#so it has a right to be right in the absolute abyss of my soul but the other songs are still angry

[jayvikyaoi]

i really need to post more here. despite this being my main and my mutuals not giving a shit i feel like i should only be posting about mcyt and i haven't been keeping up with any mcyts recently

[eggmeralda]

all my favourite songs of all time kind of had to earn their place in the centre of my soul, they had to work for it for at least a few months before even being considered (subconsciously)

then late spring true love by sadness came along and instantly moved into the deepest depths of my memories and started gentrifying everything and it made all the other songs so annoyed

[comfortless]

hades! konig and persephone! reader

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. abduction, voyeurism, dubcon, not very explicit smut.

notes: this has been on my mind for an eternity actually thank you sweet anon for finally encouraging me to write it out! if you celebrate, merry christmas! and if not consider this just a lil gift for absolutely no reason apart from for being my first Kö request. 💕

A hollow grows within him the moment his gaze meets hers. A chance crossing whilst collecting a rare offering of fruit laid out just for him. Most mortals wouldn’t beckon his attention, and the gods often left him just as well. He knows better than to take insult and become reckless, though… recklessness comes as easily as breathing when his stare settles on her across the glade. She twirls in silent dance, pirouetting carefully as if to avoid crushing the nature that springs up, brushing against her soles. Her voice picks up in a song when she notes the figure watching her from a distance, her cadence no less beautiful than any choir despite the flighty waver in her tone.

When the nymphs rise up from the stream to listen, he stands transfixed for a moment as they pull her in with them for a more elaborate dance, voices all melding until they break into a chorus of giggles and stories.

It should have been left at that.

She walks an earth made for her; flowers blossoming beneath her bare soles, each root extending for just a chance to brush against tender flesh, a breeze that flits gently against her hair. The daughter of Demeter, something unattainable, too precious to be dirtied by the howling abyss below her feet.

He is tethered to darkness and unknowns, an enigma with dried blood beneath his fingernails; the only songs he hears are screams. He’s since stolen flowers from the meadows she dances in. Beautiful peonies and soft green things that smell sweet. Flowers don’t bloom in the dark, they wither and dry.

Days are spent in melancholic longing, nights his roaring grief melds with the wailing of lost souls. Ugly and tainted noises that he dreams will reach her ears, that she will come to him with her lashes wet with tears, wrap him in her arms and quiet all but her own voice as she tells him that he’s more beautiful than her rivers and her blooms.

Yet, she never does.

König takes it upon himself to walk the land of mortals, teemed with life and pleasures more often now. He pulls himself from below with unnatural fire behind his eyes, a horrible, yearning abyss in place of the feathery, clumsy love that he’s watched so many others allow for themselves.

She notices him while he watches her bathe amongst the nymphs, stood upright and imposing beneath the shade of a tree. Each time, while the nymphs shy away with giggles and hands curled over their breasts, she merely keeps her eyes on him; lips-parted and pulse raging. He knows, would swear by it, that his obsession is not entirely one-sided.

Once, she chooses to wave at him, a demure flick of her wrist while his stare remains fixed upon her. The droplets of water from the curve of her neck, down to the swell of her breasts and the pebbled nipples there— down, further into the water that envelopes her and sends his mind to flicker, a roaring flame building from his chest to his groin.

All of his frustrations pale and cower at the fantasy that he just may be able to grant himself the liberty of sinking into something writhing and warm from just one, simple gesture.

He knows he’s fucked, because his first thought after the lullaby of attraction subsides is to poke her just a little; prod her and see what makes her cry the hardest, blanket her in the shadow of himself and pick her apart like a vulture to a cadaver, do things to her that no man ever has or should. It’s not right, and he has to force himself to turn away, the fabric of the veil obscuring his face as he slinks back into the dark where he belongs. Away from the untouchable maiden who seems to haunt him endlessly with her teasing.

The giggles and splashes of the nymphs whisper through the air like the chirping of birds. Though, one voice stands out above the rest of the noise, causes him to halt in his tracks.

“Why does he never speak to us?”

Her voice, so sweet, asking about him when she should be speaking of nothing but the beauty surrounding her, the warmth of the sun and never the cold darkness of the moon.

It’s eating away at him, he realizes, when he can no longer satisfy himself. Nights lain in a haze, staring up at blackened walls with his length in hand. All it takes is the memory of wet lashes and a soft smile, usually. Her beauty is enough to bring even him to his knees, yet, he finds himself instead on the brink of hysteria the first night he finds a vision of her is not sufficient enough to reach the brilliant white haze of a climax.

The thought of stealing her away from her world of beauty to drag her down into the dark with him fills him with both elation and a terrible guilt. Zeus himself is no different; the thought shouldn’t warrant a seeping coldness in his veins, nor should it have caused him to spill his seed into his hand with only a mere flick of the pad of his thumb over his tip, yet it accomplishes both. A waste, when it should be buried deep inside of his beloved.

It takes only two nights for him to plot, to have Gaia choose to favor him, and on the third day the Narcissus flower blooms, pretty and golden. It echoes false promises, softness and beauty beyond even the daughter of Demeter’s imaginations. She will hate him, she will. Her very soul will sour the moment she lays her eyes on him next, but eventually… she will come to understand, return his love with a whisper of her own. Lightly, at best, but it would still be more than he had ever known.

He watches the roots of the plant from below, a pinprick of warm light shining down. The thumps of footsteps overhead, shaking down loose soil like raindrops, giggles like crackling thunder. She’s roaming about with her nymphs again, gentle with her and all of her beauty. After watching her for so very long, he’s more than certain they will be braiding the flowers and falling asleep after fits of laughter with the taste of fruit on their tongues. Only, she’s condemned herself by being so predictable. She will fall, not into soft grasses with a woman’s arms thrown over her, but directly into his own. She won’t eat the fruit of the earth, but drink his wine and allow him to lose himself in her flesh, bedded down against the pelts of beasts and blackened out by shadows.

The wait isn’t long. Her voice breaks through the quiet of the earth below her feet, seems to light up even the space between the two of them as her footfalls halt only several paces away.

“Look at this one!,” she calls out.

Several steps follow after her as one of the ladies of the river comes to join her. He imagines the smile on his beloved’s face, the way her body curves as she kneels down to his trap and his fingers twitch in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Maybe not that one, sweet,” the nymph warns. “There are prettier ones by the bank.”

König can feel his jaw tighten, eyelids pausing to narrow up at the small light as he tries, forces himself to believe that this was fated. She wouldn’t turn away— she couldn’t.

“No... just look at it. We’ve not seen one so lovely since last spring.”

“What if someone else planted it for themselves?”

“But… I want it.”

She sounds so pitiful, so gentle, and he can feel that swell of heat curling inside of him again. The urge to simply love her feels all-consuming with each word that passes from her mouth.

The two above giggle to themselves at her mischief, before finally, the roots begin to move from a gentle tug above. In a matter of seconds, the entire plant has been uprooted. For a daughter of nature to not long for its beauty would be unrealistic, yet he still exhales his relief. The earth riots beneath the women’s feet, splintering cracks and loud discordance echo through the valley. The nymph’s shrieks join the disarray as her featherlight footfalls lead her far, far away from what belongs to him: the dark, the rot, and now her.

With so little time to react, she falls headfirst into the abyss, clutching the narcissus tightly between her soft breasts. Waiting arms are raised to the glimpse of sun and beauty to catch her as he pulls her tightly against his chest, tucks her head against a broad shoulder and grasps at her waist. Whatever he had imagined her flesh to feel like paled in comparison to her warmth, the softness that gives with each press of a digit that makes her tense beneath his touch.

She’s crying, shaking, terrified as she weakly raises her head and offers him a smile. It’s the kind of smile that screams savior, and he can’t bring himself to correct her. No one has ever looked at him with such tenderness.

Everything quiets the moment she looks up to him like that, after condemning herself to him as though she knows nothing of men and gods. She looks at him like he’s an angel, in turn he bites his tongue so hard he can feel the pinpricks of blood and soreness blossom from the wound. He knows he isn’t good, but the heavens have got their filth, too.

“Thank you.” She speaks in a whisper as the world above falls back into place, blanketing them both in shadow and the scent of soil and brimstone. Politeness seems unnecessary, now, though he places her gently onto her feet.

He’s far too mesmerized to stop himself from dropping to his knees in front of her and trailing a hand from her knee to her thigh, squeezing flesh so warm that the very feeling lingers pleasantly against his palm.

If a god couldn’t pluck him from this emptiness and set him on a right path, perhaps a goddess could, as he has always imagined. It’s only confirmed the instant he realizes she isn’t flinching away from his touch.

“I didn’t save you,” he explains calmly.

He’s struck down titans, claimed rulership over the underworld, and yet nothing has made him feel smaller than the fretful look in her eyes as she looks down to him kneeling before her like little more than a common man. As if to provide comfort, selfishly to himself, his massive hands drift higher to rest on her hips still wet with river water and blades of grass clinging to her just as he has longed to do. For what’s felt like an eternity of waiting, of pining, only to have it end with something as simple as a flower.

“I brought you here.”

She’s still beautiful when she cries; a palm is clasped over her mouth, eyes swimming as she trembles in his grip. Of course, she knows what this is about without ever having to ask, yet she still does as if to plead him to tell her that her thoughts are all wrong— that she’s safe and will return to her lovely friends, to her mother that would assuredly be worried sick and furious.

The rise to his feet feels like a mile long stretch, whilst he keeps her caged between the dirty wall and the vast expanse of chest. He shushes her with a gentle tone, wipes her tears away with the ghosting of fingertips before pushing up the veil covering his face to lie claim to her mouth as though his very life depended upon it. Perhaps it did. Though he did not fear Demeter, nor his brothers should she call upon them, he feared not having this ethereal, gentle thing at his side. He feared the creep of loneliness that ravaged his bed each night.

She sighs against his mouth, but does not reciprocate. Everything about her is tense and stressed, a wild mare preparing to kick out for the first time. His tongue lolls out to lap against her soft lips, just twice before he forces himself to part from her.

His beloved brushes away stray tears from her cheeks with the meat of her palms, shivering just a little as she tries to force herself to straighten up, appear braver despite the way she teeters on the edge of falling apart so easily before him. The heavy gaze of obsession fixed upon his face turns further predacious when she apologizes for not being able to help herself in response.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” she explains, holding out the ruined flower to him in one, shaking hand. She protests in her own way, eternally kind, but it all falls on deaf ears as he brushes the petals from her palm and takes her up into his arms again. With an arm beneath the backs of her knees and the other wrapped tightly around her middle, he leads her deeper into the underworld.

A mere taste wouldn’t do.

Her protests are nothing more than soft sniffles when he does take her to his bed of pelts, her arm even thrown over his shoulder as her body presses tightly to him. He thinks for only a moment that he could take his time, stop this all before she truly does grow to loathe him, but the descent into the bed only fortifies his resolve; his belief that this gentle woman of the earth, who smells of magnolia and clear waters belonged entirely to him. For now and forevermore.

“You are to be my wife.”

That quiets her for a moment, her eyes finally meeting his once more as he hovers over her, a palm to either side of her head. She has a mind to shyly curl her hand against her chest then, centered between her breasts which rise and fall with each flighty breath. It’s not panic, but more— curiosity, a misleading thing that he takes to be acceptance until she graces him with a mere murmur of her voice again.

“I don’t belong here.”

König knows that she doesn’t belong in a place like this, for all her grace to be lost to the cold, the rot; his kingdom is nothing but a wasteland riddled with the dead and subjects who take up the mantle of cruelty in his stead. The thought of actually allowing her to go instills rage and melancholy so quickly, he curls his fingers into the fur below to keep himself from flinching.

“You will.”

A digit reaches to trail across her bottom lip, tentative, but the need to touch overwhelms him past the point of caring for much else. To his amazement, she still does not push him away.

“How could that be?”

He doesn’t respond.

More than bedding her, a matter more pressing pushes to the forefront of his mind. Though he knows the likelihood of anyone being aware of her disappearance is nonexistent, a mere whisper from the beaks of crows by this time, he would do well to ensure that she wasn’t leaving. Just as every other soul resigned to dwell here with him, she too would remain.

“You’re famished,” he whispers the suggestion as he splays a palm out over her bare abdomen, only backing away enough to allow her a small length of space between them.

Her concerned stare shoots from his palm to his veil in an instant before she weakly nods her head and props herself up on her elbows.

“Quite… yes.”

