memory of it brought back a familiar ache deep within you. Clearing your throat, you removed yourself from his side upon entering the studio. You shook your head, as if that would make the impure thoughts suddenly disappear.

“I, uhm, I’m going to take a quick shower,” you said. The dried blood clung to your skin, it felt sticky, and gross, and you couldn’t wait to wash it off.

Rafayel hummed, feigning interest in the envelopes that lay on the hallway table. More invitations, no doubt. You sincerely doubted he’d attend any of the exhibitions, but (as of today) it turned out he had a knack for surprising you, so, who knew?

Unable to tear your eyes away immediately, you allowed yourself a moment to admire your husband; his fair complexion, those pretty purple locks that you, at first, believed to be dyed, his delicate features that made you want to kiss him all over, and most of all, the twisted mind that hid behind his angelic exterior. One that perfectly mirrored yours.

You smiled. Oh, how lucky you are.

Looking away from him proved to be a very conscious effort, one that required all your willpower, but one that was carried out nonetheless as your awareness of the filth lathered across your body continued to grow by the second. You needed it off you, now. With that thought, you finally left Rafayel in the entryway and rushed into the main bathroom.

Once inside, your hand hovered over the door handle; over its lock, specifically. After doing this so often, locking the door behind you had become customary—something akin to a reflex. Only on nights like these, did you instantly lock the bathroom to bar Rafayel from entering. Him seeing the blood wash down the drain was a recurrent fear of yours, after all. However, this time things were different.

This time, there was no need to lock the door.

You blinked, still looking at the door handle. Your thoughts ran rampant, almost too fast for even you to keep up with. Your grasp tightened and loosened on the handle, on its lock, tightened, loosened, tightened, loosened, in an endless loop, until you finally decided to push it down and open the door again. It’s hinge made a soft clicking sound, and then the door was left ajar.

Not locked. Not closed but unlocked. Ajar. Something you’d only ever dreamt of doing on a night like this.

The implications of it sent a shiver down your spine, and a subtle excitement started to brew in your stomach. Setting up the bait was always easy, as Rafayel was more than eager to hook himself to anything that even remotely involved you. Though, for tonight, you wondered if it would work its magic like always—if you’d still be able to reel in your prized catch.

Only time would tell.

You exhaled, and walked towards the mirror. Leaning your palms onto the sink, you took a moment to gather yourself and comprehend what exactly had just happened. The waiter, Rafayel, the strange yet surprisingly effective bonding moment of disposing of a body together, the kiss he’d given you on top of that cliff—that kiss, you would never come to understand, you thought, as you scrunched up your nose once you finally laid eyes on your appearance.

It wasn’t that your frazzled state came as a surprise. They were all sights you’d seen before. Yourself covered in someone’s blood, with a murderous glint in your eyes and your hair a tousled mess. No, what surprised you was Rafayel’s willingness to kiss you despite you resembling something that had crawled out of a sewer. What a darling, truly.

The thought of your husband made you smile again. With a silly, lovesick little grin you undressed yourself, and finally sought some much needed reprieve under the soothing, hot stream of the shower. In an instant, all the tension in your muscles disappeared and you breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, over time, the water underneath your feet started to turn a soft red as the blood came off your skin and washed down the drain. It made you feel much cleaner, even before touching a single bar of soap.

When bringing your hands down and away from your face, your breath hitched in your throat as you suddenly felt a pair of hands settle on your waist. It worked, you thought immediately. Your heart stuttered in excitement, and the familiar flutter of butterflies appeared in your stomach as Rafayel pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your temple. You sighed in relief. It still worked. Your murderous escapades hadn’t deterred him one bit.

His fingers gently collected your hair in their grasp, gathering all the strands before he kissed your (now blood-less) check. “Let me wash your hair,” he whispered, his breath feeling hot on your ear.

“Mhm,” you hummed softly.

He was here. He was here, and he was warm, and gentle, and loving, and that mere fact of the matter sent a thrill up your spine. Rafayel truly didn’t seem to care. If you were a little bolder, you’d dare to say he even enjoyed the revelation he had tonight. Though, it was best not to jump to conclusions. Being flattered was still a far cry from enjoying it. However, it was much better than your initial scenario. A win is a win.

You let out a relieved sigh. Rafayel’s fingers in your hair, massaging your scalp, and carefully rinsing out the shampoo, a gesture so simple, yet it never failed to soothe your fraying nerves. It almost felt like you ascended to Heaven when your darling Lemurian started humming a soft tune. His song echoed through the ever-damp bathroom, the lullaby carried from one of your ears to the other and back again. You’d never understood the appeal of sirens, not until you met your own.

“You always sound so beautiful,” you mumbled in awe. With your eyes closed, your other senses sharpened and you could feel and hear him chuckle against the shell of your ear again.

Rafayel kissed your temple once more. “So I’ve been told,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. Teasing, because the only person he ever willingly sang for, and therefore told him such, was right in front of him. You huffed, lips curling up into a smile. “Hair’s all done, my love.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It truly wasn’t fair how easily he could do that to you; Just by uttering a nickname. My love. It wasn’t something he called you on a daily basis. With good reason, as it was usually loaded with meaning, with passion—only uttered on the days where Rafayel felt the all-consuming need to intertwine the essence of his very soul with yours so you two may never part, to crawl underneath your skin and live out his days happily in the confinement of your ribcage if it meant an eternity of being close to you.

You hadn’t expected to hear it today.

Your expression told him as much. With widened eyes, and a hitch in your breathing, you spun around in his arms, frantically searching for his gaze. Rafayel was already looking at you. His eyes carried a swirl of emotion you hadn’t seen in there before, not at the same time. They were warm, and adoring, and happy, and at ease, as if something inside him finally found the missing piece he’d been searching for; they held all that, and more, with bouts of possessiveness shining through, and the piercing glint of them felt as if he was staring straight into the very depths of your soul—as if he was, perhaps for the first time ever, truly seeing you.

All of you. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the darkness you’d tried so hard to hide.

. . .And yet, he never looked away.

You blinked, and so did he. Rafayel brought one hand up to cup your cheek, tilting your face upwards while his other one made sure to firmly situate itself around your waist. He pressed your flush against him, chest to chest, and you released a shaky breath as you felt the hardness of him against your stomach. The longing for him intensified, and your legs started to weaken as you felt bits of his pre-cum staining your wet skin. You wanted him, and it seemed that, even after all of this, he, too still desperately craved you.

“My dearest,” he spoke up again. He kept his gentle hold on your cheek, making it so you couldn’t look away from him even if you tried. That was of no problem to you, as you never felt the desire to do so, anyway. You hummed, eyes briefly fluttering shut in bliss as you felt his other hand caressing your back so very lovingly. “May I…”

“Please,” you choked out. It sounded depraved, and under any other circumstances you might have felt the urge to be embarrassed.

However, it was all Rafayel needed to hear. His lips were on yours before your mind could catch up. They were soft, and familiar, and tasted vaguely of the sweet cotton candy the two of you had snagged on the way home from the art exhibition earlier today. It was a stark contrast to the way he was kissing you; as the kiss was bruising, deep and passionate as if the air in the room could only be given to him through the reprieve of your mouth on his—as if you were the oxygen he breathed. It felt as if he were stealing the air in your lungs and transporting it to his own, as you got more and more out of breath by the second.

“M—hm,” you grunted, as an attempt to catch your breath without having to pull back too much. He felt so incredibly good, and parting from him seemed far worse than succumbing to the lack of air in your lungs.

As always happened whenever Rafayel kissed you, you suddenly became keenly aware of his very being; of the very palpable presence of him, even with your eyes closed, you identified the soft flutter of his lashes against your cheeks, the texture of his skin underneath your fingers, the pressure of his lips against yours, and the roaming of his hands from your waist down to the back of your thighs.

He was here. He was real. And he was yours.

Rafayel pulled back first, the moment so brief that it didn’t even give him the time to gloat about the fact that you desperately chased after him, and gave both of you no more than a second to breath before connecting you two again; deeper this time, as he nudged your mouth open and swiftly slid his tongue inside.

The moan you let out was involuntary, as was the short squeak that slipped out as Rafayel suddenly grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you off the ground. Your protests got stifled by him deepening the kiss, and he greedily swallowed the mixture of groans and hisses you let out as you felt the cold tiles of the shower wall against your skin. Any complaint you had melted away like snow underneath the sun, completely distracted by the searing onslaught of his lips. And still, you wanted him to be even closer.

Your hands reached up to his hair, and tangled in the wet strands. The gentleness you usually reserved for him was briefly forgotten as you tugged on his locks with a little too much force, the need for him overpowering you. Rafayel let out a groan, and adjusted your legs around his waist. With them firmly wrapped around him, your bodies fully pressed together, you could finally feel him in its entirety.

His heavy, needy cock brushed against your sticky folds, and your breath hitched in your throat as you felt it smear some warm pre-cum against the underside of your ass. When he pulled back from the kiss, Rafayel’s cheeks donned a fiery red colour, his quick pants brushed against your lips, and just as you were about to plead with him to get a move on—he suddenly brought his fingers to your mouth.

Rafayel waited. His digits rested against your lips, waiting for you to open your mouth and welcome them in there like you had done many times before; waiting for you to suck on them, to get them nice and wet before he used them to spread you open and get you ready for him. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that the two of you were underneath the shower and that they, therefore, were already wet.

Though, on a night such as tonight, you didn’t crave his fingers. You craved him.

With a shake of your head, you pushed his fingers away.

It surprised him, clearly, as he tilted his head to the side. “No?” He asked, an eyebrow raised. An amused smirk settled on his lips, and he playfully tapped your lips with his index finger. “You sure?”

“Very,” you said, nearly immediately, and used your hold on his shoulders to pull him tighter against you. It startled him a bit, as he had to adjust his hold on you. You granted him little time to gather his bearings, and grinded your cunt onto the base of his cock. Rafayel stifled a groan, tensing up at the feeling and squeezing the fat of your ass as a reflex. “Your fingers won’t be enough this time. I want you. I want you now, Rafayel.”

In any other circumstances, he’d make you work for it. He would choose to tease you a bit here, throw in a taunt there—this time, however, the neediness you felt was shared.

