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yandere-daydreams · 3 months ago

Text

Title: Foxglove and Oleander.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 6.0k

Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.

TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.

Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.

That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.

From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.

It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.

He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”

“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”

“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ��Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”

He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”

He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”

In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”

“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”

He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.

Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”

He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus. Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”

“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”

“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”

His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.

“How do you choose where to go?”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.

It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.

Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”

“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. “Tell me, then – what would please you?”

He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “What village were you born to?”

His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”

His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”

“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”

There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”

“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”

It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.

But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”

His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.

It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.

Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.

The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.

It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.

You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”

“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”

“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”

“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.

Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”

After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.

Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.

He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”

You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.

“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”

“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”

“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.

He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.

“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”

No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”

“Join me, then.”

Ah.

You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.

“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”

Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.

Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.

Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.

It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.

You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.

It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.

“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”

To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”

“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”

You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.

The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.

The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.

An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.

That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.

You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.

It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.

Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.

He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.

“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”

The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.

You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.

You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.

With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”

For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.

“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”

As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.

Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.

You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.

You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—

You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.

“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”

“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”

You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”

For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”

There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.

It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna #sukuna x reader

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loveindefinitely · 1 year ago

Text

༊*·˚ NEED TO LISTEN TO ME — price is disappointed in you and your other three lovers, and finds that some 'training' is in order

read on ao3.

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, poly tf141, ANGRY sex, mean dom price, angst, degradation, minor dom/sub, light humiliation, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, minor spit play, minor blood play (not really), rough sex, price orders EVERYONE around, price-centred, whiny johnny and gaz agenda

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

You weren't scared of many things at this point in your life.

Being a signal officer for the military certainly aided that statement, but it was more the fact that you had four guard dogs in the form of the most seasoned special forces operatives you've ever known. Four very large, very scary men that you'd somehow found yourself lucky enough to get to call your partners.

Both on, and off, the field.

That being said, there was one thing you were terrified of. Like, to your bones, petrified.

And that thing had a name.

John Price.

He was formally the captain of your force for a reason, but he was also informally the captain of your relationship, as well. The one you all looked to in the most difficult of moments, the one that held reason and guidance above all.

It's been that way since the five of you met, and remains the same to this day.

Nonetheless.

It was a known fact between you, Soap, Ghost and Gaz that none of you liked seeing the man mad. You four could count on one hand the amount of times you'd witnessed it, all of which having been directed at either his superiors or an enemy.

But. Right now, in this office, seated on the small couch between your three lovers?

Yeah. You don't fear many things.

But John Price's disappointment is quite easily in your top three, and this situation only cements it.

"He's probably ordering our caskets," Gaz murmurs wistfully, eyes wide as he stares at his foot, tap-tap-tapping against the wooden floor. It's a nervous tic that gives him away too easily, but even with your hand on his knee, it doesn't seem able to quit.

You exhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. "I hope he gets me a cute one," you mumble back, tone matching the resignation that clouds your captain's office.

"You four. My office."

Those were the only words Price had spoken to you guys, before marching off to a meeting with Laswell.

To say that you and your lovers were mortified was the biggest understatement of the century.

Even Ghost, sat perfectly still, expression perfectly neutral beneath his mask, oozes trepidation like it's the carbon dioxide he exudes with every breath.

"I know 'm 'n tha military, but I still don't wanna die, ya know?" Soap whines, his head flung back and blue eyes glued to the roof as his hands shake in his lap.

You guys must look like unruly students sat outside of your principal's office to any onlookers, and it should be embarrassing.

It would be, if you could feel anything but mortal peril.

You're about to quip a reply to Soap, when the door clicks open, and the three of you sit ramrod straight, Ghost not moving from his already perfect posture.

Price steps in, the door shutting closed behind him.

The silence is a tangible force, and your mouth is so dry, you'd think you were in a desert, not in your lover's office.

His footfalls echo around the modest space, before he leans against his wooden desk, folding his arms over his chest, before directing his furious gaze to you four.

"When I give orders," he starts, and oh god, his tone, it's so unbelievably firm, "I expect my team to follow them."

There's no response, except for the overwhelming quiet coming from the usually passionate and comforting presence that underlies your entire dynamic.

Price clears his throat, meeting all of your eyes one by one. You wonder if you can see the glassiness of yours, the barely restrained tears.

"So why," he begins, before swallowing once more, determination settling in, "Did all four of my teammates rush into an unstable building after being ordered to keep out?"

You know it's not just the anger of a captain's orders being refused.

It's the anger of a lover having to watch all four of his partner's risk their death, while he can do nothing but watch from the scope of a sniper rifle.

The clock on the wall above the door ticks, and none of you make a sound.

Price grabs a pack of cigars from his pocket, quickly sliding one out, placing it between his lips, and shoving the pack back into his slacks. He then pulls out a lighter from his back pocket, lighting the tobacco, before exhaling his first breath of smoke.

In any other situation, you or Gaz would be chastising him, telling him to stop smoking, or to at least do it outside.

Neither of you say a word.

Rubbing at the furrow between his brows, Price then drifts his eyes to Ghost, the only one who hasn't said a word since the mission.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Price says on a deep exhale, shaking his head. There's hurt there, genuine pain, and your heart stutters in your chest at the sight. "You're my lieutenant, Simon. I thought you'd at least 'ave the brains to listen to me when I make an order."

Ghost's hand tightens where it sit on his cargos, and even with his mask on, you can tell that a disgruntled frown lays beneath it.

"And you, Soap," he looks at the man to your right, now, and you can physically see him deflate at the disappointment in his captain's eyes. "Disrespecting authority is cute 'nd all, until it's me, mate."

Those words feel like a physical wound, even to you, and judging my Soap's crestfallen expression, for him, it must hurt tenfold.

And, then, it's your turn.

His mouth is set in a grim line, and you hope that he can see the regret, the genuine sorrow you feel at disappointing and -- and scaring your captain. Your lover.

"What were you thinking?" He asks, and your mouth wants to open, but it's as if there's an invisible force pinning it shut. "You weren't even supposed to step foot on enemy grounds, and you knew that."

And it's true. Your role is mainly with communications and technical supplies, not actual combat. You were trained, yes, but it has never been your role.

But you'd seen Soap rush in, Ghost trailing after him, yelling, and then Gaz not long after, and it was like your mind shut out any rational lines of thinking. There was no rationale when it came to your partners.

That was a flaw. A genuine character fault, and Price was cementing that fact in this very room.

"Kyle," Price runs his hand down his face, cigar in between his middle and index fingers, "Kyle."

The pain, regret, the melancholy -- it's its own element in this room, its own being, and it feels as if it's choking you from the inside out. Like a gas leak, or a grenade stuck in your throat, about to go off.

Ghost, shockingly, is the first to speak.

"Captain," he grits out. Not 'old man'. Not 'love'.

Captain.

"We're aware of our... misgivings," he states, the words coming off of his tongue like hot coals he needs to rid off, lest his entire mouth burns.

Price nods, slowly, eyes narrowing at Ghost. It hits you, then, how your lover's just dug all of your graves in one sentence. Gaz seems to realise, too, his eyes going wide, exhaling a low, short breath in surprise.

"Sweetheart," he quips, standing up in the transition of one moment to the next, eyes snapping to your glassy ones. The endearment holds no warmth to it, for the first time, and your heart shatters where it beats in your chest, shards of glass embedding into the muscle surround it. "Get on the desk."

He says the words, and in the next movement, sweeps his arm over his desk, causing all of his papers, his pens, his folders, to go careening to the floor.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, and Gaz winces.

On shaky legs, you stand, walking the short distance to the wooden surface and sitting on it with short pants of breath.

His large hand grips your chin in a tight grasp, tilting your head back and forcing the eye contact between you both.

He leans in, mouth mere millimetres away from your own, before speaking. You can taste the tobacco as he does. "I'm gonna let every single one of my subordinates fuck your disobedient cunt, and it's not gonna get any cum. Do you understand that order, sweetheart?"

It's cruel. Patronising, and so unbearably condescending, but you nod, a tear finally leaking down your cheek.

With a calloused thumb, he wipes it away in one stroke. "Save that for the actual punishment, operator."

And then, he steps back, and takes a seat in his chair, allowing him a full view of the other three still sat at the couch, and your position in his desk.

"This is a lesson on following your captain's orders," Price barks his order, like most other men of his rank would. It's a stone cold contrast to the gentle, comforting way he usual spoke to the four of you. His voice, now, holds no love, no underlying adoration lacing through his words. "You will follow every command I give you, and hopefully, this training will carry onto our future missions."

You're all aware that if it gets too much, one of you will utter the safeword you're all aware of -- the weight of it almost embedded into your beings.

Price knows it, too. And no matter how angry he is, he'll always put you all first, listen to you when you genuinely need to stop.

The feeling in the room has shifted from one of heavy disappointment, to an electrifying anger that has liquid heat melting to your core.

"Simon," Price snaps his fingers, and it's almost as if you're in a parallel universe, because the large man immediately stands. "Lay 'er down on the desk."

Ghost only needs to take two steps from the couch before he's standing in front of you, hand fisting into your hair, before somewhat gently pushing you to lay flat against the smooth surface. Your breathing is harsh, your chest moving in quick rises.

"Strip 'er down," Price orders, voice gravelly as he takes another deep inhale of his cigar, folding his leg so his left ankle rests on his right knee, legs spread wide. He fills out the chair with his frame, and it makes you shiver as Ghost gets to work peeling your clothes off of you.

When your heated skin feels the kiss of the cool air, you let out a haggard breath, head falling back to hit the wood as you clench your eyes shut.

Ghost goes to spread your thighs, before pausing, awaiting Price's directions like a dutiful dog.

You never thought you'd see the day.

"She's wet enough," Price shrugs, taking another drag of his cigar. "Fuck 'er."

Oh, fuck.

He wasn't lying, you were soaking, something about the fear unknowingly having your inner thighs sticky and core aching to be filled.

But... not getting prepped? At all?

Ghost makes a surprised grunt of a noise, pausing for a moment, before recollecting his senses and unbuckling his pants.

Oh. Fuck.

He's really, properly following Price's directions, like the man had demanded. The guilt was eating all of you alive, and that festered in Simon's actions.

His deep brown eyes flick to yours, before he unzips his fly with one hand, gaze not moving from yours. There's slight apology in them, only a hint, before he leans down to spit on your cunt.

You inhale a sharp breath at the act, squeezing your eyes shut as his dick presses against your heat, rubbing against it slightly.

Then, he pushes in -- it makes you cry out, breath hitching as the tip enters. It's a tight fit, but he continues to push in, and it's almost as if you can feel the intrusion, the pressure in your chest.

"So you can follow orders, huh?" Price quips, almost nastily, and it has you shuddering as Ghost's hips finally flush against your own. You don't think you've ever taken any of them without foreplay, and it's a special form of torture. The pressure is almost too much, his cock filling you up so much.

Simon's head hangs between his shoulders, muscles tense as he stares down at you, the epitome of self-restraint.

He always was the most controlling one, the most calculating.

Not today, however.

That title easily belongs to Price, who merely relaxes further into his seat, as if he wasn't just mere feet away from the two of you.

"I said fuck her, Riley. Not stand there and keep it warm."

He's so fucking. He's fucking cruel about this, fully willing and wanting to make this hurt. It's so completely unlike the man you love, and it's psychologically damning in a way nothing else could be.

But, like directed, Simon fucks you.

He stops trying to be kind about it, stops wallowing in guilt. It's rough, forceful, urgent, unlike the way he usually liked to savour your pleasure, your pain. He usually delighted in the smooth, deep strokes, prolonging the passionate act almost vindictively.

No. Now, it's quick, punishing thrusts, and your head falls back and little moans escape your throat.

It's like you've both forgotten that Soap and Gaz sit on the couch, watching, waiting. Price has likely made it that way on purpose, to make them envy the attention you and Ghost are getting.

"Fuck," you moan, tits bouncing as Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly, harsh in his movements.

"Does he feel good?" Price is standing, and when you open glassy eyes, it's to see his face looking down at you. If you had the mind to, you'd flinch under his criticizing expression. "Answer me."

You nod, shakily, and when his brows narrow, you rush out a verbal response. "Yes, yes, he does!"

Price hums a noncommittal sound, before his hand slides down your stomach, leaving your hairs to stand on end, before his fingers reach your clit. In tight circles, he has you on the edge almost immediately, and you cry out.

"Gonna fuckin' cum," Ghost grunts, voice low as his eyes clench tight.

"Aww, you two close?" Your captain's voice is gruff, all too condescending, and just before you can find your release, his hand leaves your clit, and wraps around Ghost's neck. He leans into his ear, and his whisper is loud enough for everyone to hear. "Pull out."

Simon makes a noise suspiciously close to a whimper, and it's so unlike him that it has your eyes opening wide, before he does just as Price ordered.

He pulls out.

"Seriously?" You groan, filter eviscerated like your high was. You lean up, using your elbows for leverage.

Price raises one brow, before scratching at his beard almost absent-mindedly. "Got a complaint, sergeant?"

You shake your head, lightning quick, like a puppet on a string.

That's what you were right now -- what all of you were. Just puppets in whatever acts Price wanted to see you all star in.

It's exhilarating in the worst of ways.

"Soap, Gaz," Price snaps once more, and Ghost is nothing more than a neglected mutt. Which, really, is almost funny considering the amount of times the man teases you, Soap and Gaz about such a comment. You couldn't count the amount of times he's compare you three to 'needy puppies'.

Now, he was nothing more than that, and you wish you could enjoy that fact more.

The two men adhere to the command, radiating nervous energy as they stand to attention, not unlike they would if they were in a standard military unit.

"Gaz, take her mouth," Price demands, before his hand buries in the short hair near the nape of Soap's head with a mean grip, meant to hurt. Soap barely hides a whine as Price tugs him, forcing the man to his knees as if he's nothing more than the mutt Ghost usually refers to him as. "You, lick 'er clean."

You realise, then, what exactly this is.

It's truly a display of power. Of control. Because you four took that away from him on the field, unrightfully so. There truly is thought behind his anger, his pain.

It only makes the ache in your heart burn, makes it bruise and bleed where the shattered pieces cut and embed into the innerworkings of your body.

This 'training' won't make up for what you four pulled. Not in the slightest.

But it's something to let John get some of his emotions out, in a somewhat healthier way than you lot usually resorted to.

You'd always offer your support, offer yourself, and he knows that.

He's deliberately taking away that option for you, taking control to comfort the side of him that is so deeply ingrained, so deeply relied on for him to live.

You love him. So effortlessly.

Those words remain accurate, even as Johnny first licks over your wet pussy, and Kyle's dick bumps against your lips.

Opening your mouth without a thought, Kyle's tip slips in, his pre-cum salty on your tongue as you flatten your tongue against it. Johnny's as enthusiastic as ever, maybe even more than usual, as he delegates all of his attention to your aching warmth.

John's grip doesn't release from Johnny's hair, shoving his closer against you, and the sight is so hot that you wish you could fully, properly enjoy it.

Another time, when you're all in better spots, happy and unapologetic, you'll ask them to re-enact the scene.

Johnny moans against your pussy, hands coming up to grip at your bare thighs, and you just know there'll be finger-shaped bruises come tomorrow morning. He's always been unaware of his strength, not understanding the proper damage he can inflict, especially in the bedroom. It's attractive as all hell.

"Yeah? She taste good, hm?" John nearly snarls, and you let out a drawn out moan at the pleasure and words. The sound is muffled by Kyle pushing in deeper, having you almost gagging on his length.

Your eyes flutter shut at the onslaught of feelings, but even with no sight, you can feel Simon's eyes on you like a physical weight.

You know what position he's in, without having to look. Leaning against the wall with a furious expression, large arms folded over his bulky chest. Maybe he's pulled off his mask, maybe it's just been hooked over his crooked nose.

"Fuck, cap," Kyle groans, bucking into your throat. "So fuckin' good--"

Johnny muffles a whine as his efforts nearly double, and you swear spots colour the darkness of your vision. You're already there, and it's not like you can say anything, with Kyle abusing your mouth like this.

"She's close, ain't she, Johnny? Feel her clenchin' on your tongue?" John taunts, and you can feel Johnny nod against your core, nose brushing your clit as he does.

John huffs a cruel laugh, before he abruptly pulls Johnny away by the scruff of his neck. You can't help by buck up, searching for touch, but none comes.

"Kyle," John's tone is one requiring no resistance, and with a shaky exhale, Kyle pulls out of your mouth, a string of spit clinging to his dick, before snapping and leaving your cheek covered with a line of it.

You shakily open your eyes, your pussy begging for a release, knowing that you won't get one. Not yet.

"You make a mess, you clean it up," John says.

So, Kyle leans down, his tongue licking over the spit trail, and really it should be disgusting.

Instead, it only makes you wetter.

Your thighs incessantly shake, no hint of stopping as your body aches. The emotional turmoil, mixed with the physical kind -- it's a concoction for torture.

With half-lidded eyes, you watch as John forces Johnny's head in between your breasts, pressing his face into them. It must be almost suffocating, but Johnny manages to whine as you feel John's hand wrap around Johnny's dick, positioning it against your twitching hole.

"Rut into her," John orders, before stepping back.

Johnny does just that -- he thrusts in, bottoming out with one push. Your moan sounds too alike to a squeal at the stretch, the sudden intrusion. Your arms wrap around his back, nails scratching lines down Johnny's back as he thrusts into you almost manically. You're sure that you're drawing blood, but it only seems to encourage the man rutting into you further, his thrusts urgent and feral.

"Jesus christ," someone -- you're sure it's Kyle -- murmurs, and you suddenly want to know what you must look like from a spectator. Ruined, probably.

Your breaths are harried as you feel yourself getting close once more, tears burning at the corner of your vision at the pure need coursing through your veins.

"Please," you whimper, squeezing like a vice around Johnny's dick. "Please, oh god."

"Now you want me to make decisions? Let you two cum?" There's a hand in your hair, and in any other situation, it'd be calming.

Currently, it feels like a thinly veiled threat.

"Please, John, 'm so sorry, please," you beg, eyes blurry as you look up into the man's stormy blue eyes.

Usually, they're comparable to a calm ocean, the beach mid-summer.

Now, they're akin to the darkest of storms, the ones sailors whisper about, the ones that haunt them while they're asleep at sea. Ones that cause shipwrecks to wash up on shores, ones that cause stories to be passed between campers on the scariest of nights.

"Now you're sorry, sweetheart?" And, oh, there's a sliver of the warmth you've come to crave, and it almost has you melting where you lay.

You're so close, you can taste it on your tongue, and your moans get louder, needier, more frantic --

"Stop, Johnny."

Tears fall, then. Hot and heavy down your cheeks, leaving sticky tracks in their wake. Hiccups fall from your lips as you sob from the deprevation.

Johnny whines, head drooped low as he stops, and you can feel him pulse inside of you, both of you at your wits' end.

"You follow orders so well in this room, don't you?" John says. The voice of a captain.

It's almost your last straw. The devastation is too great, the mix of physical and emotion stress weighing on you heavily.

"'M so sorry, shoulda listened," you cry, body trembling.

"John, please, we're sorry," Kyle insists, a furrow between his dark brows where he takes a step closer to you and Johnny.

Simon, although silent, is also closer to you both now than he had been, no longer stood against the wall.

Your boys -- they're so inherently protective, and it's such a nice feeling. No matter how guilty they feel, how genuinely sorry, they can't stand to see you or Johnny so weak, so vulnerable.

Love. You love them, in a way words can never describe.

John exhales. A deep, thoughtful one.

"We're talking about this, after we're all cleaned up," he says. It's the first hint of himself that you've heard tonight, and the relief is like an intoxicating drug.

It's like even the room itself takes a deep breath, dispelling of some of the tension lining every inch of it.

"Off 'er," John snaps his fingers, and Johnny pulls out with a small whimper, head still hung low.

Grabbing your hips, John flips you over, making you bend so your face is to the desk and your ass is in the air. His large hand presses against your lower back, bending you into an arch.

He slides in, and it's an easy entry. You don't think you've been more wet in your life, and gods, you need it.

Setting a ruthless pace immediately, every thrust forces a whimper, a moan, a whine out of your mouth, eyes dazed as your cheek presses against the wood. His hand fists into your hair, forcing your head to face the three men stood side by side, watching you both with a flurry of emotions behind heavy stares.

"Feel so fuckin' good, christ," John seethes, his grip tightening in your hair, causing your moan to become louder as it leaves your lips.

It isn't long before you're at that cliff once more, begging for a final push, just so you can reach that finish you ache for.

"Gonna, fuck, please, let me cum, John, I love you, I'm so sorry," your words aren't fully your own, and they come out in a desperate plea.

"Yeah? My girl gonna cum for me? Needy slut."

Those words are your undoing, your nirvana.

You cum, body strung tight as tears fall down your cheeks once more, your vision nearly blacking out with the strength of your orgasm. It's almost painful, the stimulation altogether too much, and not enough.

John finishes not long after, his cum filling you up with a loud groan from him.

He releases his fist in your hair, and you head falls to the desk, body slumping with the final release of pleasure.

Stroking a smoothing hand down your back, he pulls out, and you can feel his seed leaking down your thighs. You must be a sight -- all worn out and dripping with the white liquid.

"We don't getta cum?" Johnny whines, and you can hear the roll of Simon's eyes.

There's a hand stroking stray hairs off of your face, and from the texture and size of the limb you can tell it's Kyle.

"You won't get to tomorrow, either, if you keep tha' up," Price mutters, and you let out a delusional giggle at his words. You're cum-drunk, almost, from how drawn out your orgasm had been.

"We really are sorry, Cap," Kyle murmurs genuinely, and the hurt is a sharp barb on his tongue. "You know we love you, didn't mean to hurt you."

John releases a long, worn-out breath. "I know that. I do. But you're a bunch of reckless muppets 'nd you fuckin' went too far today. I'm your captain, lover or not."

"We'll talk it over later," Simon states, and you can't help but agree with the sentiment.

You will. And it'll be a painful conversation, but one that you all owe to your captain.

Because, at the end of the day, you four would do anything for the man that you love. That includes the tough words, the difficult exchanges.

John presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, and with complete certainty, you're sure that you're all going to be okay.

a/n. the day that i stop loving poly 141 is the day that i die. price needs all the love omg this one kinda hurt to write cause oof angst but hopefully it was an enjoyable read!!!! thank you to everyone who comments on my fics, your notes etc make me do a lil happy dance ily all!!!!!!!!!!!!

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pookalicious-hq · 8 months ago

Text

Midnight Love || ch. 1 - see you again

Paige Bueckers x Uconnwbb!reader

previous: 0. - Prologue || next: ch.2 - golden || masterlist

now playing: See You Again (feat. Kali Uchis) by Tyler, the Creator

Blue and white banners hung suspended above the rafters, swaying gently in the stillness of the arena. The court itself seemed to exude a sense of tranquillity, its polished surface bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights, casting a warm, inviting ambiance.

Rows upon rows of velvety blue seats remained unoccupied, a stark contrast to the usual fervour and excitement that filled the Harry A. Gamble Pavilion. The absence of fans and spectators lent an eerie calmness to the surroundings, amplifying the solitude that enveloped (Y/n) as she stepped onto the court.

Each footstep echoed softly against the freshly waxed surface, a rhythmic cadence that reverberated throughout the empty arena. The sound of the ball meeting the hardwood floor was met with a quiet hush, punctuated only by the gentle chirp of rubber soles and the faint echo of dribbles bouncing off the walls.

For (Y/n), this moment of solitude offered a brief respite from the chaos of the outside world. It was a fleeting oasis of calm amidst the storm, a sanctuary where she could center herself and focus on the task at hand.

As she stood poised at the top of the three-point line, (Y/n)'s gaze swept across the empty expanse of the court. The swift whip of the net against the basketball's leather was a sound she had yearned for since her arrival, a sweet symphony that echoed throughout the stadium.

This was the closest to comfortable (Y/n) would get in a while.

Home court at last.

A soft smile found its way onto her face. She would be great. She would work hard to be the best. After her season here at UConn, no one would be able to question her hard work ever again.

Suddenly, the tranquillity was shattered by the distant sound of voices drifting from the tunnel entrance. (Y/n)'s attention was drawn to the source of the disturbance, her curiosity piqued by the conversation unfolding beyond her line of sight.

“Come on, what competition would there even be?" The question itself radiated confidence, if not a hint of genuine disbelief. As for the speaker, their voice drifted from the tunnel entrance, unaware of (Y/n)'s presence on the court. Those words hung in the air like a casual assertion of superiority.

“Paige, are you actually dumb? National defensive player of the year isn’t something they just throw around to whoever you know.”

Paige?

“Nah, it’s fine. Out of the two of us, we both know who was first in the state in high school.”

As soon as those words made their way back to (Y/n) on the court a sickeningly sweet smile grew on her features out of irritation.

Who the hell does this girl think she is?

(Y/n) knew exactly what they were talking about.

“Would you please shut up about that?” There was the other voice again, (Y/n) was already respecting them more and more.

(Y/n) could feel the pettiness that radiated from the answer to the question.

“Never.”

The sound of the shot that dropped from the net to the floor echoed throughout the stadium. As the ball rolled back to (Y/n), the silence was deafening. (Y/n) stood poised at the top of the three-point line, and just as Paige Bueckers walked in, she witnessed her topic of conversation make a flawless shot.

(Y/n)'s gaze shifted to the entrance, where the voices discussing her basketball history had originated. Standing there were Paige Bueckers, Aaliyah Edwards, and Nika Muhl.

With the situation unfolding rapidly, (Y/n) felt conflicted about how she should handle it. However, before she could gather her thoughts, Paige took the initiative.

"Nice shot, (L/n). Keep it up," Paige's voice rang out. The words might have been flattering if they hadn't been tinged with a hint of condescension, delivered by the blue-eyed blonde.

“Aw,” (Y/n) summoned her fakest smile, accompanied by a hint of sarcastic gratitude. “Thanks, that means so much coming from you.”

At that moment, (Y/n) caught a subtle scoff from the blonde, her ears picking up on the slight disdain in Paige's tone. With a wry tilt on her lips, (Y/n) shifted her attention to the two other girls beside Paige, who were sharing amused glances at the exchange unfolding before them.

“Play nice,” Nika laughed, nudging Paige from the side, prompting a playful eye roll from the blonde in response.

The contrast in (Y/n)'s demeanour as she shifted her gaze from Paige to Nika and Aaliyah was striking. It was as if she had undergone a complete transformation right before their eyes. A bright smile graced (Y/n)'s lips, her eyes softening with warmth as she basked in the attention of the two players. If anyone noticed this change in her demeanour, they made no comment. However, Paige couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as she realized that (Y/n)'s smile was directed towards Nika and Aaliyah instead of herself. That’s how it always was.

Now up close, (Y/n) felt pressured to try to stand a little taller. Standing at just 5'4", (Y/n) was well aware that she was one of the shortest point guards in the nation. However, she refused to let her height define her or serve as an excuse for her abilities. Still, she couldn't ignore the times when people had underestimated her because of her stature. It seemed that no matter how qualified she was, she would always be judged based on her appearance.

“It’s nice to officially meet you as a teammate. I’m Nika,” Nika's smile was inviting, her eyes warm and welcoming. (Y/n) couldn’t help but relax at the genuine warmth in Nika's introduction.

