#pretty much everything he’s doing is a mockery of us .

[dolaredolon]

Taxing woman for feminine hygiene products while giving a man a brand deal for said products. What a time we live in.

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That���s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[yanderenightmare]

Geto Suguru

TW: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, yandere, kidnapping, captive reader, condescension and patronization

fem reader

Thinking about the utter subjugation of being one of the prettier curses Suguru has made into a silly marble and swallowed…

By the time he spits you back out again, you feel his rule on you like a set of chains. It's awfully crippling. You know you'd wanted to fight back only a minute ago, but none of that remains now—swapped with the sole will to obey. It’s as if he’s stuffed everything with cotton—reduced you to a puppet on his strings, tugged this and that way on his command, summoned from within the prison of his stomach whenever he has use of you.

He keeps you by his side when he’s bored of waiting for templegoers. You’re not a very strong curse, not one he can use to attain his goals of world annihilation in any case, but you serve as entertainment, so you’re not entirely useless either...

It’s beyond humiliating for you, though, no doubt. Being kept on his lap like a pet. No clothes with no means to run away or stop him.

“Most every curse has an unpleasant taste,” he states against the shell of your ear, keeping you snug against his chest, naked and only partly draped in his shared monk’s robes. “Some or other secretion of the human body—shit, piss, vomit, blood, sweat, tears, spit…” he lists leisurely, one after the other, while tracing his finger up and down along the cursed markings lining your skin, a pretty little winged heart symbol on your lower belly, right atop your womb. “You know what you tasted like?”

You shake your head pitifully with a bite of your lower lip. You wish he wouldn’t touch you there—it’s so sensitive you can’t keep from quivering.

“Come on, humor me,” he purrs lowly, snuggling his chin into your neck, watching how you shake with amused slim eyes. “I’ll even give you a hint.”

His humming makes your head feel dizzy. You want to swat his hand away, but nothing in your body obeys you anymore. It’s all kept neatly under his thumb.

His breath licks your ear along with a flick of his tongue, then a soft snicker. “It was sweet.”

You feel sticky all over—overheating—breathing in short as sweat pills upon your brow. You whine, twisting some on his lap—shifting for comfort—finding some as the bulge beneath takes place against your naked sex. You immediately roll your hips to chase the friction it provides.

“Oh? Do you need another hint?”

His fingers glide lower, past the pink tattoo, and onto the fluttering mess beneath it. Two of them ride through your puffy and glossy wet folds, making you curl against his chest—head resting back upon his shoulder while spreading your thighs wider—craving it with every simmering nerve of your loins—needing more and never wanting it to end.

“That’s it,” he praises, but the touch disappears, much to your devastation, but quickly reappears within your mouth as he sticks both digits past your lips and presses down upon the soaked bed of your tongue.

He chuckles like he so often does, softly with mockery, only a bit cruel but equally nursing.

“It’s a nice flavor. Not very curse-like.” His lips skim your cheek as he wipes his fingers inside the warmth of your mouth—making you lick them clean for him. Pulling them out, he angles your face toward his, ghosting your wetted lips with his, pulled in a smirk. “It’s almost like you want to be eaten.”

♡ GETO SUGURU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[venusbyline]

Will Graham NSFW Alphabet

⚠️: Smut, Will Graham x Female Reader, switch!Will, CNC, mommy kink, daddy kink, mention of threesome/voyeurism, slight dark!Will, mention of mental health issues, mention of blood.

A/N: sorry guys, my depressive episodes and the college left me with a writer's block so fucked up. but i'll trying my best, i promise!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Will cares a lot about the aftercare moment, even though most of the time it's you who has cheking that everything it's fine with him. So the best aftercare type for both of you it's just lying in bed, cuddled and covered by the bedsheet, feeling the heat and sweat of each other's bodies, while he caresses your hair or your face. Sometimes you talk a little and sometimes you stay just like that, both of you comfortable with the silence until fall asleep.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Will's a little insecure about himself. He believes you could and should find someone better than him, because you're the most perfect woman in the whole world, and from his point of view, you deserve someone perfect too. However, he really likes his pretty puppy eyes. He knows how making good use of them to seduce you, whether begging for your touch or scolding your brat behavior during sex with a mockery or severe look. Will also likes his own hands, even though they've some calluses, he knows how making you feel so fucking good when he touches your pussy.

Will loves your boobs, no matter their size. Whether they're small, very small, mid, big or very big. He's always touching them and begging you to let him suck them like a baby, even when you're not having sex. If he's dominating, he'll roughly squeeze your boobs, making you whimper and biting your nipples. In a non-sexual context, Will loves your smile, it's literally the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. You're the prettier and most perfect person he has ever seen.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically…)

Will cums A LOT. You two don't have much free time together to fucking regularly and he tries his best not to masturbate often, so when he cums, it's really a LOT.

He likes cumming inside your mouth or on your face, or even inside you. He loves seeing his sperm dripping out of your pretty little hole. Such a cute creampie.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Will always has SO MANY dreams about a threesome with you and Hannibal. He also imagines what it would feel like seeing Hannibal fucking you while he's handcuffed and sitting in a chair, watching everything and trying not to cum in his own pants. He knows Hannibal would be so much rough and dominant with you than him. He knows Hannibal would force you telling Wlli that he's fucking you better than he'll ever be able to. He knows Hannibal will demand it so you can cum on his cock. In the dreams, Will doesn't care seeing you moaning that degradation, he doesn't care if ywour sentence it's true or not, he's even more horny seeing you squirting on Hannibal's cock, mouth or hands, seeing you crying because the overstimulation after that. Just like his dreams, Will always cums in his own pants, he also wakes up sweaty and with his pajamas dirty with sperm, running to the bathroom to clean himself up before you can wake up worried and ask if he's okay.

These dreams and thoughts happen very frequently as fuck. He doesn't know if he really hates it or not.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Will isn't very experienced. He's beautiful and kinda husband material for anyone, but his troubled mind, the fact that he doesn't really like random physical touch and his lack of free time haven't cooperated much with him. So let's say that before you, he hadn't sex with many people. He probably lost his virginity during his final years of college and had too few casual nights throughout his adult life.

He definitely knows what he's doing, though. Even though he isn't a womanizer, Will's a fast learner, as well as knowing that each person likes things differently. He's an empath, so he'll understand and adapt himself to how you enjoy sex, your kinks...

F = Favorite Position (Pretty self-explanatory...)

If he's feeling more submissive, definitely Cowgirl. He likes seeing you in control of the situation, he likes to hold your hips and suck your boobs while you ride his cock. It's great for you to be able to grab his soft hair and force him begging you to cum.

If he's more dominant, Will likes fucking you missionary. He likes looking at you, seeing your bambi eyes glaze over with pleasure as you cum and cream his cock. He's a very visual guy, sees your delighted face just turns him on even more. In this position, he can also bite your neck and kiss you intensely while he's fucking you dumb.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous...)

Depends on the time. If Will's feeling almost 100% mentally well, you two can have a few laughs during the act. But usually, he's so caught up by his own mind and issues that sex with you also becomes a way to distract himself and get rid of the darkness trapped in his thoughts.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes...)

He has a considerable amount of hair there, curly and dark hair. He doesn't care much about things like that, but if you want him to shave it all or at least a little bit. Will doesn't want it being unpleasant for you when you're giving him a head, so you can tell him to shave it if you wanna.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Will's a very romantic guy, even when he's dominating you. He likes looking into your eyes while fucking you and worships you mentally, feeling lucky for having you by his side.

But sometimes Will just needs fucking you hard and sends his nightmares and weird hallucinations away. Or sometimes he's so psychologically fucked up because of all the criminal cases and ends up letting himself go, treating you just like a random pussy to fuck. Despite everything, these situations happens rarely and he always cries afterwards, apologizing for being too rough and treating you with so much disregard.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Like I said, Will doesn't have a lot of free time to think about sex and when he does, he prefers using it to fuck you. But if you're in different places or some unforeseen events happens and he simply can't take it, Will jacks off using his own mind as an incentive. He's a very visual man, but he doesn't like porn videos and also doesn't likes sharing nudes, he's ashamed and finds that virtually dangerous. He can cum just by remembering the taste of your pussy on his lips or how your boobs bounce when you ride him. Will also has a very creative mind and can imagine many different sexual scenarios with you.

During his time as a prisoner, he definitely masturbated A LOT thinking about you, not giving a fuck about how loud his moans were. His cock would turn red and almost raw from rubbing himself too fast and hard, growling your name and annoying the other prisoners and the staffs at the BSHCI, especially Frederick Chilton.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Will definitely has breeding kink. This man's dream it's being a father and it's practically impossible to convince him to have sex with a condom. Even if you're not ready to have a child yet and take the contraceptive pills, he wants cumming inside you just at the idea of picturing getting you pregnant, carrying his little baby in your belly. While he's on top, fucking you at an absurdly fast speed, he gives you some dirty talk like "You want me to fuck a baby inside you? You want daddy getting you pregnant? Breeding you?". Then later he wants to see the results of that, pulling out of you and seeing your little pussy full with his cum. You can be sure that he'll eating you out after that, relishing the mixed taste of your juices with his own sperm.

We can already tell he also has a bit of Daddy kink, right? I need admit, that's a little weird, considering his dreams about having children, but he loves treating you like his little baby. When he's dominating, you can call him Daddy and watch this man become ecstatic.

Mommy kink too, maybe because he didn't have a mother figure present in his life, also because he dreams about having a family with you (kinky and weird but cute AGAIN). Add that to a breastfeeding kink. He loves sucking your boobs even at random and non-sexual moments, while he lies on your lap and lets you caress his hair. Will definitely calls you Mommy sometimes.

Praises turns him on, much more than degradation. He wants to be a good boy for you, just like he wants you to be a good little baby for him. But like any Mommy/Daddy kink, there are rewards as well as punishments. If you're good girl for him, he'll fuck you dumb for hours and give you as many orgasms as you can handle. If you're being a brat, he'll bend you over his knees and spank your ass with his belt or some wooden paddle, demanding you to count each beat and start counting again if you make a mistake or forget a number. If he's being a good boy, you'll let him spend an entire free day just sucking your boobs, without any other concerns on his mind, just the feeling of your nipples on his tongue it's enough to make him cumming on his own pants.

Choking. Spanking. Biting...

Maybe CNC too, especially post-prison!Will. He's so mentally messed up that he feels better exposing his creepy desires during sex. After always setting your limits and a safeword, he likes chasing you through the woods at night, he definitely uses a knife to tear your clothes and draw some blood from you, licking every drop.

Pet play, but not often. You're his only kitty.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

At home, in your bedroom, when he's sure the dogs are locked out.

But for CNC roleplay, it's definitely in the woods.

Sometimes at his classroom, at night, after class ends and all the students have already left.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

As weird as it sounds, stress it's something that turns Will on the most. His mind it's so turbulent and he urgently needs feeling you distracting himself from all this shit.

He also gets very horny when you wear clothes with a low cut neckline or a transparent fabric (like I said, it doesn't matter how small or big your boobs are, he literally worships them as they are).

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Will wouldn't have a threesome with another woman. He doesn't even consider the possibility of touching a another girl. Actually, he doesn't want threesomes with men either, just maybe with Hannibal...

He also doesn't like the idea of being blindfolded, because that would make him lose the little sense of reality he has left.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Will loves feeling your velvety mouth around his cock, giving him cat-like licks first. However, Will's a true giver. He loves eating your pussy out. His mouth and tongue skills make you see stars. If you want him being fast and rough, he'll be. If you want him being slow, he'll be. If you want him just sucking your clit repeatedly, he'll do it. If you want him using his tongue and his long calloused fingers at the same time, he'll do it.

What's obvious it's: Will loves the taste of your pussy and he's addicted to it. He can definitely make you get so many squirts even during just one night.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Most of the time, Will's slow and sensual, even when he's being more rough and dominating you. He's always enjoying the moment and the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock.

But sometimes he'll be so fast, especially when he's so mentally fucked up that he needs IMMEDIATELY just letrinhas his frustrations out.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Will isn't the biggest quickies fan, he prefers enjoying the moment. But it often happen when he has nightmares, so you can calm him down and get him back to sleep readily afterwards.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Also, Will isn't the biggest fan of taking risks when it comes to exhibitionism or something like that, but he's a such experimentalist guy, loving testing different kinks with you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Will Graham doesn't have very free time to fucks you that often, so unfortunately he won't take long to cum. But lucky for you, he'll be a good boy and make it up to you by fucking his fingers inside you or letting you sit on his face and rub your pretty pussy against his lips and his nose until you cum. Even though he's already exhausted.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

At first, Will was a little wary by the idea of using toys on both of you, but that quickly changed. He loves paddles, handcuffs, whips, vibrators, dildos, cock rings... The only thing he really doesn't wanna try it's wear blindfolds. But if you want him to blindfold you, that could be something interesting to explore.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Will's at his most teasing mood when he's finger fucking you, wishing you begging for him to fuck you or at least eat you out too. He's not very proud of that, but sometimes he also teases you by being a brat when you're dominating him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Will's very loud, he moans too loudly and sometimes it sounds more like a desperate whimper than just a moan. He's almost like a crybaby man when you're giving him a head.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

One day, you met Will after he finished his class. He was very stressed, both because his students and also because the new case Jack had gotten him into. You tried to calm him down, saying comfort words, but for a moment Will's eyes darkened and he roughly pushed you over his own desk, covering your mouth as he lifted your dress and began fucking you like an animal, hands squeezing your neck with a intense strength. He knew you could use your safeword if you wanted. You knew that too. But his angry gaze as he thrust against your tight walls felt so good. He just kept choking you with one hand and covering your mouth with the other. When he was done, he came all over your face, barely giving you time to process what happened. A few seconds after coming off the high, he cried into your shoulder, realizing that even though you enjoyed all that rudeness, he seemed acting almost like a monster. Almost as if criminals were getting into his mind more and more.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

We already know that Will has curly, dark hair down therer. So let's talk about size. I don't think it's that big, but something around 6 or 6.5 inches, a mid and common size. However, he's quite thick, making you whimper whenever he put it inside you, your tight pussy trying to crush him as you both moan with each thrust. His cock it's so pretty, a little darker tone, slightly brownish, but with a reddish tip.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Will's always too busy or distraught to think about sex, but don't worry, whenever his sex drive finally arrives, he makes up for all the "lost" time.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Oh guys... This guy feels so good after the fuck, freeing his mind from all insomnia issues and nightmares. Don't blame him for sleeping so quickly before you.

[igotanidea]

A moment of weakness: Damian Wayne x reader

part 1 : Family rules

***

Everything that happened after seemed like a blur.

Her hand in his when they were sneaking out the ballroom.

Escaping watchful gazes of both their fathers.

The rustle of her dress on the carpeted floor that muffled the sound of their feet.

And then.

His lips on hers.

One of his hand on her cheek, and the other on her waist as he was pulling her closer to him. Stubbornly yet lacking the proficiency his older brothers may possess. Which was perfectly understandable since she was the first girl to capture Damian Wayne’s attention. The first that put so much charm on him that beyond all that hateful, snarky attitude something much more delicate and caring started to bloom.

“I still hate you…” she whispered pulling back, feeling the need to make it very clear that this kiss was stemming only from that emotion and nothing beyond. Even if her ragged breath and dilated pupils were enough of an evidence of her lying.