“Fuck, okay,” he breathed, sighing, as if that would make him catch his breath any faster. “Yeah, okay, c’mere, princess.”

He stole another moan from you with the bruising kiss he pressed against your lips, and another one as he kissed you again, and again, and again, until he pulled back again to rest his forehead against yours. One of his hands trailed downwards, in-between your bodies, and wrapped around his hard cock, its normally soft-ish pink tip now an angry shade of red. He stroked himself a couple of times, and let out a low moan as your hand accompanied his and started moving in sync with him.

Each pump of his cock was joined by another profanity, and when you were confident he’d muttered all the curse words underneath the sun, you lined him up with your entrance—only for him to switch to Lemurian and continue his array of colourful words. Rafayel was forming a knack for surprising you, it seemed.

“Please, just. . .” You trail off, biting down on your lower lip as you felt his tip slowly, painfully slowly, start to breach your entrance. You attempted to guide yourself forward, to feel every part of him within you sooner, but he didn’t allow you to; his firm hold on you prevented you from moving even so much as an inch. “Let me have you, please.”

“You have me,” Rafayel said, tearing his gaze away from where the two of you were slowly becoming one so he could look into your eyes. His lips found yours again, as they have many times this night, and he greedily lapped up every sound you let out as he finally drove himself into you fully. Spit, kisses, soft moans, and high-pitched whimpers got exchanged between the two of you as Rafayel bottomed out inside you. “You got that? You have me. All of me.”

“All of you,” you echoed.

The pink and blue hues in his eyes started swirling together, creating an imagery that once again made you aware of the otherworldly beauty your dear husband possessed—which was a given, of course, as he truly was from another world. You sighed in bliss, and Rafayel started moving at last once he deemed enough time to have passed for you to adjust to him; since you always had to, no matter how often you’d taken him already. The stretch had become familiar, yes, but in no way had it seized to exist.

“All of me,” he confirmed, and started to set a proper pace.

It wasn’t rough, or hard, or fast, but god, was it deep—as if he were pouring a fragment of his very essence into you with each thrust. Pulling out all the way, just to fuck himself in even deeper; over and over and over again. He made sure to savour every little feeling, to feel each and every ridge of your inner walls, and allowing you to feel every vein on his lengthy cock. And even though you’d had sex with Rafayel plenty of times before, somehow this felt as if it were the firs time all over again.

In a way, it was. For the first time, you made love while truly knowing every single inch of the other’s inner workings—while really knowing the other. Leaving that door ajar hadn’t just opened the bathroom door. It left space for a deeper connection to form, for a vulnerability to show that both of you had kept so well-hidden before.

The fear of losing the other.

Whether it was to other people, or to (seemingly) unknown dangers didn’t matter. That fear had driven you both to show exactly how far either of you would go to make sure it would never come to fruition.

Rafayel’s pretty moans graced your ears and pulled you out of your daydream, guiding you back to the present with him and making you aware of the steam that’d started to form in the bathroom. You nearly couldn’t see a thing, only able to make out Rafayel—which was all that you needed to, truly.

“F—Fuck, you feel so good, I. . .” He panted. Another plethora of Lemurian rambles slipped past his lips, and under different circumstances you’d try your hand at understanding it; with your limited but ever-growing knowledge of the language. “Fuck, I—I love you.”

“I love you,” you told him, making sure to push as much of your love for him into those three words. You wanted him to feel it, rather than just hear it. He gave a particularly nasty thrust at that, one that caused his tip to bump into rather sensitive spot of yours. You whined, and dug your nails into his shoulder blades to steady yourself. “So much, yeah? F—fuck, I love you so much, Rafayel.”

He groaned at the feeling of your nails digging into his back. “So much,” he repeated your words. Almost like a mantra. “So much, so much, so much, ah—!” Rafayel rambled, each case followed closely by another rut into your tight heat.

Overcome by pleasure, you nearly missed the way his bond mark started to glow a faint red. Nearly, of course, being the keyword. Your heart immediately fluttered at the sight; At the eternal reminder of his belonging to you. A shaky hand of yours found its way to his collarbone, engulfing the mark as a surge of possessiveness coursed through you.

“All of you,” you mumbled again. You could feel Rafayel’s heartbeat underneath your palm, directly underneath the mark. It was erratic, and it skipped a beat when he gave a harsh thrust upon noticing your hand on his chest. “A—All mine.”

Rafayel placed one of his hands on yours, while the other helped keep you upright. “All, ah, all yours, my love,” he stammered, and you could tell that he started to near his end by the way his grip on your hand started to falter.

But, your darling husband was a romantic down to his very bones, and would rarely allow himself to indulge in the wicked sin of cumming first. It was something he saved for those lust-filled nights where you were in control, with him entirely at your mercy—but, as it was, tonight was not one of those nights. And so, Rafayel slowed down his pace to prolong his release. While his speed went down, the intensity of his thrusts stayed the same. Deep, hard strokes hit into that same, familiar spot within you that only his cock has ever been able to reach.

The hand that had been tenderly wrapped around yours dropped down in-between your legs, seeking out your clit to intensify the euphoria coursing through your veins. Each rub, flick and pinch against it was calculated, given in such a way that Rafayel knew would make you keen under his touch. With him being so intimately familiar with every inch of your body, it didn’t take him particularly long to drive you further towards the edge; and he greedily drank up every one of your moans, even when they’d started to pick up in pitch.

“I’m. . .Raf, I—!” You gasped against his mouth, but he silenced you almost immediately by pressing a firm kiss against your lips.

“I know,” he said, panting against you. Another kiss was given to you, and another, and another, and you squealed as he started picking up the pace again. “I know.”

Because of course he does. There wasn’t a person out there who knew you better than him, nor was there anybody else who knew him better than you.

“Don’t stop, please,” You said. Your voice didn’t make it further than a breathy whisper, with you being nearly out of breath. Both your hands cupped his face and you held him as close to you as possible. “I love you so much.”

Rafayel let out a strangled whine at that. Your walls clenched around him, and your fingers tangled from his nape up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Once there, the soft tugs you gave on them sent a shiver down his spine—and a sharp whimper left him the second you came around him and tugged harshly on the purple-ish strands.

“Ah,” he hissed, the muscles in his body tensing as he felt the way your walls sucked him in with an amount of greed he’d never seen before. “Fu—Love you, l—love you, so. . .ah, f—fuck!”

There was little he could do except for tumble right over the edge alongside you.

Your blissful melody sounded through the bathroom, moans weaving together to create the most beautiful song while the two of you got lost in each other. Rafayel’s hand faltered against your clit, biding you some reprieve to come down from your own high, as he let himself go and filled you up as much as he could.

Long, thick ropes of his cum seeped into you, nearly straight into your womb as Rafayel’s tip sat snug against your cervix. Some of his seed started dripping down your leg as he came, and came, and came, and unloaded every drop of his most intense orgasm to date into you. It almost felt never-ending, but nothing truly is—so when he finally did finish, he was out of breath, a little disoriented and nearly entirely flushed red. His chest was heaving upwards rapidly, and he let out a deep sigh as he rested his forehead against yours.

Neither of you had any air left to give. Still, you sought out the other for a kiss.

It was no longer as charged as before, though. It was soft, and loving, and so delicate; as if both of you were afraid of hurting the other if you were to be too harsh. Rafayel nudged his nose against your own, an action that made you giggle.

It was the only movement between you two for a good while, both of you choosing to relish in the other’s closeness for just a little longer. When it was time to finally pull away from you, Rafayel (begrudgingly) made the first move to.

He pulled out of you slowly, and you nearly let out a whine at the emptiness that washed over you because of it. All that you were left with was his release partially inside you, with the rest of it clinging to the inside of your thighs. Rafayel huffed in amusement, a small entertained smirk curling at the end of his lips as he watched your reaction. Finding it cute, he pressed a sweet kiss to your cheekbone before carefully putting you back onto the ground.

“Careful,” he chirped, noticing how you struggled to remain upright with your shaky legs. One of his hands quickly rested on your waist to steady you, and his smirk widened.

You tried to scoff in annoyance, but failed miserably due to the smile that crept up your face. “Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled instead, watching as Rafayel’s usual bravado gradually made its return; the intensity of the moment you shared slowly fading away.

Though, despite that, you still felt impossibly closer to him.

Rafayel looked at you. His head tilted to the side, and a few of his fingers gently brushed over your collarbone to wipe away a few of the droplets of water laying on your skin. A futile effort, really, as more and more fell on you anyway considering you were still underneath the hot shower.

“Let me wash your body, too,” he said. “Please?”

With all that had happened, you nearly forgot that you’d gotten into the shower to clean yourself. And so, you gave Rafayel a quick nod and watched as he happily reached for the vanilla and caramel-scented soaps and shower gels before getting to work.

He touched your body with the utmost care. Every inch of you got caressed in a way that not just left your skin clean, but also left your heart full. After each part was done, Rafayel pressed a kiss to an area there—from your arms, to your shoulder blades, to your nape, to your lower legs, and to your stomach and thighs. Nevermind that he had to kneel in front of you to reach certain points, he did it without a fuss.

It was clear to you then. Rafayel loved you. Absolutely every part of you was thoroughly adored and revered by the man in front of you.

You felt like the luckiest person in the world.

And then, as if it were simply like any other night, the two of you fell into your familiar routine. With you dressing yourself into one of his shirts, and him only putting on a black pair of boxers, and with the two of you goofing off in front of the bathroom mirror while brushing your teeth. Rafayel dried your hair like he did on every other night and then tucked the two of you into bed, making sure that the covers were snugly wrapped around your bodies.

You sighed, head laying on his chest. The starry sky was entirely visible, with little to no clouds in the way of them, and Rafayel’s sunroof allowing you a perfect view of them.

What a day.

Rafayel held you in his arms. You felt as if that was were you always belonged. Basking in his presence, admiring the stars above you while he gently traced silly patterns on your back (seriously, you thought you’d identified a fish, a butterfly and a squirrel). Though, despite the increasing amount of peacefulness that settled upon you—there was one thing still bothering you.

“How did you know where I was?”