“Can’t wait for the season; your games have been crazy,” spoke Aaliyah, her tone sincere and keen. (Y/n) felt a swell of happiness that people were as hopeful as she was.

“Likewise,” she responded, a soft smile forming on her lips.

As (Y/n), Nika and Aaliyah continued their conversation, Paige observed from the periphery, her gaze flitting between them and her new teammate. A twinge of jealousy tugged at her, watching (Y/n) effortlessly connect with Nika and Aaliyah.

Eventually, curiosity won out, and Paige mustered a tentative smile as she approached (Y/n). "Hey," she greeted, her tone guarded but hinting at something softer beneath the surface.

(Y/n)'s unreadable expression shifted as their eyes met, a momentary tension hanging between them, heavy with the weight of their shared history. Unexpectedly, (Y/n)'s features softened, a faint smile gracing her lips as she returned the greeting with surprising gentleness.

As Nika and Aaliyah excused themselves to shoot around, (Y/n) took the chance to grab water and settle on the bench, needing a moment to collect herself. Paige hesitated nearby, torn between joining her teammates or staying with (Y/n).

In the end, Paige chose the latter, seating herself beside (Y/n) with a tentative smile that did little to mask the unspoken tension between them. For a moment, silence lingered, the air thick with unresolved emotions.

Sensing the need to break the ice, Paige cleared her throat, her voice soft but determined. "So, uh... How's it been going for you?" she ventured, her gaze fixed on (Y/n).

Surprised yet grateful for the attempt at conversation, (Y/n) met Paige's gaze, her tone cautious yet hopeful as she replied, "It's been... good. Excited for the season, you know?"

Paige nodded in understanding, a small smile playing at her lips as she acknowledged (Y/n)'s response before turning her gaze back to the court ahead.

------------------------------------------

US Weekly - Reunion Sparks Rumors: (Y/n) (L/n) and Paige Bueckers Team Up Again at UConn

Basketball fans are abuzz with excitement as former teammates (Y/n) (L/n) and Paige Bueckers reunite on the UConn team, marking their first collaboration since their time on the USA U19 team.

The dynamic duo, known for their exceptional chemistry on the court, previously showcased their talents together during the U19 tournament, leaving a lasting impression on fans and teammates alike.

Now, with their reunion at UConn, rumours have begun swirling about the possibility of their partnership extending beyond the basketball court. Fans are eagerly watching for any signs of the close bond that once captivated audiences during their time on the national team.

As (L/n) and Bueckers take to the court together once again, supporters can't help but wonder if their undeniable connection will reignite, sparking rumours of romance and camaraderie both on and off the court.

While the truth behind their relationship remains a mystery, one thing is certain: the reunion of (Y/n) (L/n) and Paige Bueckers at UConn promises to be a thrilling chapter in their basketball journey, one that fans will be watching closely.

-----------------------------------------

a/n: okayyy first chapterrr! sorta short but i wanted to get something out quick because so many people liked the prologue. let me know if i should make a taglist or a masterlist or something i've never done this type of thing before. Any comments are welcome or tips for the plot or writing, thanks for reading!!

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers headcannon #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #uconn huskies

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constantinerkives · 2 years ago

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Unholy Matrimony, YJM // (M)

PAIRINGS: GP Demon! Yoo Jimin x fem violinist reader

WARNINGS: bl00d, demonic ritual, use of classical music as a means of summoning a demon, brief mention of religion, violinist reader, YJM is the daughter of the big man downstairs (if you get what I mean), reader's in her early thirties but she offered herself when she was twenty-three, Karina has poetic rizz, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking, mating, unprotected sex (stay safe ya'll), breeding, breeding kink, creampie, age-gap, Karina speaks IN LATIN, who are we kidding, KARINA IS THE MAIN WARNING

SYNOPSIS: It's amazing how desperation can lead from one thing to another. You crave to be recognized, to be valued. And it's selfish - but she approves. After all, it's humane - greed. And she'd be a terrible wife if she doesn't support your one-way trip to eternal damnation. But that's where she comes in, to stop it from happening and give you nothing but luxury and comfort. I guess you can say that being married to a devil isn't bad after all.

A/N: Hi guys! this is my first fic, hope you like it <3333 I've also made some modifications from the original story, hope you guys won't mind. Sorry to keep you guys waiting but I was fighting demons (lmao) for the plot of this one-shot, Happy reading <3!

WORDCOUNT: 9, 535 oops this was self-indulgent AHHAHAHA shi-

THIS IS ALL FICTITIOUS AND THEREFORE SHALL NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.

TERMS AND DEFINITIONS: Melodiam meum - means 'my melody' in Latin Dilecto - beloved in Latin Hermaphrodite - an organism having both male and female sex organs or other sexual characteristics, either abnormally or as a natural condition Brava - well done or very good. It is used to praise a female performer

It's ridiculous

The creature watches with amusement as it eyes the young lady standing alone in her spacious living room. Her silhouette is wrapped in darkness with no source of light other than the soft glow of five white candles circling her. Her face remains in the dark, veiled with desperation with a whiff of mystery.

How desperation can lead you to commit the things you thought you wouldn't do.

"Please," She whispers, "Please work,"

It inclines its head, watching as the young lady pulls out a kitchen knife. The blade glints menacingly in the dark as she positions it atop her wrist.

Do you want to do this?

And cuts her flesh, crimson dense liquid oozes out of her flesh and she directs it to-

The creature sneers. A violin. Her blood coats the strings of the instrument, and traces of her drip down to the floor as she picks up the bloody violin and begins to play a familiar piece; popular with seasoned violinists.

The Devil's Trill Sonata

You are a desperate girl...

She plays with feverish determination all while her wrist continues to bleed. The demon crosses its legs, arms crossed against its chest, and leans comfortably against the velvet settee.

That's it. Keep playing. I am no stranger to greed. Play it with your heart's desires.

Her fingers smoothly transitioned from one note to another, clean and precise. The first movement leads you to a false sense of softness and beauty, and slowly...the devil grins as the young woman slightly loses her balance. She's running out of time, running out of blood. Ah, poor soul. She hasn't even reached the second movement yet. It seems like another soul will perish for nothing. It watches with practiced dismay as the girl's body visibly pales, and she's beginning to lose her energy. She's one push away from knocking a candle and collapsing - losing her life to a meaningless offer.

After all, what the devil played was far superior to what Giuseppe Tartini had played. The creature's lips curl to a sneer. No other violinist had come close to its execution.

Then, with a stroke of luck, the girl regained her composure for some unfathomable reason. The devil blinks, surprised by the sudden change as she grounds her feet against the tiled floors pooling with her blood and strokes the strings violently; the entity's face beams with unbridled pride. The girl plays over four octaves of the note G, with her hands stretched out over three octaves. A move that the daughter of Lucifer can only execute.

Interesting

The human plays with intensity now, and the entity finds itself leaning away from the backrest of the seat, watching with phantom hawk-like eyes as the girl pours every last bit of her living minutes into its piece. For centuries, no one has executed it the same way this mere human did. Anger and envy flash in its eyes as it flicks a hand. The candles' feeble light extinguishes, all except one, and the girl weakly gasps.

The entity hastily stands up from the velvet settee and gracefully stalks toward the confused and terrified girl as she mumbles: "What? What the hell happened - did it work?"

Oh, it did pretty human.

It grabbed the candle as it willed itself to manifest a physical form. The young woman gasps as the creature grabs her by the collar of her blouse, and with its' other hand, it holds the candle next to her features. The woman lets out a pathetic yelp as she looks up only to see two rich ichor irises looking down at her with scorn, envy, and dare she adds amusement.

The demon examines her delicate features, soft brown eyes, fair skin, and a whiff of innocence that crumbles down to greed and desperation.

And fear

It's beautiful

"Have I satisfied you?" The girl meekly starts. Her voice sounds distant. She's hanging on for dear life, and the demon wanted her to fall into the pits of eternal damnation. But it begrudgingly longed for her to play it again. For no human played it as well as she.

The entity narrows its' eyes as the girl begins to lose her balance. Her knees were about to give out if it wasn't for the being holding her by the collar.

The demon leans close, and the girl's eyes visibly shake. It slowly lets go of her collar and reaches out for her cut wrist, its talons almost cutting into her skin. She gasps as she felt a searing burn crawl over her cut wrist.

"Be seeing you," It said, vowed. Before the demon drops the candle and lets go of the girl, allowing her to collapse into her pool of blood before it disappears into thin air.

Years have passed, and you are a renowned violinist of your generation. Here you stand in front of your devoted fans, playing the piece that brought you money, power, and glory in the world of music.

A small smile graces your lips as the curtains close, and the theater erupts in cheers and applause. Another successful concert lands on your plate. You return to your first stance as your posture relaxes, and you make your way backstage. Your handler, Park Sooyoung, her fair complexion glows underneath the lights. Her exquisite red dress hugs her body flawlessly as she approaches you with a wide grin and drapes her arm around your shoulder. "Another successful concert - this calls for a celebration!" She wriggles her brows, and you merely chuckle in reply.

As much as you want to, your muscles crave rest. And a drink.

With an apologetic smile, you reject your handler's offer for a celebratory dinner, promising to eat with her tomorrow, but for now, you need a night's rest.

She understands with a soft smile and gently pats your shoulder. "Of course, you deserve it after playing The Devil's Trill Sonata for almost fifteen minutes." Sooyoung chuckles. "But I'll escort you to your private drinking booth before I, too, call it a night. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," You agree, and the latter takes you to your destination and leaves you to your drink of choice, red wine. Château Lafite Rothschild.

A pleased sigh leaves your lips as you unceremoniously collapse on your seat. Tired eyes examining your surroundings, your booth is a spacious room. Walls wrapped with high-quality velvet wallpaper, expensive paintings depicting pagan Gods, the lights were the same, albeit softer to look at, and plants to give the room a bit of life.

A relaxing sight. You pour your wine and lean comfortably against your seat, your head thrown back, allowing your neck to rest whilst your right hand holds the stem of your wine glass.

That's what life's about, luxury.

And you bathed in it. You crave the beauty of wealth and luxury that your way in life has brought to you.

Just as you're basking in peace, a figure emerges from the shadows in a black blur. You didn't notice it until the atmosphere grows heavy, your skin prickling at the sensation that someone is watching you.

"Indeed, that's what life's all about. Isn't it? Basking in luxury."

"You've done well tonight, Ji Y/N." Says a feminine voice, steely, low, and churning. You snap your head towards the owner of the voice; your face turns bloodless, even at the warm glow of the light, and there sits a resplendent woman wearing a black cropped blazer; underneath it is a matching black tube and matching back trousers and heels. At the base of her slim neck is a layered gold necklace. The outfit was simple, but her features made up for it. The woman sitting before you has a fair complexion that will put the moon to shame, a sharp jaw, plump lips, luscious black hair tied neatly to a high ponytail, and a small face. Not to mention her lean stature and posture. Judging by the way she gracefully sits, she's taller than you. And just like you, she too is holding a wine glass, slim fingers, and perfectly manicured nails secure the stem of her glass.

But something's amiss. Yes, she is human, a beautiful human, and you're no stranger to all things beautiful - but something about this woman's beauty throws you off.

A trip to the uncanny - something about her doesn't match humanity at all.

She lacked warmth, not only in her eyes but her overall presence.

"Who are you?" You demanded, "What are you doing here?"

The woman's lips curl to a grin, showing you her perfect set of teeth. "You don't remember?" She asks in return, unperturbed. Your face twists to a scowl, "I asked you a question." Posture bristling with guarded animosity before you peered over her shoulder. "Security!"

The air grows heavy as the woman holds an open palm up. She is no longer smiling. "That won't be necessary." Her voice was cold and cutting, booming with authority like no other. Then, her grin returns. "Perhaps this shall jog your memory, pretty girl."

She blinks, and her cold, brown eyes change to a rich hue of gold. Menacing and distant.

"Be seeing you,"

On cue, your right wrist burns, causing you to drop your wine glass against the carpeted floor. You back away from her, standing up too hastily, and in return your seat tumbles.

"You," A sharp gasp leaves your lips. No, it's too soon. A cold, hard laugh tumbles from the latter's lips. "My," She sips her drink before gently setting it against the tabletop.

"Are you here to collect my soul?" There it is again, that meek tone. The devil inclines her head to the side, brows furrowed. "Me? Collect you? Oh. No, no. Not yet melodiam meum." You don't know what it means, but the way it rolled off her tongue made your gut churn.

"Then why are you here?" You voiced out.

She eyes you up and down. "You know, my beloved. I am offended by the turn of events." She stands up, and you instinctively back away as she circles the table and stalks toward you. Her hips swayed in a sultry manner as she did. She keeps advancing until your back is pressed against the wall, hands pressed to your sides while the raven-haired enigma delicately brushes her knuckles against your cheek. The contact sends shivers down your spine. Her proximity allows you to inhale her seductive scent. The blend of florals with amber and musk is a perfect balance of femininity and masculinity.

"For years, I watched over you. I made sure no harm came to you and only commanded success to fall into your plate. I blessed you with concert after concert - and I know your love for all things beautiful." The devil purrs.

"So I made myself beautiful for you, dilecto."

Not a single lie in sight. "Who are you?"

"Karina," She replies, "My name is Karina Yoo." The latter pauses. Her gold eyes trailed down from your eyes to your lips.

"Do remember that, my bride. I will walk the earth with you until your time here is due. And the world will know me as your companion, your spouse."

And your vision turns black.

You woke with a groan, your head throbs with pain, and you shift in your bed. The white sheets cling onto your skin as you lay on your side, the sun peeking through your curtains, blessing your suite with its light. You stare up at the ceiling, rubbing the sleep of your eyes, and as you regain your awareness. Well, so are your memories of last night.

Your body quickly turns cold, and you sit up, muscles aching in protest, but you ignore it as you check yourself. You are wearing your sleepwear as opposed to the form-fitting dress you wore for the concert last night. Nothing else seems to be wrong except for the fact that you did not change your dress last night. Who brought you to your suite, then? It couldn't be Sooyoung. She went on her way first.

"You're awake," Says a familiar, cold voice.

The hairs at the back of your neck rise.

Slowly, you turn your head to the tall figure leaning against the doorway to your lounging area. Karina, as she calls herself, is no longer wearing her black suit. Instead, she's wearing a white button-up shirt, black trousers that reach three inches above her ankles, and black oxfords. Her rich, black hair cascaded freely like a black waterfall.

"Karina," You rasped, and the devil's lips curled to a smile. "You remembered."

You press your back against the headboard, posture brustling with animosity as your hands' fists the sheets. "What did you do to me?"

The latter frowns, "I did nothing, pretty girl. I merely allowed your body to rest for tonight before-"

"Before what?" You cut her off breathlessly as your forehead begins to sweat, and your body becomes warm with each passing second - soon, your body is veiled by a thin sheen of sweat, making you uncomfortable as you throw the duvet away from your feverish body.

Your stomach churns harshly, and your eyes sting as you fall onto your side, hands clutching your stomach as you look at the entity standing at the foot of your bed, eyes studying your writhing figure.

"What did you do to me?" You sob as the pain doubles, fiery, almost.

Karina's features break to a knowing smile as if she had seen this before and approaches the side of your bed, the mattress dips at her weight and reaches a pale, slender hand towards you, and you find yourself not moving, too feverish, so you let her touch you. And her touch was soothing.

"Shhh," The raven-haired enigma coaxes, "Your body is reacting to its new owner. Best to let me handle this, Y/N."

New owner?

You couldn't process anything, distracted by her touch soothes your hot skin as you slowly relax into the sheets. A relieved sigh leaves your lips as the pain ebbs away.

"Easy does it," She remarks, "Are you feeling better now, delicto?"

"Yes," You reply curtly as you eye her warily. "Wonderful," She gracefully stands from your bed, "Now rest. I'm sure you have questions for me once you recover."

"No," You protest, and her gaze turns sharp, making you shrink in your bed as she tilts her head. "No? What do you mean no?"

"I have a meeting with a sponsor," You stammer under her piercing gaze. The latter pauses, "You have plenty of time to prepare, rest. I'll take care of it."

"Take care of what?"

She flashed her bright golden eyes at you, and once again, your vision turns black. Three hours later, a scandal broke out.

Italy is known for its warm, Mediterranean climate. Summers are always hot, sunny, and dry.

But no amount of summer dresses can protect you from the cold, piercing gaze of your handler who sits across you in a cafe with her arms crossed and her expression blank.

After Karina took care of your meeting with a sponsor, word got out fast and a controversy broke out with your fans shocked at the fact that you are married. Hence the meeting with your handler, who also knew nothing of the situation.

"So," She begins, "You're married?"

You tried not to cringe as you looked at Karina; who was sitting beside you, drinking her espresso with gusto. She wore a black coat with red lapels, a black turtle neck, trousers, and heels.

"Yes," She replies as she sets down her mug. Sooyoung slowly turns to your 'wife' before looking at you. "And since when were you two married?"

"Seven years," Karina smoothly replies. You two shared a glance. Seven years ago, you offered your soul to her.

"And how come I only knew about this after Mrs. Yoo talked to your sponsor?"

"I wasn't feeling well," You wince, "I told my wife-" This coming off from your tongue is a foreign sensation. "That it can wait, but she insisted."

"Y/N was bone-tired last night." Karina adds, "I'd be a terrible wife if I insist that she gets out of the house to speak to the sponsor, so I took it upon myself to go." You softly cleared your throat, "How did the public react to this?"

"They've seen Karina's photos." Sooyoung leans against her seat, "They approve of her." A wry smile graced her lips, "That adds your wife to their list of 'celebrity crushes' I believe."

You repressed a sigh of relief, "That's good news."

"Don't be too relieved yet," She massages her temples, "You have yet to address this at your conference. I'll have your script ready, and of course, your wife has to follow it as well." She turns to look at the devil disguised as your wife. "Is that okay with you?"

Karina grins and suddenly interlocks her hand with yours. The sudden action surprises you, and she flashes you a look. Your lips form a practiced smile, and you duck your head as if you are flustered.

"Yes, I'm fine with it. So long as this keeps my wife happy."

"Good, the conference starts at 2 PM sharp. Let's get you both ready before then."

Addressing your marriage to the public was easy. The press loved ogling at your 'wife'. You can't blame them though she looked ethereal in her outfit; a form-fitting black, high-neck dress and a black blazer draped over her shoulders, and her hair was freely cascading down to her breasts with diamond earrings as her accessories while you wore white dress. Both of you looked exquisite during the conference, and you didn't forget the way the reporters begin talking all at once upon announcing your next concert and the piece you'll be laying next.

The Last Rose Of Summer by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst.

Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst is not the biggest name in classical music, but his ‘The Last Rose Of Summer’ is notorious among violinists for being a complete nightmare to play. Ernst was an obsessive devotee of Paganini, the original violin rockstar, and he loved to include stupidly complex pizzicato in his music. Karina's soft lips curl to a smirk as she ends the event by taking your hand in hers. You eye her cautiously. This wasn't part of the script?

Still, she raises your hand and brings it to her soft, warm lips, pecking the back of your palm. Your cheeks warmed as the cameras flashed. Your spouse looks at the press and flashes them a jaw-dropping smile. "We'll get going now. May you all have a nice afternoon." Without another word, she leads you down from the stage and to the exit, where a sleek black car awaits the both of you.

"Take us back to the hotel, please." You told the driver. The man nods and was about to close the partition before Karina speaks up. "Take us to Ratanà, Mr. Giovani. I'll treat my wife to a nice meal after the conference."

"Very well, Mrs. Yoo." The driver replies with a thick accent before finally closing the partition. You glare at the latter while she leans comfortably against the leather cushion and looks at you. Karina arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "Why the surly look, wife?"

"What are you going to do in a restaurant?" You snap at her. Karina guffaws in amusement.

"I'd like to see how the world changed after centuries." She simply answers. "I'd like to see more of the world with my two eyes."

A huff leaves your lips as you turn away from her and cross your arms against your chest. "You still have some explaining to do."

"Which is why a restaurant is a perfect place for it."

"People will hear you."

"I've booked us a private booth." You snapped your head towards her, "You did what?"

"I won't repeat myself, beloved." She chuckles, "As you've said, I owe you an explanation.

The people inside Ratanà gawked at the two of you as soon as you entered the restaurant. The clattering of plates and utensils stopped as well. You flush at the reaction while your wife places her hand on the small of your back. Even with your dress, you can't help but shudder at the contact as she flashes the crowd a charming smile before leading you to your private booth with a female waiter stationed outside your door.

"We'll order later," Karina's smooth velvet voice coaxed the woman into an agreement before finally entering the private booth.

She pulls out the chair for you to sit on, and you begrudgingly obey as she sits across you. Silence permeated the air. Gone is her alluring aura, replaced by enigma. As if all of it was an act - it is.

"Where to begin, where to begin." She mused wryly.

"Why are you here if not to claim my soul, then?" You snap, "Why waste your time tagging along?"

Karina tilts her head. Her intelligent eyes regarded you.

"Well," She begins with a distant smile. "I visited you every two years, watching from afar while you amassed your concerts just to see how your talent has bloomed."

You wait for her to explain further, "I'll be frank, darling." Your gut churns at the endearment. "Throwing you into the pits of hell after your time is done is nothing but an exercise of futility, a talent like yours deserves to have a place next to mine."

Your brows furrow, "Next to yours?"

Her lips curled, "Why do you think you offered your soul to me out of all the demons out there?"

You replied with silence, and Karina narrowed her eyes in disapproval. "Something tells me that you didn't gather the slightest bit of information about who I am, delicto." She leaned away from the backrest of her seat and interlaced her fingers together. "Tell me, do you know who I am?"

"A devil who named herself Karina Yoo."

A scoff befalls her lips, "Foolish girl, you're lucky to have offered your soul to me."

"Why?" You snarked, "If I'm so lucky, why?"

Her eyes flashed, "My father," She hisses through gritted teeth, "Is the angel of music. Lucifer was the angel of music. After his fall, he reigned in Hell and has simply lost interest in that title." Her expression darkens, "Which is why I took that spot while I helped humanity discover it with my profound ability that I inherited from him."

Your eyes subtly widen, "Yes," She growled.

"You're sitting with the daughter of Lucifer. His finest creation, second to music." Her eyes glowed to cruel gold. "And you tied yourself to me, Ji Y/N. You offered your body and soul to me. That makes you mine as I am yours."

Something's not right. Why is there an indirect statement of equality?

As if reading your mind, she addresses it with a softer tone.

"As I've said, my beloved: leaving you to burn in hell would be a waste. I have taste in talent just as much as you have taste for beautiful things. In my millennium of harvesting souls, I am nothing but a sponsor to those who offer themselves to me. I will keep you. I've decided to keep you after hearing you play all these years. And I confess that I envy your ability, albeit you're human. I am still superior to you on all levels, but when it comes to music, we are equals."

"So that makes me your actual wife, then?" You squeaked. Karina lets out a rumbling chuckle, "Oh, yes, darling." You hold her gaze, and this time, it's intense.

"That makes you mine as I am yours." She husked, her eyes tracing your features possessively. "So if you had any lovers or flavors of the day, forget about them."

"So possessive," You remark shakily, and the latter lets out a wolfish grin. "I am a demanding creature, Y/N." She then leans away from you. "We can order now. After this, we can return to the hotel, and you can start practicing the piece you'll perform at your concert next month. The earlier you master it, the better. And I will help you along the way."

She's right, of course, but you wouldn't admit it to her face.

"Alright, call in the waitress."

Your routine is divided from going out with your wife to practicing until your fingers go numb.

The Last Rose Of Summer by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst was the last of his Six Polyphonic Studies for solo violin. It is a set of incredibly difficult variations for the violin. The first few weeks were nothing but agony as you practiced in a private setting, preferably away from the devil of music.

For days, it's either you couldn't transition smoothly to another note, or you struck a wrong chord. Either way, it's still a mistake.

This complex set—full of every imaginable and unimaginable technical difficulty—includes an introduction, theme, four variations, and a devilish finale. At first glance, an impossible task. This one requires both physical and mental fortitude. And each mistake drains it out of you.

"Jeez," Sooyoung hisses as soon as she sets foot into the room. "Y/N, get yourself off the floor and sit on the couch, will you?"

A tired groan leaves your lips as you force yourself to get up. Your muscles ached in protest as a result of standing for hours.

"You know what," Sooyoung sighs as soon as you unceremoniously plop on the couch. "How about we call your wife, hm?"

"No," You sigh as your tired mind thinks of a lie. "She's busy."

"Busy doing what?" Shit

"Managing her family's financial reports." Yeah, that should do it.

"Don't be ridiculous," The latter admonishes, "Your wife is never too busy for you. I'll call her."

"Sooyoung no-" Too late, she had dialed her number, and you tuned out their conversation. "She says she's on her way." Your handler informs you as soon as she drops the call, "See, I told you she isn't too busy when it comes to you."

"Whatever," You mumble as you close your eyes to get a few minutes rest.

By the time Karina made her presence known, it was already evening. You scowl at her as you groggily sit up. "What took you so long?"

"You looked peaceful," She snorts, "And besides, you're more tolerable when you're not scowling at me all the time."

"What time is it?"

The devil checks her watch. She bought it a few days ago from Bulgari. "6:37 PM, why?"

"Shit, that's late."

"You needed rest," She reminds you as she sits next to you. You lean away, taken aback by her proximity as she looks down at your fingers, "And your fingers were turning purple. You practiced for quite some time and ignored your body's protests for rest. Hence why you collapsed next to this couch."

How did she-

"Sooyoung told me," She answers. "Why force your body to such limits?"

You rolled your eyes, "You sound like my wife,"

"Because I am your wife," She grins, "So take care of yourself."

You blink at her. For weeks that you spent with her, the older woman did nothing but make sure you were comfortable and safe, sure there was bickering, and dare you say banter. But she performed her duties as a wife should. It's baffling, to receive this treatment from a devil of her caliber.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" She questions, her eyes beaming at your attention before you tear your gaze from her. "Nothing, I'm hungry."

"Perfect," She grins, "I discovered a recipe that you might like."

Oh?

"Cooking, you?" You mused, and Karina lets out a carefree laugh. It sounded pleasant. Not that you would say that to her face. "Why yes, pretty girl." She grins, "Now come. I want you to be a witness of me cooking a dish created by humans."

She grabs you by the hand, and your pulse quickens at the contact as she leads you out of the building and to your car, a sleek, gray Bently Continental GT S. The raven-haired beauty opens the passenger door for you. You didn't say anything and entered the vehicle. She closes the door gently and enters the driver's seat, finally driving to your designated hotel.

The smell of roasted lamb chops floods the dining area of your suite. Karina said that it'll be done in a few minutes. Your stomach grumbles at the sight of the delicacy in Karina's bare palms as she places it in front of you. She dusts the lamb chops with garlic, rosemary, salt, and pepper. Your mouth waters at the meal she prepared for you while she sits across from you, eyeing your face with mirth before finally gesturing at your dinner.

"Well? Dig in."

You didn't need to be told twice and began wolfing down your food.

Karina watched you carefully as you ate with gusto before stopping midway. The older woman frowned, "What's wrong?"

You look up at her, "It's not poisoned, isn't it?"

She placed a hand over her chest in faux offense.

"Poison? You?" The raven-haired woman continues: "I would never. You must have faith in me, beloved. I would never poison a pretty girl like you."