“Naturally” he responded. His rapidly beating heart and the sensation of her body in his arms causing this young boy to almost tremble. At this moment, when they were finally alone for the first time in years since they have known each other he was torn in two directions. Not making a fool of himself in front of her and proving that he wasn’t a foolish boy who could be easily charmed but a strong, capable and dominant man. Regardless of the fact they were both seventeen.

“I hate you too. And if you think there’s something more just because of the fact I’m kissing you right now you’re gravely mistaken.” Damian whispered brushing his lips over hers again, already intoxicated and losing his cool head.

“Kissing?” she mocked melting into him and snuggling closer to his embrace “Didn’t notice…”

“Mhm…”

“We shouldn’t…”

‘You’re absolutely right…”

“No one should know about it…”

“No one will. You won’t tell anyone out of fear of daddy dearest, right?” he looked at her with eyes shining with the familiar mischief and mockery.

“And you will keep the steam out of your mouth due to embarrassment, won’t you?” she retorted, matching his level of sarcasm.

And then they kissed again.

Her hands in his hair, running through soft dark strands.

His arms wrapping around her securely as if never wanting to let her go.

Just a little moment of weakness they both would deny if asked.

But for now, with no one around they decided to indulge in the lack of rationality, with both intensity and shyness of two teenagers confused by their own emotions.

So good. So right. So messed up.

Lost in the best meaning of the word, as if the world stopped turning and even existing just because they wanted to cherish the moment.

Foolish little kids.

Torn from the fantasy by the sound of cameras and flashes of light shooting straight into their eyes.

“Damian! Damian, look here!”

“Damian, who’s your mystery girl!?”

“Come on, pretty one, smile for the picture!”

“What is your name girl?!”

Too many questions and sounds for the person who was not used to having any attention at all. And being attacked by paparazzi and reporters who were skilled in intimidating was simply too much for poor Y/N whose head started spinning immediately.

‘Hey, I know that girl!” one of the scribblers yelled “she’s the daughter of Wayne’s competitor on the market!”

Shit.

Now that was a problem.

While her first instinct was to run away and hide in whatever hole would appear first, Damian stood proudly without an ounce of emotion on his face, preventing her from doing anything stupid or reckless.

And that cold, strong façade, making him look just like his father, finally got the reporters to stop yelling and taking photos.

“leave.” He said coldly spurring on another wave of shouting. ‘LEAVE. You were not invited here nor asked to interrupt the private life of the habitants. Your sole purpose on this gala was to focus on the official part. Therefore, you are trespassing beyond your scope of passage. And that will not be tolerated. I will not repeat myself. LEAVE NOW unless you want to deal with the consequences.”

Under any other circumstances this would probably be grotesque, but no one wanted any trouble from the son of the Bruce Wayne aka Bruce Wayne himself, so the intruders finally retreated.

“Damian—”

“I’ll take care of it.” He retorted coldly moving away from her turning back to his cold self, hiding in the shell.

“But what if-?” she could only fear what were to happen if the photos of them together leaked into the press – or worse – internet.

“I said I’ll take care of it, haven’t you heard?!” he snapped.

“Oh I heard loud enough! You’re just not very capable in taking care of things, forgive my audacity. So are you really that surprised I’m skeptical about it?!”

“Don’t you dare—” he took step forward reaching for her arm but she wriggled out swiftly

“You stay the hell away from me Wayne.”

“No. you stay the hell away from me Y/L/N.”

“With pleasure!”

“Great!”

“fine!” she cried out crossing arms over her chest

“fine!” he barely held back from sticking tongue out at her

And with that they got back to the gala, using two different ways to not be seen together and pretended like nothing had happened.

***

The next day, Sunday passed without anything extraordinary happening.

Not a word from either of them.

Even if she was reaching for her phone countless times ready to shot him a quick message and check up if he was doing fine.

Even if he was one foot out the door every time a thought of her crossed his mind.

“Idiot” she was thinking throwing her phone away for a hundredth time scrolling through her contact list.

“Harridan.” he was smacking his forehead trying to get some sense in his brain throwing the coat away and retrieving into his room.

***

And then there was Monday.

One of those grey-clouds, rainy, windy Monday when getting out of bed and focusing on duties seemed impossible.

But from the moment she walked through the school door something felt odd. Just like in those stupid teenage movies she was met with whispers and furtive glances followed by malicious giggles and finger pointing.

The hell?

Y/N barely got to her locker when one of the most popular and obviously, the meanest girl in school crossed her way slamming the locker door into her face.

“Lisa.” Y/N almost rolled her eyes.

“Y/N.” the self-appointed queen B grinned like a predator “did anything fun this weekend?”

“Are you trying to make yourself feel better now or something?”

“Don’t you dare talk back at me, you little slut!”

“I’m sorry, what did you just call me?!”

“oh, it’s not just my opinion.” Lisa smiled mockingly “the whole internet keeps talking about the entertainment you got yourself on Saturday.”

“What--?”

Lisa clicked on something in her phone and put the screen into her face.

So it was officially settled.

Damian fucking Wayne was completely helpless when it came to dealing with things.

And the fact that she was looking at the picture of them both, taken at the gala, showing each details of them kissing and holding each other was enough of a prove.

All the problems stemming from the leak put aside as she focused on one thing and one thing only.

She was going to kill him.

***

Meanwhile Damian was greeted in school with charming smiles and encouraging shouts.

It’s always easier for the boys.

“Was she good?” one of the boys smirked at him.

“What-?”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Was she good?”

“Huh?” none of that were making any sense to Damian who frowned in confusion.

And then he saw the same photo and the blood drained from his face.

Someone was going to pay for this.

That is- if he could actually convince Y/N that he had nothing to do with the publishing of it. That it was his intention to actually protect her himself from scandal.

However, judging by the way she was walking his way, with the rage of a buffalo, it was going to be rather complicated.  

part 3: Despite everything

@gabriiiiiiii @6000-fandoms @jinviktor

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: situationship!rafe cameron x afab nerd!reader

cw: angst undertones w/ a hopeful ending, black cat!coded reader x whatever rafe would be, suggestive action in the shower & mentions of off screen nsfw (cum and thigh fucking but the latter is a bit more graphic lol) , class differences, rafe is pathetic and weird, implied drug use, rafe beats a man but you can decide if he killed him, reader has implied mental health issues and low self esteem, ambiguous feelings on rafe’s part (he said ily but he could be lying), dark content themes, rafe calls reader kitty in both a mean way and a pet name way, if the thing with reader’s first crush sounds too real that’s cause it is 🤫, started my period while i was formatting this (i just thought y’all should know)

wc: 1.9k+

block & move on if uncomfortable !!!

consider commissioning me 🫀

“Hey, babe, would you be a good kitty and let me in?” Is what you’re greeted with when you swing open your screen door. Rafe Cameron looks pleased as punch, all things considered, soaking wet due to the pouring rain and no doubt high as a kite.

The slurred speech doesn’t alarm you as much as the river of blood flowing from his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Rafe, what the fuck?” You try to sound harsh but the fuck is noticably softer than your other words and Rafe smiles, more blood drips down his chin.

You look over his shoulder to see his bike on its side in the dirt, it’s raining and you just know he’ll be pissed to see the mus clinging to it tomorrow. But for right now, you have an injured situationship to patch up.

He stumbles as you struggle to yank him aside, and he sways but collapses on your couch. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to lose your shit immediately. The audacity of this man to waltz in on you barely alive and expect some twisted kind of comfort, after everything.

“I was studying you know, textbooks are expensive so don’t start getting your blood on them.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, I know.”

Rafe grunts but keeps his body away from your books. That’s the least he can do, the bare minimum. You sigh and walk over him, kneeling in front of the couch. His eyes are dazed and unfocused as you brush the hair away from his forehead, but his fingers twitch.

“Why did you come here, Rafe? To me?” You whisper, tired and unamused.

You’re startled by his harsh cough, his fingers twitch in your direction again, “ ‘Was nowhere else, wanted you.”

Isn’t that good enough?

You blink dumbly at that, but you have no answer for his crazed ramblings so you slap your knees and make your way to the bathroom. You procure a wet washcloth and some measly bandages, he would just have to deal with it. Rafe’s eyes drag towards you when you kneel back in front of him and bring the cloth to his mouth.

You avoid his stare as you sop up the copious amounts of blood, praying that this wouldn’t need a visit to the hospital. In some ways, you’ve seen too much blood since Rafe Cameron decided to make a mockery of your existence. The gaggle of rich girls he used to have on each arm disappeared but he excused it by detailing his plans to lead you on in front of his friends, checking to see if you were in ear shot.

There’s nothing you did, in your mind. You stuck to yourself and somehow invited the attention of some psycho. That’s the hardest part of the situation, you can’t pinpoint a true beginning. You can only remember being in this murky middle, devoid of an ending. Rafe does have a pretty face though, unfortunately, the water from cloth making his skin glisten. You’ll throw the rag out after this, there’s no point trying to get the stain of blood out of anything.

Eventually, you’re done with the first part and have an excuse to turn away from him. You get back on your feet to reach for the bandages but a groan coming from behind stops you. You turn around and freeze when Rafe buries his nose into your lower stomach, barely brushing the top of your mound over your pajama shorts. He hisses through his teeth in pain as he pushes your shirt up with his bloodied knuckles.

“Rafe Cameron, what the hell are you-“

“ ‘Smells good as fuck, love you.”

You refuse to admit that you love him too, you can’t give him that. Okay, now shit’s really getting out of hand. He dips his head to get closer to your pussy but the second you see the tip of his tongue touch your shorts, you direct his face back to your stomach. You’ve never gone further than ‘will they-won’t they’ type touches with Rafe, but you just can’t give in no matter how much you lie awake at night thinking about it.

“All this is because of you, you know that? You fucked me up and made pummel the crap outta that guy.” The vibrations his clumsy words send through you gives you a serious case of the shivers, so you distract yourself by running your fingers through his matted hair. Because of course there’s blood on his head too. You’d usually chalk what he’s saying up to drugs and insanity, but with Rafe you just never know.

“What?”

“He said maybe I should lay off you so he could have a piece instead, and I just…. lost it. Why should some chump get a part of what’s all mine?” He says with a startling amount of clarity, voice flat and low.

You don’t designate him with a response, and truth be told he doesn’t want you too. You stretch for what in actuality is a $3 dollar package of hello kitty bandaids and rip the white coverings off a few of them. He makes god awful sounds as you apply them to his mouth, head, and hands. The mess in his hair probably isn't his but your conscience won't let you leave it alone. Something foreign to your head and your heart won’t let you leave him alone.

You decide to put the knife in your back all on your own and look up into his eyes. They’re too half lidded to get a clear reading on them but you’re afraid to rely on the emotions underneath the surface. You used to be scared that he couldn’t feel anything. Now, the idea of Rafe Cameron believing he’s in love is far more terrifying.

He’s a bit ridiculous with My Melody, Kuromi, and Keroppi all over himself, you can’t help the small smile that comes over you. You quickly flatten it before he can get too pleased with himself but the fingers curled against your tummy spasm as they spread out to caress your skin. Rafe has an unreadable look on his face as he smears blood over your womb, but you think if you step away he’ll lunge at you.

“I can help you wash the blood off in the shower.” Saying that is in no way a promise of commitment or change, but it might be the closest you ever get.

You’re used to scraps, scraps are fine.

And well, for much you pride yourself on being perfectly fine being alone, it’s achingly human to crave being loved more than anything else. You wander aimlessly because you won’t go where you’re not wanted, and for the longest you’ve been wanted nowhere. But here you are, obsessed over by someone who everyone wants.

Maybe you’re sick of trying to make all the right decisions if this is where it gets you, cold and alone. Is it so bad to not care anymore? It couldn’t be worse than when your first crush told you he loved you and then had a baby with your bully, you reason. Or when he dated one of your friends and she would “joke” about marrying you when you were alone.

The short trip to the shower is awkwardly silent, you have to lead Rafe and make sure he doesn’t trip. You stare more than any Twilight character as you help each other strip. You try to avoid the bruises on Rafe’s torso, but he chuckles about how “You should see the other guy, kitty.”

So you don’t back away when he slows the trajectory of your calloused hands and drags them up his body. Your nails are bitten unevenly, some leave scratches on his abs and some don’t. It’s exhilarating to see Rafe Caneron’s thread come undone, to watch as he tilts his head back and sighs. You rest your hands on his pecs and kiss the hollow of his throat before you can stop yourself.

You won’t mention the squeak he tries to stifle with the back of his balled up fist.

You step away from him to be vulnerable in return, his satisfaction is much more evident this time around. He rips your camisole in two and unhooks your bra too well, clearly having had practice. He cups your breasts in his hands with tenderness that you’d think is out of character for him. Rafe doesn’t even honk them in the dude bro way that you’d always assumed he would. No, he… massages the flesh in his palms between slow squeezes.

“Don’t see why you’re so insecure about these, I like them just fine.” He huffs, bending down to motorboat you before pulling you in the shower through his grunts of pain and exertion.

You notice that he doesn’t steal a glance at your pussy, almost like he’s scared of seeing it bare and puffy… and wet.

You like to feel like a boiling lobster in the shower, so you turn the dial the same direction as always. You’re worried that Rafe will hate the sting but when the water hits, he moans with an open mouth, eyes shut tight. Before your next breath, you’re pushed against the wall and now the blood’s in your mouth as you're taken into a french kiss right out the gate.

You go with it against your better judgment, until Rafe pulls away to pant against your collarbone. His next kiss is softer, shy like it’s an unknown thing to the two of you. His lips glide and mesh with yours as the water trails down in between your slick bodies. You feel like you’re going to pass out but you couldn’t care less at the moment.

You open your eyes to see the water at the base of the shower run red, and you lose yourself in the swirling motion until the pop of your honey scented shampoo bottle lid snaps you out of it.

“Turn around kitty, ‘said I'd help you scrub down.”

He’d be embarrassed if you said it, but it’s obvious he’s never done this before. He’s like a bull in a china shop gathering you up in a loose bundle and sloppily spreading the soap throughout it. You stay silent, preferring to bask in the absurdity of it all.

Washing Rafe’s hair takes less time, but like he did when you were cleaning him up earlier, he chooses to stare at you the entire time. You scratch his head to really work the shampoo in there and get the dried blood out, he latches onto your wrists and lets his eyes drift shut. He makes it inconvenient to help him when he kisses your jawline, but you allow it.

“Thanks, you’re pretty good with your hands.” Rafe whispers with a wry grin, pecking your mouth and dropping to his knees. Your pomegranate body wash in his uninjured hand. The amount he squirts onto the dollar store loofah on his other hand is a touch too generous.

You have to replace the hello kitty bandaids when the originals fall off after Rafe steps out of the shower minutes later, he insists on it. You make him lean against the bathroom counter and watch as you take a second shower to clean out the cum, he wears a petulant frown the whole time.

You’re bent over that same counter when you’re back in his orbit, teary eyes wide as he fucks your plush thighs.

The rain turns into a thunderstorm outside.

