#they got lighthouses and nature

[psymachine]

ok this will probably only be funny if you also live in/near wisconsin, but i made a graphic for this year's annual friend vacation in door county, and i'm forcing you all to look at it:

[cybershock24601]

Mourn Watch Rook being a covert freak is so precious to me. They’ve had a year outside of Nevarra so they’ve managed to figure out what’s okay to say and what’s going to get people looking at them like they’ve got a second head until Emmrich shows up at the Lighthouse and the weird just starts coming out in full force. Harding said that Rook talks different when discussing Mourn Watch things and that was just about an academic topic about the nature of souls and spirits when reanimating a skeleton. Just imagine how much worse it gets when Rook and Emmrich start talking about preferred embalming practices and the like. Everyone straight up turns around and heads back to whence they came when they walk into a room and spot Emmrich and Rook chatting. Nothings worth overhearing whatever grotesque topic they’re cheerfully chatting about over a cup of tea and plate full of cookies. Maybe Bellara will join in if they’re discussing the more theoretical aspects of magic but everyone else is booking it out of there as quick as they can before they hear something they’re not going to be able to forget

[themidnightcrimson]

the scarlet siren ࿏ wm

summary: in which you take a trip out to sea that you will regret.

words: 6.0k

warnings: siren!wanda, dubcon/noncon, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), size kink, biting, a lot of blood, violence, fear, suspense, drowning, deep water, mentions of death, i wrote this in an irish accent for some reason, did you know i have thalassophobia?

this is a dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

masterlist.

Fishing was competitive these days. It was a bad winter and an even worse famine, and with beef and poultry no longer in the shops, the villagers were forced to turn to the shore to fish.

Your little village was nestled on a plateau of land that stuck out into the cold sea. The shore was lined with big, black rocks that had tumbled down from the looming hills over time and landed at the water’s edge with only a thin strip of grainy brown sand between them and the water. Travelling down to the shore over all those rocks was already hard enough, but it was even harder when you had to carry your boat on your back.

People had tried to carve trails through all the rock to make the beaches more accessible, but with all the storms that the area faced, the rocks just got tussled back around and demolished any trails attempted.

In fact, it had just stormed the night before. It pissed rain and spit wind so hard that people woke up to holes in their roofs. Naturally, the beach was all torn up from it, but it would always clean itself up and go back to the way it was at some point before another storm came along. And while most people were at their cottages fixing the storm’s damage, you saw this early dawn as a prime opportunity to fish.

Fish had also been scarce recently because of all the people turning to the water for food sources, but you knew that the previous night’s storm had tussled the waters, which meant the fish were probably scurrying all around. The sun hadn’t even risen yet as you dragged your wooden boat down the rocks in the dim dawn hue, the wood scraping loudly against the rock’s hard and bumpy surface.

Managing to get down the rocks without twisting your ankle, you finally plopped down into the pebbly sand with a huff of breath, pushing your boat off your back. This was only half of your journey, though, because you weren’t even going to fish here on the beach like most people did.

Adjusting the leather strap around your neck that was holding your oars to your back, you dragged your boat through the damp sand to the rickety wooden dock that stood beside the lighthouse. The lighthouse was even more rickety, since no one bothered to upkeep it since this beach was the worst beach for ships to come in at. They almost always hit the rocks because of how deep the water dropped off from the shore and how thin the strip of sand was.

You pulled your boat to the very end of the dock and then threw the oars down in it, and then your bag of fishing gear, along with your pole. Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself as you began pushing the single person-sized boat into the water. When it finally was fully in the water, you quickly jumped into it, causing a splash and a stressful cracking sound as you struggled for a moment to catch your balance. Finally, you sat down in the boat and let it settle before getting your oars and rowing yourself towards your destination.

There was a little cove area almost like an island to the east of the plateau of land. It was your favorite spot to fish because hardly anyone knew about it. It was barely visible from the shore even during a normal day, but it was completely out of sight on this extremely foggy, dark morning. The fog became more and more dense the further you rowed out into the water, until finally you were completely blinded.