Your cheeks change their color to a subtle hue of pink. "Faith is foreign for someone of your caliber, Karina."

"Trust me," She grins, "We're more direct than your trusted angels, beloved."

A hum leaves your lips as you continue to eat. Karina once again watches you before you pause for the second time. "Aren't you hungry?"

"We have a different diet from you humans. Souls, that's what we feed on, your intense emotions, energies."

"Are you feeding from me right now?"

The latter replies with an unbridled smirk, "I am, but at least we're both benefitting."

"Fair enough," You shrug before finishing your dinner.

"Are you having a difficult time practicing your piece?" She asks after you've finished your dinner. A pause, "Yes, but I'll get better."

"Not very reassuring, delicto." She replies as she interlocks her fingers, her expression serious. "Your concert is in three weeks, and your piece has four sections."

"Then what can we do about it?"

"I can help you." Karina offers - no, states. "It'll be quick, and you will save time."

You arched a brow, "By what, cutting my wrist and pouring it over my violin?"

The devil guffaws at your snarky reply, "No, no. You perform. I will proctor your performance and give you feedback accordingly."

You contemplated her offer. It's not that big of a deal. Perhaps guidance from a devil of music could save you time. "Alright," You rub your palms together. "Perfect," She purrs.

"When can we start?"

"Tomorrow," Karina checks her watch, "We'll start after lunch. Is that okay with you?"

You have nothing to do anyways, "Fine by me."

"You missed a note," She looks up from her book. "Again, from the top."

You bite your inner cheek and return to your second stance before slowly stroking the strings. Minutes later, she stops you again.

"Your timing is off."

"Don't I know," You grunt as you return to your first position and begin again.

Hours turn into days. While yes, having Karina monitor your performance saves time, you can't help but feel your patience waning whenever she stops your performance.

"Again,"

"I didn't even miss the note!" You asserted. Karina closes her book and looks at you. You stop yourself from saying more as your bones ache from standing for two hours.

She lets out a hum, a tone that holds no consequence of your assertion.

"I forget that you're human." She says to herself rather than you. "But you have to keep up with me, beloved. Let's take a break. How do thirty minutes sound to you?"

"Wonderful," You groan before you sit on the floor of your lounging area.

It went on for another week with the devil being surprisingly patient with you. Even with your patience cutting short, Karina allows your jabs to fall on her with every mistake you make improves under her watchful eye.

You are forced to stop when you couldn't reach the note. "Crap," You cursed as you messed with the transition to the ending of the piece. Karina took notice of this and tilts her head, "Try to position your hand once more." She instructs, and who are you to disobey? She is your wife, your mentor. And so far, you learn quickly with the techniques she's amassed through the years.

She examines your hand before standing from her settee and moving behind you. You stiffen at her proximity as her pale hand hovers atop yours while the other grasps your waist. A soft gasp leaves your lips as she presses her front against your back. The latter smirks but resumes correcting your finger placement.

"Position your hand like this," She husked. A shudder leaves your lips as her warm breath fans the outer shell of your ear. Your skin tingles at her touch.

"There," She purrs, "Very good,"

But she doesn't let go.

She retracts your hand from the fingerboard of your violin and places it on your hips, securing you against her. "You know," She rasped, "This is by far the closest we've been." She flushed herself against yours as if she couldn't get enough, "As your wife, I've never received an embrace from you, beloved."

"If you wanted a hug," You breathily reply as you lean into her touch. Karina's lips found themselves on the exposed expanse of your neck, ghosting over your skin. "Why didn't you just ask for it?"

She chuckles deeply, and it has your guts churning. "Oh, can I ask for one now?" You balk up a response, and Karina's patience wears thin as she spins you around. Her strength forces you to face her and drop your violin and violin bow. Your eyes blew back at the cruel glow of gold in her eyes. Her black veins surface on the sides of her gorgeous face. Her skin is paler than normal. She uses one hand and grabs your hair from behind, forcing you to look up at her with a hiss.

Your eyes traverse from her eyes down to her kissable lips. Karina notices this and licks her in return. You swallow harshly at the sight.

"I can sense it, Y/N."

"Sense what?" You breathe out, and your wife sharply inhales and leans close. "Your hunger, no, not from food, but for me, beloved. I don't see the point in holding back." Her other hand traverses upwards; to your neck and gently squeezes it, eliciting a gasp from you before she uses that same hand to pull you impossibly close to her.

"Be selfish, be lustful - lose your inhibitions to me, Y/N. I am your wife, your mistress, your servant. Use me as I will use you." She leans closer to the point that your lips are almost touching, her plump lips begging to be kissed by yours.

"Sin with me, darling." Her voice distorts, "For sin is your birthright. Your faith has taught you to deny your desires and it has imprisoned you. Break your restraint. As your wife I encourage it, my love." She sighs as your hand caresses her cheek.

"I am selfish, needy, and demanding. Y/N. And you shouldn't be less than I am. Let me have you, let me spoil you some more, even with the riches that are foreign to the world of the living, allow me to embrace you - you will be my queen. Fair as the sea and the sun."

And while she pours her declaration, Karina Yoo's lips fascinated you. It sickens you all at once, but that is what seduction does to you. Her lips; were plump and inviting. Though you find her frightening at times, you can't help but feel as if you've known her before, that you are perfect for her. If you wanted something beautiful, this woman would be would give it to you. If you have an ideal type, this woman would be your ideal.

You had not known before that you wanted all these things. That you preferred dark hair and a slightly cruel expression, that you wished for tallness, or that a woman embracing you and pouring her confession might thrill you. A whole young life’s worth of slowly collected predilections coalesced in a few moments within you, and Karina Yoo, her eyes glowing with desire, becomes beautiful and perfect.

You shivered, and without thinking, you leaned in to capture her lips with yours. Not on the cheek, not chastely or unchastely, but greedily with your whole mouth. She reciprocates this, she eats your breath in the kiss, and you feel like she would swallow you whole. Your hands shamelessly claw her silk shirt from behind, crumpling the expensive fabric as the daughter of Lucifer deepens the kiss by tilting her head. Her grip on your hair tightens, and her other hand's nails dig against your hips.

Together, your lips move languidly against each other, and the world feels like it's so far away.

You two kiss until your human lungs burn for oxygen, and you push your wife away begrudgingly.

Here you two are, panting and wanting more before she chased your lips with hers. Her mouth is hot against yours. You can taste the feverish desire from her. Suddenly, she bites you. You pull away from her, hurt and surprised as you raise your hand to your mouth. Your fingers are bloody, and Karina's lips were smeared with it. Her eyes gleamed.

You balked. Your lips pulsed where your wife's long, thin canines had cut you.

If you allow her to do this to you, what else will you let her do to you?

Anything,

Karina Yoo, your wife, your mistress, your slave, wiped your crimson blood from her lips. She eyes you with hooded, glazed eyes as she licks it clean.

"Beautiful," She closes her eyes and slowly opens them before her arms circle around you greedily, and your back is suddenly pressed against the mattress of your private quarters.

Her bright eyes are predatorial as she stares down at you. She wasted no time putting her hands on your waist. Her sensual scent invades your nostrils as she presses her lips against yours. You can taste your blood on her tongue as your hands cup her jaw. Karina's tongue glides against your lower lip before breaking into your mouth; only because you let her. She swallows your moan as she slides her tongue in your mouth, and she lets out a guttural growl in reply as your skin becomes hot under her touch.

The older woman leans away and unravels your button shirt, and harshly pulls it off your body, leaving you alone with your bra. Her ichor-hued eyes visibly darken to a hue of copper before her lips attach to the column of your neck. Her hands smoothly go to your back and unclasp your bra, and haphazardly throw it somewhere in the room.

You let out a mewl when she softly bit the center of your neck, followed by a gasp when her tongue smoothens it, she pulls you into an all-consuming kiss, her hands let go of your wrists, and your hands hastily gripped her biceps as her weight doubles making you press against the mattress, her lips muffling your groans and grunts as her teeth bite your lower lip, forcing a gasp out of you and allowing her to insert her tongue inside your mouth, your grip on her tightens as your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.

She pulls away for a split second, allowing you to breathe before connecting her lips with yours, her hips bucking and thrusting against your clothed core, making you moan into her mouth as lust ignites between your legs. You tilted your head to meet her kiss as your legs circled her waist.

Karina groans, and she thrusts her hips against yours. You feel something poking against your clothed core. It's hard, and it feels good.

As if sensing your curiosity, Karina chuckles deeply. "We're hermaphrodite beings, beloved. I can pleasure you as a man, or woman, or both." She breathes against your lips. "Which do you prefer?"

"You," You mewl as she kisses your neck. "I want what you are right now, even forever."

The latter grins and bites into your neck, eliciting a yelp from you as she traverses her kiss downwards until she reaches the waistband of your pajamas. Karina's lips curl to a smirk, her hands latching onto the fabric of your pants before she effortlessly rips it and throws the torn fabric away. Your eyes widen while hers light up in amusement as she licks her upper teeth.

"Relax," She purrs as her finger hooks the hem of your panties and yanks down. Your cunt flutters at the exposure, toes curling with anticipation as your wife dips down, her tongue takes a bold lick on the seam of your pussy and shuddering when she retracts and swallows.

"Divine," She darkly grins as her hands pry your thighs to spread and latch onto your folds, eliciting a yelp from you as her tongue breaches your walls. You throw your head back when the warm, wet muscle begins to messily move in circles. Your arousal drips down the seams as she alternates from sucking and circling, eyes closing shut as carnal desire begins to take over the both of you. "Karina," You softly moan, "Fuck, so good - more, give me-"

She cuts you off with a growl, sending vibrations against your cunt. The sensation has your eyes rolling back as her tongue thrusts in and out. You plant your feet against the mattress and buck your hips against her face. "Fuck!"

Karina grunts and bites your clit, this sends white-hot pleasure through your body with carnal rapture seeping inside you as the woman withdraws. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" Des[ote your flustered state, your cheeks reddens. Karina hums and licks her lips which are covered in your arousal and her spit. "Let's try that again, yeah?"

She didn't let you reply and connected her mouth to your folds. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as heat bubbles within your body. You bristle in lust as the woman kept lapping your juices, her tongue working hard on sucking and thrusting inside your core, the obscene sounds were enough to lubricate you, your hand takes a purchase of her hair, tugging on it as moans and mewls befall your lips, evidently pleasing the woman who in turn moaned at the taste, doubling the sensation as she bites your clit again.

Your back arched as does this again and again. Triggering a bundle of nerves. "Karina," You whimper, and you can feel her smirk as she finally decided to have mercy on you, her teeth retracting from your clit and deciding to continue back to eating your out, both your juices and her saliva drip down from your ass to the sheets as she continues to ravage you.

And when her tongue manages to find a spongey spot, she immediately flicks it. Her ministrations made you see stars, hips jolting and accidentally grazing your clit against her teeth, making her moan while eliciting a pleasured cry from you. Walls clenching against her tongue, the woman in between your legs is determined to finish you off as her teeth keep biting your clit; helping her stimulate your orgasm as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, back arching and sweat dripping off every pore as your undoing hits you, knocking your breath out of your lungs.

The woman groaned at your nectar, lapping it up until you were whimpering, thighs shaking, and hands trying to pry away her head.

Karina decided to have mercy on your state and pull away with cum-smeared lips that formed into a smug smirk.

Despite your blurred vision, you can see your wife resting her head on the side of your thigh, kissing the expanse of skin before trailing up to your lower abdomen, giving it a soft kiss and mumbling something incoherent before kissing her way up to your lips, her body looming above you her hands trapping your sides as her lips mold with yours, giving you a taste of yourself as your hands caress her upper body, fingers working on with the buttons and belt of her suit to touch her bare, dewy skin.

Karina made it easier for you by snapping her fingers; she is just as bare as you.

Your eyes shamelessly trail down her body. Karina's body is lithe, though her biceps are slightly defined, so are her collarbones, her toned stomach, and...

Your eyes trail lower, and your core throbs with excitement.

So this is what a hermaphrodite being looks like.

Or maybe, that's just Karina adjusting for you. Either way; you'll take her as she is.

The latter grabs your jaw, forcing you to lock eyes with her.

"Let's see," She rasped, "Just how much you can take from me, pretty mortal."

Her body is never far away from yours, always flushed as her lips wrap around the exposed skin she finds. Your hands grabbed her strong back helplessly as she lodged her cock deep within you, veins rubbing and drilling with vigor while you moaned beneath her. "Fuck," She breathed, pulling out before thrusting back in, eliciting a gasp from you as she fucks you with abandon.

Her talons clawed the sheets, eyes screwing shut with every pound.

"Fuck, beloved." Karina softly moans as she drills deeper into you. The force behind her thrust pushes you upward, and she had to lock her arms around you to keep you from leaving her.

Your lips bite her shoulder to muffle a scream when she hits a spongey area. You heard Karina groan softly when your wall clenched greedily, hips snapping back and forth, your stomach coils, your skin burning with carnal want as your legs lock around her waist, ankles pressed against each other as her essence leaks from your abused cunt to the sheets after going at it for hours. The older woman felt her balls tighten, and her cock swelled as she pressed her forehead against yours, mewling as your release made your walls feel tight. You smell the mix of perfume, sweat, and sex from your bodies as her thrusts get sloppier and shallow to the point that she isn't pulling out anymore, her hips pistoning the same vulnerable spot that she had to muffle your strained moans with an ardent kiss as Karina stills her hips, thick spurts of cum painting your walls; you can only whimper; cunt accepting what she has to offer as this also triggers your orgasm, unannounced.

Karina pressed a kiss against your clammy temple, your walls convulsing, clenching around her incessantly.

Your hair is tousled and unruly, and your neck and collarbones were covered in her marks. The woman above you growls and sets her speed, her warm, thick cock drilling in and out in carnal want, ichor-hued eyes veiled with devouring lust as she throws her head back when you willfully clench your walls around her. Your lips chased her neck, nipping her Adam's apple, and she slightly falters. You can see the veins prominently bulging from her neck, beads of sweat running down her beautiful skin, and her sharp jaw on display for you. You drink in the sight as you pull her back to you, her wet hair sliding back, her kissable lips twitching to a smirk, gasping and whining with every clench of your needy cunt.

The raven-haired beauty presses you harder against the bed, her weight doubling as she flushes her body against yours, her dick pistoning in and out of you, raw. Her pace bristles with an animalistic drive, her breath fans your lips, and grunts and hush moans break past her lips with every pound.

"Are you close?" She couldn't control the distortion of her voice while you shamelessly raked your nails against her back. "Fuck," You mewled, "Yes - close."

The daughter of Lucifer mouths your cheek, mapping your features with her mouth as her toned stomach flexes. Your thighs burn with every pound and tears trail down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you choke a sob. The latter groans and withdraws her cock until only the tip remains and slams back in. You dig your nails harder, leaving crescent shapes and red vertical lines along her back to the point that you're aware of how much that would be painful for her.

"Harder,"

You briefly pull away to lock eyes with her, the obscene sounds of skin slapping reverberate in your room, and she looks at you with a small smile. "Use me," She pecks your lips softly, "As I am using you."

And who are you to refuse?

You hide your face against the column of her neck as the appendage kisses your cervix, and she does this again, and again, and again. She fucks you harder on your mattress, deeper, and you are on the verge of letting go. "Don't hold back," She moans.

Her cock twitches inside you, her hands move to the sheets, crumpling it as if her life depended on it while she fucks you carelessly, and your body heats up.

You bite down on her neck, muffling a scream as you cum, and milk her cock dry, legs trembling like a leaf, and your vision blackens. Karina sighs in pleasure as her cock savors your nectar. She bites the juncture of your neck and keeps fucking you through your orgasm.

And finally, she lets out a high-pitched moan and cums. She stills her hips and hides her head in the crook of your neck that's littered with marks. Her cock spurted out thick warm spurts of her seed, her soft lips kissing the side of your neck, your hand circled on her hip while the other one held her nape, both of you panting for breath.

After a minute of silence, she looks up at you. "Can you do one more?"

You nod mindlessly. Of course, one more always meant more than what you thought Karina said.

Because even as a devil, a daughter of Lucifer; she took you to heaven's door multiple times.

You knew that once she had a taste of you she'd never stop.

Karina...that woman is insatiable.

And of course, you'd let her do anything to you.

A moan leaves your lips, only to be silenced by her hand clamping over your mouth.

You'd let her fuck you an hour before your concert.

The devil looms over your face, the light shielding the smirk on her lips while she fucks you against the sectional couch. The raven-haired beauty moves her hips languidly against yours. Her pace is desperate and strong and you claw her Brioni suit that you bought for her two days before your concert. Her pants pooled her ankles, while you're still wearing your bathrobe, or rather what's left of it. How did this start? You just finished taking a bath and walked past your 'wife' who's already done preparing. She said you smelled good. Bullshit.

"Do you want me to go faster?" She asks, mockery evident in her tone. "Fuck - yes!" You choked a gasp as she jogs her hips firmly, and you let your head fall against the couch chanting: Yes, and fuck, your pussy clenches in gratification eliciting a moan from Karina as she licks a line from your neck to your ear.

"Is that better?" She husked, and you moaned again in reply. The devil growls and sets her speed, her used, hard cock drilling in and out of you in carnal want, her blown, brown eyes flashing gold and veiled with lust. She throws her head back to move her hair that's sticking against her sweaty face. Sweat runs down her pale skin, her sharp jawline in display for you. You drink in the sight - like a lewd statue exclusive to you. Not to mention the suit that compliments her lean form, her hair wet and slid back, soft lips twitching to a gasp, chuckle, and groan with every clench of your needy cunt.

You lean up to capture her neck with your lips, tongue licking her Adam's apple before biting it. Karina moans loudly, and you peck her for it before she turns it into a tongue-dancing session. Karina's hands cup your face and press you harder against the couch. Her weight doubles as she flushes her body against yours, her veiny cock pistoning in and out of you, her pace bristling with an animalistic drive, breath fanning your lips.

Karina maps your features with her eyes before she brushes a familiar spot that have you rolling your eyes in return. Her stomach flexes, your thighs burn from her ramming, and tears trail down your cheeks. You're thankful you haven't put any makeup or skincare on for it. Karina gasps, the sight enticing her, and she momentarily stops thrusting. The devil pulls out eliciting a breathy whimper from you as you pull her close, head shaking sideways as your eyes begged her not to pull away. Karina slams back in. You screw your eyes shut as she abuses the spot again. A vicious grin graces her lips as she fucks you harder, deeper in your fitting room with her other hand clamping over your mouth.

You've reached your limit.

You bite her hand to muffle a scream as the strong wave of your orgasm hits you. Karina bites your shoulder, pointed teeth piercing your skin as you milk her dry, your legs shaking like a leaf, and your vision blackens - your energy drains and your skin is covered in a thick veil of sweat.

"That's it," She groans as she cums inside you. Warm, goopy, and generous. She lays on top of you, her arms snaking on your hips while you caress the back of her hair.

While you're fucked out, the latter seems to bask in the afterglow of fucking. Her golden eyes examine your state before grinning and pressing a kiss on your clammy forehead. "Rest," She gently commands with a soft voice, "I'll fix you up later, okay?"

You swallow harshly, throat dry. "Fix me later or fuck me later minutes before the concert starts?"

Karina's chest rumbles with a chuckle, "The former, though I wouldn't mind fucking all night after the concert."

You groan in reply, and she laughs, "I'm serious, beloved. Rest and I'll take good care of you."

To master 'The Last Rose of Summer' is an ambition for most violinists, and with the devil of music as your wife, success never tasted so good before as you have the audience at the palm of your hand.

The spotlight at your divine figure, at your hands that transitioned from one note to another with angelic grace.

Your eyes are locked with the devil in the front-row seat of Teatro Alla Scala, one of the most famous theatres in the world. It was built in the late 18th Century to plans made by the architect Giuseppe Piermarini, at the request of Empress Maria Theresa of Austria. A range of operas, classical concerts, and ballets are performed during the theatre season, which is one of the most important appointments in the Milanese social calendar.

Karina sat there crossed-legged with a smile, wearing her navy blue, double-breasted wool Plume suit, and trousers, inside, she wore a white turtle neck, and her hair is neatly combed and slid back. Her black hair cascades beautifully for you to see as she watches you with pride and acknowledgment.

You couldn't help but mirror her smile.

Something has changed within you, you can't help but glow at the fact that you've brought back a long-neglected virtuoso piece, creating a performance of pure musical delight.

Your body feels like it's on fire. You didn't care to fathom at all as you basked in the attention.

Yes, be selfish, be cruel, my beloved shouldn't be lesser than I

And as you brought the audience to an explosive end, while everyone else applauded, your eyes were only trained on your wife who stands up, amongst the cheers and howls of the crowd, it was only her voice that gave you clarity.

"Brava," She commends with distortion that no one else seems to hear. No one but you. She spoke again in another language, and this time, you understood it.

"Omnis, surge et accipe sponsam meam et aequalem meam. Aperi portas inferi novae reginae tuae; Ji Y/N."

Everyone, arise and welcome my bride and my equal. Open the gates of Hell for your new princess; Ji Y/N.

Fin.

Thoughts? Oh and if you have requests, feel free to flood my ask box skksks

#karina #karina x reader #karina aespa #aespa x reader #yu jimin #aespa smut #karina smut #wlw post #kpop girls #kpop smut #kpop oneshots #kpop idols #fem reader #gxg smut #gxg imagine

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samsno1 · 5 months ago

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Hi, idk how often you do requests but could you do a mid season Sam fic. The reader is with the FBI with the unexplained cases and she meets the brothers. It would be funny if they tried to convince her that they are also with the FBI and she somehow catches them in their lie. They work together in the case and Sam and the reader end up falling for eachother. Thanks you so so much!!!!

Caught

Sam Winchester X F!Reader

this took me so long to write i'm so sorry. i don't reeeeally like the ending but i did the best i could. i hope this is what you expected bby <3

Summary: You were assigned a complex case and you end up meeting two very weird men who were, apparently, also FBI agents but...why are they named after famous rockstars?

Warnings: FLUFF, descriptions of murderer, murder scenes and violence (usual supernatural shenanigans), sam is an 'intimidating woman enjoyer™', use of Y/N, the writer (me) has no idea how fbi works because she isn't an USA resident, NOT PROOF READ, english is not my first language

W.C.: 8,8k

enjoy!

You had climbed the ladder in the world of criminology considerably fast considering your age. Getting into the FBI in your late 20s was probably one of your biggest achievements and, of course, men tended to make disgusting comments about how such a young woman got such a difficult job – including claiming you opened your legs to get this far. You didn’t mind, actually, it added to your ego to be above those guys – as if they even deserved to be in a job that required empathy towards the victims.

Still, even your superior was shocked at the case he found. A couple had been killed inside their room without any signs of forced entry. All doors and windows were locked and nothing inside the house had been stolen; the bodies seemed to be torn apart from the inside out since there were no knife or bullet wounds and he put you on the case. He thought you would have the abilities to deal with something like this – ‘you’re a prodigy’ he had said – and the guts. The crime scene was absolutely vile; there was blood everywhere and their faces had the skin peeled off to the point their cranial bones were visible. You had seen some stuff, but nothing like this.

The first thing that you did when you got to town was talking with the local police so that you’d learn more about the town’s history with murderers – especially the unexplainable ones. They told you something close to an urban legend: the house that the couple was renting was cursed according to the locals. Decades ago, three kids got killed by their parents in rage, who committed suicide afterwards. They never found the kids bodies and the case went cold after a few years, the police giving up on finding their remains. You found that absolutely unacceptable, giving up on children like that should be a crime, but it wasn’t up to you. Ever since the assassination, every person that rented or bought the house died in unexplainable ways and the police had started to practically ignore or do the bare minimum on the case.

“We’ve been having problems with that house for years” Said the sheriff, a man with a grown out beard, deep eyebags and average height. Not what you would expect for a sheriff given his dismissiveness towards you and the mess his office was. “The previous sheriff also received complaints from townsfolk regarding the place but we could never find out anything. There were no clues, no suspects, just…nothing” He finished, his arms waving around tiredly.

“This is probably why they put the FBI on the case” You said to yourself, guaranteeing the man wouldn’t hear you. You took notes on your notebook, your legs crossed as you sat in front of the sheriff, his table between both of you. You could sense his eyes on you and feel his unasked question floating around in the air. “Anything else, Sheriff?” You asked, looking up from your notes.

He seemed to wake up from his thoughts, shaking his head lightly at you. “No it’s just…Why do you need three FBI agents to work on this?” He asked, on edge, a worry line prominent in his aged face as he squinted at you. Three? You furrowed your eyebrows and leaned back on the chair, closing your notebook.

“I’m not aware of the other two working alongside me” You say. You thought about what your boss had told you and didn’t remember him saying anything about partners, especially two. You usually worked alone most of the time, functioning better on your own. Then again, this was a difficult case, maybe they thought it was better than one federal agent working on this.

“They came by earlier today, asking about the same house and the murderers. They were tall, one of them was…very tall and had long hair. The other one was less serious and, honestly, unprofessional. I think they said they were agent Page and Plant” The sheriff filled you in and now this seemed like a joke. You raised an eyebrow. You had a peculiar taste in music considering it was the 2000s and your father barely listened to anything further than the 90s, resulting in you growing up to know most of the rock bands that were at their highest from the 60s to the 90s. That included Led Zeppelin. And it would be too big of a coincidence for both guys to work together with last names such as those.

“I’ll talk to them about the case, thank you very much Sheriff” You say, raising yourself from the chair and extending a hand to politely shake his. You walked out of his office with a question in your mind and thought about looking up Page and Plant on the database to see if anything showed up when you got to your room tonight. For now, you had to take a look at the crime scene while it was still daylight.

–

Your car’s engine died down as you turned the key. You opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting your suit over the white button down you wore underneath. You shoved your car key in your pocket and, when you looked up, you saw another car that easily stood out from the others around the street – a black Chevrolet Impala which you couldn’t guess the specific year just by looking. It was a very beautiful car and you secretly praised in your mind whoever owned it – it seemed well taken care of.

You walked to the crime scene, taking your badge in hand to show it to the police officer that took care of the place when you saw two men, also in suits, talking with one of the officers – two tall men, one had longer hair. The officer approached you as you got closer and you simply showed your badge to him before he nodded and lifted up the ‘crime scene’ tape for you to go underneath. You ducked down and mumbled a thank you as you made a beeline towards the two guys.

You wondered what you were going to say and how you were going to question them about their identity without seeming like you’re assuming anything. As you walked closer, they were finishing their conversation and were turning to leave making you almost bump right into them. They stumbled back and you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“Who are you?” The shorter one asked you and you took the badge out of your pocket again with a sigh, making sure he reads your name and sees the picture of you that clearly stated you were a federal. He hummed and looked towards his partner, a silent conversation going on between them. You interrupt.

“And you?” You ask and they get their own badges out. You extend a hand to the taller one, silently asking you if you could take a look at it. He gave it to you willingly, which was one less red flag to take into consideration. You looked through everything and it all seemed alright…until you looked at the name on the bottom. Jimmy Page. Is this serious? You look up at them with a judging look and you see the tallest swallow harshly. “Your parents were big Led Zeppelin fans I assume” You say.

“Yeah, yeah they– ha– they were” Jimmy says in a way that’s not believable at all, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. The shorter one closes his eyes and shakes his head discreetly in disappointment – which doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You give Page his badge back and turn to – apparently – Plant.