[kasagia]

In death's arms

Pairing: Annatar/Sauron x fem!maia! reader Summary: There was nothing Sauron regretted doing. Every nasty thing he did to gain power paid off for him, and given the choice again, he would do it all over again. Or so he thought, until his path was crossed with someone from his past. It turns out that some of his mistakes are destined to haunt him forever. Author's note: A little sth that stuck in my head after watching Agatha All Along... this is pure fiction and probably wouldn't work in Middle-earth, but since I've written it... 😅 I've been completely out of it lately and everything's been going so fast in my life lately, so I'm terribly sorry if I've missed any messages/comments from you! I'm trying to catch up slowly! Anyway, enjoy! Halbrand's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

“Have you come to torment me again?” He asks, gathering the last of his strength to mock you as you appear before him.

From the nasty grin you give him, instead of being angry at his mockery, he realises how bad a state he is in. Morgoth has just put him through one of his tests. Sauron no longer remembers what he had to do. But he remembers his master's anger when he failed. He remembers clearly every cut he inflicted on him, every wound, every spilt blood that stained his skin and clothes, or at least the shreds that remained of them.

He no longer counted how much of his blood had soaked into his clothes and how much into the stone floor and wall behind him. And the seemingly irritating digging of the bars into his neck and skin stopped bothering him as the metal and his body became one.

"Contrary to appearances, your new master is not willing enough to hand you over to me. Too bad. You'd look pretty in your grave, Mairon. Oh, forgive me. Old habits die hard, Sauron."

He trembles when you speak his true name. The name given to him by the Valar. It sounds both sweet and deadly on your lips. A reminder of what he has lost, of what he could have had, had his lust for power been kept in check, had he never left the forge…

"He needs me. He knows that only I can lead his army to the victory."

"Victory, death. What's the difference, right?" You reply with a smirk that sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

He feels... uneasy around you. It wasn't something he was used to. Your presence always brought him some kind of comfort and peace, but now... now everything was different. He and you had changed. Not necessarily for the better.

"I suppose it makes no difference to you whether you take me in a dungeon or on a battlefield."

"But your honour wouldn't allow you to be beneath me, would it, my sweet deceiver?" You mock him and laugh, which sends a cold, unpleasant shiver down his spine.

Your laughter is so different from the one he remembers. It is bleak and harsh as the blade he once forged for you, and which you now carry at your side.

He remembered loving to bask in the glow of your laughter, in the halls of the Valar, as you feasted and danced, living as carefree a life as could be. Sometimes he longed for those days... to spend another one like this, so that he could engrave it forever in his memory and cling to it to save himself from total corruption and rottenness.

"Why do you keep showing up? You know that you can't get your claws on me."

"I am aware about that. But every moment like this will only sweeten the day when I finally take you in my arms, my dear deceiver. And believe me... you will not escape once I finally get my hands on you. In the end, all paths lead to one person. And it is not Morgoth. It is not any of your Valar. It is not any being that you know. In the end, you will come to me. And you will suffer more than Morgoth ever made you do, my Dark Lord."

You press your lips to his forehead—the place where Morgoth smashed his skull into the wall and split his head. He trembles as your lips press against raw, bleeding skin. You groan, running your tongue over his wound, tasting his black blood. And he cries out as you send waves of pain through him worse than any Morgoth had inflicted on him.

He holds his breath as your other hand lazily caresses the skin of his arm, tracing patterns with your black nails, only to suddenly dig them into the open wounds Morgoth had inflicted on him. Sauron groans in pain, trembling in your arms. You press your lips to his, drinking in his every cry as you caress him with your gentle touch and send waves of pain shooting through every tiny particle of his body.

"I will drink in every one of your sweet screams, my dearest. I will bask in every pain your being feels. Until all you remember, all you know, is me and my blade." You whisper your promise, and as suddenly as you came, you disappeared.

You leave him trembling and crying on the cold stone floor, dirty with his blood. And though he hated the times you came to mock him, he was relieved that you didn't leave him completely alone. Even if you only came to drive the knives Morgoth had placed inside him deeper.

He needed you. As pathetic as it was, he needed those little moments with you to keep him from going completely crazy during his darkest hours and the tests his master put him through.

But he lived with the hope that one day he would be able to repay you with the same sweet torture. That one day he would be the one to listen to your sighs of pain... or cries of pleasure. He wasn't sure yet whether he loved or hated you more—even though you seemed to already have your mind set about your feelings towards him.

Adar has betrayed him. He has betrayed him in the worst possible way. Sauron lies on the floor, surrounded by Orcs who drive the blades of Morgoth's crown into him as their Lord-Father looks on passively.

This couldn't be the end. He couldn't end like this. He couldn't be defeated like Morgoth had been, not by the filthy stinking Orcs and someone he had considered a friend. His master had been right; if they didn't fear you, you were nothing to them. There was no ally so powerful, so loyal, and true as fear. And now he was learning his lesson once again. In the most painful way possible.

He took small, ragged breaths that burned his body every time his lungs tried to expand and draw in air. Blood dripped from almost every inch of his body. And suddenly, in the distance, a few feet from those nasty orcs, he sees you.

You watch his fall with complete calm. You play carelessly with the blade he gave you, waiting for his end, letting the orcs finish their work. He sees no emotion on your face. Ironic, considering that this is probably the best day of your life. He will finally get his punishment from you. There was nothing he could do to escape you... unless...

He gasps especially hard when one of the orcs plunges a blade into his heart. As if through a haze, he sees Adar above him, who, after making sure that his physical body has been completely destroyed, says something to his orcs. Sauron hears only a screech in his ears as his battered heart gives its last beat. And then there is only darkness. Bleak darkness, which is quickly interrupted by a song all too familiar to him.

"Come, come, my lost soul, you will find your peace. Come, come, down your road, straight into my arms."

Sauron remembers the countless nights after Morgoth's torture, when you sang it to him and mocked him, giving him a taste of what you would do when you could finally take him in your arms.

Once it was a simple lullaby. A lullaby you made up for him when he couldn't calm his mind, when he spent too much time in Aulë's forge, too absorbed in his work to see you. Now you were attracting souls who were about to meet their end.

But he is not ready for death yet. He does not want to go like this. Not when he has known no power, not when the sacrifice he made of himself has brought him nothing at all. He does not want to go into your arms, knowing that he has thrown away everything he had with you for nothing.

"Look where your lust has taken you, my darling." You tell him with a smirk, taking your time as you walk towards him.

He kneels, swaying as he tries to keep his balance. He falls on both hands in front of you, taking in shuddering breaths as the black bonds of your magic close around him, crushing him in a tight embrace.

"I thought you loved my embrace? You told me so. Remember? When we lay together in the halls of the Valar, each held tightly, when you swore to me that you would not yield to Morgoth's influence, that what we have was enough, that you would never dream of more than what we have? Tell me, did you plan to betray me even then, or did you forget your promises in time?"

After each of your mockery comes a blow from you. Sometimes it's a simple kick, sometimes a punch delivered from your fist, and sometimes you pierce his body with a dagger, tormenting him even more and twisting him so that the blade grazes every single muscle of his. You were going for your revenge. And nothing was going to stop you.

"Pathetic. You wanted power. You wanted power so great that millions would kneel before you, and now you are on your knees. You were willing to do anything; you gave up everything just to fulfil your dark desires. Tell me, Sauron, was it worth it? Because I am truly happy with this turn of events."

He gasps as you grab him by the neck, forcing his gaze to meet yours. He trembles, staring into your black, dilated pupils. Your face is nothing like the one he remembers. You look like death. You are the real death. He trembles, seeing what the Vaalr did to you after he left and what punishment they gave you for loving a traitor. He looks away, wanting to momentarily ease his guilt and helplessness, but your tightening grip on his neck won't let him.

"You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this. You have no idea how long I've wanted to tear out every last piece of you just to put you back together and present you to the Valar, to give you into their hands so you could suffer as you should. Do you think that what you became was all your fault? That they wanted to punish us for our love? I asked them to make me something you fear, something you must reckon with. I am what everyone sees at the end; I am what takes everyone, even the mightiest of men. I am the end of Morgoth, the end of all evil, all good, the end of everything. I am death." You growl and throw him across the room.

He groans in pain, but he doesn't try to run away from you anymore. He knows that without his physical form, without any power, he won't hide from you. He was in your world, in the thrall of your power. And if he wanted to somehow escape from your grip, he had to play his cards right.

"I never wanted this for you... I never wanted this for us." He gasps, glancing at you. You walk slowly toward him, your black outfit billowing behind you, giving you an ethereal, trash-like look. As much as he fears you, he yearns to have you by his side. But he's not foolish or naive enough to believe you'll ever be on his side again.

"You left me! You left me to rot in the light of the Valar!! You tore my heart, all my humanity, destroyed everything I was, and left me alone. What did you want then, deceiver? What did you want, if not my absolute destruction, so that the vestiges of my past would not torment you in your greedy quest for power?"

He grunts as you drive your sword through his side. He grabs your hand, the one resting on the hilt, and pulls you toward him. You land on the floor with him, and before you can react, he's straddling you, placing the metal against your neck as he leans over you. His blood decorates your skin as his hand cups your cheek. Any attempts to fight him die inside you as his skin touches yours. You freeze for a moment, unused to someone's touch after so long alone, and he takes advantage of it as much as he can.

"I… I've always wanted… I've dreamed of you standing beside me… as my queen. My equal… I… I would never turn my back on you completely." He mumbles, pressing his nose to your temple. You break your dark vision of death for a moment and show him the face he knew so well, the one he had missed for so long that tears came to his eyes. You kick him in the chest and push him away, trying to regain some control. You reach for your neck and wipe away his blood. Without taking your eyes off him, you lick your fingers clean.

"You would trade me for the power Morgoth had at the first opportunity. You have no heart. You never did. And I was too naive to see you for who you really were." With a flick of your wrist, the bonds around him reappear. His wrists and ankles are bound and he is immobilized as he waits for you to make your final move and take his soul from this world forever.

"I have a heart. As black and rotten as yours. And it beats for you. Always has, always will. Even if you seek to destroy me utterly… even if you are left all alone after you have done your duty to the Valar and taken me into your sweet, hellish embrace." He says, only half-feigning contrition for what he had done.

He loved you. If there was one thing he was certain of about his old life, it was that he had loved you deeply. But not enough to become just another servant of the Valar. He wanted more. He had to have more. If he couldn't have you by his side, he would be content to fight with you. Until death do you part.

"If you loved me, you would never leave me." The slight tremor in your voice gives him hope that this meeting will go as he had hoped.

He lifts his gaze to you, studying you as you stand before him. The dagger in your hand is still a painful reminder of what it could cost him if he doesn't say the right words, but for now all he can think about is how wonderfully terrifying you look, standing before him in all your glory and power.

You captivate him. You tempt him. The Valar knew what they were doing when they made you the Lady of Death. You would be his undoing. He knows it. Eventually he will fall, and there will be no turning back. But before he does... he wants to make sure he remains legendary and eternal.

"It was because I loved you that I had to leave you. I didn't want to taint you with my darkness. You were pure. You were the sweetness that I wanted to drink and destroy at the same time for my own pleasure. You would not have had a better fate with me." He tries to defend himself by touching your most sensitive spot. He sees your ardour slowly subside as you begin to really consider his words.

You hesitate. He can see it in your gaze. He can see that the vision of your dream future he's presented to you is starting to tempt you. If he'd pushed you just a little further, if he'd said a few more words, maybe you'd really join his side? Maybe you'd be a force against the world? Maybe if he hadn't left you completely alone, maybe you could have had it all?

You walk up to him and stop a few millimetres away from him. If he takes a deep breath, his chest can gently brush against yours. He wants so badly to drive the blade into you and simultaneously capture your lips in a kiss that it's a confusing feeling in his current situation. You wanted him dead. That's what you came here for. To take him away. And yet you still had your ways of making him want you.

You lean forward, your hair brushing his cheek as your tongue traces the shell of his ear. He shivers as your cold breath contrasts with the warm saliva you spread before you bite down on his skin teasingly.

"I was soaked in it long before you even thought about leaving, my sweet deceiver. Now, I am just darkness." You whisper in his ear. You move away millimetres, far enough to look him in the eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you raise your blade, preparing to deal the final blow and take his soul forever, locking him away in a cell next to Morgoth, most likely.

So in a desperate act of self-savement, or perhaps out of the lust you've awakened in him, or perhaps out of the pure desire to taste your lips one more time before he leaves this world, he leans down and kisses you.

And it surprises you. Sauron hears the dagger fall from your hand to the floor as you reach for his hair, tangling your hands in it. He groans and tugs at the bonds you've trapped him in so he can wrap his arms around you and take you in his arms like he wanted to all along, but you don't let him move an inch. He growls in rage and bites your lip in retaliation, drawing blood—a random action that saves him from his predicament.

With each drop of your blood, he feels the power within him begin to bubble up again. Before you know it, he breaks your bonds and pushes you against the wall behind you. You groan in protest, trying to push him away from you. You try to summon your powers to immobilise him again, but he plunges his blade into your arm, effectively distracting you.

You cry out in pain, cursing his name, but he has only one goal in mind. He tears your clothes and burrows into your skin, biting and caressing every exposed part, feeding on your blood and power, restoring his soul the vitality it needs.

You are a mess of black blood and tears as he feasts on you, outsmarting you and binding you in your own shackles that you used against him.

"You won't take me as easily as you take these mortals." He growls against your skin, drinking your blood as he uses his knife to carve tiny cuts into your skin, decorating it with both black liquid and hickeys, marks from his bites and fingers.

“You’ll pay for this.” You moan as he bites into your neck, leaving a messy, bloody trail. He licks his lips and grabs you roughly by the waist, pulling you closer so you can feel the bulge of his cock against your thigh.

"Then, my sweet death, you will take me as a happy man." He growls in your ear before smashing his lips against yours in another kiss. You don't register the moment he takes your amulet from you.

His kisses numb you to the point where you don't register anything but him. All that matters to you is the way his hands caress your body, the way his lips defile every little inch of you. It feels so good to finally feel someone's touch on you…so good to finally feel HIS touch on you.

"I think that few people have the privilege of saying that they fucked death..." He mumbles in your ear, drunk on the feeling of you beneath him.

And just when he's about to bring you the greatest pleasure, just when he's teased your core long enough that you clench around his fingers desperate for more, he does something far worse than drive your dagger through you. He leaves you completely alone again.

You scream, furious and frustrated, both for having him deceive you and sexually for not giving you the release you deserved. You pound your fists on the ground and scream long and shrilly—enough that he will surely be able to hear you, whatever pathetic form he has taken since breaking out of your realm.

And driven by hot fury, you know only one thing—he will pay for this. Even if you were to seek him out and ignore your duties. You'll get him in your arms.

There was something addictive about the way people were drawn to him.

Ever since Sauron took the form of Annatar, the people of Eregion had flocked to him like moths to a flame, seeking gifts from the great messenger of the Valar. He liked the power he had over them. How one of his (false) words could turn them into his obedient puppets who would do anything to fulfill the prophecy he had foretold.

However, with the number of creatures circling around him, he had increasing difficulty maintaining the illusion he had cast over the city.

This is exactly what has happened now.

Annatar/Sauron was cleaning up the mess he had made by killing one of the elves who had discovered too quickly what was happening beyond the walls of his safe illusion. He could not afford for the whispers of panic to reach the ears of the only blacksmith whose skills were satisfactory.

Lifting the body, he freezes suddenly as a cold shiver runs through him. The atmosphere in the room changes. The only lit torch goes out, the smell of sulfur begins to fill the air, the rats that were roaming the basement disappear, and the only sound in the room is his breathing. He looks around, trying to see through the darkness of the room, but all he can see is red blood on his hands..