“Hm?” Rafayel hummed, pausing his tracing. It seemed his mind buffered a bit, as it took him a few seconds before he answered. “Oh, there’s a tracker on your car.”

It’s as if you asked him what he’d had for dinner; the airiness in his voice something he’d usually only reserve for the most mundane questions.

“You—!” You stuttered, a little bewildered at the ease with which he made his confession. Though, in hindsight, you shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t the first time. “First it was my suitcase, now it’s my car. . .How many trackers do you have?”

It was meant as a joke.

“Seven, but one of them got destroyed when you decided to walk through a heavy downpour without an umbrella, so, six are left,” Rafayel answered anyway.

You blinked, and he tapped the tip of your nose with a small smile. “You’re insane,” you concluded.

Rafayel tilted his head to the side, with an eyebrow raised. “You kill people who stand too close to me,” he said matter-of-factly.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “I—you—you make me sound so deranged,” you grumbled, attempting to defend yourself at least a little. The warmth on your cheeks spread out to the tips of your ears when you felt Rafayel laugh; it was a knowing laugh, a chuckle that called your bluff. “I’m not! I swear, I’m not entirely unreasonable. Of course, you can speak to other people. Some of them, though. . .”

“Yes?”

He was enjoying this way too much. Too much cheerfulness was in his voice to be considered normal. You didn’t know whether to be relived or find the nearest rock to crawl under out of embarrassment, because, yeah, it did sound a little unhinged. You gently hit him in the chest, as if that would get rid of the smug smile forming on his lips.

“They’re just so rude,” you mumbled, scrunching up your nose. Rafayel hummed in agreement, sensing some truth in your words. “Other than being overly familiar with you, they also bat their eyelashes, touch your arm, playfully hit your chest. . .´

“Like you just did?”

“Yes, exactly, like I just did—your wife,” you said, making sure to put a great emphasis on the very last word of your sentence. Rafayel’s smile grew in size. “And it just seems like they don’t care for that fact at all. Even after I arrive, or even after they see your ring, they don’t seem to be deterred at all.”

Rafayel hummed. He grabbed your hand, intertwining it with his own. “And that bothers you?”

“Immensely,” you said, eyebrows furrowed at the mere thought of it. You glanced at your husband, your previous disdain-filled look making way for a questioning one. “I mean, you’re mine, aren’t you?”

He smiled. Your seeking of reassurance was adorable, and Rafayel would gladly give it to you every single time. With his arms wrapped tightly around you, he held you against his chest and rested his chin on top of your head after pressing a light kiss to your crown. His way of confirming that, yes, he definitely was.

“My crazy wife,” he mumbled, sighing happily. Your inability to deny his statement left you feeling a little sheepish. “Oh, how I adore my crazy wife.”

A crazy wife, and her equally crazy husband.

You snuggled closer to Rafayel, a peaceful smile on your lips.

Yes, the two of you sure make quite the pair.

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ 𓍢 JIHYORURI 106 FM | jihyoruri 106 FM catalog for today brought to you by your very own jihyoruri! new music by kim minji will follow up next ; school!au , fluff, angst,

now playing: cool with you; by kim minji 1:35 ━━○───── 3:47 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılı ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

when yn first laid her eyes on kim minji, she was just amazed at how perfect the girl seemed to her.

minji wasn’t just pretty, she was effortlessly captivating, with an infectious laugh that made yn's heart skip a beat.

as class president, she commanded attention with a natural grace, but it was her confidence and charm that truly left yn in awe.

to yn, she seemed perfect in every way, almost unreal, and from that moment, she couldn't help but be drawn to her.

yn’s first conversation with minji would forever haunt her, a mess of embarrassment she couldn’t shake off, and she blamed it all on hanni.

“where are you taking me?” yn whispered urgently, the jingling charms on her backpack clinking with every hurried step. hanni’s grip on her wrist was relentless, nearly cutting off circulation, as she dragged yn down the hallway without a word.

hanni stayed silent, her pace unrelenting. yn began to wonder if the school had installed a new vending machine, because honestly, that was the only logical reason she could think of for hanni to be acting like this.

but then it hit her. they weren’t heading toward the vending area; they were on a direct path to the guidance room, a place where kim minji practically lived.

yn’s heart sank. hanni knew about her crush on minji, which meant this was going to be a disaster.

“hanni, whatever you’re thinking of doing, please don’t,” yn pleaded, her voice laced with panic.

“just trust me bro,”

without warning, hanni shoved the door open, practically dragging yn inside before she could protest. yn’s heart raced as the familiar scent of the guidance room hit her, her pulse thudding in her ears.

“minji!” hanni called out confidently, her voice echoing through the room.

minji, sitting at her desk, barely looked up from her papers. “if this is about a new vending machine, I don’t want to hear it, I don’t have that kind of power,” she sighed, clearly exasperated.

hanni rolled her eyes. “actually, i’m here to introduce you to someone. remember how you said you needed a vice president? well, i’ve got the perfect candidate for you.” hanni gestured dramatically toward yn, whose face was quickly turning bright red.

minji finally looked up, her eyes landing on yn for the first time. surprise flickered across her face, and she slowly took yn in, her gaze lingering a moment longer than yn expected. “her?” minji asked, her voice soft, curiosity laced in her tone. “do you really think she'd be a good candidate?”

yn's throat went dry. this was her chance. she opened her mouth, but no coherent words came out—just a nervous jumble of sounds. “I, uh… I mean… maybe? I don’t—well, i’m not—”

she could hear hanni’s quiet snickering.

minji’s lips quirked up into a soft smile, clearly amused by yn’s flustered state. “that’s adorable,” she said, her voice gentle. “welcome, vice president.”

the start of the school year had been a whirlwind for yn. after what hanni thought was an hilarious awkward introduction, she and minji had spent months side by side as class president and vice president.

they became inseparable, studying together, planning school events, and even hanging out on weekends. minji’s playful teasing and lingering looks made yn's heart race, and more than once, yn felt like there might be something more between them.

but just when things were starting to feel real, yn’s close friend outside of hanni chaeyoung, threw a wrench into her thoughts.

“yn,” chaeyoung began hesitantly one afternoon, her cheeks turning pink as she twirled a strand of hair nervously. “I… I need to tell you something.”

yn looked up, curious. “what’s up?”

chaeyoung bit her lip, glancing away before taking a deep breath. “I kind of have a crush on someone. like, a huge crush.”

yn smiled, leaning in with a playful nudge. “really? who is it? do I know them?”

chaeyoung nodded, her blush deepening. “yeah, you… you know her really well.” she hesitated, then murmured, “it’s… it’s minji.”

yn’s smile froze, her stomach twisting. “m-minji?”

“yeah.” chaeyoung’s face was filled with hope as she looked at yn. “she’s just… so cool and smart and funny. I’ve been trying to talk to her, but it’s been hard, you know? I thought maybe… maybe you could help me? since you’re close with her.”

yn’s stomach twisted. she liked minji more than she’d ever admitted out loud, but she also wanted her friend to be happy. and, after all, maybe minji didn’t really like her that much… right?

yn forced a smile, trying to ignore the painful knot forming in her chest. “oh, um… yeah. I mean, I guess I could help.”

chaeyoung beamed, oblivious to yn’s inner stress. “thank you, yn! you’re the best. I just… really think she could like me, you know?”

yn’s heart sank, but she nodded, trying to keep her voice steady. “yeah… maybe she could.”

with a heavy heart, yn started putting effort into setting up chaeyoung and minji, brushing aside her own feelings.

she arranged casual hangouts where she’d subtly nudge minji and chaeyoung together, even though each time hurt more than the last. soon enough, a class trip to a theme park came up, and yn thought it’d be the perfect chance for them to grow closer.

the group reached the roller coaster, and yn tried pairing minji with chaeyoung for the ride. “you two go together! I’ll go with hanni,” she said, but hanni immediately backed away, shaking her head, wide-eyed with fear.

chaeyoung wasn’t much better. “sorry, yn… I’m kind of scared too.”

yn forced a smile. “okay, no problem! I’ll just go by myself—”

“wait,” minji interrupted, grabbing yn’s wrist gently. “I’ll go with you.”

as they climbed into the roller coaster, yn noticed how tightly minji was gripping the bar, her face paler than usual. “are you okay? you look terrified,” yn whispered.

minji gave a small laugh, her eyes darting nervously to the towering track ahead. “yeah I’m scared out of my mind,” she admitted. “but… I didn’t want you to go alone. I’d rather be here with you, even if it’s terrifying.”

yn’s heart swelled, and without thinking, she reached over and took minji’s hand. “I’ve got you,” she said softly, and they held hands through the entire ride, neither letting go until it was over.

as the evening wore on, yn and minji broke away from the group to get some drinks. they found a quiet bench under the glow of the theme park lights and sat together, the soft hum of the distant rides mixing with the calming night around them.

“I still can’t believe you went on that ride with me, even though you were scared,” yn said, shaking her head with a soft smile, trying to lighten the air between them.

minji looked down, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “I guess I’d do just about anything if it meant being with you.” she glanced up, her eyes locking with yn’s. after a brief silence, her voice dropped, more vulnerable than yn had ever heard. “yn… I really, really like you.”

yn’s heart seemed to stop mid-beat, her mind racing in a whirlwind of hope and panic. “no… you can’t,” she stammered, her hands trembling. “chaeyoung… she really likes you, minji. I was just trying to set you two up so she could have a chance.”

minji’s expression darkened, her brows knitting together in frustration as hurt flashed in her eyes. “yn, just because chaeyoung likes me doesn’t mean I have to like her back! why do you keep pushing me toward her when I’ve been trying to show you how much I care? why do think I’ve tagged along with you to all these places with her?”

yn shook her head, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “you don’t understand, minji. I’ve been trying so hard to do the right thing. chaeyoung’s my friend, she deserves to be happy, and… and you—” her voice cracked as tears began to fall.

“and what?” minji’s voice wavered, her own tears threatening to spill over. “and I don’t? you don’t? yn, you’ve been so busy thinking about chaeyoung that you haven’t even stopped to ask how I feel how we feel!”