“I didn’t know that I would have partners in this case, but maybe it’s for the better. What did you find out about the case? Just so we are on the same page” You look between both of them. Plant nudges his partner in the ribs and, before mumbling somewhat of a curse to Plant after practically jumping in place, Page starts to explain to you about their side of the investigation. He seemed professional enough, with a notebook in his hands as he told you everything they could make up from what they knew so far, even sharing with you his assumptions. You were impressed as you started telling him about what you thought – a weird case, too many murders, few clues…Plant stayed quiet most of the time until about halfway through your conversation he said he was going back to his car and you took that as a hint to call it a day.

“Well, I think we are going to work well together, Agent L/N” Page says with a polite smile and you nod, smiling yourself. You took one of your cards where your professional number was written on along with your name and offered it to him. He gently took it from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Just in case you have anything else to share” You said and he nodded, a strand of his hair falling over his face, which he mindlessly put back with a brush of his hand. “It was great meeting you, Agent Page”

“You too” He said and, sensing the end of the encounter, you started to walk back to your car. You still couldn’t shake the thought of those two being too suspicious for your liking and you were determined to look them up and see if Agents Jimmy Page and Robert Plant actually existed. You walked fast, your heels knocking against the concrete and you didn’t notice Page’s eyes on you, lost in the movement of your hair as you walked away. What woke him up from his trance, though, was his partner honking and signaling for him to hurry up. He rolled his eyes and walked to his own car, stealing one last glance at you. You turned your head back right on cue, giving him a polite smile and a small wave. He awkwardly waved goodbye back and started to walk to the honking Impala.

You had assumed the unknown car belonged to them and you had written down the plate in your notebook discreetly – just in case. You were impressed by their ability – well, Page’s ability – to analyze crime scenes but you weren’t stupid. You couldn’t just erase the fact that you had no idea who those two were and you were determined to find out, one way or another.

–

Meanwhile, in the Impala, Sam got inside the car in the passenger’s side, almost hitting his head on the roof – like he did most days. Dean was impatiently waiting for him to get in until he saw something clasped in his brother’s hand, his eyes quietly scanning the white paper. In Sam’s distraction, Dean reached for it before he could react. “Hey!”

“You got her number? Wow Sam, never thought of you like that” Dean teased as he looked through your name written in cursive writing and your phone number right under it. Sam snatched the small card back from his brother and shoved it in his pocket, glaring at Dean.

“Shut up man, this is her professional number, she gave it to me so we could talk” He defended as he put his seatbelt on. He mindlessly brushed a hand through his hair again, getting it out of his face as he heard Dean chuckle to himself as Baby’s engine roared to life. Sam looked back to his brother and waited for more teasing to come – as it always did.

“Yeah, talk.” He said, the double meaning in his words floating around in the air but being ignored by Sam. Dean pressed his foot on the pedal so the car would start to move as he shifted into gear. “Besides, she’s an actual FBI agent, don’t you think she’s going to suspect that we aren’t?”

“Dean, I did go to law school, I can manage my way out of this” Sam said with a mischievous smile. He really thought he could, he knew he was smart and he was a damn good liar – he lied in college for a very long time about who he was and what his family did. Not something to be proud of but it came in handy, especially when both him and his brother were in trouble. He had practically lied his whole life about who he truly was, not entirely giving away specific details – especially those who involved his family. Sometimes he regretted it – like he did with Jess – but it was always safer not to know, for both parties. Or so he thought.

“Don’t think she’s stupid–”

“I don’t think she’s stupid–”

“Let me finish” Dean scolded, raising a hand to silence his brother, his eyes still on the road. It was often funny to pay attention to their brotherly behavior and how anyone could know who was the oldest just by these simple interactions. Dean raised his hand and Sam silenced, listening, like how it was when they were kids. “Don’t think she’s naive, she is in the FBI, working alone on a case. I don’t know much about federals but I’m sure that’s not for everyone”

Sam stayed quiet. He knew Dean was right but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Still, he really didn’t think you were stupid, it was impossible to. The way you talked about the case in detail, relating your point of view and what you could gather in a few hours was more than enough evidence to show him you deserved this job more than anyone. He wasn’t used to seeing women in this field, but everytime he did he was convinced that men were definitely unfairly placed higher. Yet, he still didn’t want to get arrested again so he needed to convince you that he and Dean were legitimately federals.

The conversation drifted away in another direction as Sam stared out the window and replied to the small talk Dean made with him every now and then – when he didn’t crank up the volume once Metallica came into the radio playing Creeping Death while they were talking. With a chorus of ‘Die, die!’ being sung by Dean while he beat his hands on the steering wheel to the drum rhythm, Sam’s mind drifted away and he fell asleep with a head against the window, the tiredness of sleepless nights catching up to him.

–

These fuckers. You thought to yourself as you stared mouth agape to the pictures of who you learned were actually Sam and Dean Winchester – not Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. Two brothers, presumed dead a couple years ago.

Your coffee sat cold over the wooden table of the hotel you were staying the night at. You had already changed into your pajamas and taken a hot shower when you decided to take a look at the case again. Two hours later you remembered the two men you encountered and, when you looked a bit deeper in the police files, the results were horrifying. It actually wasn’t that hard to find out about them, a quick look through the FBI database and you found their exact faces – even if Pag- Sam’s hair was relatively shorter then now. You were beyond pissed, especially at yourself, how could you not have known this? How could you let yourself get played like this? Just because the tall guy was a bit of a nerd and kind of cute? Ugh!

You started pacing around your room, not knowing what to do. Confronting them could kill you, they were murderers after all, according to the database, they had killed civilians and federal agents equally as much. You were strong, both physically and mentally, but there was no way you were escaping two guys that were over six feet tall and weighed about two hundred pounds each. You had to play smart, you had to catch them in a weak moment and then. Bingo. You stopped in your tracks and – like a lightbulb lightened up above your head – you had the perfect plan. You had to wait until the next day for you to execute it but it was going to be worth it. You sent their mugshots to your phone through your e-mail and any other evidence that you could use against them.

You still felt slightly weirded out about them. They didn’t seem dangerous, they didn’t freak out the moment they saw you and they were confidently adding to the investigation with actual useful analysis. You were looking deeper through their files and found out they lost their mother in a fire at a very young age – the youngest wasn’t even one year old yet – and their father had died a couple years ago, in ‘06. They had a pretty sketchy life, living off stolen credit cards and fake identities but something interesting you found out was that Sam Winchester actually went to college, he went to Stanford and your eyes widened at that. You wondered what made him quit, maybe his father dying and his brother needing him, maybe he got kicked out, still, going to college after having a childhood like that was more than impressive.

You kept reading about them until the late hours of the night and you only noticed you fell asleep over the papers you left on the table and your computer when a phone ringing startled you awake. The noise echoed inside your head and, as you lifted your head, the sunlight getting into the room through the curtains hurt your eyes. You only noticed how bad you’d slept when you felt a pain shoot through your neck and down your back as you turned your head to look for the phone – great. You groaned and felt around the table with your hand until you felt the square shape of the device and its humming. You clicked to answer after slightly clearing your throat so you’d seem less sleepy and put the phone to your ear.

“Hello, Agent L/N speaking”

“Hey Y/N, how are things going?” The voice of your boss made you unconsciously straighten your back and swallow harshly. You looked at the time on your computer and your heart fell to your stomach. 11:36AM – shit!

“Hey Sir, everything is running smoothly. I’m currently collecting evidence and later I’m going to the morgue so I can look through the autopsy”

“That’s great, you always do a great job kid” He said and you could feel him smiling on the other side of the line. You felt bad for kind of lying but you had been worrying about other stuff last night.

“Thank you Sir, I’ll report back to you as soon as possible” You reply.

You talked for a while longer as you disclosed the case and, when he finally hung up, it was already past noon. As you got ready for your day, doing your daily morning routine as quickly as you could, you felt your stomach rumble when you got out of the shower, reminding you that you hadn’t had breakfast. You decided then that it was better to stop at a diner or somewhere so you could eat something to go on with your day – since it was already lunchtime you couldn’t necessarily call this brunch. You finished getting ready, putting on your shoes and grabbing the keys to your car while you looked up the closest place to eat something quick.

You drove to the nearest diner that had a decent rating and stopped at the parking lot. When you looked around, you couldn’t believe your luck – or rather the lack of it. The infamous Impala was parked a couple meters from you in all its glory. You audibly sighed but you couldn’t just find another place to eat as quickly, besides, you know what they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Maybe eating at the same place as them was actually a good strategy. You grabbed your wallet and locked your car, confidently walking towards the diner entrance.

The bells dinged above your head as you got in, some eyes looking your way with the noise – including Sam’s. Him and his brother were sitting in a booth in the far corner of the diner, Sam turned in the direction of the door and Dean facing away from it, in his brother’s direction. Sam had his laptop open in front of him as he ate a salad, Dean was eating a burger. Thay had probably been talking before you came in because when you came through the door Sam went quiet as he looked over his brother’s shoulder and Dean kept talking, hunched over his food. You couldn’t listen to their conversation but you gave Sam a slight smile and a nod, your stomach turning as you faked sympathy, as if you didn’t just friendly greet a murderer. He nodded back and that's when Dean slightly turned to look behind him and see you, nodding as well.

You started to walk towards their table, the weight of your hidden gun on your hip more than evident. Just keep calm, you were trained for this. You decided to keep to yourself that you knew their true identity, after all, you were one step ahead of them and, deep down, you knew they could be useful. Their intelligence was beyond impressive – faking your death wasn’t something easy to do. You stood above them with a gentle smile.

“Hello agents, mind if I sit with you?” You asked as politely as you could. Sam scooted almost instantly, changing the placement of his laptop to the side of the window. You didn’t miss the eyebrow raise his brother gave him.

“Hey Ms. L/N. No, not at all, make yourself comfortable” He said, smiling at you. He has dimples you mentally stated.

“Yeah, please” Dean agreed, stretching a hand to the seat beside Sam. His voice was slightly muffled thanks to the food in his mouth and you internally cringed as you could see the chewed food when he talked.

“Thanks. No need to call me by my last name, you can just call me Y/N” You simply said as you sat down, looking almost immediately to the computer screen open in newspapers that dated a couple years back. Murders in the same house all with the same time frame from each other. “I see you work even while you were supposed to be on your break, careful not to burn out Agent Page” You said, looking at his side profile. He seemed embarrassed as your sweet voice got to his ears and awkwardly laughed.

“You know…you don’t need to call me Agent Page, that is just an alias, call me Smith, Sam Smith. That’s Dean Wesson” He said. Huh, claiming aliases, smart move Winchester. “And yeah, I’ve been taking a look at the history of the place, apparently–”

“It’s timed killing” You finished. You scooted slightly closer, pointing your finger to the screen where the date of the newspaper was written at. “Every two years on the same date someone was brutally murdered in the house.”

“Yeah and inside the same room too” Dean pointed out. That you hadn’t noticed. A waiter coming to get your order interrupted the conversation you three were having to get your order. You quickly looked through the menu deciding to eat the quickest and most nutritious stuff there could be at a diner. You thanked the boy that took your order and he walked in long strides towards the kitchen. You came back to the talk you were having with the two brothers and Dean continued. “The master suite. And always couples, someone seems to hate true love” He joked.

“Apparently. Have any ideas for suspects yet?” You asked. If you were going to play pretend you might as well acquire some useful information with it. The boys shared a look between them that they thought you wouldn’t catch, but you weren’t FBI for no reason.

“None yet, still looking into it” Sam said, suddenly seeming on edge, shifting his placement on the booth. You were good at reading body language, it was one of the main qualities that got you in the FBI, interrogating criminals was easy exactly because they couldn’t lie. When you learned their behavior and played your way into their head it destroyed them because even if they were silent, even if they didn’t say anything, you knew what they were lying about – flinching when you mention a certain name or changing the leg they were crossing under the table when you named an address. So, Sam couldn’t hide from you earlier, imagine now that you were inches away.

“Really?” You asked, raising an eyebrow and turning your torso slightly more in his direction, leaning your elbow on the table. He was trapped. You thought about confronting them here, questioning them about their identity in public but you thought better – they definitely had guns on them and two beats one. Either way, you’d put him in a challenging situation, confronting him without even disagreeing verbally. He felt intimidated and now seemed unsure of his own conclusion – how you loved playing these games.

“I mean there’s barely any clues” He laughed nervously. “I was going to call you to see if you had any idea”

“I don’t either, as you said, no leads” You said. The waiter arrived with your food right then and you politely thanked him, drifting away from the conversation you were having with Sam as you started to eat. This time you weren’t paying attention and Dean questioned Sam with a look. What is she on? And the youngest shrugged. You swallowed your food with a pleasant hum, just now noticing how hungry you truly were. “I was thinking we could go to the morgue, if you haven’t already. Take a look at the bodies, see if we find anything”

You were purposefully playing right into their game, faking cluesness and at the same time taking advantage of their abilities to solve the case. It was more important to you to solve whatever was going on to bring peace back to this town than to arrest the brothers who were supposed to be dead. You’d learned that men tended to believe that you were stupid very easily, that you had no idea what you were doing and you started using that to have your way with them. With big doe eyes and feigned innocence you could get very far.

“That’s where we were going later actually. It’s good if you tag along” Sam tells you.

“I would even if you didn’t want me to” You said, joking, but not really. Your tone was humorous but your smile was bitter. They didn’t seem to notice though and Sam even chuckled slightly at your sarcasm. You noticed the dimples in his cheeks and how boyish his smile was, full of bright white teeth and sincerity. You almost felt bad for being rude until you remembered they were killers – even if they didn’t look like it. Sam didn’t seem the type to brutally murder someone, Dean seemed too stupid to be able to get away with it for so many years, even faking his own death and walking around normally – you’d bet he was the one with the idea to put the name of famous rockstars as FBI aliases.

By the time the conversation was over, so was your food. You left enough money for the bill and a tip and stood up from the booth. “Okay, well, let’s go, we have a lot to do today boys” You said, adjusting your suit, unnecessarily dusting it off. You eyed Dean’s plate, the mess he made similar to how a child would eat. You would have laughed if you were in a more friendly situation. You looked at Sam and with a smile you said: “Don’t be late pretty boy, I’ll be waiting for you”

Then you turned around, politely nodded goodbye to Dean and started walking away, holding back a laugh. Sam stood still, stunned as he stared at you walked out the door, the bells above you ringing twice – one for when you pulled the door, the other after you let it smoothly close behind you. Dean was staring too, his bright green eyes filled with confusion. Once he turned to look at Sam he saw his younger brother completely zoned out, looking in the direction where you once were. He snapped his fingers in front of Sam’s face, who immediately looked at Dean.

“Pretty boy?” Dean questioned, holding back a smirk as Sam rolled his eyes.

“Dean…”

“She’s got you man. I get it, strong and intimidating women, I understand, I understand”

“That’s not it, she seems…off” Sam points out, looking at the door once more to make sure you wouldn’t come back and leaning closer to unnecessarily speak in a lower voice to Dean. “I think she might be an it, the monster we are looking for”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Really? Why?”

“The way she’s acting is, I don’t know, weird”

“Look Sam I know you’re not used to having women hit on you but that doesn’t mean they are monsters” Dean teased, Sam gritted his teeth.

“Dean, I’m serious!”

“Okay, alright, we are going to investigate then” Dean said, raising his hands in fake surrender to his brother’s scolding. “But it doesn’t make sense to me. Didn’t we consider it to be a vengeful spirit?”

“Maybe, or maybe we are dealing with something completely different”

“Alright smart-ass, but if you’re wrong you owe me a six pack”

Sam scoffed but he wasn’t one to turn down any bet. He had thought your behavior was weird the moment you stepped foot in the diner. The questions you asked, the way you would constantly question his abilities, there was something going on and he could sense it. Besides, he liked betting with Dean, especially winning, so there was no way he wasn’t accepting his brother’s challenge.

“Deal” Sam said, hitting his palms against the table and standing up, ready to leave and go to the morgue. Dean followed his movements and stood up with a cheeky smile, taking out his wallet to pay for the food.

–

At the morgue, you waited about 5 minutes until they arrived. When they walked up to the entrance you were waiting at, Sam and Dean saw you in a much more serious state as you read through your notes and made annotations here and there. The noise of their footsteps made you look up and put your little notebook back in your pocket and place your pen behind your ear. You crossed your arms in front of your body and waited for them to get closer. Your heels were starting to hurt the bottom of your feet from standing too long in the same place and you were overwhelmed with different emotions – towards the men and yourself.

You weren’t necessarily scared of Sam and Dean, you were trained not to be, but it was never in your plans to be alone in a city with federal criminals, it would be downright ignorant not to be at least nervous with the situation. You were keeping yourself friendly without giving away any hint that you might know who they were, debating internally which would be the worst case: if you confronted them or stuck beside them for longer – what’s that say again? Friends close, enemies closer.

“Hey, Y/N” Sam called you and you turned your lips upwards in some-kind of a smile. He mirrored your expression and you caught his dimples again, your eyes wandering around his face. You broke the stare when Dean cleared his throat and, when you looked at him, he had his eyebrows furrowed, giving Sam a side-eye – more like a diagonal one, since, well, Sam was a big guy. In your own trance you hadn’t noticed how Sam was also looking at you like you were a beautiful piece of art – damn it, focus.

You also cleared your throat and that seemed to wake Sam up. “Hello Sam, Dean” You said, nodding to each “Shall we go inside? The longer we take the further the killer goes, come on” You turned your back to the and started walking inside the morgue. Dean waited until you walked further and held Sam by the elbow, making the youngest look at him in confusion.

“Stop that” Dean whisper-yelled.

“Stop what” Sam whispered back.

“Whatever your eyes are doing, I’m gonna puke if you keep that up”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You stop it, you’re reading too much into it”

“Hey, you are the one that said she might be dangerous and, honestly, you are kind of a monsterfu-”

“Dean!” Sam pushed his shoulder to shut him up.

“C’mon you were hypnotized, maybe that’s what she does, or you are just in love” Dean shrugged his shoulders, holding back a grin. He loved making Sam mad.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s go now or do you have any other stupid remarks?” Sam didn’t wait for an answer as he followed the direction you went in. Dean mocked his brother, mimicking Sam’s words to himself in a high pitched tone and went along.

You were already putting your gloves on when they came into the room, the dead bodies laying before you - or at least what was left of them. The lower part of the couple’s bodies was covered beneath the pale blue blankets and both torsos were exposed. It was an awful sight and, if you were about ten years younger, you would’ve puked. Everything was dilacerated, they were practically disfigured, their faces barely recognizable. Huge gashes adorned their bodies that even cleaned up still looked absolutely vile. Behind you, Dean hissed.

“Wow” He exclaimed.

“Yeah, very brutal, whoever did this wanted them to feel the pain” You said, snapping the latex gloves against your wrist and grabbing the file about the autopsy in your hands. You skimmed through the words and placed it back on the table where it previously was, turning back to the bodies to see Sam already looking through them, Dean putting on the blue gloves the mortuary offered. You approached Sam’s side and crossed your arms as you watched him work, his hands roaming through the deep rips on the skin, he seemed to come to the same conclusion you did. “It’s not a clean cut, see” You pointed out and he nodded, turning to you.

“Yeah, the skin is–”

“Ripped, not cut” You paused “How can someone do this and just…get on with their lives?” You thought out loud. You discreetly looked up to Sam’s face to see if he had any reaction to your words, to see if his face faltered when you mentioned how psychotic it would be to keep going after killing someone, to see something, anything…

His face was blank.

“You’d be shocked at what…people can do” Sam replied. He seemed to hesitate before saying ‘people’, a hard swallow, a thought behind his eyes and you marked that in your mind for later.

“Sam, I work in the FBI too you know, I’ve seen shit” Maybe you were harsh, maybe you were just defensive or maybe the years of being brought down by men in your field made you snap at his words when they weren’t that deep. He seemed to catch on to your aggressiveness and stumbled over his words to try and reword his phrase.

“No– I-I know it’s just– I mean–” He couldn’t get the words out. You softened at that, noticing your defensiveness was, in fact, exaggerated. You chuckled at him and waved your hand dismissively.

“I get what you meant” You said and he seemed to calm down, giving you a slight smile. Dimples. Again. You turned back to the bodies in front of you and reached for your pocket to get your notes. You started patting with your other hand for your pen through the other pockets and when you didn’t feel the distinctively cylindrical shape of the object you started to freak out. Where’d I leave it…

Sam noticed your squirming and when he saw the notebook in your hand he knew exactly what you were looking for. He held back a chuckle as he watched you try your hardest to remember where the pen was, the concentration in your eyes almost touchable.

“Hey” Sam called and you turned your head to him. He reached his hand up, close to your cheek and you could sense the heat radiating from his body. You froze in place as you thought that you were caught, that Sam’s intelligence overpowered yours and he figured out that you knew who he was. Well, you were wrong. Sam caught the pen you had put behind your ear between his fingers and slid it off of it, watching as your hair fell back into place. You wanted to bury yourself whole inside the ground as you felt heat spread through your face. “Here” He said, with a cheeky smile.

You took the pen out of his hand, your fingers brushing lightly against each other “Thanks” You mumbled. You started writing away what you figured from the autopsy but you couldn’t get your mind off of how close Sam had gotten. The warmth that he emitted was captivating, comforting even. How could you even think that? You were a professional, what the hell! You shouldn’t be feeling this way, you had a job to do, lives to save. Sam was a killer, you put killers in jail. That’s it.

“Okay so…” Dean spoke up, breaking your embarrassment “...We can discard any murder with weapons like guns or knives, those can’t do…this” He made a face and pointed towards the wounds. You nodded in agreement as you wrote it down. When you looked up at them again they were sharing a look, having a full conversation without even speaking. You weren’t a professional in facial expressions but you could read the room, you were being kept in the dark about something. You decided against confronting them, unneeded drama in the current settings because, indeed, the longer you took to solve this case, the closer the killer was to killing other people.

“So, I have no idea if you already did but I didn’t look further in the room where the murder happened. I think I’m going to go back to the house and see if the local cops missed anything” You said, not waiting for an answer as you pocketed your notebook again and started taking off your gloves. You didn’t request their company as you were, first, still trying to figure out why they were so adamant about solving this case, second, you had to figure this murder out, and third, you needed to find a perfect moment to confront both of them. “See you around agents”

“See ya” Dean waved at you as you walked away, Sam didn’t say anything. You knew they were going to follow you, you felt their silent conversations lingering in the air as you left the room, discarding your gloves. In your head you could see them communicating with lifting eyebrows and shrugging shoulders – they were so obvious; and predictable.

–

“We are going after her” Sam said to Dean after he heard you leave. Dean nodded as he started taking off his own gloves, side eyeing his brother. Dean wasn’t stupid – he only acted like it – he knew that there was more than one reason for Sam’s eagerness to follow you.

“So…” He started and Sam knew there was something he might not like hearing coming. “Are you going to play the brave soldier saving the damsel in distress?”

Sam stopped and looked at Dean, absolute confusion adorning his features. “What?”

“Man c’mon, you can’t be thinking that she is the monster now can you? Look, I did the tests while you were…pining over her” Sam opened his mouth to argue but Dean didn’t let him speak. “There was holy water in her drink at the diner, the utensils she was using were pure silver…”

Sam was shocked that his brother thought that quickly, he didn’t even notice…Okay, maybe he was infatuated by you a little too much.

“She could be a ghoul,” Sam argued as a last resort.

“Already looked her up, no one that has that beautiful face has died around here. I’ve looked through the FBI database too, she’s there” Dean said. Sam would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the tiniest bit of relief knowing that you were really human. You were, in fact, beautiful, stunning even. Maybe Dean was right, maybe he did like you, a lot.

“Guess I owe you that six pack then” Sam said.

“Hey, I get the six pack, you get the girl, seems like a fair trade” Dean said, raising his eyebrows tauntingly with a cheeky smile on his face. Sam chuckled and shook his head.

“Either way, we have to go after her because if this ghost decides she’s next on its list, we need to get there before she gets hurt” Sam said in all seriousness as he started walking out of the room, going towards the exit. Dean followed suit, the Impala keys already on his hand.

–

They arrived at the house a minute or two after you. You were waiting in the house’s living room as you heard the rumbling of the old car’s engine. You had your weapon ready and loaded as you heard them open and close the door of the house. As soon as they turned the corner, you lifted your gun.

“Stay right fucking there! Don’t you dare move or else I’ll actually kill you, for good this time!” You screamed at them, gun in hand pointed towards Dean’s head. They widened their eyes and stopped all their movement. Sam opened his mouth to try and talk and you shifted the gun to point at him instead. He shut his mouth again and you saw his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. You were fuming, anger making your hands shake lightly.

“Did you really think you were going to fool me? Who do you think you are– Better, who do you think I am?” They stood as still as a rock. “Sam and Dean Winchester” You said their names, venom running through your tongue as you did, your gun pointing respectively at each. “You better start talking or I’m popping your heads off, speak!”

“Okay, okay, look we can explain” Sam started.

“You fucking better”

“We are not dead” He said and you looked at him like he was stupid. “Me and my brother we faked our deaths but we had a reason, a much bigger reason”

“You killed people”

“We didn’t, at least not intentionally, we do the exact opposite, we save people Y/N”

“How? The deaths are there, if you are telling me the truth and really save people you do a terrible job at that” You countered. You admitted you only said this to get under their skin because if anyone knew that saving everyone was impossible was you, a federal agent.

“Put the gun down and we can talk” Dean spoke up, talking to you calmly and moving his hands slowly to try and reason with you. You were reluctant but something in their eyes, their actions towards you didn’t indicate any imminent danger. Maybe you were being stupid and, at the end, you’d be lying in a ditch, lifeless, left there to rot but you wanted to give them a chance.

“If you try anything funny I’ll claw your eyes out with my bare hands” You said and Dean, even shocked, nodded slowly – you were exaggerating but you felt the need to. You sighed and put your gun back in the waistband of your pants and saw the boys breathe in a deep breath of relief.

Sam and Dean exchanged those looks again and finally looked at you. Sam was the one you wanted to talk to, you felt deep, deep down that he was going to tell you the truth and that he was actually a good guy, that all that he did until now wasn’t just an act and he was really nice.

“Me and Dean we…We hunt monsters”

Well, now your hopes are shattered. What the fuck.

You just looked at him like he was clinically insane and waited for him to continue.

“I know it sounds crazy” Because it is “And it probably is but it’s the truth, we don’t think whatever killed that couple was a human, this is why there’s no DNA, not a single clue and why the case is hard. I assume you were assigned it because you are smart and a good agent but this is not your kind of case”

“It’s ours” Dean added and Sam agreed with a nod.

You were dumbfounded. They sounded so serious as they explained to you about the tons of different supernatural beings that existed, things you only ever heard of in fictional books and horror movies. Halfway through the talk you looked physically sick, your face pale and eyes dissociated completely and Sam quickly got a chair, ushering you to sit down. He was looking at you with such a guilty expression, like he felt bad for lying to you.

Once they stopped talking you spent a good five minutes absorbing it all as you stared at your hands folded over your lap. You thought you knew things, you thought you could solve everything, that all you needed to do was analyze everything to its minute details and you’d find a solution. Truth is, you were completely oblivious all this long, so many things that you had no idea existed causing trouble around the world, things worse than humans could ever be. You were an idiot.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Sam asked after a while, making you look up at him. “I know it’s a lot to process…” He said, carefully laying a hand over your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you.