She allows herself to be pulled into his lap without a fuss, doesn’t make mention of the hardened cock beneath her. His mind is swimming with the fantasies that kept him tame on so many nights without her as he presses his nose against her temple. A shallow intake of breath, and her lips part readily for him as he pushes the sweet pomegranate seed into her mouth, savoring the brush of her tongue against his fingertip. She eats without thought, never knowing how she’s tethered herself to his plane.

There’s an offering of sweet wine followed by a gathering of honeysuckle for her to sip the nectar from as well before he’s convinced she’s pliant enough. Despite the desire raging within him for all of this time, he would not be cruel to her. The thought of hurting this sweet, little dream doesn’t excite him. It’s her love that he wants, not her anguish.

He lies her back with sweet whispers, gentle caresses as he listens to her murmurs in response. She speaks of the stories only small creatures would know; the way the winds change and the rivers flood, the prettiest places she’s been. No fruit has ever tasted sweeter to her than the pomegranate, and nothing has ever filled him with such emotion as the moment he penetrates her.

He speaks to her through it, tries to, whilst he’s overcome with a pleasure that assuredly no other has ever had the blessing of. She affixes herself perfectly to him, clinging to him as he takes her with gentle thrusts. Gritted teeth and barely contained grunts are met with dulcet mewls as her hands reach for his. His heart aches, truly, at the knowledge that she isn’t meant for this place; his kingdom is nothing but suffering, and she belongs beneath the sun in meadows of flowers. His last thrust is deep, reminds him of the places he dares not tread often, the domains of his brothers, pillow soft clouds and a heaven far above, lost to him.

It’s her consoling him when he fills her to bursting with his seed— delicate arms curling around his head, cradling him against her breasts as she silenced the tears he hadn’t even realized he had shed. He had damned her, yet her soul had not soured; not all flowers withered in the dark.

The endless night is easier on his beloved after the first. She visits with the other souls and comes to him for comfort when the screams and cries in the darkness become too much to bear. She’s less fragile than he had anticipated when she demands he bring her home, and those demands so often end with little else than König taking her into his arms to lead her elsewhere. The underworld can be beautiful too, when seated upon a throne being hand fed by a man that knows little more than to blanket her in as much softness as he can muster. He tells her of the titanomachy, of the white tree, of anything to keep her entertained. His tongue does not shy from telling her that he loves her, too, often met with a shy glance or a soft giggle. Not outright disdain, and for now it feels enough.

She cries often, in longing for her mother and her friends, though never over this love she had never sought herself. Her loneliness only fuels her need for comfort. Selfishly, he believes that he’s saved the night she willingly wraps her arms around him, pulls him close and falls asleep nestled against his chest.

— — —

With the reliance on mortal offerings and Demeter’s anguish having been brought to light with seasons of failed harvests, it was only a matter of time before she was forced away from him. The months without her feel dreadful and empty, but he doesn’t dare disturb her while she walks the earth at her mother’s side. The agreement was beneficial for all of the gods and goddesses, and he knew better than to tread upon it by rushing to her like little more than a pleading dog. When winter took hold, bathing the lands in its icy touch and withering the plants she cherished and freezing over the rivers her nymphs played in, she would return to him as she must.

Each time is different. His beloved is not simply a thoughtless vessel as many of his subordinates. She is the most incredible thing he’s ever had the joy of meeting.

When she returns in tears, calling to him for his comfort he does not hesitate to kiss them all away and remind her that her summers will return and everything above will be just as it was on the day that he brought her below.

Sometimes, she’s angry, jealous even. She asks him often why he doesn’t come to see her while she’s away. He is her husband, after all. Was there anyone else in which he spent his nights with? Someone fairer than even she? The satisfaction of seating her on his cock, satisfying her as she does him on their shared throne far out rivals even ruling the domain itself. He would do anything to prove to her that she was his only; the sole thing he even thought of whilst her mind was filled with new songs and tales from the nymphs she spent her time away with.

Never has she returned with a gift.

Yet, she stumbles back into his realm clutching a small satchel, dripping with the scent of a juice sweet and familiar. A pleasant smile paints her features as she seats herself next to him on the throne. The bench of marble felt far too vast and dreadful to hold someone so delicate, the sight is something he’s grown accustomed to; emptiness is replaced with familiarity seeing her interact with anything here. It may not be home to her, but something in the way she looks to him— as she always had with tenderness, makes him question if a part of her sees him as home.

“I’ve brought something back for you,” she chimes as she pats her thigh.

Each time was different, but it had never been like this before.

He pulls himself to her side before slumping down to rest his head against her, tracing his fingertips along the length of her leg as his gaze drops almost sheepishly.

“Did you?”

She hums in reply, plucking one of the seeds from the satchel before slipping her hand beneath the veil to feed him. His lips part as he takes in the flavor of the aril, the honeyed taste almost akin to the look in her eyes.

“Just like…” She trails off for a moment as she lowers her head to press a kiss to the cheek of his veiled face. The delicate laugh that follows is unlike any he’s heard from her prior, it’s unique, saved solely for him.

“The six that I fed to you?” He asks her quietly, as he pulls himself away from her to meet her eyes directly. The air around them feels thick, loosely charged with a feeling that he can’t quite place; an intensity that he’s never felt before. Any groaning or wailing off in the abyss is silent now, just quiet words spoken.

Things have always felt warmer since her descent, but he’s learned to not expect anything more than she was willing to give. Still, hope cinches his heart tighter than it ever did prior. Even in battle, slaying his father alongside his brothers, he had never felt his heart race the way it does now.

She nods her head, opening up the satchel just wide enough to reveal the other five arils.

“I don’t think that I understand.”

“You should.”

He mulls over that for a moment before the fog finally clears. Any doubt that he had is remedied by a mere two words. He stares at her dumbly, searching her eyes for any hint that this is some horrible, cruel trick; that the implication is something he’s horribly misunderstood.

She couldn’t possibly come to love him… could she?

“To tie you to me,” she says softly.

The smile remains on her face when she closes the distance to kiss him. Not over the veil, but beneath it this time.

Her descent was one of a selfish longing, and his felt as though he was plunging into a world of flowers.

[gigabyte-flare]

Insatiable (Part 1)

Summary: You are a researcher for D.S.O. who is responsible for studying Leon Kennedy as Las Plagas overtakes him, maybe even finding a cure. He starts to take a liking to you, too much of a liking to you.

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: yandere plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Extreme violence and gore, biting, dubcon, forced breeding, gross las plagas-y things, death, mentions of un-aliving. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

A/N: Heavily inspired by this artwork by @chanif-art on Tumblr along with Project Scorpion by @tagzpite. Literally could not get this idea out of my head until I wrote it down. Definitely going to be another series. We're also going to pretend D.S.O. was founded way sooner than 2011 k byeeeeee

“I fought a war and I learned how to win, but how do you fight when the enemy’s within?”

You step out of an elevator led by two armed D.S.O. operatives in tactical gear deep underground at HQ, your white lab coat flowing gently as you walk forward. Grasped in your right hand is a voice recorder. You and the operatives go through a series of heavy steel doors leading you into the bowels of the underground facility.

Is all this really necessary? you think to yourself as you’re led deeper into the abyss.

Finally, you’re brought to a single cell enclosed with clear polycarbonate panels with steel reinforcements. In this cell was a man sitting in a chair that was bolted into the floor, his hands chained behind his back and his legs chained to the legs of the chair. This man is Agent Leon S. Kennedy. You approach one of the panels closest to the steel door keeping him in. 

Switching the voice recorder on and bringing it to your mouth, you state your name before continuing, “The year is 2004. The subject is field agent Leon Scott Kennedy, currently 27 years old and exhibiting the late stages of Las Plagas infestation, his body is covered in dark, vein like marks. Subject is currently slumped over in the chair. He appears to be catatonic.”

Bringing the recorder away from your mouth, you motion to one of the operatives to guard the door. You input a passcode into a key panel next to the door. It lets out a hiss as it slowly swings open. As you step in, the door swings closed and locks.

You bring the recorder back to your mouth and continue, “Agent Kennedy?”

You watch as Leon slowly lifts his head, his face completely covered in the dark veins, his once blue eyes now have a slight red tinge to them, it makes your stomach twist in sorrow, he used to be such a handsome man.

“Subject appears to still have some cognitive ability left as he immediately recognized his name. We’re still trying to understand how he hasn’t broken down now that the alpha Plagas host, Osmund Saddler, has been destroyed--”

“I’m right here, you know,” Leon suddenly spoke, making you jump.

“Ag-Agent Kennedy!” you reply, eyes wide in shock that he’s able to speak. 

“Please, just call me Leon, sweetheart.”

His dark gaze seemed to pierce straight into your very soul. You collect yourself, clearing your throat.

“How are you feeling, Leon?”

Leon looks down at himself, tugging gently at his restraints before looking back up at you, “all things considered, I actually feel pretty damn good.”

“That’s… good, I guess,” you reply, your nervousness clear in your voice. 

You hadn’t prepared for this, every researcher that attempted to interact with him got absolutely nothing out of him, hence why they sent you down. You argued with them, not seeing the point but now you began to realize that the difference was they were all men, you were a woman. 

“Awww… there’s no need to be so nervous, sweetheart, it’s just me, Leon Kennedy. I promise I don’t bite,” he says, a small smirk appearing on his lips, “hard.”

“Do you know where you are and why you’re here, Leon?”

He lets out a chuckle, “yeah, I’m in D.S.O.’s research facility because I’m turning into a monster.”

“That’s putting it rather bluntly, but yes, that’s correct.”

“About time they sent someone cute down here to visit me, the rest were much too dull. If I wasn’t chained up, I’d ask you out to dinner and a movie.”

You feel yourself blushing, “that’s… very kind of you Leon, however that won’t be happening anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

“That’s a shame, because I’d love to take you to bed and make you scream my name,” he growls, a sinister grin overtaking him.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest as your eyes widen at him. This wasn’t like Leon at all, the parasite was clearly twisting his thoughts. You panic, turning around to motion the operatives to open the door and let you out. As soon as you’re out of the cell, you briskly walk away from the cell as fast as you can, not once looking back. You could have swore you heard Leon’s laugh echo after you. 

“I am not going back down there, are you insane?!”

“You’re the first person he has actually spoken to since he got back from Spain,” the lead researcher, Bryan said, setting your voice recorder down onto his desk. 

“So? Your point? I’m not doing it and that’s final!”

“Look, this recording gives us valuable data on him, it’s clear that the Plagas inside him is mutating into a more dominant strain. It must know it’s the last one left,” Bryan said, pleading with you.

“So we’re just going to poke and prod him like he’s some guinea pig? Leon wouldn’t have wanted that! Are you sure there’s no way we can cure him?”

“If we attempt to remove the parasite now, it will kill him--”

“Then let’s put him out of his misery, this isn’t right!”

The silence between you was deafening. After a few minutes, Bryan finally spoke.

“Judging by this recording, the Plagas has one thing on its mind.”

“Which is…?”

Bryan looked up at you, letting out a heavy sigh, “reproduction.”

“All the more reason I shouldn’t be going back down there!”

“He’ll be restrained and you’ll have at least two operatives with you at all times, you’ll be safe,” Bryan leans forward on his desk, folding his hands together, “the data you collect from Agent Kennedy is invaluable in finding out how the parasite works, just… go down and talk to him. I know yesterday was unnerving but there is one thing he said that is true, he’s just Leon Kennedy. He’s in there somewhere, even if the Plagas is influencing him.”

You cross your arms, staring at the floor, letting out a frustrated sigh before looking back up at Bryan, “fine. But I want hazard pay.”

“Consider it done, here’s your recorder back,” Bryan says, sliding the recorder across the desk towards you. 

You grab the recorder of the desk, turning on your heel to walk out of Bryan’s office.

“You are to report down there in an hour, you hear me?” Bryan calls after you just as you walk out the door.

You fight the urge to flip him off, thinking better of it. You walk down the hall into your office, getting your lab coat back on and sitting at your desk. You press play on the recorder, listening back on your interaction with Leon several times. There was one part where you repeated it several times, sending chills down your spine.

“That’s a shame, because I’d love to take you to bed and make you scream my name.”

How long had Leon been locked down here, chained to this chair? How many men in lab coats came and tried to talk to him? He knew he was a lost cause, why were they keeping him alive? How many times did he wish death would come and take him in his sleep?

But then you came, awakening something in him.

Your natural scent filled the cell completely, so many hours had gone by and he could still smell you and you smelled absolutely divine. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way your voice was so sweet yet filled with drive and intelligence. The way you blushed when he flirted with you. The way your heartbeat began to race at just the mere mention of taking you.