He frowns, looking around him as he realises the body he was supposed to get rid of is gone. He walks over to the extinguished torch and relights it, illuminating the room once more. He looks around for the body, but all he sees are the empty corridors of the underground. He frowns and focuses his senses, trying to sense any additional presence or power that would mess with his head.

And then he hears it. A soft humming from down the hall. He automatically reaches to his side, where his sword is strapped to his belt, and slowly walks toward the sound of soft singing.

"Come, come, my lost soul, you will find your peace. Come, come, down your road, straight into my arms." He freezes in mid-step. Goosebumps rise across his body, and he feels his breath quicken.

Memories—unwanted, painful memories—flood his mind as he stands in the empty hallway, wondering if he should go down. Involuntarily, his memories go back to the day he survived one of Morgoth's most demanding trainings—the day he found out what the consequences of his actions brought to you...

"I didn't know you were a coward, Y/N! Are you going to show yourself? Or should I leave you to your work and go back to mine?" He asks cheekily, trying to get you out of your hiding place. He knows how dangerous you've become, and as much as it fascinates him, he doesn't want to be on the receiving end of your blade... or claws. "I bet you're as busy as I am these days." He mumbles, pacing the empty hallways where your humming still echoes.

He glances over his shoulder a few times, wanting to make sure that you won't surprise him with a dagger to his neck.

Sauron won't admit to himself that he's afraid of you; he just knows the threat you pose to him. There was nothing worse than a mad woman—especially an unpredictable woman. And he was foolish enough to get on your bad side, to betray you, and don't look back. But how could he possibly know that you would get punished for his action? How could he predict that you will be paying off his sins to Valar? That only showed how unjust they were. Not only to you, but to him as well.

"Won't you show me your face?" He asks, still searching for the slightest sign that will give away your presence. But your soft singing, the haunting song that makes his heart beat faster, pumping adrenaline through his body, makes it impossible for him to fully devote himself to the task of finding you. Not if he doesn't want to end up with a sword in his chest. "Valar knows how I missed looking at it."

He turns around and, as if on cue, you appear to him. He presses his lips together tightly, refraining from gasping in surprise when he sees you in all your glory. He swallows hard when his gaze falls on your deformed face that you show him. A bloodthirsty smile, full of black fangs, sunken cheeks, and no nose, is one of the less... drastic forms in which you like to show yourself lately. Sauron knows how much you want to scare him; he hopes he doesn't give you too much entertainment.

"I would have a lot less work to do, my sweet deceiver, if you would just give yourself to me as you should and stopped playing Valar. You won't fool me a third time." You warn him, stepping closer. You see his throat tremble as he swallows, and he gently closes his eyes for a moment to inhale your scent and take in a little of your closeness.

You were so damn dangerous, deadly even... and he wanted more. Even though he knew full well that this desire would probably lead him to his grave.

"But wthout me you'd be terribly bored, wouldn't you?" He asks, giving you one of his smirks. He was playing with death, literally. He wondered how many times he could get out of your cruel clutches before he finally ran out of escape routes.

He freezes when you gently place your hand on his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertip. He grits his teeth, staring at you wordlessly as you play with a strand of his blonde hair.

"Where's your elf?" You whisper against his lips, leaning in close enough that it’s a challenge for him to stay away from you. You should be a repulsive threat to him, nothing more than an enemy to be defeated. But for some reason, whether it’s your past, the pull that’s always been between you, or the power that’s bound you together, he can’t feel anything for you but pure lust.

"She left." He says shakily, wondering if you were jealous of him, if you watched him and Galadriel, if you planned her death when he declared that he wanted her to be his queen...

"Too bad... I would gladly take her in my arms. I guess I can only wait then. There is nothing more pleasant than meeting them all at the end of their path. They act as if they were truly immortal. You have no idea how surprised most of them are when they cross my path. Almost as surprised as you were when you first saw me in this form."

"I would appreciate seeing you more often if it weren't related to your current… job position." You chuckle darkly and grab his hand at his words.

You lift it between the two of you and pull out your dagger. You cut his palm, and he can only stand there, dazed, watching as you lick his black blood. You hum, tasting your power as it courses through his veins.

"Oh… but then it would be too boringly easy for you, right?" Your voice is velvety, like a balm to his frayed nerves. He allows himself to cling to you, completely forgetting that he should always be on guard with you. A mistake you won't fail to remind him of. "Tell me, Sauron… have you never heard of such a thing as being utterly charmed by death?"

Before his mind can process the meaning of your words, you have already pierced his hand with a dagger through and through. He groans in pain and tries to rip his hand from your iron grip, but you won't let him. You rip off your amulet that he stole from you, which he hung on a necklace around his neck, and you place it on his wound. You chant the appropriate words and drain him of all the power that he stole from you all those years ago—the power that helped him be reborn again.

"Next time you lay your hands on something that doesn't belong to you, I'll chop them off. I think I can find a much better use for them. A more… satisfying one, if you still know what I mean." You mock him, twisting his wrist.

He growls in pain and shoves you back, sending you crashing into the wall behind you. You raise your blade higher, pressing it against his neck as he steps closer to you. You laugh as you feel him press his own weapon against your chest.

"Well, well, well. I see you've learned something after all. Tell me, my beloved, are you afraid of me?" You whisper hoarsely, licking your lips as you lean into him. You make a move to bite into his neck, but he pulls away from you at the last second, frowning at your amused, dark chuckle.

"Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of you."

"Like calls to like, right?" You pose the question, raising an eyebrow at him. You take advantage of his momentary distraction and push him against the wall. You press yourself against him and capture his lips in a bruising, hungry kiss.

He gasps into your mouth and tangles his hands in your hair, pulling you even closer. Your darkness is addictive. He wants to bask in it, to experience it so deeply that he can become intoxicated by it. He wants to bond with you and experience the same kind of limitless power that you possess. A force that borders on death itself.

As the kiss deepens, he begins to feel you slowly draining his life force. He knows he has to pull away, but not yet. He wants to taste your lips, your sighs, and your soft moans as he caresses you through the material of your night-black dress for as long as he can. But he knows that with each little touch, kiss, and soft moan, he will want more, and it will be harder for him to pull away from you.

That's why he's reluctant to push you away. But when he does, he feels how much you've weakened him with that little kiss. He gasps, laughing thoughtfully as he struggles to even out his heartbeat and his breaths. Now he understands all that talk about deadly kisses. But if he had to choose how he died, your lips were a very tempting option.

"Enjoy the time you have left. We both know that eventually you too will find me at the end of your road. On the way… try not to bother me too much with all the dead bodies and souls you've forced me to take care of." You wink at him and blow him a kiss before disappearing, returning to the other side where the soul of the mortal he killed was waiting for you.

Sauron is surprised that you let him go so easily after his last... antics. But he knows that you didn't leave him alive out of the kindness of your heart. You enjoyed the cat and mouse game between you; you enjoyed tormenting him with the idea that you could take his soul at any moment. So he had to think of a way to make it harder for you.

He returns to the forge and absently strokes the box with the 7 rings for the dwarves. If he had divided his soul… left fragments of it in each of them, it would be impossible for you to gather them all and drag him to the world of the dead, where you could torment him as you pleased…

Or perhaps, in time, he would find a way to tame death itself and submit it to his will?

One thing was sure. At the right time, you will come for him. And you will take away everything he has worked so hard for.

Just like you always do.

He had a few centuries to figure out how to cheat death again. And how to make sure that you will be the one to fall into the trap of his arms. Not the other way around.

[nyrasbloodyclover]

a hot welcome (modern!aegon targaryen x reader)

cw: smut, p in v, fingering, reader is a virgin, aegon targaryen is a perv, daeron bff,

a/n: i am not really satisfied with this, but i had to finish it. anyway, i am logging out for some time. see you soon!

"I need you to help me pack, Daeron."

"No you don't, do it yourself. In case you forgot, I have to pack too."

Since you two became friends in freshman year, you were inseparable. You helped each other study, you hung out all the time and now he asked you to accompany him on his trip to visit his family, since they lived across the country.

"I thought you were finished! We have to leave in an hour!"

"This is why you don't have any friends. You think anyone would want to put up with this?"

"And this is why you don't have a girlfriend!"

You could've gone for hours like that, but it was really time to go.

Thirty minutes later, you were finished, and on your way.

The flight was pretty short, and you felt the nerves kicking in. The main reason Daeron asked you to come with him was that he didn't really like his family. Especially his brothers.

And from the stories you heard, you weren't a fan of them either.

Aegon was a drunk and a pervert (not Daeron's exact words, but your conclusion) and Aemond was cold and distant, emotionally unavailable probably.

Helaena was fine, she even visited a couple of times. Daeron rarely came home and his mother was very worried. She made him promise that he'd come once the school year was over.

You really had no other friends. You were glad you met him, but other people tend to be loud and too much work. You hated that.

Alicent picked you up from the airport, visibly on edge, because she wasn't very present during Daeron's childhood, but he never mentioned it. Not once. He was asking about his siblings and their pets and Alicent's new potential boyfriends. He was really nice and you loved him because of that. You tried to join their conversation, but failed so you kept quiet until you came home.

Once you got into the house Helaena was the one who greeted you, with a smile and a spider crawling up her arm.

"Oh my god! Wait, you have—" I tried to brush the little creature off, but she just laughed.

"That's my new pet. Wanna hold him?"

"Uh... Yeah, sure." She was kind and you really liked Helaena, you'd also like to get to know her better.

"Stop bothering her, sister. She just got here." It was an unfamiliar male voice and he was walking down the stairs.

Unkept shoulder length hair, dirty mouth and half closed eyes? Yes, that was Aegon.

"Why? So that you could bother her? Leave us alone."

You recognized him from Daeron's stories and he wasn't exaggerating, everything was on point. You could practically feel, not the mockery, but the perverse part of him coming to the surface.

"Hi. Aegon, right?"

His smile was twisted. "And for how long will this pretty thing be staying with us, Daeron?" He was walking over to the kitchen and your friend frowned at his brother.

"Aegon, don't."

"What?" He laughed, "It was merely a question."

Later that day, Daeron showed you your room, it was a guest room, larger than the apartment you shared with Daeron. His family was pretty wealthy.

If you'd only looked at Aegon, you could never tell.

While you were unpacking, you sensed someone's presence behind you, but before you could turn around, he was already sitting on your bed, looking like a very happy puppy. Who might do things to you if you let him.

"May I help you?"

"Yes, at least I think so. If you cooperate."

"Have you been drinking?"

"No," he giggled, he actually giggled.

"Would you please get out?"

Aegon got up and instead of leaving the room, he closed the door. You two were alone in your temporary bedroom.

"Aegon. Please get out, I don't want anything to do with you." But that was a lie. A big, fat, lie.

You wanted him to ruin you to your core, until there is nothing left for him to take. You never even had your first kiss.

It was the attention. Nobody gave you this much attention in your life, at least not in that way.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire..."

"You are so drunk. Isn't it almost dinner time? Are you going out?"

"No. Just came here...For you."

He stepped closer towards you and the back of your knees hit the bed. If he decides to come any closer, you'll have to crawl over your bed which you don't plan on doing.

Aegon could practically smell the innocence on you. It made him go mad. It made him go into his room and drink the whole bottle of wine in a heartbeat, only to be brought into your room, while you were bending over that bed, unpacking.

Daeron warned him, but he didn't give a shit. He's going to have you, one way or another.

Now you were all flushed, waiting for his next move and he didn't plan on wasting any more moments.

His hands were in your hair and in a second he was pulling you in and kissing you, devouring you and Aegon tried to slip his tongue inside your mouth, but you were still too stubborn.

You pulled away, pressing a hand over your mouth, like you've done something sinful. He loved the taste of you, and he wanted more of it.

"You..." You couldn't even look at him. How he wanted to spread you on that very bed until you can't walk.

He was ready to continue, but there was a knock on the door. Daeron.

"Dinner is ready. Mother already called, but I wasn't sure if you heard..."

"Coming!" You managed to get out, but your voice was shaky. Your face was burning.

During the dinner everyone ate silently, and at some point you could feel Aegon's knee brush against yours while he watched you from across the table. You tried to remain calm but your face grew hotter every second. You crossed your legs and he didn't fail to miss it.

His drunken eyes wandered over you, especially your cleavage in a shirt that was a bit more revealing. You forgot about it, but then cursed yourself for wearing it in such a moment.

It was thankfully over soon and you got to shower, finally! You were just finishing washing your hair when you heard the door open.

Aegon couldn't see anything, but you were paralyzed.

He took off his shirt and you had to admit, you wanted to be able to see somehow. You had no idea what his deal was, but it made your knees tremble.

"Aegon, what is it?"

"Nothing." You could see the outline of his body, he was completely naked now and he was walking towards you.

"Stop. I'm getting out. Give me a towel."

To your surprise, he obeyed and tossed you a large towel to wrap around your body. When you slid the door open his naked body flashed you, but you prepared mentally, so you didn't react, and certainly did not look anywhere besides his face and the smug expression he was giving you.

Despite your best efforts, you saw black ink of his tattoos and that was the last straw, you bolted from the bathroom.

It wasn't until you were in your room that you remembered you left your clean clothes there.

You cursed yourself, but took a spare shirt you had and used it as a pajama.

You peeked from your room to see if the bathroom was empty, and when you saw the light was out, you ran to get your things, but what took you by surprise is that the clothes were still there, all except for your underwear. Which was at the top of the pile.

Maybe you left them in your room, you didn't know, but you were too tired to care, anyway, so you got under the covers and took some time to read your book. You were so close to drifting away, but a strange noise awoke you. Like someone was in pain. It was the room beside yours.

No, not in pain, you realized, embarrassed. It was male moaning and occasional whimpering. And it was Aegon.

Was it possible that you got the room that was so close to his? You knew that he was doing that on purpose, touching himself, just to make you even more flustered.

You had trouble sleeping that night, refusing to acknowledge the pain and wetness between your legs. You woke up around four in the morning and decided to drink some cold water and try to calm down. Your heart was hammering against your chest, remembering the sounds of pleasure Aegon was making.

You opened your door, but before you could go down the stairs, you felt someone's hand on your mouth, pulling you backwards, until you were in another room. You didn't even get to panic properly. But of course, when you turned, it was Aegon who was smiling at you. It was almost dark in his room.

"What the fuck?" You whispered.

He didn't answer, but he did pull you towards him and start kissing you, no, swallowing your face would be more appropriate. It caught you off guard, but you weren't mad. You wanted him to take control, you were desperate for it.

"Ever been fucked?" He mumbled in between kissing.

"N...No," you breathed out, every part of your rationality leaving, there was just him, only him. He grinned and seemed quite satisfied with your answer. He wanted to be the one who is going to destroy you.

Just in your shirt, it was easy for him to start touching you immediately, not having to remove any clothing. You gasped at the feeling of his fingertips.

You ended up on his bed, not being able to see clearly, dizzy from the sight of him.

His fingers pulled your underwear to the side and slowly touched your clit, using your wetness to prepare you for him after slipping one finger inside of you.

"We are just getting started. Relax," he whispered the last word in your ear as his finger slid in and out. Aegon kissed your neck and collarbones, just to soothe you before slipping in another finger. He did his best to stretch your walls before entering you.