“Fucking hell,” you murmured, reaching into your bag for your compass. The fog had completely surrounded you now to the point where you couldn’t even see the front bow of your boat. It was getting colder further into sea, too. Though the air above was tolerable, you couldn’t imagine how cold the water below felt.

The salty, wet air clogged your nose as you finally felt the cold round of metal in your hand, bringing your compass out of your bag. Sniffling from the cold air, you tried to adjust and read your compass when you suddenly heard something behind you—a voice.

Gasping, you whipped around to look behind you but only saw the thick white of fog. The voice had been shrill and steady, calling out some sort of smooth singsong noise that echoed over the water.

And then you heard it again, clear as day, right in front of you.

Snapping back around, you still could see nothing but the fog, yet the voice was still echoing all around you. It was a single note drawn out, not quite a shout or a scream, just an eerie note drawn out through the fog. Chills overcame you, but not from the cold.

Setting your compass down on the boat’s bottom, you grabbed your oars and began to quickly row towards the east. The fog seemed to be squeezing in on you now, some of it even spilling over the edge of the boat like thick smoke. Your heart was pounding—you couldn’t see where you were going, and you could still hear the voice in the back of your head. You wanted to get to the cove fast.

Suddenly, the wooden oar in your left hand stopped against something. You paused and looked over—you weren’t even able to see the paddle of the oar, only the handle you held. You tried to move the oar, but it wouldn’t budge. What could it be stuck on? Even though you couldn’t see, you knew you weren’t at the cove by now, and you were still heading east so you hadn’t drifted back to the plateau. These waters were so deep, there certainly was nothing your oar could be stuck in.

It was when something tugged your oar right out of your hand that you shrieked and jumped so hard that the boat rocked, icy water splashing onto your legs. With your left oar gone, you quickly used your right oar to haphazardly row forward, having to switch it over to the left side to keep going straight, more of the cold water splattering over you. Though you were crippled now with only one oar, you were so afraid that you rowed even faster than you normally would with two oars.

Though your arms ached, you kept rowing as fast as you could until finally the fog started to thin out. You were starting to break out of whatever thick cloud of sea fog you had been stuck in. It felt like you could breathe again when finally you pushed forward completely out of the fog, letting your tired arms go limp as you looked behind you at the cloud of fog. You searched for the silhouette of another boat but saw nothing. What the hell had grabbed your oar?

Turning back around and taking a deep breath, you swiped your forehead with the back of your wrist—now your body was so hot it was steaming in the cold air. Looking ahead, you could finally see the cove just a little ways away.

Glancing to either side of you, you saw nothing but black water. These waters were always dark, mostly because of the black rock and black mud, but it was completely opaque now. All you could see was reflections of the dim grey sky above you and your own face distorted in the lapping water. You wondered what was below it—something that now had your oar, certainly. Shaking your head to rid yourself of the paranoid thoughts, you rowed on to the cove.

The cove was a U-shaped island that looked like a fragmented piece of the plateau your village was on—all black, rocky shores with limited sand, a cluster of dark, woody trees behind it that shielded it from the nothingness of the sea. The shape of the U was wide enough that the cove water leading up to the center of land was deep enough for fish to live. It was the perfect fishing spot, especially the further one went into the cove so that the island’s rocks and trees surrounded them.

Finally, you got to your favorite spot tucked further into the U shape where you were surrounded by the island, and you rowed your boat carefully until it was finally still. You glanced around the island—it was a little spooky in the foggy, dark morning. The trees were blackened, fog stuck all in them. The big rocks were an even darker black from the wet morning, and where there was usually a strip of sand, there was only a bunch of pebbles and rocks that must have been pushed onto shore from the storm. Sometimes, you would sit on the sand and enjoy the quiet alone, but you couldn’t imagine sitting on all those rocky pebbles.

You set up your fishing pole and cast it into the black water, setting the pole against the side of the boat while you opened your fishnet and made it ready for fish. You had even brought a little breakfast along—a pathetic piece of bread with a slice of cheese. Holding the end of your pole between your feet, you relaxed against the boat and ate your bread and cheese.