“because it doesn’t matter!” yn cried, her voice breaking as she looked away, her hands gripping the bench to steady herself. “it doesn’t matter what I feel. I can’t hurt her like that. she’s one of my best friends.”

minji’s hands clenched into fists, her frustration mixing with the raw emotion in her voice. “it does matter, yn! it matters because I like you! not chaeyoung, not anyone else—you! why can’t you see that? why would I have accepted you as vice president when all you sis was stutter your ass off, I thought you were cute, and pretty.”

her voice cracked, tears now streaming down her face. “you keep trying to push me away, but it’s you I want.”

yn’s tears fell harder, and she shook her head again, her voice barely a whisper. “please… just stop. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

minji reached out, gently taking yn’s hand, her grip shaky but firm. “I’ll fight for you, yn. I don’t care how complicated this is, I’ll fight for us, because you’re worth it.”

before yn could process the words, minji leaned in, her lips meeting yn’s in a kiss that was tender yet filled with a desperate longing. yn’s heart surged, overwhelmed by the emotions flooding through her. but as minji pulled away, yn’s tears came faster.

“I… I can’t do this to her,” yn choked, pulling her hand from minji’s grasp. “it wouldn’t be fair. I’d be betraying her.”

minji’s face fell, her own tears falling freely now. “and what about us?” she asked, her voice trembling. “what about what we could be? are you really willing to let that go because of her crush?”

yn’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as she looked into minji’s pleading eyes. “I… I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

minji wiped her tears angrily, her frustration bubbling over. “and what about me, yn? I’m hurting too. just because chaeyoung likes me doesn’t mean i’m obligated to feel the same way. I’m telling you, right here, that I like you. isn’t that enough, do you like me?”

“yes.”

“then what’s the problem?!”

yn swallowed hard, her tears blurring her vision. “I can’t… I just can’t do that to her.”

minji let out a shaky breath, defeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “fine. if that’s how you really feel.” she stood up, wiping her face as she looked away, her heart clearly breaking. “let’s just… get back to the others.”

as they made their way back to the group, the silence between them was deafening, both painfully aware of what could have been, yet knowing that something precious had been shattered.

[ghoularaki]

Hii can I be with Zayne at the honeymoon suite? 🤭

NOW ENTERING HEART'S DESIRE MOTEL

cw: bondage, doggy style, praise, slight breath play, soft dom! zayne

Clad in only babydoll negligee, you were laying on the heart-shaped bed on your tummy. Your feet lazily kicked back and forth as you scrolled on your phone. From behind you, you heard Zayne enter. The bed dipped as he joined you on the bed.

Softly he parted your legs and sat betwixt them. Massaging up your calves, you sagged into the bed, dropping your phone. He continued his path up your thighs. His large hands gripped and pulled the fat. His thumbs dragged up your inner thighs until he reached your core.

Cupping your bottom, he pulled it apart to get a better look at both holes. Your cunt winked in anticipation. Zayne leaned over you to kiss your shoulder. At the small declaration of love, he hitched your hips so you were properly arched.

“Stay like that for me, princess.”

Nodding your head, you didn’t move besides shift your knees to be in a better position. Leather whistling through the air rung throughout the room. Zayne slipped his belt out from the loops. Gathering your arms, he placed them at the small of your back. Repositioning yourself, you let your chest bare your weight.

He wrapped your wrists with his belt and pulled. Slipping two fingers between the bind, he made sure you were left enough room and your circulation wasn’t being cut off. Your body shifted backwards from the pull.

Pleased with your binds, Zayne unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Tugging them down with his underwear, he let his cock slap against his stomach. Despite being exposed, he didn’t go straight to fucking you.

Going back to gripping your thighs, he used his thumbs to pull apart your lips. Your clit twitched as he leaned down to blow air against it. You tugged your restraints, hating how he teased you.

His thumbs went closer to your hole, plunged it and pulled. A confused moan left you as he pried you apart, but you were still so empty. Your cunt clenched around the air, begging to properly be filled.

“Zayne?” You questioned with a keen.

“Just making sure you’re stretched enough.”

You believed him, but he could have just stuck his fingers in. This way made you feel like you were being examined. Heated overtook your face at the thought. Images of Zayne doing pussy inspections while in his work uniform rushed through your head. You hunched your shoulders, liking the fantasy a lot more than you cared to admit.

Zayne quickly pulled you away as he released one side of you. Bringing his cock to your still spread cunt, he tapped it against your clit. Dragging it up to your hole, he pushed in. You moaned at the intrusion. Grabbing both your hips, Zayne pulled you onto his cock. You were unable to do anything besides take it.

Moans filled the room as he instantly started a steady pace. He didn’t give you anytime to adjust as he bucked into you. Your fingers clenched from the pleasure.

Zayne wrapped a hand around your throat. He didn’t put any pressure just present enough to ground you. He thumbed the side, feeling the vibrations of your throat. Using it as leverage, he dragged you upwards. Your head met just below shoulder.

At the new angle your vision went white of a second. He hit right against your g-spot. Tilting your head, you saw Zayne staring down at were you both met. He stilled had his glasses on. They were slipping down the bridge of his nose and becoming foggy with each thrust. He tilted his head backwards to get them back up, but it did little to help.

“W-why don’t- ah! you take them off?” You questioned through hiccuped moans.

Zayne’s drifted to your eyes, “I- fuck- want to see you.”

If your face could get any hotter it would. Shy, you turned your gaze away. But he was quick to turn you back and make you watch. At your embarrassed face, Zayne pistoned in you harder.

More whines slipped out as your fingers fanned out only to brush against his hard stomach. The hand on your hip drifted down to fiddle with your neglected clit. Swirling wet patterns in the bud, he squeezed the sides of your throat ever so slightly.

Your brain turned fuzzy. Nothing else mattered as he worked you up and up until you crashed down. Crying out, your cunt fluttered against him as you came. He didn’t stop for a moment as he forced himself over the edge as well.

Dropping you down on the bed, he crowded you. His arms bracketed your head as he drilled his cock in you. Foregoing any precise pace, he lost his rhythm as he came. Rolling his hips, he made sure every bit coated inside you.

Zayne didn’t leave you or move as he kissed your shoulders. “So good for me. Such a good little girl.”

You whined at the praise, but welcomed it. Zayne knew exactly how to break you down.

[moremaybank]

I would just like to say that s2/3 Rafe OR Trevor from Hellraiser is absolutely the kind of guy to slap your hand away as he’s fucking your brains out in missionary.

Like it’s just becoming a lot and you can’t deal and the hand on his abdomen is to give him some kind of hint but he’s not having it 😵‍��😵‍💫 he’s so lost in how good you feel but he also needs you to feel him.

“You can take it, baby, I know you can.. fuckin’ know you can, don’t try to move me. Keep givin’ me this pussy, I know you can take it”

genie, baby, how could you do this to me? (please keep doing it). 18+, mdni.

Rafe's going in for the kill, overpowering every one of your senses, and it's so, so good, but so mind-boggling at the same time; how much pleasure he can provide you with, free of remorse once you’re completely exhausted.

It doesn’t matter how many times he makes you cum, he always wants for more. And he’ll get it.

That’s for damn sure.

"Don't you wanna make daddy proud, princess? You're doing so well for me. You can do this, I know it."

"I-I can't, feels too good," you whine.

He ignores you, too wrapped up in the way your warm, wet pussy is encasing his cock. He's too lost in how you feel around him and it's hard for him to even catch his breath.

Your manicured hand strokes down his sternum, down to the indentations of his abs, pushing at him and trying to get him to slow down and take it easy on you.

“Please, daddy. Don’t think I can take it anymore,”

“‘Course you can,” he assures you. “You can take it, baby, I know you can. Don’t try to move me. Don’t fight it. Keep givin’ me this pussy, I know you can take it.”

He yanks the hand you have plastered on his abdomen and pushes it beside your head, restraining you as he now towers completely over your body. He leans on his elbows and his fingers intertwine with yours as he slips into you deeper.

“Rafe,” you plead.

Tears are flowing down your heated cheeks, and your legs begin to quiver as you get closer and closer to cumming again. All other thoughts have left your brain. All you have on your mind is him.

Rafe’s nose nudges your jaw, and he shakes his head.

“Uh uh. What’s my name in here, baby?”

“Daddy,” you sob. “Please.”

“Fuck, keep crying. Gettin’ so fuckin’ close. Look at those tears. So goddamn pretty.”

Your sore and exhausted walls begin to squeeze at him, almost cutting off his circulation as you fall over the edge. Your moans mix with your cries for him, and it’s heavenly.

Like music to his ears.

“Shit, gonna fill you up. Such a good girl for me. So fuckin’ proud of my girl.”

concepts

[formulaonecrumbs]

switching it up!! still pcos reader, maybe a race. except let’s go with alex albon or daniel ricciardo 🤭

-🧸

not today hormones ✋

Alex Albon x PCOS!reader

summary: reader experiencing a flare up while at track and alex naturally cheering her up.

warnings: pcos mention, chronic pain, alex and his sarcastic ass

A/N: AAHHHHH FINALLY. THIS IS WHAT IVE BEEN WAITING FOR. AN AELX REQUEST. i already wrote for daniel and have (surprisingly) NEVER written for albono so it was time. i feel that i don’t naturally write alex very well (or anyone except lando 😭) but i made him all silly and cute cuz that’s how i see him. imma make a more serious and helpful albono if u so please, all u gotta do is ask. anyways ENJOY, 🧸!!! LOVE U.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

it starts with your alarm not going off.

which means you wake up twenty-five minutes later than planned, heart pounding, hair a mess, and your suitcase only halfway packed. your phone buzzes violently against the nightstand — a string of texts from alex, each one more worried than the last.

alex:

where r u

u ok??

do i need to come rescue u from a sleep coma again

he would, too. dramatic little menace.

you send him a quick “omw don’t panic” text and rush through the rest of your morning with exactly zero grace. makeup half-done. hair thrown up. you’re pretty sure you put two different socks on, but there’s no time to fix it. it’s either that or miss your flight to barcelona, and alex will absolutely never let you live that down.

by the time you make it to the paddock the next day, you’re sore, irritable, and bloated beyond belief. your body’s staging a full-on hormonal protest — classic pcos. your jeans feel tight. your skin’s breaking out. you’re half convinced your uterus is trying to punch its way out of your body, and to top it all off, someone hands you a media pass that says “alex’s girlfriend” like it’s a job title.

alex finds you slumped on a folding chair near the williams motorhome, sunglasses on, head tilted back like a dramatic victorian woman fainting on a chaise lounge.