"Aegon," you covered your mouth with your hand, remembering where you were and who might hear you.

He looked at you like you were a piece of meat he was ready to butcher.

Telling you nothing more, you suddenly felt him rubbing himself against your folds. Teasing you at your entrance, making you squirm beneath him.

"I was going to wait. I really was." He grunted, but continued, "I couldn't do it, it was a perfect opportunity and this is how you're going to spend every night in this house."

Your hips moved, needing him to touch you, bury himself deep inside you. And that's precisely what he did.

He went slow. Just the tip, and then he went deeper and deeper, the pain growing, but it was quickly switched with pleasure.

He slammed his dick inside you, making you cry out in pain, not yet accustomed to him. "You're going to ride me so well, I know it." Aegon's fingers dig deep into your hips.

He even forgot to take off your panties, it was stretched to the side while he kept going in and out, without mercy.

You dragged your nails against his bare back, leaving red marks behind. You realized he probably slept just in his underwear.

He pulled himself out of you, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness.

"Shh, it's okay, come here," he gestured towards himself. Aegon was now laying down and you supposed you knew what he wanted. You were scared.

"But I've never— I don't know how—"

"Nonsense." He guided your hips towards his cock and pulled you down on him, again, very slowly and then started moving you in the rhythm that was good enough for both of you.

You continued as he showed you, his hands were on your ass, squeezing until it hurt.

You felt him deep, throwing your head back, but keeping your mouth shut.

Aegon grunted, but then a moan escaped his mouth, "Do it faster." And you tried to listen to him, you gave him your best and he seemed satisfied enough.

When you reached your peak, you stopped moving completely, letting yourself squeeze him, your thighs trembling. Aegon held your hips in place and then pulled out, but continued to rub himself on your still sensitive clit.

Your moans were what set him off and he came all over his and your stomach, gasping for air once you both fell on the bed beside each other.

"I am going to teach you so many things."

You just hoped nobody finds out. And when you turned your head you saw your missing underwear, sitting on top of Aegon's nightstand still wet.

[the-astrophel-system]

disclaimer that i have no access to the writers room on patreon.

but i hate hate hate that it feels like thomas lost one of his best writers (joan) and then decided to make up for it, by making the fandom write the script. we see it with the incorrect quotes, we see it with the 5 year special, we saw it with the lastest christmas asides, i know there are other examples too. and im sure we'll see it in the finale.

thomas has tried so hard to pander to what he thinks the audience wants, those fans who want their perfect little ideas to be canon. they've both ruined the series. i used to like the little cute moments that you could run with and make a ship from (e.g, first you take her by the hand (even tho i hated that one at the time, i gotta say its so funny now), elementary my dear daddy, the entire virgil and logan debate, etc etc). but now it is so goddamn obvious who the "canon" ships are. its exhausting.

this series would've been so much better if thomas had the confidence to write a story without feeling the need to cater everything to the audience. we loved the original videos where it was fun and lovely and tackled some hard conversations. not turning the sides into one dimensional innocent babies who make a mockery of the original videos. yes the conversations are going to be mature as the audience grows up, but you're still acting like "oh im logan and i like jam", "oh im janus and i like wine", and "oh im patton and im so innocent" is fucking funny. its not. (even though svs redux didn't necessarily have these examples, i still heavily disliked the episode because of how it played out).

i feel like too many ideas and wants have been pushed in thomas' face, and i dont blame him. if everyone was shouting at me that my original characters have to end up together, or they must fit these tight little boxes, id get overwhelmed and want to give up. obviously thomas doesn't want to do that (even though he pretty much has at this point) so instead hes dragging things out and effectively making everyone else write the episodes for him.

just some thoughts.

[yutahoes]

Caramel

(Part Thirteen)

gif by @noyuta I can't find the gif I always include in the story so just saved it and uploaded it. I'm sorry.

characters: ex-stripper! company vice-president! Yuta x female! ex-wealthy! secretary! mom! Y/N genre: chaptered, smut, angst, fluff word count: 3.5k words summary: Y/N has everything in her bitter life, not until she meets a sweet-looking stripper. warnings: matured theme, ex-stripper au!, third person POV, alcohol consumption taglist: @cherrymotodude @tenjyucat @justsomekpopstuff @ilhoonseyeballs @whyme11 @a-bts-world @amazinggraxia

Part Twelve

It must be a dream. A very crazy fever dream. 

Come to think of it, even when he first met her, it felt like a dream. A hazy fairytale. How could a pretty, wealthy, successful girl hang out with a low-life stripper? Even when she was in his arms, he felt as if he was floating and just dreaming of the moment. When they got separated and he never saw her for years, it felt like a dream-like trance. 

Maybe this is still a dream. He probably just missed her so much. 

Yet when Yuta pinched his arm so hard, hurting himself in the process to at least wake himself up, Y/N was still in front of him. And she looks even prettier, glowing even. He can’t take his eyes off her. He had to get his eyes checked twice just to make sure that what he was seeing was true and not a hallucination. 

But why? How? 

Why would the wife of a globally esteemed company chairman work as a secretary in their small company? How did Y/N end up here, in his office, of all places? 

It must be a plot. Maybe she works as a spy for their own company. But why Suzaki company? Does she know that he’s been doing this to defeat Jung Tradings? 

He’s getting crazy just thinking of her reason when his original reason for opening the company is to be more successful than Jung Jaehyun. Then maybe, just maybe, he’ll have a chance to steal his first love from her husband. 

Is this a sign of mockery from them? 

That he’s now tied up to his dad who he despised the most. He’s running a small company. That the girl he yearned for is so close yet feels so far. Even if he can always see her, laughing with his very own secretary, he cannot touch her. That even if she calls him ‘sir’, he cannot have her. 

He hated this feeling, he’d rather die. 

All his hard work is now slowly going down the drain because of these stupid feelings. 

The money Y/N had given him the night they last shared was all poured into opening this small business. It was a deal he proposed to his biological father, Mr. Suzaki, when the elder's henchmen caught him. He had been running really well from him, avoiding him at all costs for years. But it only took Y/N’s mother for him to get discovered and be sent back to Japan. 

Yuta knew, even at a young age, that his biological father was the well-known yakuza in town. Growing up, the people around would tell him that he resembled the old man’s eyes. It also doesn’t help that he used to frequent the Geisha house to visit his favorite, Yuta’s mom. 

He knew his father had money. But ever since Yuta was born, the yakuza leader never once came into the Geisha house again. He never once visited him, never even bought his mother out. The first time Yuta saw him was when his mother died and he just casually bought him out of the Geisha house. A young boy living in a house full of women with raging hormones isn’t a great sign, that was what he told Yuta. But a young boy living in a house full of violent men isn’t a great sign either. He saw people being killed, and blood splattered everywhere in the house. His father is ruthless and does not spare any life.  

When Yuta was sixteen, he decided to run away from everything and live a new life. 

It was a well-thought-out plan. He never knew if his father did look for him all those years but he didn’t care, as long as he could stay away from the old man’s life. As long as he wouldn’t be tagged as a yakuza’s son. 

Now, he is the vice president of the Suzaki group. And now that he’s back, Yuta is determined to get the president position from his father. 

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. But now that Y/N is on his team, his desire to be the company president has become less. He just wants to be the vice president and keep Y/N as his secretary. She seemed closer to him this way. 

Yuta thinks that he has an upper hand from Jung Jaehyun this way. His wife works for him eight hours daily. Technically, they spend more time together than she does with her husband. If possible, he saw her more this past week than when they were hanging out back then. And she didn’t change. Y/N would always forget to eat lunch especially when she’s immersed in her work so Yuta had to call for Haechan’s attention for him to ask his fellow secretary to eat. She would always stay at work late and come to the office so early. She wouldn't even complain even if he kept asking her for revisions.

Does she still have time for her husband? Is Jaehyun not clingy for her time? Because if that was him, if Yuta is the lucky person she got married to, he’d probably go to the office late and go home early to spend more time with her. He’ll probably just attach her to his hip just so they can spend all their waking moments together. Is Jaehyun already sick of her? Maybe Yuta still has the chance to snatch her away from him. 

It was a mystery. This is her husband’s party yet Y/N had told Haechan that she’ll just be waiting for them outside the hotel gates. She could easily just go inside the hotel with her husband. Besides, she knew about this hotel right? Yet, seeing her in that gorgeous black dress, he was glad that she didn’t come inside with her husband. His cheeks flared up, heart beating crazily in his chest as if it would burst. Even after all these years, it’s still her. 

Yuta casually opened the door of the backseat for her, letting her sit beside him in the car. Y/N obviously looked startled and Haechan, who was seated on the passenger seat, greeted her by saying that she looked lovely. For the first time, Yuta was grateful to have a chatty secretary in his life. The younger was sharing about how amazed he was at the hotel, even gasping at how far the gate was from the entrance. 

“It used to be farther,” both Y/N and Yuta claimed at the same time. Haechan’s eyes widened as the two just glanced at each other. “Have you been here before?” Both nodded which made Yuta lightly smirk. How could he forget that this was the exact place where they first met? But maybe that was just him. Surely, Y/N had more memories other than him in this place. She probably spent more time here with her husband, with its posh room and quality service. And that fact, itself, pissed him off. 

The driver opened the door for him and Haechan opened the door for Y/N. When the only female of their team held on to Haechan’s arms, he pursed his lips in annoyance. Even in the elevator heading to the ballroom, the two were just very chatty with each other. Y/N shared that the escargots are amazing and that Haechan should try them out but what she said next confused him, “I don’t know if they’ll serve wine, they have amazing red wine here.” 

Shouldn’t she know? This is a party held by Jung Jaehyun, her husband. Or, are they still married? 

He had always seen Jaehyun on the covers of magazines as the youngest chairman or one of the most successful multi-billionaires but there’s nothing about his wife or their married life together. He just assumed that she wanted their relationship low key but that would be impossible since with her intelligence and beauty, they could be tagged as the most powerful business couple. If the was him, once again, he would show off how amazing his wife is.

Yuta lightly glanced at her as she talked to the receptionist. Maybe they have broken up. He now has the best chance. 

“You can come in, Chairman Jung is ecstatic to meet you Mr. Suzaki.” Both Haechan and Yuta stared at the only girl who looked startled as well. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Nakamoto.” 

The high ceiling of the ballroom amused the youngest in the team, exclaiming that he had never been inside something as fancy as this. There were a lot of people, some were familiar faces from way before his nightclub days. Faces he had seen in magazines or newspapers. People who probably know Y/N from way before. But she remained glued to Haechan’s side, engaging in talks with the younger secretary. Is this her way to avoid these people? She could have declined to come here if she wanted to. 

Yuta thought that Jaehyun already knew who he was. Obviously, Y/N would have shared something about him right? That the stripper she once fooled with is now her boss. She even cried to her husband the first time they met, Yuta overheard that conversation. But the look on Jaehyun’s face is rather comical. He looked surprised and then confused at the same time, his eyes squinted as if taking a clear image of him. 

“Mr. Suzaki.” The party host greeted them and then glanced at the girl behind the person he just addressed. Jaehyun looked confused before smiling, dimples popping out that annoyed Yuta. He lent out a hand to shake, “I’m Jung Jaehyun from Jung Tradings.” 

“Yuta Nakamoto.” he introduced, shaking his hand. 

Jaehyun’s smile grew before he slipped his hand off him and then faced the other guy, shaking his hand. “And you must be Lee Haechan.” The younger one smiled widely. “You truly are a ball of sunshine.” Y/N giggled at the younger’s shocked face. “If you don’t mind, can I borrow Y/N for a second?” He lent a hand for her to take, claiming that he wanted to show her something. 

Haechan looked confused as Yuta carefully watched the couple walk while holding hands across the ballroom. “Does he know noona?” the younger asked as the older took a glass of champagne. 

Yuta downed the drink before taking another glass, “They’re married.” 

The secretary almost spat the drink he just took then stared at his boss as if he was joking then at the couple. “They look good together,” Yuta downed another glass of champagne. “Y/N noona hit the jackpot with a rich and handsome husband.” The older just rolled his eyes at that. He’s also handsome and rich. “But why would she work in our office if she’s the chairman’s wife?” 

He pursed his lips at that, “I don’t know.” Yuta claimed then stared deadpan at Haechan. “That’s why I want you to watch her every move.” 

“Oh, is that what you were doing?” Haechan asked which confused the older. “I thought you were smitten by noona. You can’t take your eyes off her.” What? That’s not true. What the hell is Haechan talking about? “There are rumors that you finally moved on from your first love because of noona.” Yuta chuckled before drinking his champagne. “Your favorability in the office came up when they thought you like a single mom then it turns out she’s married.” 

Huh? “A what?” 

“A single mom,” Haechan claimed as a matter of fact. “You do know that she has a son, right?” 

Yuta’s eyes were on the couple greeting someone. A son? They have a son together? Then it’s game over, right? 

True, this is Yuta’s first social event as a vice president of a company. As a Suzaki. But he’s not in the mood to mingle with some businessman or even introduce himself in their circle. Instead, he was seated in the hotel bar with a bottle of whiskey almost empty. How could one word affect him this much? A son. 

Y/N, the girl he loves, is now a mom.       

Her worry from way before is now a reality. Is that why she was glowing? Why she looks prettier? Motherhood might have looked really good to her. He just hates that he wasn’t there when that happened. He hates that all his reasons are now gone. He cannot do much to defeat the Jung tradings because realistically, he’s fairly a small company. He cannot steal the girl because they have a son together. 

Y/N as a mom would be such a lovely thing to see. 

Yuta hissed in annoyance before finishing the last gulp in his cup. Quickly, he tried to fill the glass when someone took the bottle from him. “You’re drunk.” He took the bottle away from the other’s grip but the girl just glared at him. “Stop drinking, sir.” 

He had to laugh while shaking his head. “Where is Haechan?” 

“I told him to look for you in the male restroom. I’ll call…” But before she could put the phone on her ear, he stopped her. Yuta leaned his head on her shoulder. His last attempt to find out if she was really true. That she’s now in front of him after all these years. His last attempt to keep his feelings for her. “Why did you drink so much, Yuta?” 

Yuta? He looked up at her, fingers of his right hand threading on her left hand. “I…”

“Noona!” Haechan called. Yuta sat up, removing his hold from her as if they were boiling hot. “You found hyung.” 

Y/N nodded. “Let’s take him home.” 

“Haechan can. You stay.” The girl wanted to revolt at that but the vice president continued in a cold voice, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The younger guy was once again confused but followed his boss’ orders, leaving his fellow secretary looking at them in worry. 

Yuta took a heavy sigh, dragging his own feet away from her. This is it, huh? His last goodbye to his last love. How heartbreaking. 

—----

Y/N had been staring at her left hand the entire time she was inside the cab. She could still feel how warm those hands were. She could still smell his sweet scent. She thought he had changed a lot. But that guy earlier was still Yuta. Sweet, handsome, sexy, and warm Yuta. Maybe it was the pressure of being a vice president that turned his attitude colder. But there’s still the Yuta she knows inside that person. If possible, she thinks this new Yuta is even hotter. 

The girl shook her head. What the hell was she thinking all of a sudden? 

In those years apart, she was pretty sure that Yuta had found the girl of his dreams. He knocked her out pregnant in just a night together, he probably has a family of his own now. Because seriously, who would ever resist that gorgeous face and hot body? 