“I’m going to be fine” You said harshly. Sam felt the slight disappointment in your voice and frowned as he looked down at you. He had seen tons of different reactions to ‘the talk’ but this one was one of the worst, where the person feels upset with themselves for not knowing about this sooner, the kind of reaction he saw mostly on authority figures such as cops and federal agents like yourself.

You stood up and his hand fell from your shoulder. You needed to make this right, paranormal or not, this was still your case and you were solving it one way or another.

“Show me how you do it” You said, turning to look at Sam. The phrase got Dean’s attention as well as a sudden tension fell upon the room. Sam looked at you with confusion “This case is still mine, I want to learn how to get rid of…whatever killed that couple”

Sam exchanged looks with his brother. “I don’t think this is a good idea Y/N, you can get hurt” He said. You rolled your eyes and stepped closer to him, less than a foot between the two of you.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m a federal agent, you don’t get to tell me I’m going to get hurt when I literally hunt and kill people if needed” You said angrily pointing your finger at him accusingly “Your little Ghostbusters roleplay doesn’t scare me”

“Okay, can you two stop? Let’s get out of here and go study about the house to see if we find anything about someone who died here who might want revenge” Dean said, approaching and looking between the two of you. “Please”

–

After spending two hours in the nearby library you finally found something. The one responsible for the killings was someone named Alicia Meadows who died in the late 60s, not little kids – it seemed like even the own urban legend the locals passed around was wrong. She was a woman who lived in that house with her husband and kids. One night she found her husband in their bed with another woman and went crazy, killing them both with a shotgun and then shooting herself. Ever since then she’d been killing couples who stayed there, the trauma of the cheating made her assume that everyone who laid in that bed on the same date, every two years, she found her husband and his mistress was also having an affair.

You three soon found out where she was buried and, after the brothers explained to you and made you swear not to arrest them for grave violation, you were driving to the cemetery.

As Dean was digging up the casket you stood beside Sam. “Do you guys do this everyday?”

Sam looked at you with a smile. “No, sometimes we behead vampires too”

You looked at him wide eyed and chuckled. He laughed with you, his face looking ten times more beautiful under the moonlight and the fucking dimples, the damn dimples. Silence fell between you as the sounds of the night – and Dean’s digging – took over. You wanted to talk more, you wanted to know more about Sam because the little you thought you knew was actually a lie. He was nice and, according to the FBI files…

“You went to law school?” You asked him. He sighed. Well damn Y/N so much for breaking the ice, good job.

“I did but…I went back to hunting soon after, you can’t run from this type of job you know?” He chuckled dryly. It was clear that was a sensitive subject for him to talk about.

“If it helps, you would’ve made a good lawyer” You smiled at him. “Besides, you look great in a suit”

He seemed stunned for a few seconds, were you flirting with him? He didn’t get to figure out because Dean made a dramatic pained sound as he straightened his back, breaking the casket open. The putrid smell of death rose and you scrunch your nose. Sam helped Dean get out of the hole and started showering the bones in alcohol and salt and you watched as Dean threw his lighter in making huge flames rise up. You jumped when it happened out of shock and Sam held your shoulders so you wouldn’t fall back, the flames roared loudly with what seemed to be the anger of the woman.

Dean started gathering their stuff and you turned to Sam. “So, is this it?”

“Yeah…pretty simple actually” Sam shrugged. He looked at the fire and you could see the flames dancing in his eyes. You found Sam handsome ever since you laid your eyes on him but now, after a whole day by his side, the light touches you shared throughout the day and the care he showed towards you you wondered if it’d be too bad if you kissed him right now.

“Sam” You called him lowly and he turned to you. You stepped closer and you could see his hands clenching and unclenching by his side, as if he was holding back the urge to touch you. Your faces were inches apart and you could now see every little detail about him. The light stubble that adorned his face and the blush of red in his cheeks that you didn’t know if it was because of the heat of the fire or because you were this close.

You smiled at him and in that moment Sam couldn’t hold himself back. He closed the distance between the two of you as one of his hands cradled your cheek and the other was gently placed on your waist.

You let one of your hands place itself on his neck as you reciprocated the kiss. It was electric and warm, his soft lips over yours felt like a sweetness you didn’t know you were craving to taste. Your heart was beating fast and Sam slowly dragged your body closer to his with the help of the hand he placed on your waist.

When you pulled away you slowly opened your eyes to look straight into his and let out a stupid giggle – like a teenager after kissing her crush. Sam chuckled back as his thumb caressed your cheek lovingly.

“I've wanted to do this ever since the diner” He admitted and you bit back a smile.

“Really?” You asked.

“Really”

The moment was interrupted when Dean honked the Impala, impatiently waiting for you two to finish whatever you were doing so he could go back to the room and finally sleep. Sam showed him the finger as Dean yelled a curse back making you laugh at their stupid teasing.

“Let’s go Sam, Dean’s impatient. We can finish our talk at the motel” You said, your words full of innuendo making Sam turn back to you. You knew you got him when you felt his hand squeeze your waist for a moment before letting go.

“Oh yeah?” He said with a grin, looking down at your mouth and back at your eyes. You nodded.

“Yeah”

A/N: Likes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing, feedback makes those writings better. Thank you for reading XoXo

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bisclavret · 1 month ago

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like many who have suffered at the hands of bbc merlin before me, i recently indulged in a thought experiment in which i outlined my own version of seasons 3-5 that stay thematically and tonally in line with the show (except they're less fucking stupid). but then i quickly realized that focusing on details is pointless: all you need is to solve the one Big Problem the show has, and the rest will follow. the problem in question? ✨morgana✨

i like the first two seasons. s1 achieves what it sets out to do and has fun while doing it, and s2, while flawed, sets up a ton of potential that the following seasons unfortunately squander, beginning with the insidious season 3. you can only distract me with cute knights and goblins and fart jokes for so long before i start seeing through you, evil, evil season of television.

my hypothesis is that if the writers had crafted s3 morgana into anything more sympathetic than a violent half-alive poltergeist that can never be reasoned with because she's suddenly terminally off her rocker, everything would've fallen into place. a sympathetic morgana would've made real, valid arguments against uther (and arthur) that wouldn't just be the ramblings of a woman possessed. her betrayal of arthur would have stemmed from her feeling increasingly morally superior to him because of his complacency in the face of their father's tyranny. under morgause's guidance she would stop believing that arthur is capable of change, and the whole point would be that she might actually be right. arthur would have to actively try and prove her wrong, instead of getting praised for doing the bare minimum because the bar is on the floor.

furthermore, morgana's prophetic dream about arthur and gwen becoming king and queen and her decision to prevent this however she can is a direct parallel to merlin learning about that same prophecy and making it happen by any means necessary. merlin's desires about his and arthur's futures are subtextually fueled by gay love and devotion, so why couldn't morgana's be? why couldn't she properly express her bitterness that arthur gets to be with gwen in a way she can't "took gwen away" from her, instead of suddenly declaring that gwen is nothing more than a servant, after two seasons of demonstrating again and again that she loves, values, and respects gwen more than anyone else in that godforsaken castle?

following this, an angry and emotionally volatile but still sensible morgana asking gwen to stay by her side during the coup of the castle in the s3 finale and gwen going behind her back to help arthur and the knights would've hurt like a bitch. double-sided betrayal! gwen having a real plot! the proper beginnings of a toxic yuri that would shape a generation!

then there's the utter hubris of having morgana shoot arrows at the same civilians she worried herself sick over for 2 seasons — even morgan, her medieval counterpart that was rooted in every sexist trope in existence, doesn't just go around killing senselessly but instead has (often petty!) personal vendettas against gwen, arthur, and the knights. morgana had every right to be sick of the pretensions around chivalry in camelot (she was always quick to mock it, even in s1), and to lash out at the knights and soldiers after years of feeling powerless in a castle full of armed men that blindly followed her oppressor. the show conveniently forgets that morgana was victimized as a woman as well as a sorcerer those first 2 seasons.

but like i said, this is not just about morgana. allowing her to remain a real and multifaceted character even as she betrays everyone in pursuit of her ambitions would've given the rest of the core four more interesting conflict to work with: merlin because he would have to experience real consequences to his actions, arthur because he would watch his sister go against his father (and his knights, and his birthright) and experience some actual internal dilemmas about it, and gwen because she would be forced to choose between morgana and arthur without the pretense that it's an obvious or easy choice for her to make.

even morgause and gaius would come off more interesting as mentors: neither one inherently evil or inherently good, both jaded by events that happened before our protagonists were even born, both heavily influencing morgana and merlin into fulfilling roles that they think are appropriate, but that morgana and merlin may not have chosen for themselves had they not been under their care.

you get the gist. if the show followed its own setup, morgana's mistakes wouldn't lie in cheap and senseless acts of violence but in alienating the people she loves because she is too hurt and jaded to trust them. meanwhile, everybody else would feel guilt over "failing" her and yet they would be too caught up in their own (sometimes flawed!) beliefs of right and wrong to truly see her point of view.

arthur would convince himself it was sorcery that corrupted her. merlin would know that isn't true but he wouldn't be able to argue without confessing everything, which is the defining conflict between him and morgana and it's cheapened when she's just an evil witch caricature and merlin is framed as inherently virtuous in contrast. gwen, too, would become a more active participant in her own life by choosing arthur over morgana and choosing to rule camelot with him instead of just waiting politely to see where things go.

and, of course, uther's downfall and death would be quick, final, and completely earned — when and why did the show even decide he of all people was the sympathetic villain, anyway?

lastly, and perhaps controversially, i think morgana should've learned merlin's true identity by season 4. her being the first of the main characters to find out makes perfect sense considering their shared history and their interconnected and mirrored arcs. even the show seems to agree, considering she does find out a little before arthur. but the narrative itself tried pointing flashing neon arrows towards this way earlier — there is a whole entire episode in s4 where merlin being emrys is repeatedly spelled out for morgana and she still isn't allowed to see it. that episode makes her look like the stupidest person to ever live, which is pretty funny im not gonna lie, but also another frustrating thing in the endless string of frustrating things that make up this show.

morgana learning that merlin has magic would've transformed the source of merlin's anxiety from a crippling fear of being outed someday to the crippling fear of knowing she could out him at any moment. this would make him want to beat her to the punch (perhaps he'd consider killing her for a minute and decide against it because she isn't a cartoonishly insane evil person in my version of events) and maybe he would even feel some tentative excitement at the idea of coming clean, now that it seems inevitable. after all, he always intended to tell arthur eventually! and i think gaius would have to admit outright that he does not want merlin to tell arthur he has magic because he, gaius, simply cannot risk such a gamble. it would be so interesting to see gaius and merlin clash and disagree once it becomes obvious that it's not merlin that isn't ready for the reveal, it's gaius. delicious!

with morgana's knowledge looming, things would inevitably spiral into a magic reveal by the end of season 4. i picture this season as an absolute mess of miscommunication between everyone at camelot, which is, y'know, canon. growing increasingly cunning and vengeful, morgana would use this tension to her advantage, destabilizing the court from the outside while she creates alliances with other sorcerers outside of camelot (instead of living alone in a hovel for no reason — morgana le fay i'm sorry i'm so sorry they gave you agravaine instead of your all-female entourage oh my god).

and here's where the events would change beyond recognition (aka here's where the meta becomes the fanfic i refuse to write). picture it with me: a militia of sorcerers infiltrates camelot and arthur and gwen have to set aside their differences (assuming gwen kissing lancelot and arthur overreacting happens, which it should) for the good of the kingdom as well as for love. picture high priestess morgana in her element, side by side with a bunch of misfit sorcerers that aren't so easily vilified, chopping down camelot's soldiers and knights and assuredly making their way to the newly-minted king.

then, just as it starts to seem that all hope is lost, in swoops merlin (the actual merlin, not his old fart disguise) on dragonback (kilgharrah hates morgana so much i know his sexist ass would stoop to anything to stop her)!!! imagine merlin showing off the extent of his powers in front of everyone and preventing the sorcerers from getting any further, declaring loud and clear that camelot is protected by him, by emrys. imagine that display of power alone being enough to send everyone home.

imagine the loyalties clearly drawn: merlin on arthur's side, morgana on the sorcerers'. imagine arthur, feeling confused and betrayed by everyone at this point, banishing merlin despite everything he's done for him in the angstiest, most emotionally dysregulated scene the show had ever put to screen. imagine merlin starting season 5 free at last but very lonesome, an embittered dragonlord like his father. imagine the absolute mess camelot would become without him, even with gwen — now queen guinevere — there to pick up the slack. imagine arthur actually earning merlin back, finally growing into his role as king as he does so. imagine the reunion.

all this and more could've been not just possible but inevitable if morgana was allowed to remain a complex character that is neither inherently good nor inherently evil: it was undeniably the biased and one-note treatment of morgana's downfall by the writers that set the precedent for literally everything else that happened after merlin chose to poison her. the show wouldn't have even had to jeopardize its tone or the monster-of-the-week vibe, all it would've had to do is admit that even the "good guys" are capable of mistakes and what makes them good is the ability to feel remorse and change for the better. (as opposed to uther, who was miles beyond redemption since way before the pilot and deserved to lose everything and die alone. OBVIOUSLY???)

in a world where morgana remains multifaceted and sympathetic, mordred would get a better arc as well, so if we really wanted to, we could still end on the same tragic note that the show ended on. with so much harm inflicted onto so many innocent people by the pendragons for so long (including mordred and the many druids and sorcerers that raised him), it could realistically end up being a little too late for anything more than one shining glimpse of king arthur and the sorcerer merlin's short-lived golden age before fate catches up to them. glimpsing that reality just to immediately lose it would've been far more satisfying and far more tragic than whatever the writers thought they were doing with all that pointless carrot-dangling.

and finally, an ending in line with morgana's new and improved arc. in this version, rather than bleeding out on the forest floor alone, she would channel the morgan le fay we know from the legends: sobered up by the reality of her brother dying, she would use her high priestess status (and perhaps also her pendragon status) to be granted passage over to avalon alongside arthur on the boat — a one-way ride — just to make sure he gets there safely. this is her penance for the harm she has caused, the same way arthur's penance is to die and leave the true ruler of camelot (gwen) behind to achieve everything he was too slow and indecisive to build while he still had time.

merlin's penance, then, would be to stay behind and watch them cross over without him, waiting and waiting and waiting until they come back or until he can finally join them. which is a bit fucking harsh if i'm honest, so i'd at least make it slightly more faithful to the legends by having him return as an old man and letting him take a long nap under a tree by the shore, his body slowly enveloped by vines like the cobwebbed fisher king in 3x08, never fully sure if he's dreaming or if there really are strange shapes fading in and out of the fog over the lake. still tragic, but nevertheless a little more open-ended and whimsical than [TRUCK NOISES] THE END!

#[johnny the dragon voice] ✨ MORGANA ✨#tldr: if you treat your villain with nuance then more nuance will follow and your story will be better for it! groundbreaking i know!!!#what im also getting at is that morgana broke free FIRST so she DESERVED to become the morgan le fay of legend #way before any of the others grew into their own roles.#morgana #bbcm #bbc merlin #analysis #merlin meta #theres no focus on the knights here but if you know me you know how angry i am about s4 and s5 gwaine at all times #so in a story with a more nuanced portrayal of villainy and knighthood i think he would openly question his choice to become one #and maybe he'd leave for a while #go home and sort out his daddy issues. have some fruity subplots along the way. visit merlin during his dragonlord era. that sort of thing #and interact with lancelot at least once!!! for gods sake #but i dont see lancelot surviving sorry. that dude will literally die for anything #also scientists and tv execs had not yet discovered bisexuality in 2011 and he already had everyone acting unwise #in ways that barely got past the censors :/ unsustainable #elyan however shouldnt have died. i know gwen ruling alone with only the lamest knights in her service is “the point”#but its a stupid point. elyan is her best knight and they rule camelot together. working class heroes etc.#poetic justice for their father who was murdered by uther + a fun narrative contrast to morgana and arthur #nightmare siblings of all time. banished from the mortal realm for their crimes. could never rule together. stinky #ANYWAY. I HAVE THREE (3) EXAMS DUE THIS WEEK. HERE'S TWO THOUSAND (2000) WORDS OF BBC MERLIN ANALYSIS.

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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Rip my heart, heal my soul

[ Jack the Ripper • modern!Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, stalking, violence, mention of murder and body mutilation, manipulation, obsession ]

[ description: Driven by his hatred of women, who in his opinion are mere whores, Aemond delights in killing them when they least expect it - during their rapture with him. He meets a girl whom he chooses as his next target, but it turns out that this time he is the victim of a feeling he has never known before in his life. Murder, mutilation of his victims, obsessive, poetic, dark!Aemond. ]

This oneshot is an Anon Request and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these fisc will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

Next chapter: Rip my heart, heal my soul (2)

Aemond Inside Alphabet

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

_____

He hated how two-faced women could be − with what ease they pretended to be sweet, innocent, warm, looking at him with dreamy eyes, only to fuck him a few hours later in their flat, moaning loudly like butchered animals.

Whores.

He loved to see their expressions of surprise when they suddenly felt a fishing lines tighten around their neck as he fucked them from behind − he smiled broadly choking them, pleased to hear them stop making those sickening sounds, trying helplessly to grab air in their lungs.

Only then did he cum into a condon with a loud sigh of relief.

He loathed them.

He abhorred them.

Women like them laughed at him when he was in highschool, after he lost his left eye − they avoided him, calling him a cyclop, considering themselves superior, beautiful inside and out.

He knew how simple their mechanism of action was − all they had to do was meet a well-built, mysterious, charismatic man and they were all wet, suddenly forgetting about his artificial eye, ready for him to fuck them anywhere and any way.

They wanted to be the unique ones, the special ones.

They kept repeating to him that "they weren't like other girls" and he looked at them with a smile, nodding.

He'd gouge their eyeballs out of their eye sockets, grinning to find that it suited them to look like this − suddenly they seemed to be some kind of terrifying beasts, demons from the innermost abysses of darkness that had come to devour him.

He quartered their bodies with cleavers, packed them in great black sacks into which he placed stones and drove many hours ahead, finding some lake into which he threw their remains, their empty shell, as he liked to think of them.

His first target was his schoolmate who mocked him, but then he began to observe women and girls outside clubs, hunting down those who behaved similarly, pretending to be inaccessible, hard to get.

He knew this was nonsense, a cover for a guy to want to try harder.

Because of what he did, he changed his address frequently, catching light seasonal jobs. Mostly he was employed in cafés, because there he could observe people, often finding new targets. Women would frequently pretend to come to work there with their laptops, but would glance at him surreptitiously, checking if he was looking at them.

One day he heard the ringing of a bell hanging over the door and felt hot in his chest at the thought that this girl was perfect.

She was wearing an oversized pastel jumper, light-coloured shorts and mid-thigh-length woollen socks, her hair partly pinned back − a typical sweet pastel girl making big eyes, thinking he didn't know who she really was.

Whore.

She smiled warmly at him as she approached the counter, but he didn't reciprocate the expression − he looked at her expectantly, throwing a cloth over his shoulder in a gesture of impatience.

"Good morning. A large hot chocolate, please." She said softly, pulling her small rucksack off her back, searching in it for her wallet.

As she opened it, looking in it for banknotes, he saw out of the corner of his eye a student card from a university an hour away from their town.

He pressed his lips together, thinking it was a perfect match.

He scooped her order onto the till and glanced down at her − she reached his shoulder height.

"Anything else?" He asked indifferently and she shook her head, undeterred by his coolness she was still smiling.

Stupid bitch.

"No, thank you." She said calmly, and he told her the amount she had to pay. She placed in front of him exactly as much as he had said, and he walked over to the machine and busied himself filling her order.

"Did you come here on holiday?" He asked her, standing with his back to her.

He heard her move uncomfortably, surprised by his question.

"In a way." She said lightly, but added nothing more.

He handed her a cup and she took it from him − she looked him in the eye and thanked him, then sat down by the window, setting down her chocolate, pulling a laptop from her backpack.

He wandered between tables cleaning them and collecting orders from other guests, glancing at her screen out of the corner of his eye each time, wanting to find something that might give him a clue as to who she was, what she was doing.

He saw that she was constantly typing something in an open text document with quick, sure movements, clicking loudly on the keyboard, taking a sip of chocolate once in a while. When their gazes met she smiled at him, but immediately went back to work again.

Despite his hopes that she would order something else, after half an hour she packed up and left, wiping her table with her handkerchief beforehand and bringing him her empty cup, throwing over her shoulder to wish him a good day.

He felt all tense and bit his lower lip, knowing exactly how he would spend the evening.

As soon as he walked into his flat, he opened the internet browser on his laptop and typed in the name of her university − it was a private institution of higher learning, so she either had to have an outstanding academic record or a great deal of money.

Another fucking nepotistic child, he thought with amusement and mockery.

He started browsing the university's website, its Facebook page and Instagram hoping to see her somewhere, but found nothing. The only thing he found out was that the university specialised in the humanities, psychology, history and literature.

That would explain why she wrote so much.

He felt impatience and frustration when she didn't come for days, unable to concentrate, thinking only of her.

Standing outside the clubs, smoking a cigarette, he caught himself not observing what was going on around him at all, replaying for the hundredth time her visit to the café − her smile, her cordiality, the fact that she had cleaned up after herself so he wouldn't have to.

He knew it was all just a shell, underneath which there was only disgusting meat.

He couldn't hide the gleam in his eye, the grimace of satisfaction that ran suddenly through face and disappeared a moment later when he saw her again in the doorway of the café − this time she was wearing a summer blue dress, her hair tied up in a braid.

She walked up to the counter and ordered the same hot chocolate again with a sweet smile.

He felt he needed to start any light conversation.

"Wouldn't you prefer something cooler for such a hot day? We have freshly squeezed juices." He suggested, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

She cocked her head, curious, and hesitated, involuntarily pressing her lips together.

He looked at them, at their pink, fleshy, moist structure, at her graceful, long neck, and swallowed loudly, feeling the pulsing in his trousers at the thought of tightening the noose around it.

"Do you also have orange juice?" She asked softly and he nodded.

"Of course." He replied.

"In that case, I'll have the juice." She said, taking out her wallet again − this time his attention was caught by the small photos she had slipped into a translucent pocket, a picture of some boy, a dog and an older man.

He wondered if she had a boyfriend and furrowed his eyebrows as he pressed half an orange to the juice squeezer, recognising in his mind that this would complicate things a lot.

He set the glass in front of her and took the banknote she handed him.

"Thank you very much for your suggestion." She said lightly, with a wide, warm smile − she moved ahead to the same table as before and took out her laptop again, starting to type something.

He circled around her for half an hour until he finally decided he couldn't stand it.

He walked over to her table with a cloth and spray, pretending he had to wipe the top − she picked up her laptop, wanting to help him and make some space.

"Do you work even on holidays?" He asked her indifferently, and she blinked, surprised by his question. She grunted quietly, correcting herself in her seat.

"I have to publish academic articles if I want to keep my place at university. But I like doing it." She said, shrugging her shoulders, not even a trace of displeasure on her face. She put her laptop back on the table when he had finished, and he analysed quickly what she had said.

So it was a scholarship after all, she wasn't paying tuition fees.

"What are you writing about this time?" He asked, feeling that this was his only chance.

He glanced at her nervously, wondering if he was crossing the line or being too persistent − she lifted her warm gaze to him and cocked her head.

"I'm writing an article on the prose of Edgar Allan Poe. Do you know him?" She asked lightly, and he involuntarily bit his lower lip at her question.

Prose in which men cut out their beloveds' entrails, collected their teeth, confessed poems over their cadaverous faces, professing infinite love for them, raging with desire, with despair, with the darkness that was tearing them apart.

Of course he fucking knew him.

"Yeah. It's a pretty dark choice." He admitted, looking at her, recognising with surprise that it didn't match either her clothes, her manner or her personality.

She giggled at his words, placing her elbows on the tabletop, not taking her bright gaze off him.

"It is true, however, there is something captivating about him. His darkness is filled with pain, his inner struggle, as if he still lived in agony even when he loved, even when he seemed happy. Each of his poems, each of his stories, is a dark work of art that I could analyse endlessly. He is an inexhaustible source of inspiration for me." She finished her explanation.

He stared at her with his lips pressed together, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen and the painful throbbing in his trousers at her words, thinking that he was about to throw himself at her like an animal.

She was perfect.

"Which of his stories do you like the most?" He asked finally, feeling with surprise that his voice trembled slightly, his heart pounding like mad.

He had the feeling that he was looking at her as if something possessed him.

She thought about his question, lifting her gaze upwards and hummed under her breath.

"Black Cat. This is his first story I've read. I couldn't get over it, had trouble sleeping afterwards. I promised myself I'd never go back to it again, but I couldn't stop thinking about it and ended up reading the whole book." She said with a smile and some kind of excitement.

"And yours?" She asked, continuing their exchange, and he felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought that he had succeeded.

He had intrigued her.

"The Fall of the House of Usher." He whispered, thinking of the woman locked in the coffin alive, unable to get out, whose moans were heard by her own brother, but he chose not to help her, horrified by what he had done.

He thought that perhaps he too could lock her up like this, keep her for himself, only not underground, not in a coffin, but in his arms.

He shuddered when an impatient customer called out to him if he was going to serve her, and he gave her a furious look.

"Of course." He said lowly, walking up to her, asking what he could help with.

Usually if someone frustrated him so much, spoke to him in the way she did when she paid him, complaining about his tone of voice, the way he looked at her, he would find her and do to her what he did to everyone else.

However, now that he had met her, he didn't want to have to change his residence again and decided to hold back.

He saw with a sting in his heart that she had closed her laptop and started packing.

He didn't want her to leave.

She approached the counter and he felt a squeeze in his throat, his whole body tense.

"I'm very sorry this woman treated you this way. I worked as a waitress last year too and I know what a thankless job it is. Don't worry about it. See you later." She said lightly and waved at him.

He led her away with his eyes, watching as she disappeared around the corner, throwing him another happy smile.

From that moment on, he felt that he was completely crazy about her.

He stopped going under the clubs and stalking other women, deciding he didn't need to waste his time with whores when he found her, his Berniece, Morella, Eleonora, his muse, his dark inspiration, his elusive lover, the object of his desire and desperate, hot affection, his obsession.

Never before in his life had he felt so wonderful.

He had the impression that his insides were filled with fire.

After what she had told him, he realised that she must have been studying fiction − he searched for academic works published on the internet about Poe's poetry, hoping to come across her name by chance.

He was not mistaken.

He involuntarily licked his lower lip as he typed another name into the browser and her Facebook profile picture came up.

He bit his lip as he entered her profile, seeing that apart from basic information he couldn't see anything else. However, he already knew that she was three years younger than him and that she was in fact studying fiction.

He went back to her article, starting to read curiously, wanting to see if she really was that good, if her words weren't just haughty, populist feminine gibberish.