“there she is,” he grins, crouching beside you. “my radiant queen of punctuality.”

you glare at him through your sunglasses. “don’t.”

“what?”

“i swear to god, if you say anything about how late i was or how my face looks like a tomato or how my jeans are cutting off circulation to my soul, i will throw myself into the nearest tyre wall.”

alex lifts his hands in surrender, a smile still playing at his lips. “i was just gonna say hi.”

you eye him suspiciously.

he nudges your knee with the back of his hand. “hi.”

“hi,” you mumble.

“you want to talk about it?” he asks, softer now, eyes scanning your face like he already knows the answer.

you shake your head. “just one of those days. hormone hurricane. pcos is being an asshole.”

he gives you a look — not pitying, not dramatic, just… warm. understanding. “is this the kind of hurricane that needs snacks or space?”

you consider that for a second. “both.”

he stands up immediately. “done. five minutes. trust the snack man.”

you watch him walk away, still wearing his fireproofs and a backwards cap that’s barely hanging on. a few fans wave at him and he waves back, never missing a beat. a kid shouts his name and he shouts back something about being cooler than lando today.

you sigh. leave it to alex albon to be charming even while sourcing snacks.

when he comes back, he’s balancing a water bottle, a banana, a chocolate croissant, and — for some reason — a small stuffed duck wearing a williams hat.

you raise an eyebrow.

“his name’s turbo,” alex says casually. “he’s our emotional support duck.”

“you stole that from the merch table, didn’t you?”

“it was a rescue mission.”

you snort and reach for the croissant. “thanks, honey.”

he plops down beside you on the bench, shoulder pressed into yours, like he’s casually shielding you from the chaos of the paddock.

“you don’t have to thank me,” he says. “your body’s doing its own weird olympics right now. least i can do is bring you carbs and emotional poultry.”

you laugh despite yourself, mouth full of pastry. “you make it sound so noble.”

“it is noble,” he insists. “besides, you put up with me during the off-season. now it’s my turn.”

you bump your head against his shoulder. “you’re annoying.”

“you love it.”

“unfortunately.”

by the time qualifying rolls around, you’re planted in the williams garage, headphones on, duck in lap, watching alex put in a solid session despite the heat. the engineers are buzzing, data flying everywhere, and you can’t help but feel proud — even if you’re still cramping and a little dead inside.

afterwards, he finds you again, towel around his neck, face flushed.

“p10,” he says, still catching his breath. “not bad, right?”

“you’re magic,” you grin.

“you’re biased.”

“always.”

he steals a sip of your water and gives turbo a high five. “how’s the uterus?”

“still raging,” you say. “but the croissant helped.”

“i’ll bring you another tomorrow.”

“turbo demands it.”

alex grins and tugs you up by the hand. “come on. let’s go annoy logan and pretend i’m not sweating like a swamp creature.”

you follow, hand still in his, thinking maybe today wasn’t so bad after all — bloated hormones, chaos and all.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the moment you get back to the hotel, it hits you like a freight train.

the cramps.

the heat.

the way your bra strap feels like it’s trying to cut into your shoulder blade and your jeans feel like medieval torture. your back aches. your mood’s a mess. you think about crying for literally no reason — like, someone on the street smiled at you and you were like, why would you do that to me right now, and now you’re spiraling.

alex, ever the optimist, holds the door open to your room like you’re royalty.

you barely make it three steps inside before faceplanting onto the bed with a groan that sounds borderline inhuman.

“was it something i said?” he asks lightly, dropping his bag by the window.

“it’s everything,” you mumble into the pillow. “i hate my body. i hate my ovaries. i hate the entire concept of pants.”

“you know,” he says thoughtfully, “if i had a dollar for every time you declared war on pants, i’d probably be able to retire.”

you roll onto your back and glare at the ceiling. “don’t make me laugh. it hurts.”

alex tosses his hat onto the chair, then joins you on the bed with all the grace of someone who’s been in a race car all day and now feels it in every joint. he lets out his own old-man groan before leaning on one elbow and looking down at you with a little frown.

“alright,” he says. “emergency protocol time.”

“what does that even mean.”

“it means,” he says, already leaning down and kissing your forehead gently, “we’re implementing the albon healing system.”

you blink at him.

“patent pending,” he adds, and then — another kiss, this time to your temple. “one kiss for stress.”

you snort. “you made that up just now.”

“obviously. it’s a cutting-edge technique.” kiss. cheek. “this one’s for bloating.” kiss. your jaw. “this is for hormonal rage.” kiss. the tip of your nose. “and this one’s for the fact that i saw you nearly cry when the elevator doors closed too fast.”

“you saw that?”

“sweetheart,” he says, full of dramatic pity, “you whimpered.”

you bury your face in your hands, groaning again. “i hate it here.”

“you love it here.”

“i literally don’t.”

he leans in closer. “you love me, though.”

you peek at him through your fingers. “barely.”

“so rude,” he mutters, but he’s still smiling as he kisses your forehead again — this time lingering, warm and soft and maybe a little too sincere for a moment like this.

you blink. “was that one for anything in particular?”

he shrugs. “felt like it.”

you go quiet for a beat, just listening to the hum of the air conditioner and the distant sound of someone laughing in the hallway. your body still aches — your cramps are making your lower back throb and you’re sure your skin is about to erupt into another breakout — but for the first time all day, it feels… manageable. less like you’re being punished by the universe and more like… okay. you’re okay.

alex rests his chin on your shoulder. “you know,” he says quietly, “you don’t have to pretend it’s not awful. i know it sucks. i see how much it takes out of you.”

you nod slowly. “i just feel gross. and ugly. and dramatic.”

“you’re none of those things,” he says, firm now. “you’re in pain. and your body’s going through hell. and you’re still here, joking about emotional support ducks and cheering me on and pretending to care about tyre compounds.”

you smile faintly. “i do care. mostly.”

“you’re amazing,” he says, with so much certainty it makes your throat tighten. “even when your hormones are trying to kill you.”

you shift closer to him, wrapping your arms around his middle. “thanks for the kisses.”

“anytime.” he presses one to the top of your head. “it’s a full-service treatment. comes with cuddles and optional forehead massages.”

“optional?” you ask, already tugging his hand toward your face. “i think you mean mandatory.”

he laughs, stretching out beside you. “fine, fine. i’ll just cancel my plans to be unconscious and rub your forehead for the next twenty minutes.”

“that’s what love is, albon.”

“i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

you close your eyes as his fingers move gently across your skin, his touch light but steady, and for the first time all day, your body starts to unclench — bit by bit, like it knows it’s safe.

and maybe you’re still bloated and irritable and vaguely on the verge of a meltdown, but alex is here. kissing it better.

and maybe that’s enough.

THE END :>

[misasimagines]

desperation / reader x Taiga (Tokyo Debunker)

included characters: Taiga! Romeo is a guest.

rating: NSFW!!!! The actual start of smut is marked with a (***) so if you wanted to read the rest and skip that, you can, but otherwise please. It's smut.

warnings: general Taiga warnings? gun, blood, biting, sex. let me emphasize blood. FEM BODIED READER! Not gender neutral.

anyway first smut fic and first time writing about Taiga, everyone please go easy on me. @ the ask who wanted possessive Taiga, uh, I hope this works for you

Taiga was an enigma to you. He seemed like a dozen different people all wrapped into one threateningly sharp package. Sometimes, you watched him gambling, feet kicked up on the dealer’s table, eyes glinting with mischief, and thought being around him would feel like life itself. All excitement and impulse and adrenaline and it made your heart race with the adventure of it all. You could imagine your own Bonnie and Clyde romance, doing whatever you wanted, getting whatever you wanted. Living solely for thrill and satisfaction.

Other times, you hid as he slouched through Sinostra, blood covered, eyes empty. You hid because you knew he wouldn’t even remember who you were after he finished gutting you and leaving whatever was left to bleed into the carpets. You hid and you shamefully wondered how bad it would be to step into his line of sight. Just risk it. You could be the rabbit jumping into the wolf’s mouth just to avoid the pain of being cut in two. Would it be so bad?

Today was different. Today, you didn’t watch him from the entrance of the casino or with a held breath around the corner in the hall. Today, he was sitting across from Romeo, head leaned back and staring up at the ceiling.

“-from a general admissions student in Mortkranken. Avoid the ghouls. I’ll text you the details, but take it back to your room first, do not come here. Someone will come pick it up from you. Do you understand?”

Sounded complicated, but that was par the course with Romeo. You wondered if he had you running drugs (again) and, with a nod of agreement, you decided it was best if you didn't know. It wasn't your choice to be Romeo's drug mule anymore than it was to be his secretary and verbal punching bag, but hey, it paid the bills. So to speak.

“Repeat it,” he demanded, arms crossed and staring down his perfect nose at you.

“I’m picking up your package from a general admissions student in Mortkranken. I’ll avoid Yuri and Jiro and take it back to my room and wait for one of your guys to come get it. Does that cover it?” You responded, crossing your own arms in retort. You were willing to put up with a lot when it came to Romeo, but that didn’t mean you had to do it with a smile and a nod.

His eyes narrowed slightly, annoyed by your attitude but unwilling to spend the energy on reacting to it. “Just go.”

You stood up and managed only a step before Romeo gave you another order.

“And take those folders to Shinjo on your way.” He gestured to a stack of papers sitting too close to Taiga.

It felt like trying to take a bowl of food from a territorial dog and you felt your blood pressure rise as you considered what violence he could enact simply for you getting in his space. He could rip you apart with his teeth, that was always an option. Or he could shoot you with any number of guns he just so happened to always have on him. He also wasn’t a stranger to beating people with blunt objects, though you didn’t see a baseball bat or metal bar in the vicinity. That option was probably off the table for now.

You stilled your racing thoughts. He wasn’t even paying attention. The papers weren’t his. Romeo was right there. You would be fine. You reached down for the folders.

And he snatched your wrist, his gaze dropping to you and cementing you in place. “You love taking orders, don’t you, kitty-cat?”