Even that morning, with the warm cup of black coffee with a hint of caramel in her hands, she could still feel the warmth of his hand threaded on hers from last night. It’s even warmer than the coffee itself. She probably just missed him so much.

Haechan entered the office, apologizing for working on a weekend. “On a brighter note, we could leave before lunch if we get the work done.” He chirped, confusing her. Even if it is a weekend, isn’t that against the company rules? Secretaries cannot leave without their boss’ permission. “Hyung is too hammered to come in today. He also cried a lot from being too drunk last night.” 

Y/N didn’t know whether to be jealous or be relieved. She had always wanted to see Yuta drunk. He did witness her in her drunken state once and he promised that one day he’ll show it to her, ending in just a night together. She was curious about whether he gets aggressive when he drinks or just sleeps as if nothing is happening. She was relieved that he only cried when drunk and that Haechan was there to take care of him. But what does he cry about? The company? His frustrations? She’s now curious about that. 

The younger secretary was so great with computers that the task of doing a presentation for Monday morning and inventory of products were instantly done. Y/N was glad that she had an amazing co-worker and that their teamwork was great. “Are you eating out for lunch?” Haechan asked, fixing his backpack. 

Y/N nodded, closing her computer. “My son is coming by so we’ll grab lunch together.” The younger only nodded, “Do you want to come with us?” The sentence came before she could even think about the situation. She wanted to take it back but Haechan was grinning widely. She didn’t want to break his heart but she didn’t want to explain anything to him as well. 

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, “Haechan, whatever you’re going to see…” she started then bit her lip in contemplation. How should she say this to him? “Could you please hide it from anyone?” The guy tilted his head to the side looking at her in confusion. 

The girl was grateful that the younger had never asked anything. She introduced Mark to her co-worker, even sharing that he takes care of her son whenever she’s at work. The story of when she was in Canada and his parents were her adopted family there was also brought up. Her talkative son was the one who brought up that Mark wanted to be a performer in the country so he came with them. 

Y/N thought that Haechan would be surprised. She even expected him to be mad. But his nonchalance in the situation scared her more. When he introduced Kenshin, he just smiled widely and then greeted the kid as if they had known each other for a long time. The young child even asked if their boss was evil which made Haechan nod at him.

Haechan had a young boy charm. His energy is off the roof and he jived really well with her son. Maybe it was also one of the reasons why she grew comfortable with the younger guy. Contrary to Mark’s calm energy who was strict with her son like a real brother, Haechan had a cheerful approach to him like a playmate. Even their interaction reminded him of her brothers from before. How were they? Are they still as close as before? She wished she had taken notes on how to take care of a young child. She wished she had seen Junyoung grow up. 

“Does hyung know?” Haechan asked then lightly glanced at Mark who was listening. He probably knows right? The older woman shook her head, drinking her coffee. “Do you plan on telling him?” But she only shrugged in response. 

It isn’t that she doesn’t want to tell him. That would save her an earful from Ken who kept on asking for his dad. But the said father has already reached a high status in his life. New money rich. And with the current situation, she doesn’t want him to think that she’s after his money. Kenshin was her mistake, her decision. She didn’t follow his number one rule. He asked her for condoms and she declined. She needed to take the consequences of her life decisions. Besides, if Yuta isn’t ready to have a child, she doesn’t want her son to endure a heartbreak caused by a person he badly wants to meet the most. 

They’re fine living this way. 

When Mark decided to leave, excusing that he had a small busking gig, Haechan came with him. The mother-son was just walking in the opposite direction when the young secretary asked, “Shouldn’t we do something?” Mark just gave him a puzzled look, raising his eyebrow at what the other claimed. “Help noona and hyung get back together.” 

“Do you think they’ll both appreciate that?” Mark claimed in a soft voice. “I heard your boss likes to torment noona. The other day she even cried because he asked her to repeat the report four times and then submitted the first one she had done.” 

Haechan rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying my boss is an amazing man. He’s an annoying jerk.” The younger complained, making Mark smile. “But I recently discovered that he’s only like that because he was jealous of noona and Jung Jaehyun.” 

“Jaehyun hyung?” 

“They’re married, right?" 

Mark even stopped in his tracks. “They’re not.” Haechan stared in question. “Something about Jaehyun hyung stopping the wedding and noona running away that they didn't get married.”   

The younger’s eyes were wide in shock. “No way. Hyung thought they got married and she moved on from him that’s why he’s acting like a pathetic jerk.” 

“And noona thought that your boss did move on from her that’s why he’s been cold towards her.” 

“When clearly he hasn’t.” 

The older squinted his eyes at the secretary, “How did you know?” 

The younger had a faint smile on his lips. “He kept on crying her name, saying that he missed her so much, when he was drunk last night.” The smile grew wider, “Mark, we can definitely do something to get them back together.” 

“How?” Haechan smiled knowingly, making Mark sigh. “But if Y/N noona or Kenshin gets hurt, I’m out of it, Lee Haechan.” 

The younger shook the older’s hand, nodding his head. “Welcome onboard, Mark Lee.” 

“We will bring back Yuta hyung and Y/N noona together.”  

[honorarysimp]

9: Cold Soles, Lost Souls

series masterlist

Two months.

It’s been two months since that gathering, since you collectively set all responsibilities and beliefs to the side to fight alongside people you barely know.

Against something you can’t even touch.

Two more people have gone missing, it’s the two men who’d volunteered to scour the bottom of the lake to find Wes, it makes you sick.

The water is truly tainted.

That’s one thing that’s consistent, like clockwork, one disappearance per month.

Everyone is working day and night for a solution, but it seems there isn’t one.

You and Tara have gone through everything, everything. So have Dewey and Sam.

You begin to question everything, disgusted with the fact that you understand now why nothing has been done.

Let’s look at the facts:

This thing uses water as its source of power, the lake to be more specific. It feeds once a month, chances are you’re more likely to be taken if you’ve touched the water.

You can’t stop everyone’s heart every time this thing puts a target on someone’s back, and that’s if you manage to catch the signs early.

It comes and goes when it wants. For however long it wants. No reason for who it picks. It wants the whole town, for why? Tara says it’s probably some nature spirit ‘been-here-longer-than-you’ bullshit.

You laughed, Sam didn’t.

The documents Sidney had aren’t much, majorly town historical documents dating back to when it was founded. Mentions of the lake having underground channels beneath town, thanks to blueprints from the town’s original Public Works layout.

It’s like a spiderweb, probably not completely accurate since the blueprints are older than any of you, and there’s no telling if they’ve grown or gotten bigger over time.

With those facts into consideration, it leads to more questions.

Theres one thing you do know, you can’t fucking stand Stu.

Surprisingly, Billy leaves you well alone. He plays his role as a good husband to Sidney, he lingers a lot now that you’re more present. Well, you and the Carpenter sisters.

Stu actively likes pushing your buttons, whispering warnings to you, trying to antagonize you, as if he wants to see you pop off the handle.

You know he’s only desperate for something, you see how he can’t stand seeing Billy dote on Sidney as if the ground she walks on is blessed.

You also know it’s all bullshit. But, it’s nuclear warfare, and you know you could easily drop this information at any point. However, one brown haired, brown eyed, freckled first responder has you keeping your mouth shut.

For now at least you do, you don’t want to put her at risk. Sam too, you’re pretty sure you’re friends at this point. Regardless you’ve already put Tara through enough, and Sam seems to agree as she just… never speaks of it.

Tara is a raging ball of spitfire any time either men look at you, and to be honest, you kind of like how she gets when she’s angry.

Especially when it’s not directed at you.

It’s another late night, Tara and Sam had left a while ago to grab some food from the diner, for once you find yourself alone with the Mayor.

You’re yet again going through town records, bags under your eyes more prominent than ever, the coffee mug off to the side long cold.

There isn’t enough coffee in the world to give you the answers you need right now.

A fireplace crackles softly in the corner, providing a welcome source of warmth on the cold night, as well as a silence filler in between pauses of conversation.

The flickering light from the fire cast dancing shadows on the walls, mockery of an innocence that doesn’t exist.

“How’d you know?” You find yourself asking, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

Sidney looks up at you, she looks fairly exhausted herself, but she wears it well. You write it down as years of practice from blindsiding and polished by a talent for withholding information.

“Know what?”

“Jill said her aunt was the one who told them you had to stop your heart for that thing to let you go” you follow up, forearms dropping to the table as your eyes meet hers across the table.

Sidney hums, nodding absently, tiredly.

“I’d been marked. Like you, like Kirby. Like the others. I’d been having the nightmares, waking up with gashes, seeing things that weren’t there. We all were the superstitious bunch, we stayed away from the lake. Except… that doesn’t exactly keep you safe does it?”

You sit up straighter in your seat, your muscles aching from sitting still for too long. You’d asked Sidney this question before, she’d give you a ‘now isn’t the time’ response.

“There was another one of us, in our group, he found the method. He never said how, or why, but we were desperate. People were disappearing left and right, it was a bad time. We’d already so lost people close to us, friends and family. As you’ve learned, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

The Mayor's forehead was creased with a frown, her fingers rubbing at her temples in a vain attempt to ease the tension of a headache she was sporting.

You incline your head slightly, brow furrowed with a bit of curiosity, “what was his name?”

The ghost of a sad smile tugs at her lips, her eyes flicking up to meet yours again “Randy Meeks, I’m pretty sure you’ve had the pleasure of meeting his niece and nephew, friends of Tara’s.”

You sit up a bit straighter at the recollection. You hadn’t seen either of them since Wes’s disappearance, you know Tara has been in touch with and seen them. But you wouldn’t be surprised if not as much lately, all things considered.

“Randy, he… was the last one I was ever sure could find a solution. Before he up and left town right after saving my life, he didn’t even stick around for graduation” Sidney begins to explain, wringing her fingers atop the table as her gaze gets cloudy, staring off at nothing specific “no one has seen him since, and out of respect for my… oldest friend, I never bothered him. I owe him my life after all.”

“He just… left? That’s it? You never tried to find him? Bullshit.”

She glances off again, clenching her jaw, “I don’t blame him for running alright? We all should have, but this place? It sucks you in and you just- you don’t leave.”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair “super reassuring, thanks-“

“Don’t be a smartass” Sidney cuts you off, stern expression on her face, “I would never force Randy back here, he left for a reason and I will always respect that.”

A pause, and then “even if it means never knowing why he left? You’re okay living with that?”

The room fell silent, the only sounds being the faint crackling of the fire and the quiet breathing between the two of you.

Sidney is giving you a hard look, “you go find him then, ask him yourself.”

You laugh, dryly, because it’s not actually funny “what?”

“It’s what you do, it’s what you signed up for. Find missing people? Find Randy, find out how he learned about the method, maybe it’ll give us something-“

“Are you fucking kidding me? You do it” you shoot back, crossing your arms, “he’s your friend, he saved your life, don’t you think he’d wanna see you after all this time?”

Sidney looks away, and you can tell there’s more to it. There’s more to what happened back then, why she never went looking for him.

And then, a thought occurs to you. It hits you hard in the face, so hard you can’t believe you didn’t see it sooner.

“Is Randy the reason you’re allowing your husband to have an affair?”

For a moment she looks horrified, and you think you’d misread your conclusions, but then her expression falls and her shoulders slump.

“Billy… walked in on us together. Not that it’s any of your business, but Billy and I were dating at the time. I didn’t learn about him and Stu until about three years ago, I never said anything because, well… it made sense honestly.”

Your brow furrows as you lean forward, “and that makes it okay for him to sleep around with someone else? Sidney-“

“You don’t get to judge me” she cuts you off, expression cold and hard “I love him and support him, he’s all I have after-“

She stops when her voice cracks, steeling herself, “Randy left, Billy is here. Stu has been a good friend-“

“They buried me alive, Sidney” you blurt out, horrified by the revelation that had escaped you.

Only, she seems to take it metaphorically “I get it, I appreciate you keeping this to yourself but this secret doesn’t have to bury anyone.”

“No, that’s not what-“

“Just let it be, okay? That way everyone is happy” Sidney says, which has you looking at her in complete bafflement.

Her denial, delusion, runs so deep that it physically hurts you. Even if you sat here and tried to tell her anything, she won’t accept it.

“You’re not hearing me out-“

“The only thing that matters is ending this thing for good, Randy may be a key in solving this” Sidney says, more resolute as she completely steps around what you’d been talking about.

“Sidney-“

“That’s Mayor, Detective” she corrects you, completely shutting you down now, leaving you slumped in your chair and dumbfound.

She’s giving you nothing, and you’re practically hitting brick walls, so you just… drop it.

Sam and Tara will have a field day on this one.

“Fine, but if your psychopath for a husband comes near my friends I’ll kill him myself” you say lowly, pushing up to your feet, making the chair groan and protest as it scrapes against the wooden floor.

You aren’t capable of much physically, considering the fact you aren’t much of a fighter, however… the thought of someone bringing harm to Tara or Sam makes you feel a level of unhinged fury that scares even you.

Sidney jolts in surprise at your abrupt action, mouth opening to speak but she’s clearly taken aback, you don’t give her the chance as you walk out briskly.

Hands shaking, heart pounding, and mind racing. You exit the town hall, your breaths uneven as you fish your phone out of your pocket. You pull up Tara’s contact, then hesitate. She’s with Sam. And you’re not entirely in the mood for a grilling from her for word vomiting.

So you head for your car and shoot Tara a quick text, letting her know to meet you at your hotel room when they finish up.

By the time you get settled, boot up your laptop, and start digging, your phone chimes with a reply from Tara.

You pause and grab it, not even getting a chance to open it before there’s a knock on the door. A moment later, it opens, by the graces of the spare room key you’d given her weeks ago.

“Do I even want to ask?” Tara starts, a plastic bag dangling from her hand as she bumps the door shut with her foot behind her.

“I’ll explain on the way” is all you offer, eyeing the bag over your shoulder as you return your attention to your computer, typing in a few more commands “those leftovers for me?”

“Explain what?” Tara asks, walking over and dropping the bag on to the desk to your right, you feel her grab the back of your chair from behind you and lean to look over your shoulder.

Her eyes scan the screen as you write down the address you’d found, “Randy Meeks? Like, as in Chad and Mindy’s uncle? What-“

“Explain on the way, no time” you say as you stand, shoving the paper into your pocket as you scoop the bag of food and turn to her, “Sam?”

“With Danny, I convinced her that just because we might all die doesn’t mean she can’t work on her commitment issues” Tara says as she heads for the door, making you cast her a curious look as you reach around her to open it for you both.

“Danny? Who the hell has the balls to date your drill Sargent of a sister-“

“You’ve got questions, I’ve got questions. You show me yours, I show you mine how about that” Tara shrugs far too casually, somehow finding a bit of humor as she exits, making you laugh through under your breath as you follow.

“Perv.”

____________________________________________

Finding Randy was the easy part.

Getting him to open the door is the hard part.

When Tara bangs her fist against the apartment door once more, aggressive and irritated, you’re about ninety percent sure it’s on the cusp of being kicked in by her.

“He might not be home-“

“He is home. And I’ve got some fucking questions-“ another hard slam of her fist against the door, “-that need answering.”

You purse your lips, glancing down the hall both ways. No one had come out to complain, or yell, or anything. But then again with the area you’d found the complex in… you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone tends to mind their business around these parts.