The Black Cat is the story not of a madman who murdered his cat in an act of rage. It is the story of a progressive illness and trauma, a proceeding inner agony and schizophrenia that the main character is unable to cope with − his mind and his feelings measured against his animal aggression, his desire to vent his urges and frustrations purely physically. He begins to lose his memory, able to wake up suddenly in a different place, not knowing what he was doing a few days before, losing his grip on reality completely. It is very likely that the other cat he sees does not exist at all − it is merely a figment of his imagination, his remorse, his progressive illness. The protagonist, falling into a spiral of his own madness, is unable to distinguish between his imagination and reality, terrified and filled with aggression, like a feral animal he collapses into himself, eventually leading to tragedy, in his madness walling up his beloved wife. We observe a phenomenon of slow dehumanisation − the protagonist discarding piece by piece all sorts of brakes that on a daily basis stop us from sudden, brutal, cruel acts, leaving only pure reactions, filled with anger and frustration. Despite his actions, the reader, being inside the protagonist's head, involuntarily sympathises with him, understanding that he cannot control how his own mind, that he cannot stop the inevitable, that he is doomed to fall apart completely.

He swallowed loudly, feeling the dryness in his throat, stroking his chin with a nervous, anxious gesture of his fingers, wondering why his heart was pounding so hard, why he was so tense.

He thought that he felt as if she had written about him, as if she had looked into the depths of his inner emptiness and described with tenderness and care what was happening to him.

He bit his thumb thinking that he felt understood, not judged, that there was warmth emanating from her text and what she wrote.

He thought with horror that he might have fallen in love with her.

He waited for her every day, taking more shifts at work than he had to, afraid that he wouldn't be there that day when she came again.

He felt a tickle in his fingers at the thought of seeing her again, of talking to her again, of looking at her soft, happy face.

When, a few days later, she walked into the café in a black top and shorts, he felt immediately what he saw in his trousers, ready to fuck her in his back room.

He thought he couldn't treat her that way − she hadn't done anything through which he should show her such disrespect, treat her so objectively.

She approached him with a light, pleased smile, her eyes shining with joy − he thought, feeling heat in his chest, that she was glad to see him.

"Good morning. I'll have the same delicious juice as last time, please." She said in a calm, warm voice.

He swallowed quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a shy smile, which didn't escape her notice.

"Coming right up, ma'am." He said softly, and she blinked, shifting from foot to foot.

He had the impression she was blushing.

She lowered her eyelids meekly, her eyes covered by a veil of her lashes, looking down at her hands.

He tried to focus on his task and prepared her juice, handing it to her as she gave him a banknote.

"Further article writing today?" He asked her in a calm, light tone.

She nodded.

"Yes. Would you like to read it? I want to hear other people's opinions. Maybe you could give me some advice, or hint at your observations." She said softly, with no undertone or attempt to flirt in her tone of voice.

This turned him on even more.

"I would love to. Unfortunately, working here, I won't have as much time to sit down and read everything at once." He said uncertainly and she waved her hand, smiling broadly.

"I don't mean to disturb you while you're working. Give me your email if you want, I'll send you my file." She said with a smile and he nodded, pulling a piece of paper from a drawer and quickly wrote down his address, feeling his hands quiver.

He couldn't find the words with what excitement he was waiting to hear from her.

He paced around his flat taking deep sips of coffee, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart pounding like crazy.

He refreshed his messages once in a while, and when he finally saw a mail from her he sat down rapidly, opening it quickly.

Hi, thank you very much for deciding to devote your free time to me and reading what I have written. Feel free to write me what you think, perhaps you have some comments or suggestions. I am sending a PDF of the article as an attachment. Greetings!

He swallowed loudly, immediately opened the document she had sent him and began to read − this time she was dwelling on Poe's love literature and he felt hot at the thought.

She wrote about how he describes women in his prose, seeing them as phantoms, statues, demigoddesses, elusive to him, being his constant object of boundless adoration bordering on madness.

He agreed with everything she wrote, but one thing caught his attention. He thought for a long time how to put his thoughts into words so as not to scare her away.

Hi, you've done a wonderful job, I'm very impressed. It's great to read what you write and I agree with almost everything you've written. However, I am puzzled by the wording you used when you question the sincerity of his feelings, assuming that what the protagonist felt towards his women was not in fact love, but only an obsession for an unmatched ideal − that he did not see human form in her. I disagree with this statement, looking at the fact that when she ceased to be this ideal, when she died his interest in her did not diminish, his feelings did not fade and his despair, but widened. I think his obsession stemmed from his emotionality, from loving her too much, from not being able to draw a line, sinking into his feeling instead of taming it. I hope you don't find what I've written upsetting and don't take it as criticism. Once again, very well done. Greetings.

He sent it at last and stood up, walking around his living room as if in a trance, on the one hand filled with euphoria that he had had contact with her, that he had been able to talk to her, on the other terrified by what he had written, that he had evinced in those words a hint of who he himself was, that he had shown her too much.

He started to feel anxious when he didn't get any reply for half an hour and literally threw himself at his laptop when suddenly an unread message from her appeared glowing white in his inbox.

He clicked on it quickly and began to read, licking his lips.

Your observation is quite interesting and I partially agree with your statement. I think it is true that a feeling on the part of the protagonist cannot be ruled out, as his inner dilemmas often concern matters of beauty, his remarks on the smallest details of their appearance or behaviour that rejoice him every day. Indeed, perhaps my assessment was too harsh. What I mean is that I believe − but this is my subjective opinion − that when it comes to true love, even when it is wrapped in obsession, the safety of the beloved person should be the overriding thought, the priority − and yet sometimes the protagonist chooses his desire, his psychosis at the expense of the object of his adoration, who, after all, he supposedly loved. If I were to be loved, I would want to be able to feel safe and not wonder every night if my beloved would clamp his hands around my neck and strangle me, whispering that he loves me.

He felt a shudder seeing her last sentence, reading what she had written again and again, feeling the heat in his chest, his heart pounding like crazy, feeling the tension in his trousers, his erection pulsing hard in shock.

If I were to be loved, I would want to be able to feel safe and not wonder every night if my beloved would clamp his hands around my neck and strangle me, whispering that he loves me.

He thought that he would never hurt her.

That he would make her feel safe, kissing every inch of her beautiful, soft body with adoration every day, enclosing her in the embrace of his arms, protecting her from the darkness of the whole world, including his own.

He didn't know what he should answer − what she had written seemed so private, intimate, his hands hovered over the keyboard in uncertainty.

If he could he would find her, go to her and not fuck her, but make love to her all night.

He would have cuddled her close and whispered reassuringly to her with each deep, peaceful thrust of his hips, stroking her soft, warm skin, sinking his hands into her hair, drawing in her scent with his nose.

He quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers, putting his hand under the material of his boxers − he grasped his throbbing, hard manhood between his fingers, the tip of it already leaking with his wetness.

He began to jerk himself off with quick, aggressive slaps of his hand against his balls, panting hard, closing his eyes, thinking about what he would do to her, how tender he would be, how much he wanted to be affectionate, for her, just for her.

He came with a low, helpless groan, panting loudly, resting his forehead against the top of the desk he was sitting at and swallowed loudly, concluding that he had never felt anything like this before in his life.

He took a quick shower afterwards, thinking hard about his answer. He sat down in front of his laptop in only his trousers with his hair still wet, opening the window beforehand and lighting a cigarette, taking a drag thoughtfully, then began to write.

In this case, too, I have to agree with you. You don't really love someone if you can't protect them from themselves. The protagonists fight each other and fail, but does that mean that they didn't really love, or however, is it simply madness that prevails, the fear that fate will take their beloved away from them, so in order not to feel that fear anymore, they end their life first? Whatever it is, they are driven by despair.

He finally wrote and sent the message, letting the smoke out loudly with his mouth, shaking the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray standing by his computer. He received a reply from her after about fifteen minutes and managed to make himself a cup of tea in the meantime.

I think that's the key word in understanding their dilemma. Despair. Their beauty, their wonderfulness frightens them − they can't bear how much they love them. They are despairing that while their affection may be eternal, their bodies are not so, cruelly destroyed by time, that every second brings them closer to their death. This realisation seems unbearable to them. I will amend this paragraph and expand on what we have been talking about. Thank you very much. Will you be at work tomorrow?

He blinked, reading the last sentence, pressing his lips together, writing back quickly.

You're welcome, it's been a pleasure. Yes, I will.

She wrote him back after a moment.

In that case, I'm glad. See you tomorrow!

According to what she wrote she came the next day. This time it was he who smiled at her first, and she reciprocated the expression, walking up to the counter with a light step.

"The article has been sent. Thanks to you I think it's perfect. If you don't mind, I would like to invite you to a temporary exhibition at the museum as a token of my gratitude. It concerns neo-Gothic illustrations for horror novels, including Poe's, and I thought it might interest you." She said, lowering her gaze with a kind of embarrassment, playing with her fingers.

He felt a shiver ran down his spine, his legs suddenly as soft as cotton wool.

Was she asking him out?

He swallowed loudly at the thought, feeling like his heart would burst out of his chest.

"When?" He asked, glancing down at the glass he had just poured her juice into, feeling his hands trembling.

He saw out the corner of his eye that she lifted her gaze to him, hearing with hope that he hadn't declined her offer.

"And when do you have the day off?" She asked softly − he could see that she was smiling, embarrassed and happy at the same time.

He felt a squeeze in his stomach at the thought.

"Tomorrow."

Women often invited him to meetings and he came to them with relish, braiding them into his web, but this time he was terrified and flustered inwardly, outwardly maintaining his icy mask.

He combed his fair hair back, put a black turtleneck, black trousers and a watch, and decided he looked good enough − elegant but at the same time not pompous.

When he arrived at the agreed place she was already waiting for him in front of the entrance, waving at him − she was wearing a light summer strapless dress, a small rucksack on her back, part of her hair braided at the back of her head.

She ran up to him with a smile and they stood in front of each other, unsure of how to greet.

"Hi. Here, this one is for you." She said, handing him his ticket without suggesting a hug or a handshake.

Her approach was very open, but physically she kept her distance.

The fact that he couldn't touch her was driving him crazy.

They both walked into a beautiful neo-baroque building that must once have been a small noble residence and followed the signs. They stepped across the creaky wooden floor into a black room, lit only by spotlights set on each of the works on exhibiton.

For the most part, they were etchings and lithographs with depictions of agony, death, loving embraces, figures full of anxiety, ghosts, symbolic scenes, executed with great precision and care.

They both bent over each work, looking at it carefully, not rushing anywhere, wanting to analyse exactly what they were seeing.

"Amazing how artists can capture the spirit of prose, isn't it? Looking at it I immediately feel what the author wrote about, the same anxiety even though I don't have the text in front of me." She said quietly with some kind of admiration.

He listened to her but had trouble concentrating, smelling the pleasant scent of her girlish, floral perfume.

"Mmm." He hummed under his breath and nodded in agreement, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He saw that she was looking at him too and they both turned away, embarrassed.

He couldn't help himself − his hand involuntarily burshed hers as they moved on to the next piece of work − he felt her flinch, but she didn't move away.

He heard her quietly draw in air as his fingers tentatively intertwined with hers, feeling like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. He pressed his lips together as her fingers spreaded, allowing him to grab hold.

They watched further.

He didn't let go of her hand then or when they left the building, talking about what they'd seen, pretending that nothing had happened between them, that it was a simple friendly gesture.

He saw that her face was all flushed, her gaze lowered, a gentle, warm smile of happiness on her face − he felt a squeeze in his heart at the sight, at the thought that he was not repelling her, that she was not disgusted by him.

He walked her to the tenement where she rented a room and immediately memorised the number, knowing in the back of his mind that he would surely be passing this way often over the next few weeks. They looked at each other and he wondered if she would want him to kiss her, to go inside.

He wanted it and didn't want it at the same time.

"I hope you had a nice time. Thank you for everything." She said softly looking at him at last, her eyes big and filled with something that made him hot, their fingers still entwined in a light, non-committal embrace.

"Very nice." He murmured, looking down at her thoughtfully, at her soft, pleasant face, at her pink lips and red cheeks.

She swallowed loudly and let go of his hand, embarrassed.

"Goodnight." She whispered and opened the wicket, closing it behind her.

"Goodnight." He replied and led her away with his eyes, watching as she opened the door and disappeared behind it.

He stood and waited to see where the light would turn on − after a moment the warm glow of the night light illuminated a room on the second floor of the house.

From that day onwards, she spent long hours every day in his café, not knowing that every evening he arranged to walk around her townhouse, watching her window from afar, sometimes seeing her silhouette as she walked from place to place, or as she opened the window to let in some cool, fresh air.

Since he met her he has not killed anyone.

Since he met her he had felt no need to kill anyone.

She filled his every thought, his every breath, the vision of her and her face brought him sweet relief, the touch of her hands, their entwined fingers kept him awake.

He felt that they had formed a bond, that she reciprocated his affect − he could see it in her gaze, in the way she smiled at him as she crossed the café door and spotted him behind the counter.

One day, he couldn't stand it and such a direct proposal came out of his mouth that he felt embarrassed for himself.

"I need to spend an evening with you or I'll go crazy." He said standing over her table and she looked at him surprised, her cheeks lit up with a hot blush.

She lowered her gaze, knowing exactly what he wanted, what he was implying, and swallowed loudly − he looked at her helplessly, thinking only of the fact that he was an impatient idiot.

"I need that too." She confessed and he tightened his lips at the words.

That same evening he found himself at her door.

When she opened it for him he clung to her lips as if starved, enclosing her cheeks in the tender embrace of his hands. He pulled away pressing his forehead to hers, her gaze at once fearful and thirsty, warm and dreamy, her lips twitching in uncertainty and fear.

"− I know −" He whispered, kissing her again, capturing her lower lip between his own, releasing it with a loud click, her fingertips running through his hair. "− I know − I won't hurt you − God, I would never hurt you −"

He was delighted by her sweet, innocent sounds as he placed slow, tender kisses on her neck, her shoulders, as he laid her down on her bed, running his fingers over her body, taking his time − he let her calm down, let her feel that he would not take her by force, that he would wait as long as she needed.

"− it's okay − it's okay −" He whispered soothingly, running his hot lips, swollen with desire, over her soft skin, laying between her thighs, letting her feel how hard he was, how much he needed her.

"− oh −" Rippled out of her mouth when she felt it, and he chuckled under his breath, delighted by her reaction. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked at her face, running the tip of his nose over hers.

"Will you let me kiss you down there?" He cooed, lowering his hand to her bare thigh, running his fingertips over it, feeling goosebumps forming where he touched her. She nodded, and he hummed before kissing her again.

They undressed slowly and unhurriedly − as he lowered the straps of her dress and exposed one of her breasts he began to place tender, light, butterfly kisses on her skin, barely brushing it with his mouth, feeling her breathing fast, her lips parted in delight.

She helped him pull off his black t-shirt and his trousers, and after a moment they were both wonderfully naked, like Adam and Eve in paradise before they picked the forbidden fruit.

He looked at her adoringly and kissed her deeply − she reciprocated his gesture, weaving her delicate hands into his hair, drawing him close, his chest pressed against her plump, soft breasts.

He began to slide his lips down her sternum, to her navel all the way down, leaving a moist, sticky trail of his saliva, feeling her writhing beneath him with arousal.

With a gentle, slow movement, he spread her thighs in front of him and noticed her glowing, sticky folds from with her moisture dripped onto the sheets beneath them.

He didn't hesitate for a moment − with a groan of pleasure he pressed his lips to her heat, running his nose over her puffy clit − his tongue slipped tentatively between her fleshy walls and teased in a circular motion what was between them. Her wetness and her taste spilled over his palate, her whole body trembled, her hand tightened on his hair, a shy cry came from her throat.

"− shhh −" He hushed her tenderly, sinking deeper into her hot flesh, his tongue with sure, intense flicks began to invade between her slick folds, licking and rubbing her upper wall just at her entrance, feeling her hidden, spongy spot from which her thighs trembled in his hands.

"− please −" She mumbled, but he shushed her again, knowing exactly what she needed, how he should caress her.

He'd been thinking about this for weeks.

He let her come on his face, felt her body lean back with a loud, pleading whine, trying to push him away − a purr of satisfaction escaped his throat when he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her − he licked it all off with devotion, teasing her over-stimulated, throbbing walls.

"− such a good girl −" He praised her with admiration and heard her sigh of pleasure. He kissed the inside of her thigh rising up, wiping his face, placing his hands on either side of her head.

"− I need to feel you − alright? − I will take it slow −" He breathed out and she nodded, allowing him to grasp her hips in his hands and cross her legs around his waist.

When he guided the fat head of his cock against her opening she moaned helplessly, trying to fit it in − he kissed her tenderly, pushing against her opening, stretching her throbbing, wet walls with himself.

"− that's it − ah − I know, baby − I know −" He muttered, hearing her moan of effort, trying hard to take in what he was sliding into her, pushing her insides to their limits − her body tensed like a string, one of his hands on her hip, the other holding her cheek, his forehead pressed against hers, her hands entwined around his neck.

They both sighed loudly when he finally filled her fully, feeling her core clench hungrily against him on all sides. He slipped his tongue between her lips as he slid out of her slowly, only to fill her to the brim again with the buck of his hips, their hands clenched tightly on their hot, naked bodies.

"− yes −" She gasped and he groaned into her mouth, feeling his cock pulsate inside her at her words, his thrusts faster but still calm, deep, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a sticky smacks.

"− just like that − oh, baby −" He gasped out loudly, losing control, slamming into her faster and more aggressively − her head tilted back and her eyes clenched shut, her mouth wide open trying to catch air loudly, her breasts bouncing up and down with each of his thrusts.

He felt her hands tighten on his hips, her body reaching out and literally impaling herself on him, her walls clenching against him, driving him crazy.

"− yes − please −" She sobbed pleadingly, as if she was going to cry, as if she was going to die if she didn't experience fulfilment with him.

He slipped his tongue between her lips, their kisses sticky, greedy, the tips of their tongues teasing and licking as his cock pounded into her brutally with every sure, deep push of his hips.

"− fuck − m' close −" He uttered, and she stroked his hair, reciprocating his kisses with tenderness and devotion, clamping her hand on his buttock, directing him deep inside her, as if that was where he belonged, as if the fact that he was taking her was the most natural thing in the world.

"− yes − please − inside me −" She mewled, and he growled loudly at her words, letting go at last, coming inside her so hard that for a moment he went dark before his eyes. Their bodies were still moving towards each other in involuntary motions when his warm cum spilled into her hot core, giving him a feeling of fulfilment and peace.

He opened his eyes with difficulty and looked at her face, finding to his surprise that she was still alive, that he had not strangled her, her breasts rising and falling in accelerated breath, her gaze warm and hot, her lips trembling slightly.

She lifted her hand and touched his scarred cheek, running her fingers over it.

"− you are so beautiful −" She whispered, and he felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, unable to get the phrase out, enchanted by the sight of her − he merely breathed loudly, letting himself be touched by her.

He couldn't find the right term, the right confession to describe what he felt for her.

He kissed her all night, finally feeling accepted, beautiful, loved, her tender hands stroking his hair, his cheeks, his body all night, praising him, telling him how good he was, how tender he was.

He whispered to her that she was beautiful, that she was his Eleonora, Ophelia, Helena, that he would never hurt her, that she would always be safe with him.

When he returned the next day to his flat, he packed his knives, his fishing lines, his photographs, his mementos of the murders into a big box and drove for hours, finally turning into the woods.

He poured everything he had into a big hole − dozens of blank white eyes, photos of women, their documents, phones − and doused it all with petrol, then threw a light inside and watched his past burn.

Finally, he buried it all back, covering it with mulch and moss and drove back the way he came, promising himself that he was done with it, that he would change for her.

That he would protect her.

From the world.

From himself.

_____

Next chapter: Rip my heart, heal my soul (2)

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thevalleyisjolly · 2 years ago

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There’s a weird recurring take in D20 fan circles that Zac doesn’t play “complex” characters and that people are just waiting for the day when he “finally” plays an asshole, which kind of baffles me. Quite apart from the idea that only morally grey characters are complex or compelling, are you sure we’re watching the same show?

In Fantasy High, we have Gorgug, an adopted biracial teenager whose journey includes realizing his self-worth, coming to terms with his rage (literally), seeking out and navigating new relationships with others (his birth parents, the Bad Kids, Zelda), and discovering what he’s capable of.

From The Unsleeping City we have Ricky, a second-generation Japanese-American, who has a very personal struggle across two seasons between doing the dutiful/sacrificial thing for other people’s benefit and expressing his own needs, wants, thoughts, and feelings; it’s a very particular exploration of immigrant generations and the relationship between the sacrificial model of your ancestors and the culture you grew up surrounded by which emphasizes the self.

There’s A Crown of Candy and Lapin, whose snark and one-liners are honestly less interesting than the way he engaged with and sought to understand religion and faith; the different yet similar ways in which both the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Church exerted control over their followers, and the search for spiritual meaning beyond these figures/institutions.

Then there’s Cumulous, whose every character aspect navigates a space of tension - the ultimate war guy who made himself hardened (literally) and pragmatic to get the job done but who also remains soft and caring and empathetic at the same time; wielding the power of death without glorifying or giving into it; the cousin who both is a member of the family and yet who remains at somewhat of a distance from the centre; a literal warrior-philosopher who is single-minded in battle and quietly thoughtful about the mysteries of life and death outside of it.

As for actual assholes, we have Norman Takamori in A Starstruck Odyssey, a bitter man who is the living embodiment of both the Superior Orders excuse as well as scapegoating. On a side note, the amount of absolute vitriol and double standards which people threw at Norman during ASO for being an unapologetic asshole -and he had less than two full episodes of screen time- kind of underscores the calls for Zac to play a “real” asshole. Zac can and will play whatever type of character he wants, but is fandom really ready for him to play an asshole if that asshole doesn’t have a secret heart of gold?

From the same season, we have Valdrinor/Skip, who starts as the “prince running from his destiny” archetype with a dash of brain slug possession, has a humorous yet oddly profound exploration of what humanity is and what it means to be human, and springboards from there into “wait, who am I really and actually, why are we doing things (brain slug possession) this way when there are other ways to engage with the universe.”

Most recently in Neverafter, we have Pib, who apart from the fascinating meta element of being a literal character archetype, constantly straddles the line between self-absorbed self-interest and putting himself on the line to help others; his repeated demonstration of both at various points throughout the season is a subtle yet intriguing manifestation of free will and choice-making in a story all about lacking free will and agency.

So, I mean, lack of complexity where? Does a character need to be an asshole in order to be deep or compelling? And because I’ve heard this specific rebuttal quite a few times now, does a character need to vocalize their innermost thoughts loudly and frequently in order to prove their complexity? If a character is “less vocal” compared to other characters, does that mean they lack interiority?

Also, other people have brought this up before, but I am once again asking that people remember the difference between fictional characters and real life people. Zac playing one (1) himbo on the show does not make him a himbo in real life, nor does it make him incapable of creating or playing complex characters (especially as said himbo is himself an extremely complex character), nor does it make him a lesser player than other cast members. You don’t have to find all or any of his characters interesting or complex, but can we stop conflating character with player?

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 discourse #dimension 20 spoilers #(in case you haven't seen one of the mentioned seasons)#i haven't listened to naddpod so i can't speak to mavrus and squing is not included but the point still stands generally #1) asshole/morally grey characters are not the only type of characters who are complex or compelling #2) at the same time; zac has actually played both non-asshole and asshole characters who are complex and compelling #3) you don't have to find all his characters deep or interesting but please stop using them to make assumptions about the real life actor

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littlefireball · 26 days ago

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ᴊʜ|ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇ (ᴍ)

ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ʙᴏꜱꜱ ᴊᴏɴɢʜᴏ x ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3ᴋ

Summary: As your gang was suppressed by your enemies, you decided to seek help from Choi Jongho, one of the strongest mafia bosses. It’s just a little gamble at first. But you didn’t expect it to turn out to be a bet. And you were the reward.

"You're not belong here, bunny." The man before you wore a sneer that twisted his lips into a mocking smile, a façade of charm laced with contempt. He reclined in his chair, fingers dancing over the cards as if they were mere toys, feigning an air of superiority. His gaze swept over you, lingering from your head to your toes, as if he were cataloging every detail. Deep down, he couldn't deny your stunning looks, a stark contrast to the casino's usual crowd, igniting a flicker of desire within him.

You brushed aside his taunts and the jeers of those around you, confidently striding to the seat across from him. With a deliberate motion, you crossed your arms, pushing your chest forward to draw his attention, challenging him to look away.

"What makes you think I don't belong here, Mr Choi?" You propped yourself against the table, holding your chin. "Sometimes a bunny can kill a bear. Don't you know?"

"Is it? Are you that bunny?" "You guess?" Jongho's sneer twisted further as he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You're not one of us, girl. You're a rabbit trying to play in the big leagues. Just go back to your father, doll."

His words made everyone laugh but you remained unfazed, your eyes meeting him with a steady gaze. "Then let's see if you can prove me wrong, Mr.Choi." You tossed your hair back and a smug smile curled on your lips. "How about we play a little game? If you end up losing, you'll have to sign the contract and join my crew."

"Sounds good to me," Jongho replied with a nod. "But what happens if you lose? That doesn't seem fair since you're the only one with something to gain."

"What do you want then?"

"I'm not a fan of leaving everything to just one game; I prefer a few rounds." Jongho leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "How about this: if you lose once, you take off an item of clothing. Lose ten times, and you're down to nothing. Of course, if you win ten times, I will sign the contract."

The crowd awed and your heart skipped a beat as his words lingered in the air. You didn't expect he would have such advice. But you had no choice. Yet, you found yourself with no alternatives. Your father was unwell, leaving you to manage nearly all the mafia stuff. It wasn't the worst, but rival gangs were seizing the opportunity, launching relentless attacks on your crew—economic blockades, suppressing your allies—everything aimed at your downfall. The only path to rescue your gang lay in securing the backing of Jongho, one of the strongest mafia bosses in the city, a man no one dared to bother.

"Deal." you replied, making the crowd shock again. But you didn't care. Jongho studied you for a moment, he never expected you would say yes instead of running away, but then he chuckled. "Alright, bunny, let's see what you're made of." He signaled to the dealer to shuffle and deal the cards.

The game began, and the tension in the air grew thicker with each pass of the cards. The crowd watched in anticipation, their breaths held as they waited for the outcome.

You focused on the game, using all the skills and knowledge you had garnered to fight against him. You knew that every move you made would determine the fate of your crew and your father's legacy.

You had no way but to win.

Jongho, however, was much more difficult to defeat than you can imagine. He was a seasoned gambler, with a keen eye for strategy and a cool head under pressure. It was clear that he was enjoying the challenge of facing off against you.

The first few rounds were evenly matched, with neither of you gaining a significant advantage. But as the game progressed, you began to notice a pattern in Jongho's play. He seemed to have a sixth sense for predicting your moves, and he always seemed to have the right card at the right time.

It was clear that he was playing to win, and you were beginning to feel the pressure. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts and focus on the game at hand.

But it was just your hope. Despite your best efforts, Jongho always seemed to have the upper hand. By the fifth round, you had lost four times and you had taken off your earrings and shoes.

As the rounds went on, you managed to turn the tide of the game, using a move that caught Jongho off guard. He realized that he could no longer afford to relax his vigilance and focused intently. It was astonishing to recognize that you possess a greater intelligence than he ever imagined, and you were far more resilient than the delicate blooms sheltered within a greenhouse. Despite the immense pressure, you managed to triumph in several games.