His grip wasn’t particularly tight. You didn’t feel your circulation cut off, your bones being ground into dust- no, he just held you. Kept you there until you answered his question, a question you didn’t feel so inclined to answer. Enjoy taking orders- of course you didn’t delight in being Romeo’s servant. To anyone else, you might have snapped at the insinuation. But no one else was Taiga, and snapping at him could mean getting your bones snapped in retaliation. Your heart raced and you wondered if Romeo would intervene. Probably not, not unless there was a risk of staining his furniture. You didn’t want to let it go that far.  “Let me go,” You insisted, voice more of a squeak than you intended.

Taiga cupped a hand around his ear and pretended he couldn’t hear you.

“Let. Me. Go.” You repeated, a decibel louder.

“No one told you you couldn’t leave.” He responded casually.

You flushed with indignation and wrenched your wrist free, grabbing up the files and almost running out. No one told you you couldn't leave…as if you needed permission. As if he hadn't forced you to stop. As if being Taiga didn't carry unspoken rules and crossed boundaries. As if- no, you didn't need to waste your thoughts on more as ifs. You knew the connotations he brought with him with every action, just by virtue of being Taiga and you know he had no reason to acknowledge them himself.

You just needed to leave. Still… As you rushed out, you wondered why he’d asked you anything. He certainly had never given you the attention before. You would have felt better if you knew he watched you on the way out, maybe with interest, maybe with disappointment, but as you reached the door and shoved your way into the hall, you peaked back. 

He was back to staring up at the ceiling.

~~~

It had been a long few weeks. Back and forth from house to house, you never had a chance to catch your breath. If someone wasn't ordering you to do something with a sneer, they were putting you in a situation where you ended up with bruises and scrapes and potentially even worse injuries. They didn't all intend to hurt you, but the results spoke for themselves and you did hurt. The hurts just weren't all visible.

It didn't matter that your hips ached and your feet were sore and there was a split blister on the back of your heel that bled into your sock. You had another errand to run that you were going to be late for and Romeo was going to kill you. You ran, letting out breathless apologies as you bumped into Sinostra students on your way to Romeo’s VIP room. A nearly overflowing bag bounced around in your arms and used your chin to try to hold the tons of little plastic baggies in place as you rushed. It wasn’t the best feeling, being so close and personal to what you could only assume was illegal, mind altering substances, but an accidental whiff of cocaine was definitely less painful than a lecture from Romeo. In fact, it might have made the impending lecture bearable.

Turning a corner, you slammed into something and your bag lept out of your arms.

Taiga had his hands in his pockets, hardly phased from your extreme collision. You had managed to stay upright, but your contraband was scattered all over the floor. 

“Fuck,” you hissed.

“You gonna pick all that up?” Taiga asked, making no move to help you.

You took a careful breath to steady your anger.  “I have to,” you responded as cooly as you could before crouching to start your collection. 

Once again, with the same pressure as before, Taiga grabbed your arm and pulled you back to standing. “Do you enjoy any of it?” He asked, nudging a bag with the toe of his shoe.

“Enjoy what?” You asked, watching his hand on your upper arm carefully.

“Anything.” He didn’t clarify.

Or maybe he did. “I-” You exhaled, tried to find some way to answer this impossible question. No? You didn’t enjoy being Romeo’s drug mule. No, you didn’t enjoy being passed around from house to house at Darkwick, the newest intern in every room you stepped into. No, you didn’t enjoy having your life uprooted, your identity all but erased so you could be whatever anyone needed you to be. No, you-

“Gah, you’re depressing,” he made a sound in the back of his throat, a rolling sigh, and then the corners of his lips curved into a smile. “Come with me.”

You had no time, or chance, to flounder, leaving Romeo’s import all over the floor as Taiga dragged you off into the casino. As you were led off, you couldn’t even imagine a world where you said no, where you got on your hands and knees and picked up every little bag and brought it to Romeo and still got yelled at. You sped up to walk faster, to keep up with him, to choose this, and thought this was the only option for you. As crazy as it was.

Taiga deposited you at a roulette table, pushing you onto one of the stools and clapping his hands over your shoulders. With a nod and a gesture, the dealer slid two untidy piles of chips towards you.

“Oh, I don’t-” You tried to stand up. Gambling wasn’t on your list of skills and you knew better than to gamble in Sinostra of all places.

Taiga held you down, “Lets see you make some choices, kitty-cat. See how much they really matter.” He leaned close enough so only you could hear him, though everyone else at the table and the surrounding area watched with wide eyes and rapt attention. Taiga alone was a spectacle. Taiga with you? 

They were just waiting for the bloodbath. Casting a nervous eye around at everyone, you figured you had two options. Refuse and suffer the consequences, or commit and suffer the consequences. If you forced yourself to stand, told Taiga no, and left, that could be it. He would decide you weren’t worth his time, you’d stay a nameless face in the crowd. You’d be Romeo’s little gopher and you’d be miserable for the time you had left. If you stayed, win or lose, you…Well, you could win or lose anything. You had no guarantee, no way of knowing. Nothing more than Taiga’s fingers resting on your shoulders.

You bet on red.

~~~

You lost most of it. You bet, sometimes at random and sometimes with the thought of “it can’t possibly be the opposite of what I pick 4 times in a row, right?” You lost until the dealer shook his head, saying you didn’t have enough left to meet the minimum.

Taiga stayed behind you the entire time, offering no direction or tips, just sometimes pushing more chips forward than you were willing to bet on any given round. His hands were on your shoulders at first, and then he draped his arms over you, resting his chin on the top of your head. At one point, seemingly with no intention or realization, he had wrapped a hand around your neck and turned to yell at someone a few tables away. 

You stayed completely still when he did that and received plenty of concerned glances in your direction. He put no pressure on your windpipe, and finally turned back once more to watch your games, going back to lazily leaning over you as if nothing had changed.

“Well that’s that, kitten,” He yawned. 

“I lost all your money,” You admit, realization dawning and heart sinking.

He howled with sudden laughter, “Shit, yeah, you did.” He spun you around and held you by the chin, studying your wide eyed expression with a toothy grin. 

The dealer cleared his throat and continued the game for the other gamblers. 

“How are you gonna pay it back?” He asked, leaning your head back and exposing your neck.

The usual sense of being a prey animal crept up in your veins. The desire to apologize and back down and agree to anything to save your life froze your blood and made your heart pound. But you wouldn’t do that this time. Gambling with someone else’s money made you bold. Being around Taiga made you crazy. You grabbed his wrist this time, pulling it down enough so that you could stare at him directly. “I won’t.”

Someone behind you gasped, and then played it off with a cough.

Taiga didn’t stop grinning, letting out another shout of a laugh before freeing you of his grasp and stepping back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Maybe you’re more interesting than you look.” 

You held back any fits of shaking fear that were creeping up on you.

“Try that shit with Lulu, but I wanna be there when you do it, alright?” He turned on his heel and walked off. 

You exhaled. Shut your eyes. And stood up, walking in the opposite direction.

~~~

The casino was alive. Students from all houses gambled and drank and talked and lost all of their money. It was exactly what Romeo wanted. The flow of cash into his coffers would be extreme tonight.

The only problem? Taiga.

You leaned against a wall and watched him from across the casino. Despite doing something he seemed to enjoy, there was nothing akin to joy on his face. He communicated to the dealer in only gestures and each hand dealt, win or lose, gave him no hint of satisfaction. 

There was a shake lingering in your bones as you lamented the task laid before you. Romeo told you to get Taiga out and do it without causing a scene. How would you do it? You had no clue, and asking Romeo only got a slew of abbreviations thrown your way. Maybe there was some code hidden within. You doubted it.

Taking a deep breath, you accepted your fate and strode across the room towards Taiga. You were enough of a fixture in Sinostra at this point that guests and staff alike moved out of the way for you. It didn't make you feel any better about what you had to do.

“Taiga,” you said gently, “the vice captain wants to see you.” 

Taiga slung his hand of cards down on the table and collected the winning pot. He didn't acknowledge you.

“Taiga,” you tried again, “Romeo needs to see you. Lulu?”

“I heard you the first time,” he snapped. 

Your blood bubbled in frustration. “Then listen,” you snapped.

A hush fell over the table. No one looked at you, but no one could pay attention to anything but you. 

You crossed your arms, “Haven't you won enough?”

“Haven't you pissed me off enough?” 

You had no clue what you'd done to anger him so much. “What are you even talking about?” You hissed, acutely aware of the straining ears of every other gambler and staff member in the vicinity. 

“You’d kiss Lulu's shoes and thank him for the opportunity.”

You balked. The fucking audacity. “You- whatever. I'll leave you alone.” You threw your hands up in defeat and spun away from him.

You heard a click and something cold and metal pressed against the back of your head.

“You think it's that easy, kitty-cat?” Taiga's voice was low when he spoke to you. 

He was going to blow your brains out in the middle of the casino. 

“Walk.” He ordered.

You walked.

~~~

He directed you out of the casino and into the hallways of Sinostra, eventually guiding you down the corridor to his bedroom. Your heart hammered in your chest and you thought about every decision that has led you there. You thought about every way out, and admittedly there were few. 

You could throw yourself to his feet and beg for mercy, you could try to run and hope he missed, you could call his bluff and just leave. You knew none of those would actually work, but whether you died or not wasn’t the question. It was whether you survived Taiga’s inevitable disappointment that was.

You reached his door and stood still.

“You know how to open a door, don't you?” He snarked.

You opened the door and stepped inside.

“Take a seat.” 

You reviewed your options. There was an armchair, his scary torture chair, and the floor. Every option carried weight. Every option told him what you thought of yourself, what you thought you were. The prey animal in you made your knees weak and almost took the decision away from you. If you didn't use every ounce of spite and frustration you had, you'd have collapsed to your knees long before. But that was the case for this entire year, this entire curse nonsense with Darkwick. If you didn't have this burning desperation in you, you'd have collapsed long before.

Maybe that's what Taiga saw in you. Desperation. You couldn't say. You couldn't pretend to know his mind, hell, you barely knew yours. All you did know was that something about him, as terrifying as he was, made you strong. Something made you mouth off to him and something made you feel more than just fear right then. 