God you were so cute when you ran off, all flustered, he couldn’t help but laugh; he hadn’t felt alive like that in so long. His reminiscing was interrupted suddenly when he could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Lifting his head, he practically began to salivate when he saw you had returned.

You came back to me, baby, where you belong…

“The subject appears to be conscious and alert, he watched us as soon as we were in his line of sight,” you say as he watches you speak into the voice recorder. 

With a hiss, the door opens and you step inside. Leon breathed in deep, taking in the smell of you, you smelled even better than you had yesterday. He feels his cock twitch in his pants in excitement. He watches as the door behind you closes and locks, just like it had yesterday, trapping you in here with him.

Curse these fucking chains…

“You’re more lively today, Leon, care to tell me why?” you ask, your voice flat and void of any emotion.

“How about you tell me why you smell so nice,” Leon replies, grinning at you, drool running from his mouth down his chin.

He watches you shift uncomfortably before you continue, “I’m not answering that.”

Leon scoffs, shaking his head, “then I’m not going to talk to you, sweetheart.”

You take a deep breath, “if I’m going to be honest, I don’t know why I smell so nice to you, Leon.”

His red eyes scan up and down your form, imagining it without all those needless clothes. Imagining himself pinning you to the floor and fucking you stupid. A strange, clicking sound came out of him from the back of his throat as he pulled aggressively on the chains holding him to the chair. He watches as the two men with guns outside become alert. Leon lets out a low growl as he glares at them.

You turn to face the men, signaling to them to stand down. He watches them both relax before you return your attention to him. 

“The transformation appears to be progressing faster than expected,” you say into the recorder, “are you in any pain, Leon?”

Leon slowly shakes his head, “no, just unbelievably horny, doll.”

“We have reason to believe the subject is displaying an increased libido due to the fact that the parasite inside him knows it’s the last of its kind.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, that’s awfully rude.”

“Fine,” you say, lowering the recorder away from your mouth, “what do you want to talk about, Leon?”

“You should ask those nice boys out there to take these chains off me,” Leon purrs, staring at you longingly.

“Absolutely not, Leon,” you reply, crossing your arms, “those chains are there for my safety as well as your own, at least until we can get the Plagas out of your body.” “I think I’m too far gone for that, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

You take a deep breath and exhale loudly, the sorrow clear in your eyes, “I am so sorry that this is what you have become, Leon.”

“I’m not,” Leon says as that sinister grin overtakes him again; he starts to chuckle.

“Leon,” you begin, stepping closer and kneeling down to be eye level with Leon, “I know the real you is in there, somewhere, you have to fight it.”

Your scent was almost enough to drive him crazy, you were delectable. He licks his lips, that clicking sound coming out from this throat again. His eyes are locked on you and he sees you glance down briefly before looking back into his eyes. He knew what you were looking at, you were looking at the noticeable bulge in his cargo pants.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” Leon says, his body visibly trembling.

You don’t respond, you simply stare at him with that same sad look in your eyes. How could you not want him as much as he wanted you. His lips curl into a snarl.

“Let me FUCK YOU!” he growls, lunging forward, the bolts in the chair letting out a loud screech as they’re bent slightly.

You stumble back, falling backwards onto the floor as Leon continues to struggle violently. The two men with guns come rushing in, one of them grabbing you off the floor while the other shoots a tranquilizer dart into Leon’s thigh. Leon feels the effects almost instantly, his body becomes limp as he becomes sluggish, his mouth hanging agape as he watches you get led out of the room by the two men, the door shutting and locking behind them as you’re led away.

“Mine,” he whispers in his last moments of consciousness, “all mine.”

Part 2

[snowyquokka]

Hiiii how are you

I have e a request for han or seungmin that their enemies and they have to go to a party that their friends are going to and the reader gets really drunk so they help them and they both confess to liking each other and it's just really fluffy

I hope I explained that the right way

Ps love your work

Lots of love A<3

BUTTERFLIES

frat boy han jisung x fem reader

cw: mature themes MDNI, mentions of sex, alcohol consumption (both above age), swearing, angst EVEN THOUGH IT WAS SUPPOSED TO ONLY BE FLUFF, second chance lovers, college au, blah blah blah

wc: 1.2k

a.n - i apologize for this taking me so long but i really wanted to get it right and do the prompt justice. i absolutely loved writing this and i appreciate the request !! (thank you ina for letting me blow up your dms over this <3)

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

“You are so fucking lucky I love you,” you mutter as you walk into a frat party with your best friend, Mina. She wouldn’t stop pestering you about ‘coming out of your shell’ and ‘loosening up.’

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll thank me later, babe. And don’t worry, I’m the DD tonight. Have fun, seriously.” she smiles. You’d be lying if you said that deep down - very deep, like in the abyss of your soul - you weren’t grateful for her making you leave your room, where she thought you’d live forever if she didn’t have a say.

“Oo, lookie!” Mina exclaims as she points out two guys leaning against the kitchen island. Lee Minho and you’ve gotta be kidding me,

“Mina, no. You’ve got me fifty shades of fucked up if you think I’m gonna go talk to Han,” you make a face at the bitter taste of his name.

“You haven’t even spoken to him in what,” she counts on her fingers, “…8 months?

“Mina, I don’t think getting coffee at the same shop counts as talking.” you roll your eyes, “He’s a complete dickhead who has absolutely no consideration for others,” Mina shrugs and grabs your arm before dragging you over towards the two men despite your protests.

You immediately catch Jisung’s attention, watching as a small smirk tugs on his lips.

“Ah, Mina! How are you?” Minho beams at your best friend.

While they get caught up in their conversation you look around and spot a tray of Jell-O shots sitting on the counter unattended. Shrugging your shoulders, you pick one up and down it with zero hesitation.

Without even registering it, you consume three in less than two minutes. At least you’re enjoying yourself, right?

“I’d be careful if I were you, nabi.” You cringe at the nickname as Jisung’s voice cuts through the music playing in the background. You turn around to face him with a groan.

“I’m not in the mood, Han.” you grab another shot.

“Ouch. Back to last names, are we?” Jisung clutches his chest in mock pain, earning an eye roll from you. You glance over at Mina - or rather, where she was standing five minutes ago.

“Where’d they go?” You nod towards the now empty space.

“Probably going to fuck,” he shrugs, “Who knows?”

You huff and cross your arms over your chest.

“Oh come on, nabi. You can’t avoid me forever.” Your cheeks redden in annoyance.

“I can and I will actually. Also, stop calling me that.”

He scoffs as you walk away with yet another shot in your hand.

After a few moments of hesitation, he reluctantly follows you. “Wait. Can we ta-“

Jisung cuts himself off at the sight of you dancing with some guy from his fraternity, his hands on your hips as you sway them to the beat. Something in Jisung’s chest twists and a pit forms in his stomach. Shaking his head and pushing down his feelings, he turns to walk away.

Not worth it, Ji.

That is until he hears your laugh. Your sweet, gentle, angelic laugh. Sparked by someone who looks like they’d forget your name before he even gets what he wants from you.

Fuck. All. That.

Jisung downs the rest of his beer and stalks towards the two of you.

“Get your fucking hands off my girl.” he glares at the other man.

Jisung ignores him and snatches your wrist and drags you away, careful not to let you fall.

“J - Han get off of me,” you sputter as you attempt to set yourself free as he guides you upstairs to a vacant bedroom.

“I am not yours, asshole.” you wipe your palms down your dress in order to try to make it stretch a little more past your thighs. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Jisung who has to force himself to tear his eyes away from your curves. Curves that he’s dreamt of holding underneath his fingertips for years.

“Why won’t you have one conversation with me? You’re acting like we weren’t inseparable two years ago,” Jisung runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol giving him confidence or if it’s his physical need to be as close as he can to you.

“You left, what did you expect to happen?” you let out once your mind starts to uncloud.

Jisung advances towards you, the beat of the music downstairs matching your racing pulse. With each step he takes, your heart knots tighter and tighter. Once he reaches you he places his hand on the wall beside you, caging you in.

Your senses heighten and the intensity of his gaze forces you to shrink yet you carry on, “You didn’t even care about what I had to say about it. In fact, I didn’t even know you were going until three hours before your flight took off.”

Your words are like a knife to his abdomen.

He searches your eyes for something - anything - other than pain.

Nothing.

The knife twists in his gut.

You don’t realize you’re crying until Jisung’s hand comes up to brush your tears off of your cheeks.

“I’ve hated myself everyday for the past two years, nabi. I thought of coming back to you but..” he trails off.

“Ji, don’t do this to me. I can’t. Please.” your voice shakes more than you would like it to as you try to warrant off more tears. You’ve always been an emotional drunk, but this? This is next level.

“You know, the moment I found out where you were going to college I immediately applied there? And then I applied to every college in the area, just in case I didn’t get accepted,” his voice drops to a mere whisper, “I did it because I wanted to fix us. I want to fix us.”

Your mouth falls slightly agape as you attempt to process the absolute bomb he just threw at you,

“It would’ve been easier if I hadn’t..” you cut off and wipe your mascara-stained cheeks, tilting your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. You’re too afraid to acknowledge the truth.

You’ve always been too afraid.

Though, you aren’t very sure what the truth is, exactly.

Jisung leans in and speaks softly into your ear, “I fell in love, too.”

Your eyes flutter open to see him nose-to-nose with you.

Warmth that has nothing to do with the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed spreads throughout you, head to toe, and something velvety skates along your soul.

“Butterflies,” you mumble unwittingly.

Jisung smiles softly and leans his forehead against yours.

“Can you find somewhere in that big, beautiful heart for me?” he looks down and threads his fingers with yours.

“No need,” you smile, “it was all yours to begin with.”

tags: @godslino @skzstarnet @anakin-sweetheart

divider: @chaeneuu

[nyxthejinx]

Answering to this desperate cry for help

Maaan this was so much fun fr, i hope I made these bad boys justice. Also, didn't know what kind of format I should be using and especially how to repost the original thing, since copying and pasting on the reblog would be absolute hell rip

𝐓𝐖: people biting each other but in an affectionate way, idk lemme know if there's more

𝐅𝐭.: Dottore, Xiao, Childe - GN!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k (in total)

𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨: 3rd Made in Abyss soundtrack - Kevin Penkin (yes, it's that good, no comment)

𝐃𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

OHOO he's gonna be so intrigued by this weird habit of yours.

We all know he's not big on social interactions and all -he barely values human life- but when you came into the picture he felt invested in someone for the first time. Hence he observes... Normal people, to learn the basics.

He's smart, a quick learner. Will understand in no time your likes and dislikes, but one day you?? Bite him? Chomp like a feral newborn kitten? Oh, his scholar personality spikes through the roof.

Dottore's never seen anyone bite their partner like you do, it confuses him at first, although he won't say anything and just chuckle. He'd rather observe you and come to his own conclusions before asking.

Was it a one time thing? When, how and where do you like to do it? Is there a deeper meaning, a show of intimacy? Need for attention? Affection?

Yeah he'll treat it like a maths equation, that's how he is.

Some days you'd see him without his mask, leaning particularly close to your face. Other times he'd set his gloves aside and let his digits linger on your cheeks and jaw for every little thing. (He knows he’s difficult to bite because of his clothes)

"Oh Dear, look at your lips, they're chapped/full of crumbs/smeared with any other kind of food/every single excuse he can come up with."

It takes you a bit longer than you would've wanted, but you realise his true intentions eventually. If you feel smug you can just chomp on him randomly and see him lose his mind (he thought he'd figured everything out rip dottore.exe).

I advise against it though, he'd repay the torture tenfold. (aka not cuddle with you even if you ask nicely).

Overall, Dottore finds this habit of yours cute. You're a nice little, innocent thing in his eyes and that just adds to your charm.

Yeah you can be a 1.90m tall menace of a person and he'd still tease you, an arrogant, mean jerk >:(

After some time he starts biting you back (ouch shark teeth), not in a painful way ofc. He's so casual with it, most likely to strike when you least expect it just to see your surprised and/or flustered face.

Or to have you chomping in return, even ;)

I'd say 7.5/10, good chomping partner but will "fight" back.

𝐗𝐢𝐚𝐨

My guy, poor guy.

He's another social inept, we all know why.

He started to learn about human customs after meeting you, and you've helped him out a lot, but he's still so stiff.

He probably gets a heart attack every time you give him a surprise hug. The day you chomp on him his soul leaves his body.

It's not that he's a scaredy cat, physical touch just overwhelms his senses if he's not prepared :((

Asks you to tell him beforehand next time.

But aside from that he doesn't seem to mind. He finds every human custom weird in a way, this one is no exception, and eventually it becomes routine yeah?