“COME ON! WHAT WOULD CHAD AND MINDY THINK, HUH ASSHOLE?!” Tara shouts, and as much as you admire her dedication and persistence because yes - you’re in the same boat with your frustration at the lack of your progress thusfar - but your fairly sure threatening the man won’t do any good.

That, and bringing up his family he’s neglected all these years.

Tara looks to you, angry, as if it’s your fault. You quickly raise your hands and take a slight step away from her, expecting a punch to the arm as you’ve grown accustomed to.

“Maybe we should go-“

“Not happening” Tara says sternly, looking back to the door, “if anything I’m getting answers for my friends.”

She raises her fist, unrelenting, but it freezes mid air as the sound of a chain sliding followed by a bolt unlatching can be heard from within. You both take a step back as the door finally opens.

A man, goatee and tousled hair, peers at you both through the crack of the door. He looks wary, distrusting, and tense.

“You’ve got five seconds before I call the police for harassment-“

“How’d you know to stop a heart to get Ghostface to release a victim?” You say bluntly, exhausted with your patience and blunt with the reason you’re here.

Almost instantly he reacts, his eyes widen in fear at the question, and he tries to slam the door shut. But you’re quick, reflexes sharp. You manage to shove the door open before the man could close it, and for a moment you get a jolt of deja vú.

But your patience is clearly wearing thin, and this time you’re not alone in the face of confrontation. Your expression hard as you take a step inside the apartment, forcing Randy to move back.

"Answer the question, Randy" you demand, voice cold and uncompromising.

As Randy scrambled backwards, he makes a desperate attempt to pull out a gun hidden in his waistband. You panic, because you’re not a fighter, instinctively moving to stand in front of Tara as you reach for your own weapon. But to your disbelief, Tara is quicker than you both. She lunges forward before Randy can aim the gun, disarming him in a swift, practiced motion.

The move was almost too easy, a testament to quick reflexes and skill. You watch in complete awe as Tara held the gun in her hand, her eyes trained on Randy who now looks even more terrified, blubbering a quick “okay! Okay! Jesus Christ let’s just relax man-“

With a smooth, practiced movement, you watch Tara remove the magazine from the gun and releases the bullet from the chamber. With a flick of her wrist, she tosses the gun aside, her gaze never leaving Randy’s as it clatters across the wooden floor and out of sight.

You’re not really sure what to do with the way that makes you feel, but goddamn.

“Dude” is all you can say, which has her bravado falter, those brown eyes flicking over to you as she simply offers a shrug, a pink tint rising to her cheeks.

“My sister is a cop, you seriously think she didn’t force me to learn self defense?”

You don’t question it, turning back to Randy and plastering on a more professional and unyielding look.

Your voices cold as you repeat the question. "I'll ask again. How did you know that the entity releases its target victim when the heart stops?"

Randy raises his hands in surrender, his eyes wide and panicked. "I.. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about," he stammers, his voice shaking.

You see right through his lies, and so does Tara who couldn't hold back a scoff. "Bullshit," she said, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Your calm facade cracks, giving way to a wave of anger and frustration. You clench your fists at your sides, eyes narrowing as you spoke.

"Do you have any idea how many innocent people have been lost in the void because you were too goddamn afraid to come home and help? I mean, you clearly know more about this thing than the rest of us” you snap, voice harsh.

Randy’s expression darkens, his own anger flaring to match yours. "You just don't get it!" he exclaimed, his voice growing louder. "I can't come back! It won't let me!"

He takes a step forward, his eyes glinting with a manic light. "You think I just chose to disappear? To stay away from my family? You have no idea what I've been through, the torment I've endured! The sacrifices I’ve made!”

“Enlighten us then, Randy” you say firmly, unwavering as you stare him down.

He shakes his head as he turns, storming further into the apartment. You follow, Tara one step behind you. You both watch him after a brief search beneath a loose floorboard in his living room, he pulls out a weathered old book. It looked ancient, the pages yellowed and the cover warped.

The atmosphere in the room shifts almost instantly, a sudden sense of unease rippling through the air. The energy in the room suddenly warps, the air becoming thick with an heavy, oppressive aura. The old book in the man's hands seemed to radiate an almost sinister energy.

"This..." he said, his voice quivering with disgust as he held the book out. "This fucking cursed book. It all started when I picked it up. That's when it smudged me."

Both you and Tara exchange a puzzled glance at Randy’s words. Tara is the first to speak up, her eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean, smudged?" she asks, her voice laced with confusion.

Randy grimaces, his grip on the book tightening, as if his personal vendetta against it makes him wish he could tear it to pieces. "Smudging," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a term I use to describe what happens when you touch this goddamn book. It attaches some kind of bad energy to you, or something, tainting your very essence. Ghostface can sense it.”

Randy’s eyes darken as he recounts his harrowing experience. "Any time I’d get within a five-mile radius of town, that thing would comes for me, man," he said, his voice quivering. "It's like it can sense where I am, like it's tracking me down. It's brutal. Rageful. Unstoppable. I can hear it, feel it, even when I'm asleep. You thought you knew what a nightmare was before? Think again. It's always there, in my subconscious, watching me."

Uneasy, you ask, "What exactly is this book? And how did you find it?"

Randy’s eyes flick to the book, his expression a mix of fear and resignation. "I don't know exactly what it is, but it speaks of the entity. It’s how I learned the method" he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I just... I found it. Out in the woods. Just laying there, waiting to be found."

Your instincts tell you Randy is holding something back, that there is more to the story than him conveniently stumbling across the book. You lean in, gaze intense, and press for an answer.

"You’re a shitty liar, you're not telling us everything," you said, voice firm. "Where did you really find the book?"

Randy shifts uneasily but stood his ground. "I can't tell you," he repeats, his tone defiant. "It's... safer for everyone if you don't know."

“Why don’t you just tell us what’s inside it then?” Tara prompts, “I mean, you have read it? Right? So just-“

“No” Randy firmly shakes his head, eyes hard and unwavering, “reading from it only makes it worse, I need you to understand the severity of this thing.”

Despite your initial skepticism, you relent for now. But as Randy continued, a warning in his voice, the tension in the room thickened.

"You need to understand," Randy says, his eyes boring into yours. "Once you touch this book, there's no going back. The more you read, the more of a threat you become. The more of a threat you become? The more determined it will be to kill you. The entity will be able to sense you, to track you. You'll be smudged, just like I am."

Randy then held the book out, offering it to you. "Look, you want it? Take it," he said, his voice trembling. "But you have to understand, man. Once you have this book, you're fucked. Ghostface will come for you like it did me. You'll never know peace again. You sure you want your hands on this thing?"

You hesitate, knowing the burden that will come with possessing the ominous tome that promises answers.

But at what cost?

Randy’s warning echoes in your ears, the implications clear. This book is more than just aged paper and ink. It’s a cursed artifact, a beacon for the entity that has been stalking and terrorizing this town like a predator for decades now.

But the need for answers burns deep within you. You need to know more about the entity, to better understand what exactly it is and perhaps find a way to defeat it.

Your hand hovers in the air above the book, almost touching the leather-bound cover. But just as you’re about to grasp it, Tara snags your arm, her grip tight.

"Wait," she said, her eyes wide with worry. "You can't just take it! Are you crazy? You don’t even know if it’ll be worth it! Don’t make what I did be for nothing.”

You look at her, sympathy in your gaze. You know her concern is genuine, but you also know you have no other choice. Randy is locked up like a fortress, you’re lucky enough he’s terrified of it this book to pass it off to you.

Hell, lucky probably isn’t the right word to use.

"What other options do we have?" You mutter, voice gentle yet firm. "People's lives are at risk here, and we've been making zero progress for the past few months. We can't keep running in circles. We need this book, no matter the cost."

“Not when the cost could be your life” Tara says firmly, the look in her eyes makes something in your chest ache. You know why she’s against this, it’s the same reason you’re doing this.

“And if it’s you next? Or Sam? Or Chad and Mindy?” You push, knowing it’s a low blow but you remind her there are other people at stake.

Tara’s expression softens, the fear in her eyes replaced by a flicker of resignation. She knows you’re right. You’re desperate, and there are no other options.

But then Tara looks to Randy, her expression a mix of frustration and empathy. "You've already been smudged," she said, her voice soft but firm. "The book has done its damage. You can't hide from it forever. And your family... they need you. Sidney needs you. You can't keep running away, leaving them in the dark like this. Help us.”

The moment he registers Sidney’s name, his entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. He looks at Tara, utterly defeated with deeply rooted conflict in his eyes, torn between the danger entailed and the promise of potentially being able to go home.

In this moment, you find a bit of clarity. Randy left because he cares too much, took a risk and sacrificed his entire life for the woman he loved and his family. But he is also a man with scars, a damaged man with cold feet, a man with years of wear and tear on his lost soul. Cracks in foundation that can’t be filled, and it shows as he slowly resolves his moment of vulnerability, those walls building back up faster than they came down.

Randy bristles at her words, his expression darkening. "You can take the book or you can get the hell out of here," he said, his voice cold. "But I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here, where it's safe."

The situation had suddenly grown hostile, the tension thick in the air. You lay a restraining hand on Tara’s that still grips your arm, your eyes conveying a silent message. This wasn’t worth a fight, not when the book possibly offers some sort of answers.

Clearly still against it, and frustrated with the lack of cooperation from Randy, Tara pull her hand from you and turns away with a shake of her head. Jaw clenched and face stricken with rebuke.

The room is filled with a palpable suffocating pressure, the decision weighing heavily on you all. The risk of taking the book, of drawing the entity's attention, is real. But at the thought of Tara, her safety, you rationalize that’s more important than anything. You remind yourself that you only came back to solve this to ensure she would be okay. You’d already concluded a while ago that you would do anything, risk anything, to ensure she is safe.

With a mix of grim determination and trepidation, you slowly reach out and grasp the book. The moment your fingers touch the worn leather, you feel a sudden wave of unease wash over you. The room seems to press in around you, and the air grew thick with a pervasive sense of dread.

Randy wasn’t kidding, this is fucking heavy.

The book seemed to thrum with an unknowable energy, and you feel its malevolent presence, like a dark shadow lurking at the edge of your perception.

A single thought is brought to the forefront of your mind, loud and harsh as it bounces around in your head like an echo through a dark chasm.

This action will have consequences.

previous, next

[salty-croissants]

Hello, I have a request

Since in the show that Rayman went to college before Eden and all that.

how about the reader and Rayman were good old "college buddies".

Thank you for the request !

I’ve actually been thinking a lot about making a story something with a similar premise , so this was definitely fun to write :D

Hope it turned out okay ! 

Details : use of gender neutral reader ;

friends to lovers ;

no warnings needed 

So , as we know Rayman didn’t have it easy before Eden came along and made him a star : 

pretty much nobody respected him , with people always mocking him and his appearance … sometimes even choosing to be more cruel by hurting him physically .

All this considered , I think Rayman struggled quite a lot to understand that you were showing him genuine kindness and didn’t consider him a monster like everyone else …

< Can you walk ? Here , let me help you … I’m sure they have something to patch you up in the nursery . > 

< Hhh … why … why are you doing this …

Did someone dare you to be nice to me ? Is this a prank … ? 

… it’s gotta be , right … ? > 

< I understand why you’d think that , Rayman , it’s only natural after all you’ve been through … but I promise you , I’m not trying to take advantage of you in any way .

Now take it easy , just lean on me , it shouldn’t be very far … >

< … thank you . > 

After he realized that you were someone who could be trusted , Rayman was simply overjoyed to finally have someone treating him like an actual person , and he quickly grew very , very attached to you : 

he would sit beside you when you had classes together , telling you all about his dream of having his very own tv show one day and overall just feeling way more relaxed in your presence …

Tough I can definitely see him being absolutely terrified of boring you and making you leave him .

< Wait … oh god , I’ve been talking for so long haven’t I ?

Damn it - I’m so sorry y/n , we can change the subject if you - > 

< No no , it’s fine Ray , don’t worry about it !

I like listening to you , and I really admire how passionate you are about making your show ! > 

< You … heh , you mean it ? > 

< Mhm , of course ! >

Since Rayman wasn’t exactly … popular among the other college students , you had a pretty hard time defending him from the constant bullying he was subjected to … sometimes even ending up hurt yourself . 

While part of him felt happy to see that you were willing to stick with him despite everything , he absolutely hated the fact that you had become a target for mockery because of it … it was something he felt immense guilt about . 

< y/n ! Are you okay ??

Your eye - > 

< Oh , that ? It’s nothing … just wanted to teach a lesson to that guy that keeps calling you “alien scum” … I’m gonna be just fine Ray , trust me . > 

< … listen , I really appreciate everything you do for me , but I can’t stand seeing you get hurt like this . 

Maybe … maybe if we … > 

< No . I know what you’re about to say . I don’t wanna stop spending time with you because of a bunch of … frankly , assholes .

I’m just … happy to be with you , and no one’s opinion will change that . >

< y/n , I … 

Heh , thank you , thank you so much … 

We should probably put some ice on your eye though , it doesn’t look too good . > 

< Yeah , that sounds like a plan … > 

It’s wasn’t long before Rayman started to realize that the feelings he had for you had become something different , and despite being incredibly anxious and worried he decided to try and bring that topic up one night : 

you were both in his dorm , studying together like you usually did , but you noticed that he didn’t seem to be very focused on the papers … but on you . 

< Hey Ray ? Is there something you’d like to tell me ? > 

< Oh - uh … yeah , actually .

 I’m just trying to find the right words to say it , since it’s … pretty big . > 

You put down your pen , looking at your long time friend with curiosity .

< Well , as long as you’re comfortable with it , you can tell me anything .

I’m be more than happy to listen . > 

Rayman smiled at you in response , grateful for your patience and your kindness … 

Then he took a deep breath , and finally begun talking . 

< Okay … okay . 

You see , before I met you I was really starting to lose hope for … everything , really . 

All alone , constantly judged by everyone for being different … but you already know all that , so I’ll cut it short . > 

His eyes met yours , and the way his gaze softened when he looked wt you made you feel warm inside … 

After all , Rayman wasn’t the only one who had developed feelings over time . 

< Then you came along …

y/n , you gave me a reason to keep pursuing my goals , and … I know this might sound very dramatic , but you also gave me a reason to … well , live . 

Words wouldn’t be enough to describe just what a wonderful person you are , and having you by my side is something that I’m always going to be thankful for . > 

He then looked away for a moment , bracing himself for the most important part of his little speech …

< … but it’s more than that . 

y/n , I know this is very sudden and I understand if it’s too much to handle … I really should’ve planned this all better , but …

*inhale* … I love you . > 

There was a moment of silence following that sentence , and right when Rayman was starting to worry about just how uncomfortable he had made you , his widened the moment you leaned closer to place a gentle kiss on his cheek . 

< I love you too , Ray . > 

< Wait - you … really ? > 

He couldn’t believe it … you actually loved him back ?

A joy he had never felt before overwhelmed him , and when he wrapped his arms around you to hold you in a tight embrace Rayman truly felt home … despite being so very far away from his own home . 

< Oh y/n … I’m so happy , I’m so happy you feel the same … 

I know there isn’t much I can do , but I promise you I’ll be there for you the same way you’ve always been there for me . > 

His words were so loving and sincere , and when your lips finally met in a tender cascade of kisses you felt like both of your lives were going to be different from that moment forward …

As long as you and Rayman stayed together , there was nothing that you wouldn’t be able to face , even if the whole world was against you . 