You took your seat on his bed.

He stared at you from his doorway, gun still aimed at you. Finger on the trigger.

You sat on the edge, the balls of your feet planted on the ground.

He broke into a grin and manic, empty laughter. He haphazardly tossed the gun onto a table and prowled towards you, throwing himself down on the bed and splaying out behind you. 

You exhaled and pressed a hand to your chest, feeling your heart hammering underneath your skin.

“You got what you wanted. You gonna run along like a good little kitty and tell Lulu you won?” Taiga asked, his grin fading into a bitter smile he directed at his ceiling.

You twisted at the waist to look at him.

His white button down was unbuttoned at the top, the collar unstarched and bent. He had his hands under his head, his red hair messy and tousled. The necklaces around his neck called to you to pull on them. The last thing you wanted was to go deal with Romeo right now. All you wanted was to give in to your desperation and he was just laying there.

You crawled over to Taiga and straddled his hips.

His eyes, so radioactive and piercing, dropped to you. Your face. Your chest. Your hands resting on him and the space he fit between your legs. 

“What do you know about what I want?” You asked him. It felt invigorating to be above him, on him. 

Taiga made no effort to move you. “You don't know what you're getting yourself into.” It wasn't a threat.

You linked a finger under one of his chain necklaces and pulled slightly. “Show me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk. He hooked a leg over your calf and flipped you onto your back.

(****)

You gasped at the sudden change, your legs wrapped around him.

Taiga leaned down and kissed you. There was nothing chaste or sweet about it. He bit your lower lip, pulling it slightly between his teeth. You opened your mouth for him to kiss you again, his tongue pressing against yours this time.

He took your breath away and you grasped at his arms braced on either side of you. He pulled away and you whined, deep in your throat, completely unintentional. It earned you a self satisfied smirk right before he grabbed the neck of your shirt and tore it open all the way down.

“Taiga-!” You didn't know if you were scolding him or begging for more.

His head dropped back down, this time to your chest, kissing down your collarbones and treating your bra with as much delicacy as your shirt. You felt the embarrassed urge to cover your chest for modesty, and might have had he not immediately latched his mouth around one of your nipples. He teased it with his tongue and then let his teeth brush against it just roughly enough to send a shudder up your spine. His hand kneaded the other he couldn't service with his mouth and before you could get comfortable with the routine of the sensations, he pinched your nipple roughly and sucked on the other hard, coming off of it with a pop as he grinned down at you.

Your face was flushed but you couldn't look away from him. You didn't want to.

He didn't bother removing your skirt. He shoved it up around your waist and rubbed his fingers over your panties, “How long have you been this wet?” He teased, pressing down on your covered clit.

You arched against him, desperate for more of his touch, desperate to be rid of any remaining layers between you. His fingers sent jolts of electricity through your core. 

“Answer, kitten. You don't have to do what Lulu says, but you don't have a choice with me.” He growled into your ear as he leaned down again and his teeth grazed your earlobe.

Truthfully? “When you held your gun to my head,” you admit.

He laughed. And then bit into your neck. He broke skin and you whimpered in pain. At the same time, Taiga pushed your panties aside and sunk his finger into you. Your mind was going blank, your body not sure whether to focus on the pain of his teeth against your skin or the pleasure of his finger curling against your inner walls.

He worked his finger in and out of you and his tongue was licking the slight trickle of blood dripping from your neck. He slid another finger in as he pulled away from your neck and kissed you again. This time, you tasted your own blood in his mouth.

You wrapped your arms around him. You did know what you were getting into. This. Him. Good and bad, pain and pleasure, you were desperation made manifest and you weren't denying it anymore. 

“Taiga,” you whined into his mouth, “need you. Please.” You arched against his hand and he ground the heel of it against your clit.

He pulled his fingers out of you and you clenched pitifully around nothing, thighs flexing and chest heaving. He sat back on his knees, stared down at you, and licked his fingers clean. He looked so, so amused by your want of him and you didn't have the shame to care. Taiga took his time unbuttoning his shirt, one button after another, until you couldn't take it anymore.

You lifted yourself up and gave him his own treatment, grasping each side of his button down and tearing it apart. Buttons flew off and you pulled the rest of his shirt off his shoulders, hands immediately pressing to his chest, down his toned stomach, reaching for his belt buckle. He grinned at you and grabbed your hands, pulling them away, letting you both fall back down on his bed. He held your wrists above your head. “Don't go thinking you're in charge,” he kissed you and you let him hold you down, eagerly rubbing the back of your foot against his legs as if you could urge him to just fuck you already.

He reached down between you to unbutton his trousers and free his cock, letting it rest over-top your mound. You couldn't see it, your bodies pressed against each other, his lips on your own, but you could imagine how he'd feel just from the weight of it against your stomach. He bit your lip as he pulled away, splitting the skin and once again making you bleed.

You pressed your lips together, letting the blood coat them, and fought back a wince of pain at the feeling. 

His expression wasn't amused anymore. It was heavy, watching your tongue lick the corner of your mouth to clean away the blood. He was mesmerized. He lined himself up with your opening and pushed in all at once.

You cried out and he just caught you again, kissing you, pushing his tongue into your mouth, sucking the blood from your lips. You whined as he bucked into you, filling you so completely you couldn't imagine going back to being empty. You wrapped your legs around him, crossed at the ankles, locking him to you even though you both knew he wasn't going anywhere.

He barely pulled out with each thrust, his hips meeting yours as he slammed into you as deeply as he could. Taiga didn't let go of your wrists, his nails digging into you and you had started craving it. That pain he was so good at granting you in the midst of mind numbing pressure. You tightened your legs around him, rocking against each thrust as much as you could, feeling his cock driving into you over and over.

You felt everything in you tightening, your cunt fluttering and spasming around him as you reached your high. Taiga pulled away from your kiss, letting you moan and scream unmuffled, your back arching and your vision blurring as you came. He let go of your wrists, his fingers moving down to grasp the fat of your hips as he continued fucking you through your orgasm. It was too much and not enough at the same time. He hammered into you, dropping his forehead down to the mattress next your neck, right back to sucking and biting at the wound he'd left earlier. 

He groaned into your ear, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he shuddered and came inside you. He rocked his hips and stilled. He nearly crushed you with the full weight of his body, his cock still nestled deep in you as he emptied everything he had into you. 

You laced your fingers behind his neck, gently petting his hair as you took deep breaths and your heart beat slowed to something more manageable. You felt sore all over, your tongue coated in the metallic taste of your own blood, your neck throbbing from the bites. As you calmed down, there was an undeniable lightheadedness washing over you. 

Taiga licked your neck and slid out of you, rolling over on his back next to you. You keened quietly at the loss, your legs dropping onto the bed, shaking and useless.

Taiga turned his head to look at you, expression blank and unreadable. It hurt too much to turn your head fully. You could only glance at him from the slight tilt you managed.

“That’s not gonna be enough for me,” he told you, voice uncharacteristically steady.

You hoped not. 

“Don’t listen to anyone else anymore.” He rolled onto his side and traced a finger over your lips, down your neck, your chest, your stomach, and then dipped between your thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat. “You're mine from now on, kitten.”

[maespri]

your turn to die characters ranked by how painful their death was (and why)

okay. crazy title, i KNOW. but this was actually so interesting to talk and think about. at least for me.

spoilers ahead, and TRIGGER WARNING. this post is going to go into detail about each death. it’s going to get gory and upsetting. if you don’t think you can handle hearing about that, please keep scrolling!

everything is under the cut, because this post is LONG, i'm warning you now.

some backstory: i have a special interest in anatomy and physiology, and i've always thought about how the different deaths in your turn to die worked. my wonderful friend @lovivelle and i talked about this topic extensively last night and they made this tier list with me! so, here's the ranking and explanations!

this ranking ONLY covers HUMAN deaths, because dolls/dummies do not feel pain.

quick glossary: exsanguination: death caused by bleeding out hemorrhaging: bleeding necrosis: cell/tissue death hypoxia: inadequate oxygen supply hypovolemic: loss of fluid in the body, often referring to blood or water shock: life-threatening condition where the body does not have enough blood circulating through it crush syndrome: medical condition where skeletal muscle is crushed for a prolonged time, resulting in shock and organ failure hematemesis: vomiting up blood hemoptysis: coughing up blood TBI: traumatic brain injury immolation: death by burning; being burned alive

the tier list:

OUCH!! (most painful):

nao: nao's death involves her ribcage being crushed. i put her at number one for what i hope are obvious reasons. for starters, her death is drawn-out, making the pain last even longer. while her ribcage is being crushed, any internal organs are being crushed as well. her bones are probably splintering and breaking off and piercing her insides and organs. overall... just horrible pain. official cause of death: internal hemorrhaging and irreparable damage to organs.

kurumada: kurumada's death involved being crushed (between two walls), which is similar to nao's. i would put their pain levels as being equal to each other, but kurumada's has the potential to have been less painful than nao's, because we don't know how quickly the walls crushed his body. if they were moving slowly, the pain would've been drawn-out and agonizing, and in that case, i would make the argument that his death was more painful than nao's. but if it was very quick, he would've just felt blinding pain in his entire body for a few seconds before it would end. we do have to keep in mind that kurumada is clearly quite muscular however, which probably provided some resistance against the walls, but only served to draw out his pain even further. official cause of death: muscle necrosis, internal hemorrhaging, and irreparable damage to internal organs due to crush syndrome.

either way, both definitely experienced, in my opinion, the most painful deaths in the game.