I think he's a perfect subject for chomping, with all the exposed skin he has. I mean, look at his shoulders! The urge to sneak up from behind and just CHOMP.

He's got muscles for days too, won't shatter your teeth on his bones. AND HIS CHEEKS- his baby cheeks, they look so soft how can you not bite those.

But yeah, just give him some time and he'll get used to this.

Xiao's not stupid either, he notices right away that you're the only human partaking in this activity, or in public at least. Lowkey feels happy and proud to have you as a partner, you're so special and unique :( <33

At some point he'll want to try it out as well, but he's sooo shy about it and a bit scared he'll hurt you. You gotta make him confess with bone crushing hugs.

When he eventually chomps back he's UGHH so soft with it. For Xiao it's more about the meaning and the bonding experience than the chomp itself.

9/10 if you're fine with doing all the chomping. 8/10 if you want chomps back, but definetly recommended.

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞

Run. RUN. RUN FOR YOUR CHEEKS' LIFE.

He is THE chomping menace.

Let me tell ya, you're putting your life on the line. It's like a declaration of war and he will not hesitate to respond with all he's got.

We know for a fact that he's always up for a challenge. If you're crazy enough to engage and bite him first, well I hope you have a survival plan for the rest of your life cus he won't stop.

It can and will escalate in a "fight" if you're in a private space (you know the tickle fights where you become a mess of tangled limbs? That.) If you try that in public though? He's gonna look at you like a damn predator.

He'll eat your cheeks once you get home, good luck.

His bites are rough-ish too, unfortunately for you. He’d never hurt you on purpose, and is always careful with his strength, but in the heat of battle he’ll forget; 7 times out of 10 you leave the field with a 32 teeth bite mark. 

I think he is more of a cheek guy than anything. They're always available and easy to reach, regardless of your height, and it's also so intimate because who else touches your face? No one, aside from him.

He's the chosen one.

And don't think it will stop at the first time, no no. You've unlocked a new hobby for him. He'll put so much effort in it, it's terrifying.

If you act surprised or flustered well, bonus points in his opinion. Your face is just priceless and will make a habit to make you react that way.

At that point you either fight back or succumb. His soft spots are his stomach (duh, nibble on the exposed skin when he's in his work clothes, I bet he's ticklish), his nape, collarbones and overall the base of his neck.

The rest of his body is still a good chomping surface, but his instincts kick in and his muscles go taut, it's like biting a rock and has no effect on him.

Childe will definitely give you a hard time. It's up to you to take advantage of the right moment and give him a good revenge chomp.

Honestly, he's my fave ever but I'll give him a 5/10 just because of that. Can't even bite the man in peace anymore 🙄

DON'T copy/repost my work. REBLOG instead! ©nyxthejinx

[sun-snatcher]

JUST AUGH. JUST. HEAR ME OUT. Matt realising both Matthew Murdock and Daredevil would absolutely go to extreme lengths to protect you and just,,, the dichotomy of Catholic Matt and vigilante Daredevil???? Does this make sense

( all credits to the amazing @marveldaily for this lovely gif ! )

✟ — Chiaroscuro ; matt murdock blurb

a/n. Chiaroscuro: the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting. — an effect of contrasted light and shadow.

MATT MURDOCK & DAREDEVIL are one and the same.

Existence carries the parallel. As is the Moon that orbits the Earth, or the Earth which gravitates towards the Sun; As is the Shepherd that feeds its dog, or the dog that guards its sheep.

You'd thought you would be prepared for this, for the split knuckles and the bruising face— palms and feet bleeding like some heretic church vitrail of the coming Christ— his battered body frantic for your shelter and your closeness.

“I’m a lawyer. The law is what separates him from me,” Matt insists. “But I am also Daredevil. And if that means I have to dish out the kind of justice that’ll forsake my soul— so be it.” 

You falter in spite of yourself. “Is that what your heart wants?”

A bloody kiss, pressed to your temple in phantom reverence. “You, you’re my heart. You tell me.”

“You know I can’t do that, Matthew.”

Tandem, perhaps, therein lies polarity. Should you ask the Moon of its purpose, it will sing to you of the tides, and if you speak to the Earth it will decree it tends to life as we know it;

Should you turn to the old Shepherd he will tell you of its herding flock, and if you listen to the guarding dog he will warn you of the wolves that hunt them.

He’s been staring at the abyss since he’d been blinded at 9, and the abyss has been staring back ever since.

“If,” he snarls, shivering from the sheer effort it took to maintain his self-control, his bloodlust. “If I see so much as a fucking scratch—”

Matt doesn’t finish his sentence, because he doesn’t know how far he truly could go to protect you. He doesn’t want to, is the right way to put it.

( But Daredevil thinks— knows: to a length that’d stretch beyond retribution, to warrant even the Gates of Hell to close on him. )

“There will be no person, law, or divine intervention that will stop me from hunting you down and ending your life.”

The daybreak lawyer; the eventide vigilante.

A chiaroscuro, a dichotomy.

Of patron Saints and errant Sinners; the delicate balance of St. Michael’s scales. As is Matthew Murdock and Daredevil; who’s come around to be enlightened, now, that God only sows soldiers and reaps martyrs— 

Should you ask them what their definition of love is, one will say, easily:

“Forgiveness.” 

And the other, “Sacrifice.”

“Do you know I love you?”

“Am I speaking to Daredevil, or Matt Murdock?”

"That doesn't matter."

— send in a blurb request ! — scroll the tag !

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Four

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 1,9k

Warnings | +18, violence, slapping, smut noncon, forced blowjob, abuse, yandere themes, humiliation, explicit and dirty language, forced cum swallowing, spitting, prostitution, Jimin is cruel (yes, it is a warning)

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | This chapter is stronger than the others, if you don't read yandere don't go on, it has triggering content.

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

"I have no problem shooting you right this instant. So I won't say it again, leave what belongs to me and never come back to this brothel."

Minho let go of the grip with which he was forcing the girl to suck him off, she fell back on the bed at dead weight, desperate for air, with tears clouding her eyes she saw Minho hastily compose himself, before Jimin moved to the side to let him out, still with the gun tightly clenched in his fist.

"This is not over, Jimin," threatened the man.

"I think it is."

"We'll see," was the last thing he said, before leaving that bedroom behind.

Y/N could not speak, too shocked by the experience she had just gone through, on her tongue she still felt the overwhelming taste of the bastard, but even more agonizing was the thought that Jimin had used her to anger Minho.

He could have acted that way from the start, but no, he had decided to give the man time to use her, making her feel if possible even more like an object.

She hated him, damn it.

"Are you still alive?" he asked her without a hint of tact, Y/N gritted her teeth inhaling through her nose.

"Does it matter? Dead or alive, things will not change. I'll live as a whore and die as one," she hissed, letting the boy finally have a view of her red and tear-streaked face, "And it's all your fault, you're a fucking monster and god ... you don't even know how much I hate you!"

A backhand hit her full in the face, for a moment she saw everything white, she only had time to feel a shift of air about her before a stabbing pain hit her in the skin, Jimin was gripping her hair with such brute force that her head began to throb and burn, she screamed in despair as she was dragged away.

No one in the hallway came out to help her, why would anyone bother, then?

Jimin was in charge there, it was his right to do whatever he wanted with the girls, especially if it was his first choice.

After minutes that seemed interminable, she was thrown inside a room she recognized as her own, indeed, theirs.

"You hate me for that? Oh no, my angel," he shook his head, slamming the door behind him, "I'll give you more reasons to hate me, good reasons," he concluded, beginning to remove his own clothes.

The more skin was shown, the more Y/N feared what was soon to come, Jimin's otherwise perfect arms were littered with ink weaving into thick sinuous lines, heavy tattoos stared at her menacingly when the man's belt also fell to the ground with a thud.

"What are you going to do?" she asked with a trembling upper lip.

Jimin shot her an unfriendly look, brought his hair back in a neck movement that the girl would have found attractive and manly if they were normal boys in an equally normal setting. Instead, she found it threatening and stifled a cry as the man began to unzip his pants.

No. Not again.

"I'll take what's mine, you whored with another man in front of my eyes, this deserves punishment," he replied with deadly calm, he knew things were not like that, he had given her the order after all, but he enjoyed provoking her, the girl tried to retort but Jimin was quicker, "Do you know why I stopped him before he finished?"

Y/N didn't know what to answer, she just watched fearfully as the boy shed all his clothing, he was completely naked. His cock stood straight and swollen, Jimin ran a thumb over the turgid tip and moved closer and closer to her, who curled in on herself.

"Please, I don't want to do this," she cried, but Jimin did not take pity on her.

"Answer me."

"I don't know... I don't know" she shook her head, the young man grabbed her face hard, blocking her.

"I stopped it because the only cum your pretty little mouth is going to swallow is mine," he said firmly in a statement that went against the Dark Moon's own principles, again trapping her head in his firm grip, "Hate me, Y/N, I want to feel how much you do it while your throat is squeezing me," he chuckled viciously, before thrusting unceremoniously into that delicious hot, wet cavern, he closed his eyes biting his lips, the woman moaned and cried with her mouth tight around his girth, swallowing against her will every single inch of the man, until she touched the tip of her nose to the boy's pubes.

 Jimin let his moans filled with lust and satisfaction wander around the room, with his hips he pushed deep into Y/N's throat, she threatened to choke on her own spit, long rivulets trickled down her chin, going to soak Jimin's belly closer and closer to her face as the speed of his harsh thrusts increased.

"Aaah... you're better than I thought, tell me the truth... you like being my personal whore, mhh if I touched you... you'd be wet, right?" he asked cruelly, Y/N shook her head forcefully, she was tired, her jaw ached and that bastard's cock kept pulsing and swelling without showing any sign of coming, but she felt it that strange sensation snaking up to her lower abdomen, making her legs tighten to her horror.

She really was Jimin's personal whore.

That realization made her feel disgust for herself.

A grip on her hair more fierce than the others caused her to lift her shiny red eyes to those of her "boss."

The man's hard and cold expression did not match the desperate movement of his hips, "You will swallow every single drop of my cum and afterwards you will lick my cock until it is completely clean, because that's how my whores do it," he grunted giving increasingly frantic and violent thrusts, the girl only wished that this torture would end as soon as possible, she was in such a devastated state of mind that she would follow his every single order to get him away from her, so she nodded weakly as she met the first hot spurt, the muscles of her throat contracted around the cock, throwing down every single drop, just as she was ordered to do.

Jimin's chest swelled in satisfied pride, seeing her there, her cheeks swollen with his cum devastated him in a way he would have struggled to admit out loud.

He released her mouth and finally Y/N was able to take a long breath of air, before the man once again crushed her face against his swollen cock, ever more humiliated she stuck out her tongue, beginning to give small licks along his still stiff length, collected seminal fluid mixed with her own saliva, Jimin's ever-deepening sighs intensified, breaking into a moan at the small suction on the soft, veined skin.

The grip on her hair softened and soon Jimin let her go, Y/N abandoned herself in the clean sheets, her vacant gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"Open your legs, sweetheart," he ordered, and in the girl's mind flashed the thought of resisting him, of not giving in to him. But what would that decision bring? Only pain, so much pain both physical and mental.

She opened her legs as ordered, but looked away to prevent herself from seeing that violence.

Jimin grinned, he did not rip off the young woman's underwear as she had imagined, he spat on her belly causing her to shudder in disgust, he pressed his heavy and still hard cock on her moistened skin and began to slide over it with ease, grunting at each savage lunge and at the intense overstimulation he himself was forcing himself to endure.

He squeezed the girl's chin between two fingers, forcing her to watch as he used her body without giving her the same satisfaction, her look filled with anger and disgust was enchanting to the man, who with one last thrust came one more time, soiling both of their bodies with his cum, such was their closeness.

"Are you angry because I didn't smash your tight pussy?" he asked amusedly, sinking his thumb into the woman's lower lip, "I might as well lick your pussy if you would behave well with me, and I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon with such an attitude...think about it, my pleasure could be yours too if you wanted it."

Y/N turned her head abruptly, releasing herself from his grasp with an expression of disgust firmly stamped on her face.

"I couldn't take pleasure with you even if I wanted to, you're a piece of shit," she spat between her teeth, Jimin clenched his jaw before giving her yet another resounding slap that made her swallow the tears she was holding back.

"Careful, I might consider cutting out that bold tongue of yours, you'd be able to suck me off without it anyway," he hissed before abandoning her, just like a whore.

"You put on a show yesterday."

Jin welcomed Jimin into his office in an icy voice.