Yet, Choi Jongho is Choi Jongho. He was adept at reading the subtle cues of your abilities. It didn't take long for him to pinpoint your weaknesses, dismantling them piece by piece, as he removed your adornments one by one. First came the necklaces, then the bracelets, followed by the rings, and even the hairpins that adorned your hair… Now, you stand completely bereft of jewelry.

Sometimes you really hate why you didn't wear more jewelry.

"You're not as good as you think, bunny." Jongho taunted, his smirk grew wider as he watched you struggle. "Give up now and save yourself the embarrassment."

"It's not over, sir." You refused to back down. "Let's continue. Don't you want to play a few more rounds?"

"But you have no jewels left."

"Maybe I'll win in several rounds."

"Is it? Then let's see, bunny."

Perhaps the divine wishes to witness your journey from hope to despair. Just when you won in one round, another slipped through your fingers. Now, Jongho stood on the brink of victory, needing just one more win, and soon you'll find yourself naked before him, not even securing a contract.

"Willing to admit defeat, doll." Jongho's voice resonated with a sultry undertone, sending a thrill through the air. "Remove one more piece," he commanded, his deep timbre igniting a spark of anticipation within you. A shiver danced along your spine, and your hand trembled slightly, but you masked it with determination.

With a swift motion, you reached for the slit of your dress, grasping the waistband of your panties and pulling it down in a single, decisive action. Jongho's eyes widened in surprise as he caught sight of your black lace panties dangling from your finger, his heart pounding as vivid images of your bare form flooded his mind.

It must be beautiful.

"One more round, and you'll be completely bare, my dear," Jongho murmured, leaning closer, a playful smirk gracing his lips. "It's perfectly fine to feel regret now. I won't hold it against you."

"No," you replied, forcing a smile even as your heart raced with anxiety. "I won't stop until I get what I want."

"Up to you, lady." Jongho waved his hand, taking a sip from his drink. "Just don't cry if you lose."

To be honest, you have to face the truth: victory seems out of reach. Yet, you haven't squandered every opportunity to push back. Imagine if you managed to win in the final moments! Of course, the thought of surrendering crossed your mind, and you considered alternative solutions. But were there any real paths? No. The answer is clear.

The game had reached its climax, and the tension in the air was palpable. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you as Jongho revealed his final card.

"Any last words?" You raised your eyebrow, then your heart sank as you realized what he meant. "You lose, bunny." Jongho's cold voice sent shivers down your spine, making you freeze as he showed his card in front of the crowd─its number is higher than yours. You couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment and regret. You had come so far, and now it seemed like all your efforts had been for naught.

"Remember the promise?" He inquired, tilting his head slightly while gesturing for the others to exit. Rising from his chair, he approached you with deliberate steps, each one making your heart race as the sound echoed in your mind. "Or do you want me to help you?" he murmured, leaning closer until his warm breath brushed against your ear.

"No." You said, your voice firm despite your nervousness. "I-I'll do it myself." As your hand reached the top of your zipper, he stopped you. His fingers brushed against your bare back, the mix of cold and itchy sensation stirring a fire within you.

"But I love you wearing this dress." He shifted away from your spine, rummaging through your bag until he unearthed a contract.

"Here's the contract?" He opened the file, settling into a chair as he began to peruse its contents. Your eyes were glued to him as he crossed his legs, flipping through the pages and nodding occasionally.

"Ye-Yes. That's the contract."

"You drafted this?"

"Yes, sir."

"It looks fine."

"Th…Thanks." You two fell in silence as you had no idea what to do but only clenching your fist, waiting for his response.

"What about we make another bet?" He suddenly broke the stillness, pulling you back from your thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Give me the pen." You immediately found a pen and handed it to him, not considering what he was going to say.

"If I sign…" He said while signing the paper. "You do whatever I say." He made a dot on the paper once he finished his words, raising up to meet your widened eyes.

"Understand what I said?I already signed it."

"But I…"

"You hand me the pen." Wrapping his arm around your waist, he suddenly pulled you into his embrace, making you staddle on him. "Do you want to cheat?" Before you could utter any words, his fingers found their way to your lower core, slipping inside to caress your sensitive clit.

"Oh fuck…!" You found yourself instinctively pressing your face into his neck, overwhelmed by the intensity of his every movement. He palmed your fold, brushing along its curve with his fingertips. With a firm grip on his shoulder, you clenched your fist into the fabric, sensing him accelerate, oblivious to the tremors beginning to ripple through your legs. A small whimper left your lips, as if a beautiful melody rings in Jongho's ears. He let out a playful smirk, making his way to your soaked cunt.

"Try to relax, dear." His long fingers inserted smoothly after aiming at your entrance. With a graceful arch of your back, you pressed your thighs firmly against Jongho's waist. Your walls clenched around his finger, drawing a gasp from him as he reveled in the heat and tightness you offered. The thought of him being deep within you must be a good sensation. His move was gentle and slow at first, finding your sweet spot as he exploded inside. He pushed deeper each time he withdrew a bit and slid back, curling the tip when he reached the deepest. You encircled his shoulders with your arms, eyes closed, surrendering to the waves of pleasure he brought you, allowing desire to engulf you completely. Perhaps the promise you never made had slipped your mind, but the thought of stopping never crossed your mind either. Everything felt just right; a perfect balance of intensity and tenderness.

You just fell for this.

Suddenly, he found your whole body trembling when he touched one spot. "Oh, here?" Hit it, again. "Ahh…shit…" You murmured softly, barley above a whisper, feeling a rush of pleasure flood your mind. A playful grin wore on Jongho's lips as he looked at your expression, colliding with the same place at a great force.

"Jong…jongho…" "It's not my name, dear. It's sir." He tucked your hair at your nape, whispering against your ear as he battered the sweet spot over and over again. A long throaty moan and curse flew from your mouth, your thighs and wall squeezed harder against him, pulling him deeper to give you a harsh push. His face landed on your neck, inhaling your lovely scent while licking and leaving a broken kiss on that, as if tasting you like a dessert. "Smell so good, darling." His dirty words made you somehow excited, a knot forming in your stomach that urged release. He knew you were at the edge and he finger-fucked you faster and harder until you saw stars. "Cum, honey. I know you want to come so badly." "Fuck!" His words were just like triggers, making you break through all the barriers that stop you climax. You released it all with a curse, catching your breath as you collapsed on him.

"Already tired?" Jongho pulled back his fingers, sucking them and producing a pop sound when he left. "So sweet, dear." The way he licked away your juices turned you on harder, you subconsciously swayed your hips against him, hoping he would fill you full once more.

"Good girl." He pressed his lips gently against your cheek, then lowered his hands to unfasten his belt and slide down the zipper of his pants. The sight of his arched crotch sent your heart into a frenzy, warmth flooding your cheeks. Watching your lustful eyes, he couldn't help but chuckle. You were not as innocent as he thought. Maybe he needed to spend more time to understand you. But that's okay as he will have a long, long time.

"Want more?" Jongho held your chin, squeezing your cheeks so that you could look at him. "Words, bunny."

"Yes, sir. Please."

"Now," His strong arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you close to his chest. "We need to get the work finished." With ease, he lifted you, causing a surprised gasp to escape your lips as he set you down on the table. "You'll enjoy it, trust me, sweetheart." He clasped your wrists together, tying it with his belt, tightening it as he pulled it. Gripping the middle, he pushed your wrist above your head, pressing them down to the table. "Don't put them without my permission. Understand?" "Yes, sir." A smile played on his lips as he pulled out his fat cock from his panties, pulling away the hem of your dress before tapping your clit. "Want it?" You raised your head a little to look at his cock, then gazed back to his lustful eyes. "Ye…yes, please sir." Before you finished your words, he made his way to push his cock inside your warmth. Your mouth formed an 'O' shape as you arched your back, feeling literally full.

That was totally different between his cock and fingers; the former was much bigger and thicker. His hands settled on your waist firmly, withdrawing a bit before shoving your sweet spot at a quick motion. "Fuckk!!" The legs you wrapped around his waist tightened, drawing his cock meet your spot fully. "Sucking me in, huh? What a slut?" He then repeated the hard thrusting without feeling tired. There was nothing left but only your moan and skin slapping sound bounced off the wall, making your head spin in pleasure. He clutched the belt, hovering you as he kept rolling his hips into you. His cock rubbed against your wet, tight wall deliciously, hitting your sweet spot dead on. "You feel too good, bunny. I should claim you as mine earlier. Oh fuck~" His cock twitched so bad each time you sucked him in, your juices made him easy to reach your depth. Listening to your moan was his favourite, he loved how you naturally losing control when he fucked you hard.

Everything about you drove him crazy. You were so stunning, so beautiful and different from the girls he met before─clever and bold. Oh, maybe you were made for him, his own perfect paradise.

Your toes curled tightly, and every muscle in your body felt like a coiled spring. Each time he pressed in deeper, you found yourself instinctively holding your breath. Your thoughts spiraled into a chaotic frenzy, caught in a tempest of desire. Getting laid with a mafia boss? Well, it's not like you haven't thought about it, just didn't expect that it would be Choi Jongho.

Thrusting after thrusting, you both lost count on time. Climaxes were approaching; his trusting lost its rhythm and pace, became more sloppy and harder. "Oh babe, I'm cumming. Cum with me, show me what you've got." He ripped off the fabric on your collarbone, the sudden cold sensation made you gasp as your hardened nipples exposed in the air. His head divided into your chest, sucking hard while his tongue licked along the curve of your nipple.

"Gosh, fuck!! Sir, too…too much…!" "Good for me, bunny. Cumming mess on my cock!" "Ah!Fuck!" Your back arched, both your chest pressing together as he pulled you up, fucking you at a new angle. A sudden change made you reach the limit, creaming his cock with your hot juices. As the warmth wrapped around his cock, he shoved into the deepest, releasing all to fill you fully. You collapsed on him, not wanting to leave his embrace as you held him tight. He caressed your bare back, soothing you with a gentle pat.

"I haven't promised you…"

"What?I signed the contract and do you want to cancel it?"

"No!I…fine. Just forget it."

"Bunny," He said gently as he nudged you back, meeting your gaze. "You'd get what you want. That's my promise" He left a peck on your lips before you could utter a word. Gazing into his eyes revealed a mix of desire and, more significantly, a perilous ambition that sent chills down your spine. His smile was disarming, yet it stirred an unsettling feeling within you, making you question if you’ve crossed a line. You mustered a smile and said, "I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Choi."

This is how the game of pulling starts between you two.

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laughhardrunfastbekindsblog · 7 months ago

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I finally rewatched the Bad Batch finale yesterday - it was actually a lot easier to watch the second time through when I wasn't hoping for/dreading a CX2 = Tech reveal. Still cried buckets over the finale.

I LOVE the fact that Hunter and Crosshair worked together to save Omega, the one who had brought them back together and given them a common goal.

But, given the perspective of CX2 being a "shadow" of Crosshair, I also find it fascinating that Hunter is the one who struck the final blow against CX2.

Hunter and Crosshair were at odds as soon as Order 66 came through. Despite Hunter telling Crosshair they could part ways without being enemies, it is clear there was still plenty of hurt and betrayed feelings on both sides. Crosshair wouldn't accept Hunter's offers of help and the chances to return back to the squad in season 1, and we all know what resulted: Crosshair, the sniper (a role that usually calls for maintaining physical distance from the rest of the group), remained a solitary clone; and despite his loyalty to the Empire, ultimately he was betrayed in the worst ways by his superiors.

All through season 3, Crosshair appears reluctant to accept anyone's love and support, and he even tells his brothers in the finale that he should go in to Tantiss alone because it's "what he deserves."

But Crosshair can't take on Tantiss by himself, he can't take on the assassin clones by himself, and it is only with Crosshair and Hunter working together that Crosshair is finally able to rid himself of the shadow of what he might have become.

Crosshair never deserved to be alone; and now that he's back with his family, he doesn't ever have to be.

#tbb #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair

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lockheed-martin-unofficial · 3 months ago

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22 for the drabble ask with Starscream!

22: you, from their perspective.

I sort of bent the prompt a little and wrote the moment his perspective of her changed. For context our human is a pilot, and Starscream has agreed to reluctantly cooperate with the Autobots (season 2 ish) even though he refuses to join them. This didn’t turn out 100% the way I wanted it to, all the more motivation to get better at writing so I can re-do it in the future.

Thank you for asking!

Words: 850

——————————————————————————

“You know, it’s nice to finally have another flyer on the team.”

“Right.” Starscream stretched his limbs, his wings twitching from how good it felt to just spread out. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since his last flight. He met the human standing next to the cliff edge, feeling the warm desert air flow around them from all directions.

“And who might your first flyer be?” He asked with a smirk, skeptical.

“Um, myself?”

A deep, rumbling laugh sounded beside the pilot.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You, you’re not a flyer.” He replied, an air of superiority about him. This human, a flyer? What a ridiculous concept. Humans weren’t even created to fly, let alone fly to the degree of a seeker. Whereas he was engineered to aerodynamic perfection. How could they ever be the same?

“I don’t expect you to possibly understand the true meaning of flight.” He replied dismissively.

“Listen, I get it. Here you are, flying since the day you were created, with a body quite literally tailored to the sky. And all of a sudden this small, fragile creature without even wings to call her own says you two are the same? I’d be unimpressed too.”

He looked down at her with one raised eyebrow, not expecting the genuine reply. She didn’t sound angry, she didn’t even sound offended. The human pilot sat down, remaining a safe distance away from the edge and crossing her legs.

“Let me put it this way. When you were left without your T-cog, unable to fly…How did it make you feel?”

Starscream sat down as well, his legs dangling off the cliff. Wings drooped down ever so slowly on his back. It was obvious she’d hit a sensitive spot.

“Restrained. With an indescribable sense of longing.” He replied without missing a beat, gazing off into the distance.

“And every time I looked up at the sky…”

A pause. A tiny crack in his voice.

“You felt the crushing weight of knowing you could never reach it.” She completed, her tone soft yet containing a hint of sorrow. His stabilisers shot up, and he suddenly turned his head to look at her.

“You…”

“That’s how I feel all the time. Look at me. No dancing between the clouds for me. No heat of the sun on my frame, no wind tugging at my stabilisers, and certainly no gentle droplets of rain on my wings.” The human sighed, her voice faltering.

“That’s just the way it is.”

He felt pity. He almost even felt a little guilty. Starscream raised a servo, placing his talons on her shoulder as gently as possible. He felt sorry for her. He could hear the longing in her voice. The passion and love she couldn’t help but feel, despite knowing it only made things worse for her.

“I’m sorry.”

Perhaps he had misjudged her. True, she was a small and fragile little thing, but he had to admit the fact that she was still striving for the sky, even though her own body was against this idea, made her admirable in her own way. The human was startled for a split second at the touch, before relaxing and placing her own hand over his servo, her fingers caressing his digits and her head leaning into his touch.

“It’s alright.”

“No.”

The human looked up, and Starscream leaned down to her level.

“No,” he repeated, “it’s not alright. It’s terrible! How do you even deal with it?” He had already spent a few months unable to fly, but he couldn’t imagine doing it for an entire lifetime. He would’ve gone insane.

She was touched by the outburst. It made her feel seen, made her struggle feel so much more real.

“Well… I try to fly as often as I can, get as close as I can, but it’s not what I want. It’s not the same as having my own wings to fly with, being able to feel and control every little thing. You know?”

“Of course not…” he nodded, contemplating. “It could never be the same.”

It made more sense now, why she had been so eager to assist him all this time, why she’d volunteered to be his partner. She’d seen him going through the same thing she was, but unlike her, his situation could be helped.

For that help, he was silently grateful. And then, Starscream did something unexpected.

“If you’d like…” he averted his gaze, fiddling with his talons as he spoke. “I will allow you to fly me on our way back to base.” He offered, trying to sound as nonchalant, as disinterested as possible.

“Thank you.”

He flinched at the sudden feeling of something warm and soft wrap around his digits. He collected himself, answering quickly.

“Yes, yes, don’t get used to it. I just don’t enjoy seeing you all sappy and miserable.” He waved her away with a servo, still avoiding eye contact.

As humiliating as his current predicament was, he had to admit it was nice to have another flyer on the team. Even such a squishy one.

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #transformers fanfic #transformers fanfiction #tfp fanfic #starscream #tfp starscream #starscream x oc #starscream x reader #cybertronian x human #what being a pilot does to a mf #Spif writes

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loveemagicpeace · 8 months ago

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✨Aries Season✨

🔥Aries season will be fiery. We are already have mercury in aries so the communication is much more direct maybe a little aggressive. You can also get into the fight with someone so much quicker

🔥Aries is the first sign of zodiac sign it's all about the energy it's all about you . Aries is called to be very selfish because it's much more focused on themself than on others.

🔥Aries energy helps you believe in yourself and take confident action as a leader. Throughout this Aries season, ask yourself: How can you show up with confidence? Where do you need to show leadership? When do you need to take action? Fire is the vital spark, the soul, the life-force; it embodies risk-taking, leadership, passion, confidence, action, motivation, energy, and sparkle. Aries season is an excellent time to start a new job or hobby. You may choose to break a bad habit and begin a healthy one. It's time to hit the refresh button.

✨Mercury in Aries will remain in the sign of Aries until May 15. Mercury in Aries will bring a much more direct, open and fiery energy. They will speed up events and things will develop quickly. But you can quickly quarrel with someone or say something thoughtlessly.

🔥Aries will offer an opportunity for introspection, reflection, and reassessment. Aries energy encourages us to tap into our inner courage, assertiveness and independence. Use this time to reflect on your goals, desires and personal boundaries.

☁️Take it easy during Mercury retrograde, and particularly watch out for impulsive actions in the coming weeks. While Aries energy pushes for quick decisions, remember that it may cloud your judgment, leading to potentially hasty decisions.

🫧Have introspective conversations to ensure you're honoring yourself and your personal beliefs/truths. with people that you feel good energy. Ensure your voice is heard and express your thoughts. Aries is all about expressing your thoughts out loud. Don't force your beliefs or desires onto others and don't be with people who are too negative or angry. Don't jump to conclusions or make rash decisions based on immediate reactions. Mercury can sometimes make things look different than they really are.

🌙Rising Signs🌙

Aries Rising- mercury will be in your ist house. This will affect how you express yourself, behave, and your appearance. Identity and self-perception take the spotlight during this phase. You might feel the urge to revamp your appearance or refresh how you present yourself to the world. Patience isn't always your strongest suit, but it's crucial now more than ever. Take this time to pace yourself and avoid burning out.

Taurus Rising-During this period, your dreams, imagination, and intuition will be heightened. Your spirit is intricately connected to the universe, so prioritize activities like meditation or journaling to slow down and reflect. On the financial front, you may require careful attention during Mercury retrograde as there might be unexpected expenses or financial expenses or losses could arise, particularly if proper budgeting in planning are neglected.

Gemini Rising-you might experience a favorable outcome in your career. You could also see advancement such as job opportunities, promotions, or even the chances of traveling overseas with great job satisfaction, the dedication and hard work may be recognised by superiors, leading to support, appreciation, and possibly even promotions. It can also bring about better relationships. You can meet or see a friend whom you haven't seen for years. Be cautious of conflicts within your community and strive for autonomy without overstepping boundaries.

Cancer Rising-Sudden change such as transfers in the job may disrupt stability and cost dissatisfaction. Increased work pressure without recognition or appreciation may lead to frustration, and some individuals may even have the possibility of job loss. But you could result in increased expenses and limited opportunities for earning. Maybe there are some things here that are related to the family or the father. Practice patience with your colleagues and yourself.

Leo Rising-New job opportunities might be possible for you during this period and due to this success may also be easily possible. During this period, you will have a good potential to meet with immense success and you will also have more efficiency in your work area. If you are in business will gain good popularity and money as luck is going to favor you completely. It can also mean some sort of spiritual journey. Be cautious when traveling or embarking on trips-while it's not forbidden, proceed with care. You might begin to question your beliefs, which is crucial for personal growth.

Virgo Rising- During this time, you might uncover some deep-seated traumas or hidden aspects of yourself. There might be lack of satisfaction and acknowledgement in your professional endeavors leading to concerns about job performance. This Mercury retrograde encourages you to examine what's holding you back from progress. 8th house is also about soul bonding, intimacy.

Libra Rising- While some might experience setbacks and lack success others might find exciting job prospects abroad, offering them a sense of fulfillment and joy. Mercury may bring mixed outcomes with a balance of expense and gains. Opportunities for financial gains. Business contracts, in particular, might be problematic, so it's crucial to thoroughly review all paperwork before signing. Be extra considerate towards your partner if you're married.

Scorpio Rising- During this Mercury retrograde, you might find yourself feeling sluggish, so it's important to slow down your pace. This could mean scaling back on work commitments, easing up at the gym, or taking extra care to avoid getting sick. Spend some time in nature particularly near plants and trees to ground yourself. Do things that don't burden you.

Sagittarius Rising-might experience tension in relationships, particularly concerning your children and family matters. Additional issues within the family may arise causing you stress. Navigating relationship challenges requires excellent communication and patience. Watch out for old flames resurfacing, Use this time to reflect on matters related to your passions. Don't indulge recklessly during this period, but do take time for yourself to reconnect with what brings you happiness.

Capricorn Rising- Patience is key to avoid unnecessary stress during this time. Many things have to do with you and the things you do. It is good not to open too many demanding and difficult conversations, because you will not feel that they are leading and you will only end up disappointed. Consider how you give and receive information. Maybe you will go somewhere or meet more people.

Aquarius Rising- there is a strong possibility of success with opportunities for promotion and salary hike. Overall, this period holds promise for career advancement and success. This period presents opportunities for growth and financial stability in your business endeavors. On the relationship front, you are likely to enjoy success in maintaining a harmonious relationship. During this period, effective communication with your life partners can contribute to a positive personal life.

Pisces Rising- you may experience tremendous peace and understanding with life partners and family members. Strong connections and perfect understanding have the potential to increase happiness and pleasure in personal relationships. This transit brings another wave of change. It's time to reassess your relationship with material possessions and finances. Don't waste money on unnecessary things.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah💕🦋💍

#astrology #energy #zodiac signs #mercury retrograde #astrological houses #rising signs

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woodchuck019 · 1 year ago

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Crowley was Raphael?

WARNING: MAJOR GOOD OMENS 2 SPOILERS

Ok, so in the last few years we all enjoyed the headcanon that Crowley was the Archangel Raphal pre-Fall. To be completely honest, in season one this theory didn't make a lot of sense because we knew basically nothing about Crowley as an angel except for the fact that he helped create the stars and fell because he asked too many questions. So, even though it was a nice and interesting theory, I thought it would remain that, a theory.

Well, seems like this theory is basically confirmed now at the end of season 2. But let's start at the beginning.

First, we have to talk about the Hierarchy of Angels in Christianity. This Hierarchy was theorized by Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite in his book De Coelesti Hierarchia (On the Celestial Hierarchy). Dionysius described nine levels of spiritual beings which he grouped into 9 orders.

Highest orders:

Seraphim

Cherubim

Thrones

Middle orders:

Dominions

Virtues

Powers

Lowest orders:

Principalities

Archangels

Angels

Now, a lot of people asked Neil why the Archangels have so much power if they are so low in the Hierarchy and he said that he and Terry actually tought of archangels and Archangels as different beings.

So we have the arch-angels, in thre sense of being just above the lowest Choir of angels, and then we have the Arch-angels, in the sense of being above all angels.

Actually, the term archangel itself is not found in the Hebrew Bible or the Christian Old Testament, and in the Greek New Testament the term archangel is used referring to Michael, who is called 'one of the chief princes,' and 'the great prince'.

The idea of seven archangels is most explicitly stated in the apocryphal Book of Tobit when Raphael reveals himself, declaring: "I am Raphael, one of the seven angels who stand in the glorious presence of the Lord, ready to serve him."

In Judaism the Archangels are given the title of śārīm, meaning "princes", to show their superior rank and status, so they are also called "Princes of Heaven".

In season 2 episode 6, when Crowley is in Heaven trying to find any info on Gabriel, Muriel gives him the missing Archangel's file explaining that even if they wanted, they couldn't show it to him, since only angels above the rank of Dominions could access it. Immediately after, without putting in any effort, Crowley opens the file, saying that he was an angel once and they never bothered to change passwords. (I totally read a fic like this btw).

When the Archangel Saraquel meets them and recognises Crowley, she says that they worked together on the Horsehead Nebula. So Crowley must have been pretty high up in the ranks if he worked with an Archangel.

When they show us the scene of the trial, Gabriel is ready to be cast down to Hell, but the Metatron stops him and says:

"You are not going to hell. For one Prince of Heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story. For it to happen twice makes it look like there is some kind of institutional problem."

So we know that one of the Seven Archangels has Fallen, and it could be Lucifer, even though in the bible it is never stated that he was an archangel, but wouldn't they have said so if it were the case?

Also in episode 2, when Shax tells Crowley that Heaven and Hell think Aziraphale has something to do with Gabriel's disappearence, she says:

"A miracle of enormous power happened last night. The kind of miracle only the mightiest of Archangels could've performed".

Reminds you of something? Raphael, one of the mightiest of Archangels?

I really hope they will confirm the theory in season 3.

#go2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #good omens #crowley was raphael #antony j crowley #ineffable husbands #neil gaiman #good omens 2

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mrsdesade · 3 months ago

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hi, I loved your s4 writings (the one with sister sage and the other one with ryan). if you want to, can you write something with firecracker and ophera as rivals? maybe ophera wants to kick her out of the Seven or she protects Ryan from her. I'm sure anything you write will be great.

btw your art is gorgeous, I love your ophera design!! I'm a beginner artist, and your work really inspires me to learn and be better in this.

Sure!! I love exploring interactions and relationships with other characters from the series (any suggestions is more than welcome), but I suppose now is Firecraker's turn ❤️‍🔥

Btw, thank you for your kind words, I'm honoured! Keep going and never stop drawing! ✨

The fire inside;

Pairing: Homelander x fem!super (Ophera) + villain!Firecracker TW: dark themes, violence, blood, torture, revenge p**n and nsfw (mentioned), Herogasm situation (mentioned) Timeline: season 4 Words count: 6,2k

''I know what's better for him. And for his father too. Anything. I'll do anything for them.''

Firecracker's pedantic voice filled the Seven's common room, while you were the only ones there, waiting for the morning meeting. At first your interactions seemed to go well, there was a sort of mutual respect. She didn't get in the way of your plans. You didn't get in her way as well.

But for some reasons unknown to you, from the moment you were introduced to Ryan, something has changed. Jealousy. Horrible jealousy had begun to flow through the veins of the fiery new addition to the team. You are what she always wanted to be, famous, admired, probably loved.

''I don't expect the same from you. But have the decency to step back and make room for me, who knows what I'm doing."

''You don't know what you're talking about Firecracker. Stay away from Homelander business, it's better for everyone."

The coldness of your demeanor and the superiority complex you exuded, clearly touched a raw nerve.

She took a step closer towards you, trying to look intimidating. Though it felt more like an act than anything else. Firecracker's slender form was considerably shorter, the height difference making it even more ridiculous.

''Better for everyone? Including Ryan? Do you think you're good for him?''

You had no difficulty maintaining a cold gaze, your expression remaining completely stoic. You stood confident, exuding a sense of superiority over her, as if letting her know that you were definitely better, without a doubt. You hadn't appreciated Homelander's decision to make you responsible for Ryan, as if you were his ''mother'', but you decided that you would protect him at all cost.