YOWZA! (very painful):

mishima: mishima's death results from his collar slowly heating up and burning his neck until his head disconnects from it. i don't even have the words to describe how painful this would be. the fact that the collar heats up slowly and it is drawn out only makes it worse. if you've ever burned yourself before anywhere on your body, you know how painful it is. imagine that pain centralized around your neck. mishima might have the fortune of his nerves being burned off after a certain amount of time, which would mean he wouldn't feel anything (think third-degree burns burning through to muscle, tissue, and nerve endings). but at that point, because the burning is around his neck and your neck contains- A) your spine/spinal cord and B) your trachea, which allows you to breathe- anyway and burning it in half would definitely kill you, he may be dead before he even has time to not feel any pain. either way, this shit would hurt so bad. official cause of death: cerebral hypoxia due to decapitation.

hinako: hinako technically has two deaths, but we ranked her based off of her being drilled. a lot of questions actually arose when my friend and i were talking about the drill deaths, because we don't know the speed at which the drills move. i mean, whether they're moving quickly or slowly, it would still obviously hurt- but the faster the drill, the quicker the death, which would make it less painful. being drilled would be unbearably painful for the sole fact that she might be alive for a lot of the drilling until it reaches any vital organs. no matter what, it'd be very painful. official cause of death: hard to say for certain, but would most likely be from exsanguination... y'know, from her body being split in half by a giant drill.

kugie (kanna's sister): my friend and i were FLOORED when we looked into kugie's death. in the game, i don't think we get a canonical answer specifically as to how she dies, but in the manga, we do. kugie and kanna have the same first trial as joe and sara, but they don't succeed. in it, kugie's bed literally snaps and essentially folds her in half. in the image from the manga, we can see blood flying out from the bed (implying it happened very quickly, because if it were slow, the blood would instead drip and flow), and kugie's hand sticking out between the two slabs of the bed. i think this death is the most painful out of the entire "YOWZA!" category because kugie was probably alive and in immense pain for at least a few seconds or even minutes after the bed snapped. if i had to speculate official cause(s) of death:

i would guess her lumbar vertebrae (basically the bottom discs of the spine) and spinal cord snapped, cutting off sensation and sending her into shock.

if she was folded in half, her legs would have quickly shot up, meaning her torso was likely unnaturally slammed into by both them and the bed, and sustained massive trauma. this would cause internal hemorrhaging and damage to her organs.

the blood spurting out of the bed was likely from her head. i'm a teenage girl, likely the same height or around the same height as kugie, and when i bend in half, my face is level with my knees. knowing this, her knees probably slammed into her face and broke her skull, causing a TBI.

the combination of all of that would have first caused terrible pain for, like i said, at least a few seconds or minutes- we don't see how extensive the damage really was, so i can't say for certain... but yeah.

aughhh (painful):

joe: joe's death is really interesting to think about, because upon first glance, you might think it's one of the most painful- but there are a few things i considered with him. his death is a result of wrigglers draining the blood out of his body. because we don't know how large the wrigglers are, i can't say how painful it would be when they enter his body- but i'd have to guess they're on the smaller side, like little tubes, because if they were big, they would have difficulty sucking out his blood due to how small blood vessels are. it would hurt horribly to have the wrigglers enter his body and drain the blood. we don't know if they moved around through his blood vessels- if they did, that would definitely exacerbate the pain- or if it was more just like getting blood drawn. but what i considered with him, the thing that makes his death less painful than the others, is the fact that he would probably pass out long before he's even fully dead. the amount of blood he's losing at such a rapid pace would first make him dizzy and disoriented before he just... passes out. his entire body would start shutting down very quickly and he wouldn't even be awake for it. his body would give up on transporting blood to the extremities and non-vital organs and shift only to transporting what little blood it can to keep vital organs running. when that blood runs out, the heart will stop being able to pump enough blood throughout the body and to the brain, and joe would actually be dead. so... yeah. official cause of death: hypovolemic shock resulting in organ failure.

shin: shin dies after being fatally injured by the death game's security system. while it's unclear exactly how the security system killed him, i believe he was stabbed/impaled somehow. there are a few questions regarding exactly where he was stabbed, but i assume he was hit somewhere in the torso because he has blood coming out of his mouth. if you don't know:

blood coming out of the mouth can be a result of haematemesis (vomiting up blood), which is where blood wells up in the stomach/digestive tract due to trauma in that area

it can also be a result of haemoptosis (coughing up blood), which results from being stabbed in the lungs/trachea due to trauma in that area

my guess is he was stabbed in the stomach, because if he were stabbed in the lungs, he'd be coughing and frothing at the mouth struggling to breathe. if i'm remembering correctly, he's also shown to be clutching his abdomen after turning on the joe AI, so... my money is definitely in the stomach.

which, you guessed it, would hurt. a lot. and there's no workaround. he's strong enough to drag himself to the rubble room and turn on an AI before dying. he would've been in blinding pain that entire time before dying.

official cause of death: exsanguination.

reko: reko technically has three canonical deaths, which made her hard to rank. i'll cover them all.

strangulation (hanging by collar): being hung is painful, but i think people underestimate how terrifying it is too. reko would have been terrified and in immense pain for a few minutes before dying. everything in her neck would be getting crushed and pressed on by the collar thanks to gravity. overall... awful death. official cause of death: cerebral hypoxia due to strangulation.

stabbed: same as what i said for shin. terrible pain for however long until she ultimately bleeds out. official cause of death: exsanguination.

fake-reko falling headfirst onto a spike: this one's... interesting! mainly because i think she would actually just be dead instantly. if the spike pierces her brain, she won't even really have time to process "ow!" before just. being dead. official cause of death: severe TBI resulting in death.

owie (painful, but not as painful as others):

q-taro: q-taro is stabbed in the back by mai and slowly bleeds to death over the course of the chapter. the reason i put him so low is because he would definitely be in some pain, but i don't think mai stabbed him very well (no offense girl). he's able to walk around, talk, and do stuff with the others after being stabbed, at least for a little while. it's difficult for me to pinpoint what exactly killed him because of this. i'd imagine his body began repairing the stab wound in his back, but ultimately, blood loss and the disruption to everything surrounding his spine (because mai stabs him in the back) is probably what killed him. depending on how deep mai's knife was, the blade may have even pierced or grazed internal organs such as q-taro's heart or a lung. his body probably put most of its focus on keeping his internal organs running whilst simultaneously trying to repair them, which tired him out over the course of the chapter, before it ultimately couldn't keep up with the amount of blood being lost. a hasty bandaging job using an office first-aid kit is not ideal for stab wounds.

*edit: this person corrected me regarding q-taro's death! i still think the severity of his injury could have killed him before the coffin cremation system actually killed him, plus the information is interesting, so i'm keeping it. but technically, being burned alive is actually what killed him. ouch.

official cause of death: exsanguination OR immolation.

kai: kai's death is kind of up in the air in terms of the specifics, but we know he kills himself during the first main game by cutting his arms. in order for this to kill him, and for him to have bled out as fast as he did, he likely cut his axillary and/or brachial artery. your brachial artery runs down the front of your bicep and is an extension of your axillary artery, which is in your upper arm/armpit. if kai cut deeply into both his brachial arteries, and/or his axillary arteries, he would bleed to death very quickly. it would be really painful, but i think adrenaline and the probability he'd pass out immediately would certainly be on his side here, making it at least a little less painful. either way, he dies quite fast, so. official cause of death: exsanguination.

uncertain (i'm not sure!):

this category is for the characters who have one or more variables that make it difficult or impossible to determine how painful their death was.

kanna: first of all, the way kanna dies is impossible in real life. lets just get that out of the way. you cannot have flowers sprout out of your body. that immediately makes it impossible to tell how painful it would be for her.

if i were to suspend my disbelief for this, however, here's what i have to say about it:

safalin says kanna is numb during her death, which would instantly give her a pain rating of zero. kanna is screaming during her death, but given what safalin says, that doesn't necessarily prove she's in pain. she could just be screaming out of fear.

if she weren't numb, yeah, she would be in a lot of pain. flowers and vines growing out of your body, poking out of your skin, running through your insides- that would hurt insanely bad.

but the fact that:

this death isn't possible in real life

kanna is presumably numb during her death

we don't specifically know how the seeds are working/moving inside her body

kind of made it impossible to rank her.

if i had to guess a cause of death, i'd guess severe disruption by the vines to her internal organs and processes is what ultimately killed her.

hayasaka: hayasaka's head is presumably cut off by a swinging axe. there are two reasons we put him in 'uncertain'; we don't know how sharp the blade of the axe is, and we don't know the velocity it's swinging at.

if the blade is swinging slowly and is very dull, it would take a few swings to fully cut off hayasaka's head, which would make it incredibly painful.

but if the blade is swinging very quickly and is super sharp, his death would be instantaneous, making it essentially painless.

so it's difficult to say, but either way:

official cause of death: decapitation.

ranmaru: ranmaru's death is in 'uncertain' because we

don't know exactly how that happened to his stomach

hear him talk about how he's numb to it

don't know how long he's been sitting there

i imagine he was in some pain and just putting up a front, but we just don't know for sure. and like i just said, we don't know what specifically killed him or how. we just see a wound in his stomach.

probable cause of death: exsanguination/hemorrhaging.

anzu: anzu's was between 'uncertain' and 'so quick.' we see spikes piercing her body, but the angle makes it difficult to tell exactly where they pierce, or how sharp they are, etc. if the spikes didn't hit her face/brain, she probably felt intense pain for some time from the neck-down before rapidly bleeding to death. if the spikes got her head, she'd die instantly. so.

probable cause of death: exsanguination? TBI? damage to internal organs/processes?

ranger: according to ranger's wiki, his human form was stabbed by an assassin. not nearly enough information to rank him with certainty.

cause of death: stabbed?

so quick (too fast to be painful):

both mai and alice's deaths were so fast, they fell into this category.

mai: mai shoots herself in the head. her death would have been immediate and painless since she shot herself in the brain.

official cause of death: fatal TBI.

alice: alice's abdomen explodes. if that happens, you're probably going to feel a very brief flash of pain before immediately dying, because the damage would be so extensive (shrapnel exploded his stomach, but there was undoubtedly collateral damage to his heart, lungs, and other organs around there). he would have been in shock if he did somehow manage to survive for a few more seconds. pain would be minimal or nonexistent in my opinion due to the sheer severity of the injury. and in terms of him being hung in chapter 3, it's the same as reko.

official cause of death: shock resulting from traumatic abdominal injury.

thats it!

if you for god knows what reason read all this, thank you! i'm honestly only posting it kind of for myself and my friend to look back on if i ever want to think about it again, but maybe someone will find it interesting.

questions, comments, concerns (of which i'm sure there are many)- i'm an open book. i'm not a professional by any means, but i am insane. bye!