"Yes? Well, a rat had sneaked into my territory, I couldn't turn a blind eye, I hate rats," he sat confidently across from his friend and business partner.

"Yet Namjoon must have informed you of my intentions regarding that rat."

Jimin clicked his tongue against his teeth, "How long have we been friends, Jin?"

"Jimin, don't take this key with me, it's just business those with-"

"But family is not business!" blurted out the younger man, "I don't care about the whores and new friends you make, because I know you would never screw us over for someone else, which is precisely why I don't understand what went through your mind when you decided to go into business with Choi," he said harshly, Jin maintained a somewhat neutral expression despite the shaking of his clenched fist.

"I meant no disrespect, Jimin," Jin replied more calmly, "Choi Minho is not involved in what happened to you, so I thought it was accessible."

Jimin leaned toward Jin with fury in his eyes, "No Choi from that family is accessible, if you still want me as your business partner, but especially if you still want me as your brother, drop any negotiations with them," he ordered.

Normally Seokjin would not have accepted such a tone from one of his subordinates.

But that was Jimin, one of his closest friends, one of his brothers, and faced with his stormy past with the Choi family, he could only bow his head and look for another way to get into politics.

"I will cut Choi Minho from my list of names," he finally said, Jimin nodded a little more relaxed.

"Thank you, Jin."

"I'm not done," he blocked him before he could get up, "What are you going to do with that girl?"

Jimin glowered at him, "What do you mean?"

"I need to make sure you're not going to cause trouble with other clients, I heard you were quite possessive of her."

"Possessive? Come on, I was just having fun to provoke Minho a little."

Seokjin didn't buy that excuse; Jimin could tease anyone but him.

"If you want her, I'll wrap her up myself with a nice bow and send her home to you, Jimin."

Jimin narrowed his eyes, "And let's hear it, why would you do that?"

"Because you like her."

The pierced boy swallowed, speechless. Yes, he liked her, he had made that clear, but to that extent? Would he have taken Y/N away from the brothel to enjoy her himself?

"You're imagining things, man," he chuckled, Jin raised an eyebrow.

"Is that your last answer?"

[buttered-milky]

https://youtu.be/XqXZ0tJppok?si=kF5httv3agxyOzqe

Messmer can actually turns into a snake it's his original form, and he looks soo abused and neglected maybe because of the seal?

Eeeee okay so. The summon he uses a: appears to have more blood and/or burn wounds on it. and b: otherwise has most of its scales and doesn’t have the transparency effect I thought it had like the winged serpents!! Also there’s a bunch of eyeballs all over the place but we’ll get to those later.

Burn wounds are pretty straightforward and also interesting since they imply either the serpent fucked around and found out (Messmer burned it) or the serpent fucked around and found out (burned itself like an idiot, not surprising in the slightest for snakes since they miss prey strikes all the time and are, in my humble snake owner opinion, some of the dumbest creatures you’ll ever meet. Curious yes. But also. Idiots)

The snake Messmer turns into has much deeper wounds and scarring on it than just the summon of the abyssal serpent. This snake also appears to have a blind right eye (note for any reptile keepers who care: not the temporary blindness that comes with shedding). Its body is very misshapen and there are scales trying to protrude along the spine, and in several places where there don’t appear to be any wounds the scales are just…missing. This is as expected not good for snakes! They need those scales! I am honestly not quite sure how to interpret the overlapping layers of scales in some places. Like sometimes it looks like a shedding issue but also it seems like it’s the attempts of two souls trying to occupy one body? Also missing shed transparency effect! Idk what the hell was going on in my brain or if it was just lighting but I was sooooo fucking sure of the shed buildup. I was also really tired though and don’t care. The visual read was still fun. It can be a headcanon to me <3

So on those thoughts of it being two souls trying to occupy one body. What strikes me about this design is that some of the wounds look like bite scarring you’d see from live prey fighting your snake back. Again, this is a thing entirely avoidable with good husbandry (don’t live feed unless absolutely necessary). The scales to me still imply shedding has gone very wrong at some point. You’d expect to see shedding heal and scar over these wounds, but they’re all fresh. Very symbolic. You can’t heal violence by just pretending it doesn’t exist.

Ideally when a snake is wounded, you do routine care to help them with sheds and make sure the wound is clean. The scales will grow back and the wound will scar, but it will take several sheds and consistent work! You cannot, as Marika tried to do, just put a bandaid on it. You also can’t just lock a snake in a cage it will hurt itself trying to get out of (ie messmer himself) and expect that to go even remotely well.

Some of this feels like visual symbolism of self-hatred. Like I said, the base serpent looks like it’s gotten in a fight. With its host. Some of it also feels like visible neglect (ie the wounds not being healed, missing scales)

I’m gonna discuss the eyeballs bc I fuck w them immensely. First of all congrats Messmer on having an Eldritch Horror in ur body. Second of all, all these eyes appear to have lids. Actual snakes don’t. They have hard eye caps instead and cannot blink. Some of the eyes seem like they might not be able to blink, but the scales around them are still more closed than you’d expect? I fuck with it. Fits with Messmer’s blindness motif which maybe I’ll make a post on eventually. But in regards to the base serpent specifically, of course violence can afford to close its eyes and be blind to who it chooses to hurt. Violence is also something that, when committed, always seems to haunt you. Its gaze will always be there.

It’s interesting that Marika replaced Messmer’s eye to seal the serpent off, and so maybe it grew more eyes? That could be why the scales around them aren’t correct—they’re trying to protrude from the body. This occurs in both the summon and the physical snake form Messmer has. Repression of identity = Eldritch horrors? Sure I’ll take that fromsoft.

Final thing on the eyes. They’re red, not green. The winged serpents have green eyes, Elden Ring’s color of endurance. Super fitting! The abyssal serpent’s eyes are all red, the color of rot and death in this game. Red to me also feels primordial given its use in lightning by the dragons, but I digress. It’s pretty obvious why a base serpent would have base powers. This thing is old as fuck.

Okay. I’m sure you all thought the post was done but one last note on snake biology! So, snakes’ tongues retract into their mouth. When a snake opens their mouth you won’t see a forked tongue just curled up, hanging out. It’s in a little pocket for safe keeping :)

Neither of the base serpent’s forms appear to have the anatomy for this, since there are eyeballs replacing this anatomy. This is problematic for Messmer in a snake form specifically since he’s blind, and real snakes compensate for shitty vision by having an incredibly strong sense of smell. Messmer’s snake form also doesn’t have the heat pits that the abyssal serpent has. Heat pits are another part of snake anatomy, usually located below the nostrils, and are what they use to “see” heat and locate prey. In pythons (like the winged serpents) you’ll see multiple heat pits all in a row above the lip as opposed to the single very deep pit behind and below the nostrils in vipers. This single pit is what the base serpent (summon) has. Neither Messmer’s base serpent form nor his winged serpents have heat pits which is…interesting. It could be a modeling error but I don’t think so given base serpent has very clear heat pits.

My point is, Messmer is somehow even more blind than you’d expect from a snake. Maybe this makes sense given Messmer carries an internal fire, which would likely fuck with infrared? Still interesting nonetheless.

In summary: The base serpent alone (summon) seems overall in better shape than its other form (transformation). I think this is pretty straightforward symbolism—as a being on its own the serpent would probably be fine. It’s just that it uses Messmer as a host and this causes issues. Fuck around and find out I guess, base serpent.

And holy shit Messmer Cannot fucking see. Good luck with the seeing eye snakes babe because snakes notoriously have shit vision !

(Also just an aside both of the base serpent forms kind of have narrower faces than you’d see on a real snake? Like they’re more eel like to me. Anyways.)

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Hey!! Thanks so much for writing my previous request! I'm so glad you liked it. I was quite nervous requesting it because I didn't know if you'd like the concept or if it would make sense or not but I'm really happy that you did. And I absolutely loved it!! Made me incredibly giddy to see that the prompt struck you! I'm wondering if you'd be open to me requesting another piece for Alfie using the general concept below? (Again, no pressure what so ever):

Alfie is a man that has had near death experiences several times throughout his life, but this time he thinks will be the last. That is until he feels himself being dragged across the cold cobblestone steps to the last place he'd ever think would be a safe haven for him.

Could this kind of be like where him and reader aren't exactly on amicable terms. It's a love/hate relationship (emphasis on the hate, lol). And when he asks why they saved him, they're just like: "didn't save you. Just prolonged your death. I told you before, no one has claim to kill you except for me."

Sorry if that didn't make too much sense. Basically a GN!Reader X Alfie Solomons enemies to (kinda) lovers but you sure as shit can't mess with the other, because that right is only reserved for them. "No one can kill you but me" are the vibes of their relationship.

(And if you don't mind, I'll use this as my identifier: 🥀.) Thanks again and I love, love, love your work ♥️!

- 🥀

Mine to Kill - Alfie Solomons x GN!Reader ONESHOT

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3120

Warnings: blood, stitching someone up

Summary: (The request)

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I'm so happy you liked the last story. This was such a cute request, I love me some good ol' playful enemies to lovers. I'm so happy I'm able to identify you now! I look forward to more requests from you and everyone else. Hope you all enjoy 🥀💚

Alfie Solomons had waltzed with death on so many occasions that it felt as though he were an unwilling partner in a ceaseless, macabre dance. Every encounter with an enemy had etched its mark upon him, leaving deep scars not only on his body but on the recesses of his soul. The specter of death had become a relentless companion, its chilling fingers tracing the contours of his existence, staining it with a darkness that refused to fade. He had grown increasingly intimate with the concept of mortality, his dance with the reaper a relentless walts of agony and survival.

Yet, on this bitter, moonless night in Camden town,It was as if the universe itself had conspired to stage the conclusion of his life. The air was filled with an eerie stillness, the kind that precedes a storm. His blood flowed like a river unleashed from a dam, an unrelenting torrent from a vicious wound in his side. The bloodstains on the cobblestone steps formed a haunting picture, each drop a reminder of his unyielding struggle against a relentless destiny.

As he lay there, trapped in death's clutches, Alfie's reality shifted into a murky haze, where the lines between truth and illusion were as hazy as the fading memories of a man on the brink of the unknown. It was in this fragile moment, suspended between life and death, that his once-unshakable resolve, the very foundation upon which he had built his existence, flickered like a candle in the midst of a relentless storm.The boundary between his will to survive and the tempting embrace of surrender blurred, and doubt infiltrated his once unshakable self-assurance.

The looming darkness was unlike anything he'd ever known, its presence echoing with the ominous promise of an ending too final, too absolute to contemplate. Here, at this very moment, there was no escaping the inevitable, and Alfie could feel the cold breath of death, its embrace closing in, a meeting he could no longer avoid. It was the eternal silence that called to him, an abyss that left no room for defiance.

Struggling for each labored breath, Alfie's thoughts raced through the haze of pain, a singular name repeating in his mind like a mantra. Y/n. Their connection was a puzzle, a relentless source of frustration that had left them perpetually at odds. But amidst the chaos of the moment, as life teetered on the precipice, he couldn't deny the conviction that she would be the one to aid him, as contradictory as their relationship had always been.

Alfie was aware of the aggressive dynamic that had plagued their relationship for years. Their history was marked not by tender moments, but by the bitter taste of blood and the sting of betrayal. They were no strangers to confrontation; it seemed like every encounter ended with the exchange of harsh words or even harsher blows. Yet, beneath the layers of animosity and hostility, there was an inexplicable connection that both frustrated and mystified him. It was a connection he couldn't quite put into words, a magnetic pull that drew them together in their most volatile moments.

As he lay there, fading in and out of consciousness, Alfie found himself yearning to see the reader one last time. It was an inexplicable desire, considering the countless times they had been at each other's throats, and the disdain that had characterized their interactions. But in this desperate moment, he couldn't help but wish for a final encounter, a chance to unravel the enigma that was their relationship. Perhaps in that ultimate confrontation, he would finally understand the complex web of emotions that had kept them bound together, a love-hate bond that transcended reason and defied explanation.

The cobblestone under him seemed to vibrate with the approaching footsteps, but Alfie couldn't be sure if it was the real world or a fevered dream playing tricks on his battered senses. Everything appeared in blurred fragments, a distorted reality that left him questioning the very existence of the shadowed figure that loomed over him.

His groggy consciousness barely registered the arrival, and a voice, cool and unfeeling, echoed above him. It conveyed disappointment, a palpable sense of something having gone awry, but there was no hint of surprise. The voice seemed to hang in the air, an ominous punctuation to his dire situation. 

"Uh, shit..." The voice spoke.