Firecracker was taken aback by your cold response, not expecting such a confident and dismissive reply. She gritted her teeth, her fists clenching involuntarily at her sides.

"You really think you're something, don't you? Just because Homelander choose you as his public partner? You're just a clown performing on the stage. I bring the truth to people!"

You kept your composure, not showing any signs of intimidation or defensiveness in the face of her aggression. Instead, you let out a soft, mocking laugh, the sound dripping with disdain.

"Please, spare me the charade. You think I'm intimidated by this little act of yours? Things cannot change."

"Act?!" she replied, her voice taut with anger. "I could burn you alive without breaking a sweat. Do you really want to test me?"

You raised an eyebrow at her threat, silently amused by the level of her arrogance. You took another step closer, your confident smile refusing to waver.

''Your weak fire cannot destroy the metal in my body.''

Just as the tension between you was reaching its peak, the sound of the meeting room door opening broke through the air, interrupting the heated moment. Before any further exchange could take place, the door to the conference room swung open. Homelander and The Deep entered, breaking the standoff between you two.

They were deep in conversation, not even noticing the tense atmosphere in the room. Firecracker quickly composed herself, masking her annoyance with a forced smile, while you maintained your composure, watching the two as they approached.

"Ah, there you are. Arrived early this morning, good girls." Homelander said, finally taking notice of you two. He gave you a friendly nod before turning his gaze to Firecracker, his eyes showing annoyance at her big smile.

The Deep shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling the lingering tension in the room. "Everything okay?" he asked, glancing between you and her.

Firecracker's fake smile remained plastered on her face, her voice dripping with faux cheerfulness. "Everything's perfect!" she replied, shooting you a quick, insincere glance.

And the scene ends like this, you took your seat beside Homelander and you really hope you've been clear enough with her. You hope it no longer intrudes on the extremely delicate balance you're trying to maintain between you, Ryan and his father.

The day quickly transitioned into night, and with most of the Seven dispersed for the evening, you were walking through the now-deserted hall when you heard footsteps approaching. Turning, you saw Firecracker walking towards you, a malicious smile on her face.

''No, not you again, please.''

"We're on the same team silly, did you forget already?" she said, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I was hoping I'd run into you tonight, I have something important to discuss with you."

Her tone was almost too sweet, the false cheerfulness making your stomach churn. "What do you want?" you asked curtly, keeping your voice cold and detached.

"Come on, no need to be so cold." She stepped closer to you, invading your personal space.

You roll your eyes, bored by his extreme closeness. And you decide to move the conversation with a sarcastic tone. ''If you get any closer, I'll start to think that you have some special interest in me. And I don't think Homelander would be happy about that. He is very jealous of his possessions.''

Firecracker's smile faltered for a millisecond at the indirect mention of Homelander. She clenched her jaws, her eyes narrowing slightly, before regaining her composure.

"Don't flatter yourself Ophera. I don't have any ''special'' interest in you." despite her denial, you caught the hint of defensiveness in her tone. Clearly, the idea of you being the object of Homelander's interest and not her had struck a nerve.

"Then what do you want?" you asked point-blank, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I got something about you.''

You raised an eyebrow, trying to appear unruffled. "Oh? And I'm curious what that might be?"

"I have a video. A video of you in… a very compromising position. That, If it were to go public..." she began, her voice dripping with venomous honey. "...would really damage your reputation."

A chill went down your spine as her words stung. You managed to keep your expression relatively blank, but inside you felt a wave of anxiety. How did she get a video of you? Your mind raced, trying to remember any situations where you could have been secretly filmed.

Or she was lying, maybe it's just a bluff, of course, it has to be like that. "Oh please, you're bluffing.''

"Bluffing? No, unfortunately for you, I'm not." she replied, her voice dripping with feigned sympathy.

''Then prove it. Show me this so-called video." you say with a confident grin on your face, keeping your arms crossed over your chest, still thinking she's lying.

"Sure, just to make things clear, let me show you…" Firecracker pulled out her phone, scrolling through the gallery to find the video. Your heart sank into your stomach as you watched Firecracker produce her phone. She was not bluffing. She really seemed to have something. A real video that would certainly cause a scandal.

She found the video and held the display towards you. You could clearly see yourself in the video. In one of your best Herogasm performances. You were always untouchable at that particular event, no one dared to touch you since you were Homelander's public partner. But someone's company wasn't necessary, you could perfectly satisfy yourself on your own, all you needed was an adoring audience watching you.

You had always been so careful, so meticulous in keeping your activities discreet. And yet, here was proof, captured on camera. HD. 4K.

Your initial reaction was anger, both at her for having the video and at yourself for being so unwary. But there was something else behind the anger, an even more primal feeling: fear. The fear of having your reputation and your place in the Seven ruined by one video.

She pushed the phone closer to your face, forcing you to look at the damning footage again. "Imagine this being leaked. How do you think the public would react? How would Homelander react?"

The thought of the whole America seeing this video, the idea of Hoemlander seeing it, his reaction, the damage it could cause - it was all too much to consider. The rage that had just barely been contained now exploded. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, your mind swirling with worst-case scenarios.

"Where did you get this?" you asked, your voice slightly shaky despite your attempts to keep it steady. "Who else has seen it?"

''I have my sources." she responded with a smile. "And don't worry, as of now only I have seen it. But who knows what might happen if this were to get into the wrong hands…"

You stared straight into Firecracker's eyes with a burning glare.

''You have ten seconds to give me just one good reason not to punch you in the face, and destroy your phone with that damn video inside.''

She had underestimated the anger beneath your cool veneer, and now she was taken aback by your threat. Her bravado waned slightly.

"Oh, look to you, all threatening and violence." she said sarcastically, trying to mask her momentary alarm. "Are you sure you want to do that? Even if you break my phone, I have the video backed up. Now, you, the American sweetheart, are about to do exactly as I say."

"I'm listening." you answered coldly and defeated, the anger in your voice barely leashed.

''Mmh. Rather than just listening, maybe you should pay more attention to your surroundings, danger can hide at every corner.'' she smirked, triumph radiating from her. She had you exactly where she wanted you.

You can sense something is wrong, a negative feeling invades your chest. It's too quiet around you, and the Tower of Seven never is. She gave you a smile as realization slowly dawned on you. You had been so focused on the confrontation with her that you hadn't noticed the silence that had enveloped the area around you. Her words, though vague, were starting to paint a more alarming picture.

''What the hell are you talking about?''

''You'll see. Very soon.''

Your worst fears were confirmed when unexpected hands seized you from behind. Strangers. They grabbed you from various points around your body, rendering you unable to struggle as they forced you to the floor.

You feel a needle prick your neck, and an icy liquid invade your veins, making your powers temporarily unusable. You struggled against their grasp, but it was in vain. Now the masked strangers were stronger than you, their grip on you unyielding. You were in the middle of what seemed to be a very well-planned and synchronized kidnapping.

"Don't even bother struggling. They've been paid a lot of money for this. And they're very professional." she said, approaching you as you lay helpless on the floor.

''Ah! Good luck trying to kill me, it won't be that easy!'' you reply, but the strength that usually coursed through your veins seemed to have deserted you, leaving you at the mercy of these unknown individuals.

"Who said anything about killing? Oh no, no. I have something special planned for you, love. I have more creative plans for you.''

''Fuck yourself, crazy ass bitch.'' you're spitting venom with your words, the desire to destroy them all is tearing you apart.

"You see Ophera, I know you're invincible, or that you like to think yourself of such." she continued, her tone mocking. "But now, thanks to that little injection of Compound V inhibitor they've just shot you with, you're quite defenseless."

''The effect of the inhibitor will not last forever, you know that?''

''Yeah, I know silly! But it will last long enough to make you disappear. Gone, forever. No more shows, no new albums, no afternoon with Ryan, no gala dinner with the Seven.''

Then Firecracker reached down and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her face.

"And Homelander won't be happy, when he comes back and finds out you're gone. Without any warning or goodbye messages. Oh, I can't wait to see the look on his face."

Despite the effects of the drug rapidly dulling your senses and your powers, a little smirk escaped your lips.

"Oh please… You really think that's going to work? You really think Homelander won't figure it out? He's not blind to obvious sabotage, trust me. He'll find me."

"You think you know everything, don't you? It's time for a reality check, love. This isn't just about a spot in the Seven, this is about making sure Homelander looks at me, me and not you. I want his attention, his praise, his everything. He's the one I want and nothing will stand in my way."

You locked eyes with her, your voice strangely calm despite the effects of the drug and your weakening state. You laughed bitterly.

"You think it's all sunshine and rainbows, being his favourite? Please, you're more stupid than I thought. Homelander's love could be a death sentence. To have his twisted obsession on you. His attention can be a curse as much as it can be a blessing. You're pathetic. And you don't know anything about the burden of being his beloved, trust me."

Surprise is clear on her face. The way you talked, the way you described being Homelander's favorite... for a moment, she didn't know how to react to your words.

"Oh, I bet it's soooo hard being Homelander's little sweetheart, getting all the fame and recognition while the rest of us have to fight for scraps." she spit with venomous sarcasm. "Boo-hoo, poor you, suffering under his terrible twisted obsession. You have everything! His love, his attention, his hands on you… Fuck, you're his damn public girlfriend! You have no idea what I'd give to be in your place."

There it was-the truth. The real reason behind her hostility, her jealousy, her attempts to bring you down.

''I don't think... I don't think you know... what it means to be in my place. His… isn't… love. You're going to...hurt yourself-''

Before you could finish your sentence, your vision began to blur and your head grew heavy with fatigue. The drug finally taking hold, you lost consciousness, sinking into oblivion.

Firecracker gestured to the group of men, and one of them picked you up effortlessly.

"Now. Time for the final act. You know the plan, take her somewhere isolated and secret. And make damn sure no one finds her. Respect the orders, no one will have to recognize her, ruin that pretty face as best you can.''

The masked men nodded in response, lifting your unconscious body with ease and proceeding to carry you to a waiting van outside the Tower. Once you were safely inside, the van doors shut with a loud thud, and the vehicle soon vanished into the night.

Firecracker felt a surge of triumph. Her plan had gone flawlessly. You were gone, out of the picture-at least for the foreseeable future. But the taste of victory was bittersweet. Deep down, she knew that once Homelander discovered your disappearance, hell would break loose.

Indefinite moments, minutes, hours pass. You can't say how much has passed since that evening.

Your eyelids flickered open, a disoriented groan escaping your lips. Your head throbbed with a dull pain, and for a few moments your vision remained a blurry mess. Then, slowly, your surroundings began to come into focus. You were in an abandoned warehouse, the air thick with dust and a musty scent. The walls were crumbling, and the silence around you was interrupted only by the sound of your own shallow breathing.

You tried to move, but quickly realized your limbs were tightly bound to a chair. You felt the bite of rough rope against your skin, the tight ropes digging into your flesh as you struggled. The abandoned warehouse was cold and eerie, the only company provided by the ominous figures that stood guard around you. They were all wearing masks, making it impossible for you to identify any of them.

"Oh great, this isn't a cliché scenario at all…" you muttered sarcastically, your eyes scanning the area for any potential escape route.

One of the men, the tallest one, stepped closer to you at the sound of your voice. He took a couple of seconds to assess your situation before speaking up in a low voice.

"Looks like our little songbird finally woke up. I hope you're comfortable." he said, a hint of mockery underlying his words.

"Well, this is a lovely place you've brought me to." you drawled, feigning nonchalance. "Not exactly the five-star hotel I booked last week."

Despite the situation, the guard chuckled at your sarcastic reply. "Oh, sorry to disappoint. Our five-star prisoner need another room? Unfortunately they're all booked.''

You rolled your eyes, silently thinking of the countless witty comebacks that were at your fingertips but couldn't be voiced at the moment.

Then the men leaned in closer, now mere inches from you. "Now, enough chitchat. We've been paid to keep you here and we have strict orders to follow. So, do us all a favor, stay cooperative and keep your pretty mouth shut."

Their cold demeanor and close proximity sent chills down your spine. It was clear they were not here to joke around. One of the other guys stepped forwards, standing almost directly behind you.

"We were paid for a specific task." he chimed in, his voice dripping with a mocking sweetness. "And that task is: to make you as unrecognizable as possible."

His words sent a new wave of fear coursing through you. Unrecognizable. What the hell did that mean?

You swallowed heavily, a sense of dread beginning to grow in the pit of your stomach. "What exactly do you mean by unrecognizable?"

''Just a few…adjustments to your lovely face, body and maybe hair." the man behind you said.

They really intend to disfigure your face? Ruin your body and fill you with scars? Of course. So that you are no longer fit to be in the spotlight. That's one of your greatest fears, even more than great heights perhaps. You struggled against the ropes binding your wrists and legs, trying to break free, but the only result was the ropes digging into your skin even more.

The man behind you chuckled at your struggles. "Don't bother trying to break free. You aren't going anywhere.''

Another man, the largest one, spoke up. "Yeah, so save your energy for what's coming next."

The tall man started to circle around you, examining you from different angles like a piece of meat on display. Each circle he made around you sent a new wave of disgust through your body, and you had to resist the urge to spit at him.

''So, what's coming next assholes?''

He stopped in front of you, a cold smile on his face. He pulled out a shiny little knife from his pocket, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light.

"Now, now, that's not a very nice way to talk to the people holding your fate in their hands." he warned, holding the weapon close to your face. Then the blade of the weapon traced a light, teasing line from your chin down to your chest.

The cold metal against your skin sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through you. You didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing your terror, though.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" you retorted, attempting to sound defiant. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you forced yourself to remain calm. You refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break.

The group was momentarily taken aback by your apparent bravado. "Playing tough uh? But we'll see how long that lasts once we start carving up that pretty face of yours.''

When he moves the knife in your direction, you instinctively move your face and pull back in your uncomfortable sit, showing how scary this thing can really be for you. Fuck. How long does it take for your powers to return?

What you need now is just a bit of time, extra time.

''Wait- Wait! Just for a moment! If Firecracker paid you to do this, I can pay you a lot more, absolutely, no doubt!''

The mercenaries exchanged glances, clearly caught off guard by your attempt to stop them. The man holding the knife pulled back, a skeptical look on his face.

"You're really trying to buy us off right now?''

You mask your fear behind a ridicoulous smile, the same you use to charm your fans.

''Oh come on, everyone has a price. Just kindly asking what's yours.''

"You're quite the charmer, aren't you? I never would have guessed beneath all that sparkle and charm is just a desperate, bargaining diva.''

''Desperate? Me? Hardly. I just know how to play my cards and get what I want.''

The mercenary chuckled again, but his expression took on a more serious note. ''But I gotta admit, you're right about everyone having a price. Let's say hypothetically we were open to negotiation. Just hypothetically, of course. What's your offer?''

You took a deep breath, mentally calculating the worth that you could possibly offer to these men if it means they'll spare you.

"How does 25 million sound?" you said, keeping your tone casual.

The men all looked at each other again, clearly surprised by the amount you had just thrown out there. One of them whistled lowly.

"Sweet lord, that's a hefty sum. You're really willing to pay us that much just to spare that pretty face of yours, huh?"

As you talk with them, you feel the time ticking away, and you are still tied to a chair and unable to fight. Frustration would soon turn to anger and you would lose your temper. Then, all your diplomacy suddenly fails.

"What, you didn't think I had that kind of money to spare?! I'm a damn Seven! Of course I can afford it! Believe me, I'm worth much more alive and well than disfigured or dead."

Bad move, really bad move.

Your sudden outburst and loss of diplomacy did not go unnoticed by the men. They were clearly enjoying seeing the cracks in your composure. The idea that you were worth more alive, that they could get even more money from Firecracker to ruin you, was already setting in.

This was turning into a game of cutthroat negotiations.

"Well, well, well." the tallest man chuckled. "Looks like the little diva's mask is coming off. All this time, pretending to be so calm and collected, and now you're getting desperate. It's quite entertaining, isn't it, boys?"

As the men closed in on you, the situation was starting to feel hopeless. You had miscalculated, and now your attempts at bribery seemed to be backfiring. The reality of your predicament was setting in as the men circled around you like a pack of hungry wolves.

"No more deals. You're worth more alive for sure, and we'll talk to Firecracker to get more money to end this work, but in the meantime we can make sure you're not quite as perfect anymore..."

You quickly weigh the options. These men are more interested in doing their job than listening to you. You're tied to a chair. No powers. No escape route. All you can do is bargain, and hope to delay them long enough to get out of this mess.

''Fine...do your worst.''

You lower your head and close your eyes, your only option is to try to resist, until the Compound V inhibitor has finished its effect.

They began to pummel you, their fists raining down on your body. You tried to resist, to fight back, but your strength was fading. The Compound V inhibitor was still there. Each blow felt like it was tearing through your very being, pain radiating throughout your body like fire through a dry forest. You held onto consciousness by sheer determination and will, refusing to show weakness even in the face of pain. You gritted your teeth, refusing to let them see your weakness. Hiding your face, your most precious possession. Your uniform was stained with blood, your skin bruised and battered, but you managed to resist the urge to cry out.

You couldn't give them satisfaction.

Time passes, and your desperate plan finally takes effect. They wasted their time hitting you, without thinking about their main task anymore. How stupid humans are. And you bought the time you needed. The time it takes to regain your powers.

As the men's fists continued to rain down on you, you felt less pain, finally. With a burst of strength, you managed to break free from your bonds and pushing them back. Gaining a few meters of breathing space around you. Your vision was blurred, and your body ached, but you were free. You lunged at the nearest man, knocking him to the ground. The others were taken aback, their surprise momentarily stopping on their places.

The leader, the one holding the knife, was the first to recover. He quickly recomposed himself, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. He quickly realize the situation has changed. You're no longer tied up and sedated, and you've already shown that you're a threat. He quickly pulls out a syringe with another dose of inhibitor inside.

"Grab her, don't let her get away!"

You stay dead silent. Full of fury. With fire inside your body.

As they rush at you, you spot the weapons they have on them. You feel the familiar pull and tug of your powers coming back to you. Taking a deep breath, you focus all your energy on the metal objects around them, using your powers to grab and pull on them. You can feel the weapons being yanked out of their hands, as if invisible strings were attached to them.

With a flick of your wrists and your powers now back in full effect, the weapons float around you, like obedient puppets waiting for your command. Metal barrels, knives, and a few firearms all levitate in the air, circling around you. A dangerous gleam in your eyes. You look like a terrifying sight.

A dangerous goddess dressed in red of her own blood.

Their eyes darting from you to the weapons floating around you. They look at you with fear, finally seeing you for the dangerous woman you truly are.

In the meantime, Firecracker stood before the massive glass windows of the Tower, looking out over the New York skyline. Her heart was racing, a feeling of triumph coursing through her veins. She had succeeded in her plan, you were gone.

Homelander was nearby, staring out at the city with a mixture of anger and confusion. The news of your disappearance had already reached his ears, and he was anxiously pacing back and forth, waiting for anyone to give him an update.

Firecracker approached Homelander cautiously, trying to mimic a concerned and empathetic expression. But it was evident that her words were nothing more than a facade.

"Hey..." she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know this must be hard for you. I can't imagine how much you care for her. But you know how she is, she's unpredictable, fickle, frivolous.''

Homelander turned his red burning eyes at her. "I don't need your sympathy, Firecracker." he snapped. "I need her back."

Taken aback by his harsh tone, she started caressing his shoulder. "I understand, I really do. But we have to be realistic here. Her role was heavy, she did this job for many years, maybe she was tired. But of course, it's horrible that she didn't tell you anything.'' she adds, to make him doubt your loyalty.

Homelander's face darkened at her words. "She has always done everything I asked of her. Never once did she waver. No, this isn't... right.''

She continued her act, feigning concern while trying to sow seeds of doubt in Homelander's mind.

"Maybe her loyalty wasn't as strong as you thought. Maybe she was just waiting for the right moment to escape.''

"You're trying to say she betrayed me? That she's a traitor?"

He hated the idea that you would betray him, but Firecracker's words were starting to sow seeds of doubt. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, the seeds of doubt starting to take root.

But without warning her phone rings, and an unknown number appears on the screen. Her heart skipped a beat, and quickly she excused herself from Homelander, taking a step away and answered the call. She expected to hear the news of your complete disfigurement. So she spoke in a low voice to avoid others from hearing.

"Hello?"

''Kindly, could you accept my video call?'' a familiar voice answered on the other end of the line.

She froze. That was the last thing she expected to hear. It was you, asking for a video call? How? This was not supposed to happen. She quickly looked over her shoulder, making sure Homelander was still occupied and out of earshot.

''Did the cat got your tongue? Turn on that goddamn phone camera.''

She turned away again, her mind racing. She had no idea how to handle this situation. She had been so sure that the plan would be a success, that you would be disfigured and taken out of your position as a favorite.

This wasn't part of the plan. Now you're playing by your rules.

She reluctantly pressed the video call button, turning on the camera to reveal her worried face. Your face appeared on the screen, a small smirk gracing your bloody red lips. You looked exhausted, your face a bit bruised, with a small cut on your cheek. Your uniform, stained from head to toe with blood. And behind you, on the ground, the lifeless bodies of the men who had dared to harm you.

''How...?! How the hell are you-''

"Oh, you thought I'd be sitting quietly, waiting for my face to be carved off? How naive you are.''

Firecracker snap on the other line, realizing she had been outplayed. With anger slowly boiling inside her, she raised her voice. "Don't act so cocky. I still have that compromising video of you." she warned. "One click and your career is over."

''You know, while you left me with your nice masked friends, I had a lot of time to think. At the beginning I was very worried about that video, it would have really created a big scandal for my image...''

''And you should still be worried about it! Indeed, terrified!''

Your laugh echoed through the speakers.

''But then,I came up with a realisation. Maybe he will get angry at first. But Homelander won't take kindly to anyone who threatens me. He'll eliminate anyone who has seen that footage. And If you release it, you'll become public enemy number one."

Firecracker's heart sank as she realized the truth in your words. Homelander's protective nature towards you was a well-known fact. Anyone who had seen that footage, especially someone within the Seven, would quickly be targeted.

"You... you wouldn't dare. I'll deny everything." she stuttered, her confident facade starting to crumble.

A wicked gleam appeared in your eyes as you smirked again.

"Oh, I would. And Homelander will believe me over you any day. He'll tear you apart If you try anything. So I suggest you delete that footage, love. Because If it ever sees the light of day, you won't be able to save your pretty little face."

Firecracker's hands trembled as she gripped her phone tighter. Your words rang through her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

You started walking outside the building, still holding the camera, your voice calm. "And by the way, I found the phone of one of your mercenaries. And guess what I found there? Evidence of your little plan to ruin me. Messages between you and them, planning every detail. If you're still in doubt of what to do next, know that have all the proof I need to expose you."

Her blood ran cold as she watching you in horror. You had evidence, solid evidence, of her plan to ruin you. She could feel the walls closing in around her. She became ridicoulous.

"Wait! L-listen, we...we can talk about this! You're alright! You're fine, you're the mighty Ophera! Mine was j-just...a prank. Sure, a prank! You were never really in danger"

It was a desperate, last attempt to save her own skin.

And you are a merciful goddess, right?

''Mmh. An interesting way to spin things. A prank involving hired mercs, secret planning, blackmail attempts, and the risk of disfigurement. Just a little prank, right?"

"I…I…y-yes. A sick, twisted, and stupid prank. I never meant for it to go that far, really. Just a way to get back at you for…being so perfect all the time. I envy...I envy you, you know!''

Your eyes rolled at her attempts to rationalize her actions. She was really going all in, trying to save herself with excuses and half truths. You could practically see the desperation on her face even through the video call.

With a single wave of your bloody hand, you tell her to stay silent. And she stop with her rambling, confused.

You leaned closer to the phone, a lovely grin on your face. "Just a friendly reminder, Homelander can hear pretty well thanks to his powers. He might be listening to this conversation right now."

She had been so focused on her own survival that she had completely forgotten about Homelander's incredible sense of hearing. The thought that he might be listening in on this conversation sent a chill down her spine.

From her reaction you can guess that they're in that same room, maybe with Ashley and all the other super waiting for any news about you.

''Now, be a good girl and go to Homelander.''

"You…you can't…please, I-" she pleaded in a small desperate voice.

''And give him the phone, now.''

She slowly started walking towards Homelander and the others, the phone in her hands, hardly mantaining a smile on her face. ''Uhm- H-Homelander...I've some good news!''

''Spit it out, what's going on?" raised an eyebrow, dead serious.

"Uhm- I-it's for you." she held the phone out to him

The moment Homelander laid eyes on the phone, his emotions were a mixture of relief and anger. He quickly snatched the phone from Firecracker's trembling hand.

"Ophera?! Where the hell are you?!" he repeated, his voice echoing the frustration he was feeling.

"Hey, love. Sorry to worry you. I'm safe and well, just had a little unexpected adventure."

He clenched the phone tightly, his fingers leaving cracks on the device. "Damn it, woman. You had me worried sick. What the hell happened? Where are you? And are you covered in blood? Is that yours?!"

You felt a tingle of satisfaction as you heard the edge of worry in his voice. You can barely imagine Firecracker's defeated face at that moment.

''Don't worry, isn't mine. You know, the usual, anti-super criminals. I got my ass kidnapped, but don't worry, I took care of it. The morons have no idea what kind of trouble they stepped into."

"Why didn't you call me sooner? I could have come and rescued your ass.''

''I am an independent and strong woman. I never ask anyone for help.'' you smiled confident and charming on the screen.

Homelander couldn't help but smirk at your response. Despite his concern, he knew that you were more than capable of taking care of yourself. "Damn straight you are. Now. I'm coming to get you. I need to know everything about this absurd situation of yours.''

''Sure love, I've a lot of things to tell you. Like a good and all blooody bedtime story.''

Firecracker stood nearby, watching the exchange between Homelander and you on the phone. Her heart was in her throat as she listened to your conversation.

Her eyes widened as you continued to talk with him, your confident and charismatic persona shining through even in your bruised and battered state. She couldn't believe how calmly you were handling the situation, while she was the one who had orchestrated the whole disastrous plan.

''I'm at the old abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. You know, the one with the graffiti and the broken windows?"

"I'll be there in three minutes, don't move."

Admiration for you filled her, and jealousy as well as she observed Homelander's reaction to your words. The concern in his voice, the protectiveness he still had over you, it was all too evident.

As you hung up the phone, Firecracker couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. You were unfortunately safe, and he was on his way to get you back to the Tower. But she also knew that her actions had consequences. She had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

You ended the call, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips. You had turned the tables on your rival, and now she was the one who was in trouble.

"Well, well, well. Looks like someone's in quite a pickle." you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "I suggest you start thinking about your next move, Firecracker. Because whatever it is, I'm one step ahead of you."

The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: the dynamic within The Seven had been irrevocably changed.

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ALRIGHT, WHAT A RIDE WAS THIS ONE?? I absolutely wanna write more with other canon characters! Thanks again for the request, it was really good to write, hope you like it! Kisses ❤️‍🔥

#the boys #homelander fanfiction #homelander x reader #homelander x y/n #homelander x you #homelander #firecracker #the boys fanfic #amazon the boys #fanfic request #my post #the boys oc #original character #firecracker x reader #dark fic

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