[lucyskywalker]

This will be critical towards 600 strikes. Don't like, don't read.

"Oh, but Dyomedes stabbed a god..."

The last time I checked this story is not about Dyomedes and the God in question wasn't Poseidon.

The context and message behind the myth is completely different. Actually, the message behind Dyomedes duel with Ares and Aphrodite is the opposite. It's to establish one of the main themes of the epic: how human choices and efforts become insignificant when fate and immortals are in control.

Dyomedes myth only proofs that if Poseidon wanted Odysseus dead for good, he would be dead. End of the story.

Odysseus was punished by his Hubris. Like Lesser Ajax was before him, like Niobe and her children also were slain by Apollo and Artemis.

It wasn't just a torturing journey for some petty reason.

It was a lesson.

And when he learned that lesson, he went back home.

Using Dyomedes to defend what happend in 600 strikes is literally absurd.

"Oh, but Poseidon deserved it."

The fact you say that proofs u don't know shit about Greek Mythology and how it is deeply rooted in how this ancient society worked and worshipped those gods.

Poseidon didn't deserve any of this. Not within this myth.

Odysseus was the one who committed Hubris, over and over again during his journey.

Odysseus was the one who believed to be above the gods due his witty and cunning nature.

Odysseus was the one who put his crew in danger because of his own pride more than once.

Odysseus was the one to harm Poseidon's son and left him alive in an act of mockery during the Odyssey.

Even during the retelling of Jorge in Epic the musical, many things Odysseus have done are pretty much debatable and are the roots of all his problems.

Even in Jorge's retelling, he stablishs angering the gods is not a good idea. Like in the song Munity, when Eurylochos kills Apollo's cows (or Hellio's).

Even before it, he established that not hearing them or going against them is not smart choice.

My Goodbye and Remember Me.

Odysseus tought he was wiser than Athena for showing mercy. But the fact is... he wasn't and he paid the price for believing such thing. Which can also be depicted as a consequence of Hubris.

It happend again during his entire journey later on. Odysseus choose to go to the underworld to avoid Poseidon. He choose to sacrifice six of his remaining men to not face Poseidon.

Because Poseidon is that much of a threat. It is a force of nature so powerfull, Odysseus cannot expect to face it.

Later, in Thunder Bringer, once again we are reminded of how powerfull, mighty and terrifying the gods truly are

Making some kind of final battle between Odysseus and one of the eldest gods, where he ends not only torturing Poseidon, but also commanding him, and somehow gets out alive, not only goes against all his journey lessons and everything the Odyssey is about, but it is also extreamly ooc of Jorge's own writing.

Odysseus never rellied on strength and a face to face battle to win.

Actually, he is "a warrior of the mind". He rellies on strategies and deceptions. He was never meant to be like Herakles nor Achilles.

And be helped by the ghosts of his dead crew? When he is pretty much the reason why they are, uk, dead? Even if they were willing to help, how did they left the Underworld? By a bus of ghosts?

What is Hades doing? Throwing a party?

I'm not even going to debate the jetpack stuff.

You can say whatever you want to apologize the writing be it "the fates wanted that way, so it doesnt matter", "he won because of Ares's blessing".

Whatever. You just crossed the line of an adaptation to a straigh up fanfiction.

Study the classics about the tale you so claim to love instead of saying so many things with no basis with so much pride.

[whumpshaped]

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, psychological whump, intimate whumper, forced comfort

"Whatever is the matter with you?"

Beck shrugged a little. He still barely even looked at Helle, let alone engaged in their banter. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

They gently took him by the chin, turning his head towards them so they'd be able to look him in the eye. They didn't seem concerned, just confused and annoyed. "Is it me? Am I the problem? Are my insults and mockery getting less... gutting?"

Beck thought he might be able to sense some semblance of care behind the joking tone, but he was too exhausted to pay too much attention. "No, that's definitely not it," he said honestly. "They're... they're definitely pretty gutting. I mean, if, if we're being honest here– they make me wanna cry half the time."

The vampire let go of him and leaned back, still fixing him with a suspicious look. "Okay. So... whatever is it, then? You barely react. Our of the two of us, you seem more dead."

"I'm tired, Helle," he admitted, and averted his eyes again. "I'm sorry. That's– I think that's just it. I'm so tired of being... afraid, and hurt, and angry. I just can't do it tonight. I bet that's very frustrating, since that seems like the only reason you even keep me around in this way instead of enthralling me and whisking me away to your mansion or whatever, but I just... I can't. I can't do it every night. I'm tired."

The silence that stretched between them wasn't a necessarily uncomfortable one. It was almost peaceful, contemplative. Beck used it to simply zone out and stare at the TV in front of him — despite the fact that it wasn't even turned on, and he was just looking at his reflection. Only his. And Helle? Helle used it to think about whatever the hell vampires thought about, when they weren't thinking about blood and torture. Maybe they were thinking about blood and torture. There was no way to know.

"I do keep you around for those tasty little emotions," they said eventually. "It is quite fun to see you react to whatever I am doing. But I think..." They grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer, positioning him so that he was laid across the sofa with his head in their lap. "I do not have to pull from the negative ones all the time. Especially if they are a limited resource."

Beck would've lied if he said the situation didn't scare him. He felt numb, yes, but he wasn't dead. Or emotionless. His muscles still tensed up at having to navigate unfamiliar territory, and his breathing and pulse quickened. But he couldn't react in the way Helle wanted. He didn't have the energy to protest and beg.

They began gently petting his hair, like one might do with a cat. It felt... nice. It wasn't comforting, but it was objectively pleasant, and... Helle was right. It was different, and different made him feel.

"I could make the distinction differently," they murmured. "I could simply make your days bad and worse, have your brain switching between dread and more dread."

Oh, it was a foolish question, the one on the tip of his tongue; but it was a justified one. Should he risk it? Or should he keep quiet and enjoy the break?

He was never going to learn to keep his mouth shut.

"Why don't you?" he asked quietly.

The vampire scratched his scalp with sharp nails, and Beck once again felt like he was nothing but a pet. But it was so good. It felt so nice. He couldn't help but turn his head a little, lean into the touch, and even though he managed to stifle the pleased hum that threatened to breach his aura of indifference, the way he arched his back to be able to push against Helle's hand probably told them everything they wanted to know.

They smiled sweetly. "It is an odd thing, really. Sometimes I look at your adorable little face and I want nothing more than to ruin it with tears and bruises. And sometimes... sometimes I come here with that exact intent, and yet you manage to say or do something... and I just change my mind out of nowhere. Sometimes I want to see you like this."

"Like a dog."

"Like a happy dog. Relaxed, content, lazily wagging his little tail — wagging it specifically because I scratched him behind the ears." Beck felt his face heating up at the comparison, even though it was the same one he'd made a moment ago. It was different, coming from Helle. "But it does make me wonder... How would you react if I were to take it all away?"

Beck tensed again, waiting for them to do just that. For their fingers to tighten in his hair, for the claws to draw blood. For Helle's gentle expression to turn cold and cruel. He found himself desperately hoping it was merely a hypothetical.

"There it is," they whispered. "That fear. That uncertainty. That pleading look I treasure oh so much." They continued petting him, satisfied with how he was unable to relax at all now. "A little hope and kindness goes a long way, I suppose."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump

[blu-oo]

Ok so I’m a complete sucker for buggy-shanks-roger pirates angsty time travel plots but I’ve noticed that it’s pretty much only ever Buggy (as far as I can recall) being the main POV/one to time travel. While i have absolutely no complaints about this (lol) i do wish we could see more with Shanks behind the wheel, especially since he’s still so mysterious he’s essentially a blank slate.

And im just imagining like:

shanks immediately just gunning to go. He WILL find a way to save his captain, he WILL make it so rouge and/or ace are safe, he WILL keep his relationships with everyone he lost touch with after his captain died, he WILL find a way to make Buggy not hate him anymore.

Except, shanks isn’t a naive little kid anymore. His captain is amazing, he loves him, but it isn’t until he’s back in time that he realizes this man he idolized was terribly flawed. He didn’t always think before he acted, he didn’t always do what was best for the safety of his crew. He didn’t always put his pride aside for the betterment of those who cared for him or the situation at hand. He didn’t listen when buggy was scared, ignored or even laughed at him, at his fear. Why would he do that? He knows roger wouldn’t let anything happen to them, but still, how had he never noticed that before-

He wasn’t too overly familiar with Rouge and her crew but they met up enough that shank’s starts to keep an eye on her and his captain, waiting for any hints of whats to come. He still has plenty of time before anything happens but he’s anxious, doesn’t know if he’ll be able to help them in time. So he decides to try putting ideas in their heads. A little “hey captain, if you ever have a kid one day I can’t wait to play with them and teach them how to sword fight!” here, and and little “our nakama is family! We can always count on one another when something super life changing happens!” there. But when he starts trying to drop hints, no one listens to him. He’s just a kid and no one is listening to him, why won’t they listen-

With his future knowledge, his already rapidly successful sword and haki training grows tenfold (despite having to reacclimate to having both his arms again and woah that’s trippy). And this is good! This means he’ll be even more ready to defend his nakama and their futures as certain events unfold. And everyone is excited for him, throwing prideful smiles his way, and he’s never felt so close, so connected and on equal footing (or as equal as a child could be) to the rest of the roger pirates. Except…

Except the already existing gap between him and buggy seems to become an ever growing cavern. Shanks has never been starved of praise and attention in this or his past lifetime, but now that he’s wise enough to not only look ahead but back, he sees his best friend standing farther and farther away from him. And now that he’s older, now that he’s reliving everything through a new lense, he realizes just how…lonely his best friend was underneath the brazen and cocky bravado. How for every praise he received, buggy got only mockery and impatient sighs. For every successful fight shanks took part in, buggy was told to keep back as to not get in anyone’s way. For every blinding smile he received from his captain, buggy got- and oh. Oh.

Beyond a certain age, Shanks never begrudged buggy’s lack of fighting spirit. He understood now that it wasn’t for everyone, and that buggy especially made do with clever tricks and conspiratorial luck. Shanks was shanks, and buggy was buggy and that was good enough for him. Too bad he seemed to be the only one who thought that. And finally, finally, things have started to make sense. He sees all of his interactions with buggy and the others, from both this new reality and from before, interactions long past and those still to come, and finally starts to understand. Shanks is a grown man parading around as a child, but buggy? Buggy’s just a little boy. Just like shanks used to be.

And if through his righteous indignation on buggys behalf, shanks starts to really perceive his own treatment by his former nakama? Starts to truly feel the weight of their expectations on his shoulders that has ALWAYS been there and is finally able to identify it? Well. No one said fixing the absolute clusterfuck that was the fall of the roger pirates would be easy.

[rdbrainz]

Info and oc related stuff Characters in the following order: Ikkon, Turzo, Zanni (in his Resurrección form, you can find his regular outfit somewhere on here wink-wink), Kenpachi Ryuya, Betsuyaku Taisuke Their stories take place in an au btw

Ikkon "Capitano" Agreda Refused his number Zanpakuto: Tiamtum. Doesn't look like a katana at all, it's a silver brass knuckle knife Resurrección: Orca. However, no special form is obtained when activated Other: h-207cm, w-about 130kg

Ikkon's animal prototype is orca, the most fearsome sea predator. I wanted to give themes to the members of my Arrancar troupe (aside from literally being inspired by theatre, circus, etc.) and settled on self-destructive attitudes and relationships☝🤓 So his theme is anger, resentment and revengefulness. Many in the troupe call him by his nickname, "Capitano", but Ikkon is not a Spaniard who came from far away like his theatrical counterpart, he has no army and in this respect, he resembles Captain Ahab who blindly hunts for his own death with his decisions. Incredibly and sometimes unreasonably vicious and cruel, firmly believing that if the world and its creatures have treated him with nothing but cruelty since his birth, he shouldn't treat the world any differently. He has no sporting interest in violence. Ikkon can have fun in the process - even dance as a mockery - but he is not interested in fair fights purely for the sake of finding a worthy opponent, so he hates when opponents try to initiate small talk during encounters. He would be much more happy if his prey would just shut up and die. Ikkon is dismissive towards everyone around him and keeps them at arm's length even when he seems to like someone, and he is more than happy with his position as a "hired force" since he refused to play a role in the troupe and kinda sticks around to find himself new things to kill time with or, well, kill. He has murdered a great number of Arrancar either for fun or because of some quarrels and dug himself an even deeper grave. Despite actually having some semblance of self-awareness, he always finds someone to blame. Technically, he's just a big, angry kid who's lucky enough to have a huge power advantage over literally all of his kin and who's is so stuck in his own anger, so limited by it that he's unable to change at this point. His views have gotten him nowhere but to an aimless, stupid and painful death, which he'd always predicted for himself, but even then he's managed to do his own thing and took the shinigami who fought him out in the process. "If I go down, you go down with me." He mainly relies on his immense physical strength, size, and good fighting ability, but he also uses Sonído, Cero, Bala, and other delights of the Arrancar form. His personal ability is blowing bubbles filled with compressed spiritual energy hundreds of times stronger than when it's just surrounding him. When they burst at his command, they release it in the form of powerful waves that, depending on the opponent's spiritual energy, can either blow their head off from the pressure or just topple them over. His Resurrección doesn't give him a cool orca-man form but works kinda like a Domain Expansion. The lack of any new physical abilities or a new form when released is paid off by the fact that Ikkon's Reiatsu at a large radius from him is so intense that it creates a pressure similar to that of being submerged deep underwater. It's called Hadal Zone (Ultra Abyssal) because of it. He can easily tinker with this pressure and change it back and forth with various rapidity, so he can give his enemy either a decompression sickness or an instant death from rupture… of pretty much everything… It's up to him, but he's more fond of killing shinigami, humans, and his kin with his own hands rather than standing aside while it's happening.

Ikkon's far more cool and talented in all sorts of things than people give him credit for. He has a very strong singing voice and sometimes sings to himself when he's alone. But nothing more than that. He's not ashamed of his talent, in fact, he takes pride in it but being the object of attention of the troupe is worse than death itself to him, so it's kinda his fault people tend to overlook things abt him. He actually finds most of the members annoying. Especially their voices thanks to his extra sensitive hearing. It gets so bad that if he were to fight shinigami in the world of the living he'd probably bawl his eyes out due to the noise pollution and not be focused enough to do anything. He also lives on the outskirts of the cathedral-like building, where the other Arrancar reside, in a cave of some sort. Not because he's not a part of the whole mess but because he feels safer and calmer in the place he's been living alone in for a couple of hundred years now, even in his hollow form. Named after two musicians - Federico Augusto Ágreda Álvarez (Zardonic) and Niko "Ikon" Lehdontie (Oranssi Pazuzu). Theme songs: Twelve Foot Ninja - Coming For You, Staind - Change, Combichrist - Throat Full of Glass, Seether - Pride, P.O.D. - Listening For The Silence, Найк Борзов - Слышу Тьму. Heavily lyrics-oriented I guess?? Whatever… Tbh he's grown on me over time and the more I think abt him the less I wanna kill him off (and Ryuya too) but for the sake of keeping the story intact, there's an alternative route where he almost dies but doesn't. Maybe I'll write it down later but first I need to tell you about Volto so ehh… We'll see I guess.