Alfie could barely hear them, the words slurred and fragmented. It was as if the world had tilted on its axis, and he had been thrust into a surreal nightmare where nothing was certain, not even the identity of the enigmatic presence that had dragged him from the brink of oblivion.

Alfie's senses were jolted as he felt his body being lifted off the unforgiving floor. It was a moment of profound disorientation, where the boundary between life and death blurred into obscurity. He couldn't discern whether it was the cold grip of death or the desperate strength of another person that held him aloft.

As he dangled in the hazy threshold of consciousness, Alfie's ears caught the sound of a struggle, the grunts and shuffles of someone grappling with the weight of his imposing frame. The voice that accompanied the struggle, tinged with irritation and a touch of begrudging admiration, cut through the disorienting fog that enveloped him.

"You big bastard," the words were growled out, spoken by someone who seemed simultaneously exasperated by the burden they were shouldering and oddly proud of their own audacity. It was a phrase that seemed to encapsulate the entirety of their complex relationship, where contempt and grudging respect danced on the knife's edge, much like the precarious balance between life and death that Alfie now found himself in.

Agony pulsed through every fiber of Alfie's being as his body protested the movement, and his head throbbed mercilessly as he was gingerly lifted from the harsh floor and placed onto a plush couch. The world around him remained a blur, but gradually, the mist lifted, revealing his surroundings. It was unmistakably Y/n's workshop, a place of mystery and ingenuity, and an unexpected haven for someone like him.

As his vision cleared, a spark of comfort surged through his heart. He could see the enigmatic figure approaching once more, their presence a reassuring beacon in the midst of his disorienting ordeal.

"Well, hello, darling," Alfie's voice emerged as a slurred drawl, his signature cockiness managing to persist even in his vulnerable state.

His gaze fixed upon them, a mixture of appreciation and something deeper, an emotion he couldn't quite put into words. The connection between them, the push and pull of their tumultuous history, was something that defied logic, but in that moment, it was a lifeline he clung to with a strange sense of gratitude.

Even in the haze that clouded his vision, Alfie could discern the unmistakable signs of irritation etched across Y/n's face. The furrowed brow, the narrowing of their eyes – it was a silent but vivid testament to their exasperation.

"Who did you fucking piss off this time, Solomons?" they demanded, their voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and a hint of genuine concern. The history between them had been fraught with clashes, but there was an undeniable thread of connection that bound them together, and it was in moments like these that it became evident, lurking beneath the layers of frustration.

A faint, wry smile tugged at the corners of Alfie's lips as he admitted, his words a mumbled confession, "Uh... who bloody knows, yeah." He genuinely couldn't recall the specifics of the latest debacle that had brought him to the brink of death. It was as if his life had been a never-ending cycle of chaos and conflict, a whirlwind that left him perpetually disoriented.

Y/n's frustration softened for a moment, replaced by a peculiar mixture of amusement and exasperation. It was a dance they had performed many times before, a tango of clashing personalities and insurmountable history. And yet, in that moment, there was an unspoken understanding that transcended words, a connection that defied the chaos that surrounded them.

Y/n's sigh was heavy with the weight of their shared history, an exasperated breath that spoke of the countless times they had found themselves in these predicaments. With a careful grace that contrasted sharply with the frustration they felt, they crouched down beside Alfie.

Alfie observed their every move, his vision clearing as they worked. In their capable hands, they held a pair of scissors, glinting menacingly in the dim light of the workshop. With deliberate precision, Y/n cut through the fabric of Alfie's shirt, baring his battered body to the cool air of the workshop. It was a vulnerable moment, one that was laden with an odd mix of intimacy and tension, as Y/n's actions conveyed a silent promise to save him once more from the brink of death.

"Fucking hell, Solomons, you're a proper mess," Y/n muttered, their tone a mixture of concern and exasperation as they assessed the extent of the massive wound on Alfie's side. It was a gruesome sight, and even they couldn't help but wince at the severity of it.

Alfie, never one to miss a beat, managed a raspy laugh despite the searing pain that coursed through his body. "No different from what you've done to me," he quipped, a crooked smile playing on his lips before it dissolved into a fit of coughing and wheezing, each painful breath serving as a testament to the brutal existence they shared.

Y/n carefully poured a bowl of water, their movements deliberate and steady. They selected a clean cloth and dipped it into the cool liquid before gingerly placing it against the wound. The cloth's touch brought a searing sensation, and Alfie clenched his teeth to stifle any signs of weakness. The area around the injury was inflamed, and each cleansing stroke sent an intense sting shooting through him.

Alfie's jaw tightened, his eyes squinting against the pain. He refused to show any sign of vulnerability. It was an unspoken rule between them - an understanding that they could hurt each other in countless ways, but showing weakness was not an option.

Y/n's unwavering focus was palpable in the air. With a calm and methodical demeanor, they retrieved a gleaming needle and carefully sterilized it by passing it through the flickering flame of a lit candle. The sharp, metallic needle glowed briefly before it was ready for use, a testament to their meticulous care.

Next, they selected a spool of sturdy thread, their nimble fingers expertly looping and securing the ends. With practiced precision, they began to stitch Alfie up. The needle pierced his skin with surprising ease, each stitch closing the gaping wound. It was a delicate dance between the needle and thread, an act of healing that defied the brutality of their history.

Alfie couldn't help but admire their skill, even as the pain pulsed through him. Their hands were steady, and their concentration unbroken, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the bond between them and the gentle cadence of the needle as it wove its way through his skin.

With a careful hand, Y/n applied a soothing ointment to the freshly stitched wound. The cool, medicinal balm brought a sense of relief, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Alfie's tense expression relaxed just slightly. It was a brief respite in the midst of their tumultuous existence.

As they leaned back and examined Alfie's form, it was impossible to deny the stark reality. He did look half-dead, his pallor ashen, and his features etched with exhaustion. The wounds on his body told the tales of countless battles, both won and lost. It was a poignant reminder of the price they paid for the life they led, where danger lurked around every corner, and survival was often a matter of sheer luck and resilience.

Alfie's gaze shifted toward Y/n, his one good eye studying them intently. Despite his battered state and limited vision, he found himself unable to look away, an unspoken admiration for them welling up within him.

In that moment, he saw them in a new light. Their determination, their skill, and their unwavering commitment to his survival were nothing short of extraordinary. Alfie was no stranger to the rough and unforgiving world they both navigated, and it was often a place where trust was scarce. Yet, here was Y/n, the one person who could claim the right to his life, saving him once more.

He couldn't help but feel a surge of respect, a sense of gratitude that transcended the complexities of their relationship. It was an unspoken acknowledgment that, despite their many battles, they shared a bond that defied the odds and kept them bound together.

Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Alfie managed to find his voice, his words punctuated by a mixture of agony and exasperation. "Why in God's name did you save me?" he demanded, his voice a barely audible whisper, but his frustration was palpable.

In the dimly lit workshop, their eyes met, an unspoken challenge passing between them. The question hung in the air, laden with the weight of their complicated history. It was a question that cut to the core of their relationship, a puzzle neither of them had ever quite managed to solve.

The reader's eyes, devoid of any warmth, locked onto his, their icy gaze holding him captive. Their voice, as cold as the steel of a blade, sliced through the tense silence. "I didn't save you," they declared, their words sharp and unforgiving, as they leaned in closer. "I simply postponed your inevitable death. I’ve told you countless times, Alfie," they continued with a cruel smile, "no one, absolutely no one, has the right to end your life except for me." 

The words hung in the air like an unbreakable decree, the chilling declaration of their twisted connection. It was a bond neither of them could fully comprehend, a love-hate relationship that defied all logic and left them entangled in a web of obsession and power.

Despite the bitterness that flavored their words, Alfie couldn't help but detect the undertones of twisted comfort and possessiveness woven into the tapestry of their relationship. With a cocky grin that seemed at odds with his battered state, he locked eyes with them.

"Jealous that someone else almost had the pleasure of taking me out?" he taunted, his words carrying a note of mischief amidst the pain. It was a twisted form of banter that they had perfected over the years, one that spoke to the strange bond between them. In that moment, as the workshop's shadows deepened around them, their connection was as undeniable as it was enigmatic.

Y/n shot back with a sardonic grin, their tone dripping with sarcasm as they began tidying up the makeshift operating area. "You bloody well know it," they retorted, their movements efficient and deft.

Alfie couldn't resist the opportunity for a playful jab. "Don't worry, love... I'm saving myself for you," he quipped, a devilish glint in his eye.

Their banter took an unexpected turn when Y/n, wearing an incredulous expression, couldn't resist poking at the newly stitched wound, causing Alfie to grimace in pain. "You are so bloody obsessed with me," they accused, a mixture of exasperation and amusement coloring their words.

Alfie met their accusation with a half-offended look. "And why the fuck would you think that?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Y/n chuckled, their eyes locking onto his. "Come on, Solomons, you practically passed out on my doorstep. Your ass dragged yourself here," they pointed out with a shake of their head. "You're completely and utterly obsessed with me." It was a statement that held a strange kind of truth, one that neither of them could deny.

Amid the playful tension, Alfie's mind was flooded with flashback. The clashes, the power struggles, and those rare moments of begrudging understanding flickered like fragmented images in his mind. In those recollections, he couldn't help but acknowledge that, despite their vehement denials and ceaseless battles, they were undeniably linked by something enigmatic.

They were like two fierce elements in nature, forces of destruction and creation, forever locked in a volatile dance that defied easy categorization. Their connection was a riddle with no solution, a puzzle they could never fully solve, and yet it was the essence of what defined their relationship - a captivating enigma that kept them eternally entwined, two halves of the same turbulent whole.

A glimmer of levity broke through the intensity of their exchange. "You're mine, sunshine," Y/n quipped, their words laced with an odd affection.

Alfie's chuckle was a rare, genuine sound amidst the tension that usually enveloped them. "Fucking looks that way," he said with a half-smile, their shared history and complex connection making the playful banter all the more intriguing. The words, though lighthearted, held a deeper truth about the inexplicable bond that tied them together, a connection that refused to be severed.

An unspoken pact seemed to settle between them, a silent truce forged in the crucible of their shared experiences. Their eyes locked, each acknowledging the enigmatic connection that had both united and torn them apart over the years. It was as if their tumultuous past had culminated in this one moment, where they stood on the precipice of something undefined.

With a deliberate tenderness that was as rare as it was unpredictable, the reader's hand reached out, their fingers grazing Alfie's cheek. The touch was cool to the touch, as cold and unpredictable as the relationship they shared. It was a gesture that defied easy interpretation, a hint of a deeper connection that refused to be denied, no matter how much they clashed or how much they tried to push each other away.

"If I find you still here in the morning," Y/n warned, their fingers still caressing Alfie's cheek, "you're dead." The threat hung in the air, laden with both menace and a strange kind of intimacy. 

Alfie responded with a sly grin that was half defiant and half affectionate. "And I wouldn't have it any other way," he retorted, a declaration that underscored the complex nature of their relationship.

With a smile that held a hint of something deeper than just the banter they usually engaged in, Y/n turned and walked away, leaving Alfie on the couch. Their footsteps echoed through the cavernous space, a reminder that, despite the tumultuous dance they shared, there was a bond that neither of them could easily sever.

-

A/N: thank you for reading and I hope you all enjoyed, again, thank you for the request 🥀. I look forward to more :)

[derww]

CW: Hallucinations (?), light suicidality (??), the chthonic deity (!)

After another sleepless night, new death, and several hours of bedrock breaking, when Leo finally sees the void, his hands are shaking so much that he can barely hold a piston. He is at his lowest point, ready to do anything for a desperate and insane attempt, and he leans over the hole in the bedrock and sees nothing and, at the same time, absolutely everything. 

Everyone sees something of their own in the abyss. And at this moment, waging a devastatingly losing war, feeling absolutely everything falling out of his hands, Leo sees salvation in it. The solution to all his problems. A way to finally kill Flame.

"It's scary," he comments to himself with a chuckle. He had to be careful with that. He can't die. Not again. And it would be so easy to make a mistake right now. Loosen control for a moment and let the exhausted body finally give up. But he still had a mission. He had a purpose.

When he looks down again, he sees the moon and stars in the void. He really wants to touch them, but he can't. Void fog swirls around him in curly clouds. He squints a little harder.

The world has been cruel to you, something says with understanding. Even his hallucinations pitied him. He laughs. He just needs to get over it. It will be easier from now on. He will cease to be a shadow of himself. 

"Oh, it wasn't cruel to me," he replies carelessly, knowing that at this height he can't be heard from spawn, "but it's definitely praying for my fall. But I don't fucking care. I am better. I will win."

The beauty of emptiness is that it is obsolete, the voice mumbles knowingly. No matter how strong the enemy is, they will be helpless. There is nothing to stop demise. 

He stops to look into the void again. This time he hallucinates bursts of color and movement in it. He blinks and sees eyes instead of myriad stars. Every one of them is staring at him. His throat is dry.

"Even the strongest fighter is afraid of the void, because they know that there is no way back," he replies, and before his eyes, he sees himself carelessly jumping into the voidhole only to realize that the pain does not stop in any way. "An immortal player can survive almost any trap, but he will not be able to survive nothingless.".

The voice laughs – not at him, but it seems to find his words fascinating. He feels an invisible touch on his palm, smeared in soot and fog.

An infinitely long night awaits you, the voice states. Let me help you a little, and you will sacrifice to me that mortal god whose death you so long for in return. 

A wave of cold hits him – and all the fatigue washes away, and his hands stop shaking, and his vision becomes clearer than ever.

"What the fuck,"  he whispers, examining himself, "what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck." His body is much lighter now, but at the same time it doesn't seem to belong to him completely.

Take your revenge, the voice booms, and create a feast for me. Let me taste the soul of an immortal demon. And then the next time you need my help, I'll show you the way.

He says a lot of words after, but none of them change anything. The Abyss is immortal, she was born before the universe appeared, she staged countless wars and reaped their fruits, she gave inspiration to the smartest of the smartest and had long conversations with them, she called the lost and took payment from them, and he and his words, in the big picture of things, did not play any role, because he could say anything, but he had to kill Flame, and that was where their interests converged.

Bedrock would almost give in to him, breaking like wet clay, and the further he goes on, the more he covers up. And even though he still feels her constant presence, Abyss no longer calls him because she has already said everything she wanted.

[shima-draws]

Ooh what’s Darker Destinies sounds interesting!

!! It’s my PMD AU!! It basically serves as a third installment to the PMD Sky plotline since it focuses on Giratina and the Distorted Realm (PMD-verse Distortion World basically lol). It’s got a lot of twists and is actually pretty dark for a PMD AU but it’s one of my all time favorites 🥰 When I first came up with the concept I had just finished watching Made In Abyss for the first time so that influenced it a lot. And it’s perfect bc the dungeon Giratina rules over in Sky is called World Abyss so I was like OH YO I can DEFINITELY use this haha

Long story short Pip gets whisked off to the Distorted Realm as just an extension of her soul, while her body remains in the real world. Chimchar asks Dialga to send him to the future so he can recruit the Future Trio—so they can help him figure out what’s going on with Pip and where she went. Meanwhile Pip starts running into lookalikes of her friends and realizes they’re from a different timeline where things did NOT end very well for them. Grovyle has become sort of a mercenary and adopted Dusknoir’s “survive no matter the cost” outlook, and has had his fair share of devastating losses (both his own Pip and Celebi being killed before they could go back to the past and retrieve the Time Gears). The guild is in shambles due to the world literally ending; they were forced to turn rogue, Chatot is dead and Chimchar took over as Guildmaster because Wigglytuff’s too emotionally distraught to lead. Everyone existing in the Distorted Realm is miserable and trying to kill each other and have turned even more dark and twisted than the Dark Future. It’s a MESS. But luckily Pip’s there to start getting things into gear and get everyone moving in the right direction. Starting with heading down into World Abyss (which, to the surface Pokemon, is considered to be an absolute death trap to be avoided at all costs) to meet with Giratina ;)

There’s a lot more going on in the AU but yeah it’s one I’ve had for a while! And one I’ve been wanting to work on more. If I could turn this into a ROM hack one day that would be SO neat

[sleepy-aletheas]

I love the difference between the companions the twins get, and the consequences of them.

(I'm going absolutely insane over the animation, I've been thinking about Morning Star Lumine and Evening Star Aether the whole day, and it makes me wanna curl up and cry)

I go into this not just because of the animation, but because Aether is my Traveler, so I'm more in tune with that then with Lumine being the main character. Also for added angst, it just makes me more sad that in this version Aether has a sister figure, and Lumine a brother figure that they travel with.

It just shows what a difference the companionship has on them, how important that is to a person on such a journey.

The parallels between them and their companions are so stark.

With Aether being swaddled in warmth and comfort, his sadness lingers, ever present, but he has a friend by his side that cares about him and his feelings. That tries to bring understanding to him about the world and make the world understand him. He isn't a lost soul, because he has a guide that leads him onwards, through good and bad, that keeps him sane and just.

Aether faltered a few times already when he was roped into other people's messes (be it Inazuma or Fontaine; he came there to get information on his sister, not to solve political mayhem that had nothing to do with him) and it was always Paimon that convinced him to stay and help, give it a look at least; and then he would help and not question it anymore, because that was the right thing to do.

(Sure, Paimon being theorized about being the Big Bad in the end, and turning on the Traveler and whatnot is on the table, but I think she might get tempted through her growing paranoia and separation anxiety to bind the Traveler to the world, to her, but she will ultimately refuse, because that's not right, how could she be so unfair and take the decision from her best friend, her world like that? There are too many ways they can go with her in the end.)

But then there is Lumine, and she is alone. Well, not physically, Dain is going on the journey with her...for the most part. It's often overlooked that they separated in Sumeru, where she was with the Aranara, and he went to the Girdle of the Sands, before she followed after him. But in the animation we can see how distant and cold their companionship is. They don't talk, don't look at each other, Dain is usually turned away. She is curled up on herself, always sad, always wistful.

And from the first official meeting Aether had with her after waking up, in the room with the upside-down statue of Barbados, we get to see Lumine's coldness to Dain. And that just brings these scenes into perspective of the times we get to see her. She was treated coldly, was alone a lot, probably missed the companionship she had with her brother, because they are the same in the end (at the beginning). Both are friendly, and a bit silly, and helpful and love their friends. But she didn't have what Aether has now. She was tossed into Teyvat without a clue where her brother is, the world was going through A Lot, she must have seen horrors and the worst of what people can do, and all that was then crowned with having a companion that was distant and probably going through horrible mental anguish himself. She didn't have a Paimon that could bring out a smile, distract her for a moment, to offer warmth and affection and banter.

So Lumine seeking solace and answers in the Abyss, and getting tangled with it is not out of the question. If there was some brainwashing, an undisclosed amount of time she spend with Khaenri'ahns before/during/after the Cataclysm, or something else, it doesn't really change the tragedy that if she had a companion that cared for her, she most likely wouldn't have turned out this way.

[copiousloverofcopia]

Question: How would Papa feel about having a Prime Mover who was brutally SAed by a former partner and hasn't had "relations" with anyone since? How would he handle their first time together and sooth her fears and tears?

Ok so since you said Papa, I assume you mean Copia since he is our reigning Papa. Thank you for the ask anon, sending you love.

I was intentionally vague with the SA details as I want this to be something that is positive and not triggering as much as possible. As someone who has experienced this in the past, I hope that this might help someone else feel better with intimacy and I wish anyone who has had this happen to them, a partner like Copia. 

Mending Wounds

Also available here on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below

⚠️ Mention of SA, if this is triggering for you, you might not want to read. ⚠️

The warm breeze blew in from the french doors of the Papal suite. The stars twinkling high up in the night sky, like something out of a picture book you might read as a child. A small comfort to you as you sat quietly on the oversized bed, awaiting Papa's return. You were surrounded by pillows and luxurious blankets—all the comforts you could ask for, but you were anything but comfortable.

Your thoughts were swimming in the abyss, your mind replaying visions of old memories—still feeling like they had just been lived. Tonight was the night, there was no escaping it. You felt heartbroken, the mix of emotions swirling inside and far from how you imagined things. As the night progressed, your heart began to pound and your soul begged for release. The tears you held back, had gone too long unshed.  

Months ago, love was the absolute last thing on your mind when you happened to bump into Cardinal Copia. He was sweet and full of quirky charm. His fumbling through conversations with you left you lighthearted and completely enamored. But beneath it all, he held a quiet air about him. One you knew meant he had been through things in his life—much like you. It was inevitable, before you knew it you had fallen head over heels in love with him. 

Had you met only a year sooner, this night would be met with nothing but excitement and passion—but you didn’t. It was one thing when he courted you as Cardinal, but unexpectedly when Copia ascended to the Papacy, the miter donned proudly on his head—things changed.  

Prime Mover, bearer of the Emeritus line—a title you now were bestowed. Your position and expectations were well laid out before you, a burden at one time you would have loved to bear. But you weren't his lover, not like that–not yet. The two of you had yet to consummate the relationship. Copia never pushed as he, himself, was more nervous than anything to initiate things. This suited you well, hoping one day that you’d find it in yourself to move beyond your past. But that day never came, but this night however—this night came right on time.   

“It’s time amore." Copia began as he emerged from the bathroom clad only in his boxers. You smiled, peering at the red devil print that covered them. He was so adorable it made your heart ache. "All the stars are aligned, things are where they need to be…it's our moment. The two of us, becoming one in the name of Lucifer.” 

Copia sat down beside you, placing his hand on your shoulder. You tensed up—holding onto the fabric of your black silk nightgown, like a shield, as he scooted closer. 

“Are you sure?” You asked, hoping to buy more time. Copia smiled at you, bringing his lips to press gently against yours. They were tender and loving, just as they had always been. 

“Si, amore. We have been through all the preparations and tonight is the night. Maybe you wouldn’t be so nervous had I had you in my bed sooner.” Copia nervously chuckled, scratching his head. His nerves, on full display. He joked, but you both knew why you were nervous. You never kept a secret from him. When he found out what had happened to you at your old Abbey, he only wished he could have killed the asshole himself. 

You remembered showing him the parts of you that still bore scars from the encounter. Reminders of someone who was supposed to love you, but only hurt you beyond words. It made Copia’s blood boil at the mere mention of his name. His heart ached, seeing the pain on your face when reminded of him. A pain, your Papa wished more than anything to take away. 

“You’re right, I mean—it's not that I don’t want to Cope. I just…” you began, losing your nerve to speak when Copia pulled your face to look at him. 

“If you don’t want to cara, we can wait. There are chances every month…if you need more time.” he began, your sweet loving Papa always willing to put you before anything else. Placing your needs above even his commitment to Lucifer himself. You began to cry, the tears quietly streaming over your cheeks and your lips quivering as you desperately tried to get them to stop. Copia pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly against him.

“I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying.” you said, feeling yourself unraveling in his arms. You nuzzled against his chest. He smelled faintly of cologne, the soft curly hair against your cheek tickled as you rubbed against it. His embrace, feeling like home. You did want him more than anything—a family, a whole life. The two of you wholly one another's.

“Don’t be sorry amore, you have every right to be upset. To scream or shed tears—whatever you need. I am here.” He vowed. You looked up into his eyes, held by him in more ways than one. If anyone could break the shackles of your memories, it was him. You lifted up to kiss him, Copia kissing you back more deeply as you tried to relax within his arms. 

He waited patiently for your nod to continue as he held his hand over your breast. Once he had it, he touched you gently there–rubbing his thumb against your supple flesh and meeting with your nipple just beneath the silk. You shifted a bit, feeling your body beginning to respond to his touch. The warmth inside filled you and settled in between your thighs. A long abandoned craving, you thought you may never satisfy again.

“I am going to touch you now. Is that alright?” he asked, his breathing labored from the passion of your kiss. You could already feel the thickness of his cock beneath his silly boxers against your ass. You nodded, unable to speak as you felt his hand drop from your breast to the hem of your nightgown. You twiched once again, Copia stopping and holding completely still. 

“It’s ok, please…touch me.” you told him, swallowing back the lump in your throat as your Papa gathered up the silk in his fist, your panties now visible to him. He carefully pushed them aside, kissing along your neckline and paying close attention to any sign that he should stop. His fingers gently nudged through your wet folds, him stalling a moment before continuing.

“I want to feel you inside. Can I?” he asked, without thinking you placed your hand over his, helping him to sink his fingers slowly into your entrance. The second they were in, your hips raised up. Your body, begging for more and more friction and touch between you. You felt your breathing hasten, your other hand gripping onto the sheets beneath you. 

Copia slid his fingers inside and out, your hips rolling with his movements–him allowing you to set the pace. “Ah…” you moaned. Copia continued to pump his fingers inside you, pressing into your walls. The velvety flesh of your cunt, gliding deliciously around his fingers as he kissed your neck. 

“Is this good amore, am I making you feel good? If not, I will stop.” your lover asked you. You smiled and took his mouth on yours once more. You pulled away to catch your breath, both of your mouths hung open from your need.

“It does feel good, Cope I think…I think I might be ready.” you moaned. Copia stopped and held still, his hand ceasing movement as he stared into your eyes.

“Amore, are you absolutely sure? I can just make you feel good this way…have you cum on my fingers. We don’t need to.” he began, when you interrupted. 

“No… I think I’m ready. Right now, I want you.” you confessed, still unsure you’d be able to follow through, but your love and desire for him was true and you knew you had to try. Copia pulled his fingers from you and removed his boxers. His hard cock heavily hanging down. You laid back on the bed, tossing your panties off to the floor. 

Just the sight of you doing so made Copia bite his lip. He stroked himself with his right hand, staring down at you. Taking in just how beautiful you are. He took your hand in his, kissing or before he hovered above you. He gave you the look, your nod giving him the permission to continue as he gently placed the head of his cock against your entrance. The feel of him, just barely touching you outside, sent tingles throughout your body. 

“Are you ready amore? Ready to be one with me? Truly mine?” he asked you. You opened your closed eyes, his face gentle eyes meeting with your gaze. You could feel his love for you radiating.  

“Yes Copia, I love you. I want to be yours.” you said as the tears rolled down your face and your emotions ran high. 

“I love you too, more than anything in his world or the next.” Copia promised as you felt the tip push through. Copia slowly inched himself inside you, watching your face for any cue to stop. Copia holding your hand in his as he did. When he thought he was fully seated within you, he leaned down to kiss you once more. 

You thanked Lucifer that things were different—you didn't hurt or ache or bleed. He treated you the way you had always deserved to be treated. His body and yours wanting each other, your minds matching the intentions of one another. You wrapped your legs around him, helping to push him in—just a little bit more. 

Both of you moaned, your mouths falling open as Copia began slowly thrusting inside you. Each of you, drunk with the feeling of making love. This—this was making love. You had never known it before but now you knew it was possible with him—anything was possible with him.

“Copia I think…I think I might…mmm.” you said as his rhythm became more loose, less controlled. Both of you letting go and feeling the wild abandon of unyielding lovers, chasing the heights of your passions. Your mind—no longer held you back from enjoying the feeling of him spreading you out inside. His hand never left yours, as he took you. 

Your legs wrapped around him and aiding his thrusts. You were his and he was yours and nothing that had happened before would change that. Copia continued to rocked inside you, his cock pulsing as he went, stopping every so often to make sure you were ok. He shifted inside, grazing just at the spot that made you keen, one only you had known before. 

“Oh amore cum for me…I want to cum…cum inside you ok?” he groaned, barely holding on, his cock twitching inside you. You felt the rush of pleasure overflowing you, this was it. 

“Yes! Ah! Yes Papa! I’m cumming, cum inside me!” you mewled, your legs shaking as your pussy tightened up around him, seizing down on his throbbing cock. You came first, the warmth of your cum flooding over him. The feeling made Copia’s breath hitch and his cock kick deep inside you, spilling all the seed he had to give. He kept moving, slowing down until he was sure you were both ready for him to pull out. 

He rolled off to the side, immediately pulling you up to hold you against his chest. The two of you, snuggling together in post climatic bliss. Copia pulled a blanket over you, holding you close as he ran his fingers through your hair. As you rested your head on his chest, listening to the beating of his heart, he kissed your forehead. 

The two of you laid calm, relishing the moment when he pulled himself up a bit to face you better. Your dreamy eyes staring back up at him, proud of yourself for overcoming your own fears. Your heart, so grateful to him for holding your hand every step of the way. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? You would tell me if I did, si?” he asked, concern wearing on his face.

“I would tell you and no absolutely not. You helped me…I feel like me again.” you answered, cradled in his arms.

“I'm glad…it's just—I mean, I want this with you so badly. But…I want you to know if you don't want to do this again…we don't have to…even if you don't conceive this time.” Copia assured you. You knew at that moment, you couldn’t be anymore in love with him. His only thoughts were on you and how you felt, to the possible detriment of his own. 

“Copia…” you began. 

“Si, amore.” 

“I can’t promise that I can do this every time, but with you by my side I know I want to try.” you smiled, you were far from healed. Your trauma would always be a part of you, but your love for Copia and his for you was strong and pure—a love that mended all wounds.  

"I will always be by your side." He vowed.

"I know, and I will always be by yours." 

[vechter]

🪲🐞🪳

thank you so much!!! i hope you're having a wonderful day x

hellooo i am!! i hope you are too <3

🪲: a path we chose; no going back by mayarenerose set in dick's early robin years. a lot of hurt and a lot of attempted comfort. and just very interesting, compelling things to consider about what being robin was for dick. both of dick's mantles are such true extensions of himself that dick grayson often feels like the mask. and bruce, by god, tries to do right by dick but in those early years, they both were a little lost, unsure of what they were doing to and for each other. it's almost like they were stumbling around in the dark, found each other and have since chosen to never let each other go. and just how being robin was also a great source of joy for dick. it helped him. it made him happy, it was a continuation of his parents' legacy and love. fic of all time truly.

🐞: ribbons just beyond the eye by @silverwhittlingknife dick and tim centric one-shot, takes place post resurrection of ra's al ghul. truly one of the best depictions of their dynamic and dick's inner neuroses and hurt. they're just soooo compelling truly the brothers of all time. they're both absolutely insane about each other and constantly feeling a cocktail of hurt and guilt and love. and still. still. dick will always catch tim and tim will always know dick will catch him. hereditary by @nighhtwing time travel shenanigans with bruce and his parents. my ideal depiction of bruce. a deeply flawed man who is always trying to do right by people. who will always try to. the immense, vast love he has for his children. the characterizations are all so authentic and feel so real. i looooove this fic so much. despite the grief you feel for bruce, this fic is such a soothing balm for your soul. i could talk about it for days. abyssal plain by @bluegarners a wonderful exploration of jason finding out about the time dick killed the joker. feels very authentic to both their characterizations, especially in terms of jason's reaction. not a jason who is so pleased that dick killed the joker or a jason who is so upset that dick killed the joker but a secret third, much more complicated thing which is just sooooo good. so much subtext, so much nuance, so much unsettling imagery. killer fic.

🪳: new again by dustorange au where new earth robin!dick gets stranded on owlman's earth 3. truly one of the most compelling fics ever. the parallels between owlman and batman and the wrongness of all that. it hits soooo hard. every sentence you read, you feel yourself getting entrenched in owlman's orbit, just like dick and there's this overwhelming sense that you're in a horror story but you can't leave and even if you could, where would you go? fantastic characterization and narration. one of the best aus out there truly.

[raayllum]

* Kicks in door and flips a table *

I have a theory about the whole Gay old men Divorce Scene that has been SCREAMING in my head ever since I watched season 5 and I have yet to see anyone else talk about something like this yet and I don't really have tdp Fandom friends to screech about it too so im yeeting it to tumblr instead!!

So. My theory. The entire bit with viren and Aaravos talking? I am absolutely certain that Viren wasn't awake during that. He had backslid back into his vision quest. And this has a lot of ramifications.

So when Claudia wakes Viren up after rescuing him from the river while he's dream questing, Viren obviously is Not Ok. It seems that Claudia has forcefully disrupted Viren's vision quest, and the result is he becomes catatonic. He's unresponsive, doesn't even blink. Its like he's a husk of himself, if you understand me here.

Vision quests obviously have something to do with the soul. I think its safe to assume that when you meddle in matters of the soul, things can go very VERY wrong. So my theory is the entire time Viren is awake but unresponsive, its because when Claudia woke him up it partially untethered his soul from his body. So YEAH THAT'S HORRIFYING. Makes you wonder what happens if you fail a vision quest.

So, viren is there but not, taking in stimuli but not processing because, well, his soul is out of place. And then Claudia walks into the water. And we see Viren's vision overlay with something that isn't happening. Something like a nightmare. I believe that seeing Claudia leaving was enough of an anchor for Viren's soul that it got him back in place from sheer desperation to reach her… but the moment his soul slots back into place? Viren falls back into the vision quest.

When Viren calls out to Claudia, things start getting surreal once again. She suddenly just… drops. Like the waist deep water had suddenly turned into an endless abyss. And I'd also like to point out that Viren called out to her, and yet no one seems to notice. Not even Terry. Which is really odd, don't you think? If my father in law who has been catatonic and unresponsive for days suddenly cried out, I would immediately be at his side because honking trees, that's the first sign that he's actually still in there! But Terry doesn't seem to even register it. Doesn't turn to look at Viren. Nothing. Which doesn't make sense…. Unless it's dream logic. And viren is backsliding into the fever dreams that make up a vision quest.

And then suddenly sparklepuff flickers into Aaravos. And that was the point when I was certain Viren was definitely dreaming again when I was watching. Because all of last season, mage fam hasn't been able to get in contact with aaravos because viren lost his magic cocoon lens contact of letting him see sparkly elf man. If aaravos could have made himself visible this entire time without the presence of the caterpillar eye contact lense, why in the world would he have not communicated until now? It wouldn't make sense for him. But by dream logic, it would make perfect sense, wouldn't it?

And then there's what Aaravos *says* as greeting. "This is a special day."

He just echoed Avizandum's line from when Harrow and viren killed the archdragon. A line that I dont think Aaravos has any way of knowing about, nevermind that Aaravos would sooner eat some of Lujanne's cooking than do anything reminiscent of avizandum so yeah, Something isn't Right here.

Then there's the old gay men divorce that happens and STILL terry doesn't notice, which would only make sense in a dream.

So yeah, my theory is that entire sequence isn't actually happening, its all in Viren's head as his vision quest picks back up. What is really happening in the waking world is viren's half-husked unconscious body silently gets up and sleep walks away while Terry is focused on watching for Claudia's return, thus why terry doesn't notice.

Now onto my most important part. Viren is dreaming. Which means the "aaravos" in that scene? isn't the real aaravos. Its a dream version of him, based on Viren's perception of aaravos rather than what aaravos is really like.

[Tumblr wont let me include a picture in the ask so im just going to have to settle for quoting Aaron's tweet in response to someone asking him if Viren was confirmed dead: "I won't spoil this but I will ask you the question I have asked every person who asks me this. Do you think Aaravos was telling him the truth?"]

The show writers have reiterated time and time again that aaravos doesn't lie. (My understanding is he works on a mix of fae and genie logic, he cant fabricate a falsehood directly, he can only state truths in a way that would cause people to make assumptions that aren't necessarily right.) Aaravos Never Lies. He cant lie. yet here, they insinuate that "aaravos" could be lying. Which means that that apparition can not be the real aaravos.

So yeah ive been screamming

So Claudia doesn't forcefully wake Viren up from his dream - it's very clearly his dream self that forces him to well, wake up for lack of a better term. It's only once she's dragged him to shore that he finds himself in his final confrontation with, well, himself, which is clearly the last stage of the dream.

She actually isn't touching him at all when he finally does wake up and coughing up water. (Which like, Claudia begging Viren not to repeat his path and die again, just as Viren rejects his prior path by accepting his former self? Chef's kiss)

You're right that Viren is definitely still catatonic in the real world / borderline hallucinating in 5x09 during his conversations with Aaravos (Aaravos even states as such, saying he's borrowed Viren's consciousness) but

Aaravos never lying doesn't mean he's always telling the Objective Truth or the True Nature of Reality. It just means he's always telling his subjective truth, as in what he believes to be true, like any other character (hi Zubeia's account of his life and treachery). As far as he knows, as of the end of 5x09, Claudia has succeeded in finding his prison ("Others are near as well, but no matter. Your daughter is far more powerful" yeah, about that, buddy...) and no blood of any of Viren's children has been adequately spilt. This is particularly true given that since Aaravos was confident Claudia would succeed, his notions of how the evening had gone was definitely not featuring her experiencing massive blood loss because of a limb being severed. Therefore, as far as Aaravos knows, Viren has failed his final test, and he will not live to see the following day.

As for Aaravos not communicating clearly - if all he needed was for them to go to Umber Tor, he could've told Claudia directly before going into the cocoon; Sir Sparklepuff only knows what Aaravos knows on that front, after all. But Aaravos is someone who is straightforward but never direct, if that dichotomy makes sense. He didn't tell them because he didn't want to and because it wasn't, in his eyes, necessary. (Which like Aaravos & Rayla secret keeping versus trust in S5 with their high mages but that's a whole other cano of worms for another day). Sir Sparklepuff (and everything entwined with him) was just another string for Aaravos to pull, I think.

Aaravos is also far more like Avizandum, I think - but the show loves to stack foils on top of foils constantly so that's not exactly surprising