It took a minute before you got your first bite, bringing up a thick, silvery fish out of the water and tossing it into your net before recasting your pole. You were able to get three fish before suddenly they just stopped biting.

“For fucks’ sake,” you cursed like a sailor, bringing up your pole out of the water to see that something had taken the worm off the hook, even though you didn’t feel a fish bite. “Greedy fuckers. I’m tryin’ to eat, too.” You took another worm from your bowl of bait and stuck it onto the hook.

And then you heard it again.

It was the same shrill voice, but this time, it sounded like an eerie, angelic song. You froze. The voice lilted, echoing through the trees of the cove. This time, it wasn’t just a single note—it was words you could barely make out, but they were there.

Voda glubokaya i golubaya..

Your breath hitched in your throat. You lifted your head, eyes wide, and slowly looked around, seeing nothing but the black faces of the rocks and trees looking back at you.

Ya smotryu na tebya svoimi krasivymi glazami.

The voice was beautiful, etching out every syllable of the foreign language like poetry. It echoed over the waters in a whisper, filling your ears like honey. You held your breath. You wanted to ask who was there, who was singing, but there was a buzzing sensation through your body like fear, but something different. It was like the voice was reaching through your ears and into your brain, its angelic fingers scratching and poking and twisting your brain around until you were in a dumb daze.

It was when you noticed something in the corner of your eye that your fear came through more prominently. The water, black and opaque, to the side of your boat was rippling with motion. It wasn’t the bubbles of a fish. It wasn’t movement from your still boat. The water rippled from one end of your boat to the other, pausing between ripples like something was swimming right there. But you couldn’t see anything.

Your lungs ached as your breathing picked up, yet you stayed completely still. You watched the water ripple around the bow of your boat, and down the other side. It was circling you, and it was entirely too large to be a fish.

Podoydi blizhe, i ya ispolnyu tvoye zhelaniye.

The voice came again, filtering through the cove’s forest, over the rocks, right into your ears. You don’t know why, but you found yourself slowly leaning over the boat’s edge, peering into the black water that rippled as something swam below it. Your vision became hazy. Your skin felt numb all over. Your heart pounded dangerously fast.

Podoydi blizhe i ya tebya potseluyu.

You barely processed the sound of something brushing the side of your boat before you felt the hard vibration of something hitting the underside of your boat, something big enough to rock it.

“Woah!” you cried out, grabbing the sides of the rocking boat. You tried to get to your feet, but something hit the underside of your boat again, and it tipped over.

You had never felt such cold. The splash of your body hitting the water, and then the water flooding your ears, deafened you like the sound of glass shattering from inside your head. It struck your entire body like lighting—pure, icy shock and arctic pain. It almost felt like your bones cracked upon impact like a frozen branch falling off a cliff.

You couldn’t move as your body sank under the freezing black water. You opened your eyes, felt the cold freeze over your eyeballs. You saw nothing at first and wondered if you were dead, or even worse, struck blind from the freezing water. When you could finally see dim light filtering through the water, as much light as the cloudy early morning could give, you realized you weren’t blind. But the water was so cold, too cold to move. You tried to move your arms and legs, but you felt stiffened, shot with pain.

As you stared into the sea of black and tried to clench your frozen muscles, you saw a shadow forming in the water beyond. You could do nothing but watch with fear as the shadow formed into an unrecognizable silhouette.

Quickly, you glanced up and could see the shadow of your boat flipped upside down on the water’s surface above you. You didn’t realize how deep down you were. Even if your body was working again, it would take a minute for you to reach your boat.

You looked back in front of you. The shadow was closer now. You attempted to flail your arms and were able to move them a little. You screamed through your closed mouth, your lungs burning for air.

The shadow came into the glare of light in the water, and your scream intensified.

It was a woman, or something like it. A woman’s head, and neck, and chest, and torso, and waist, but right where her hips stopped, something else started. Where her thighs would have been separated and covered with skin, they were welded together and covered with scales. It was some sort of a fish tail attached to where the lower half of her body should’ve been. Instead of skin and legs, she was dark red and black scales on a long tail with a finned end that gently undulated in the water to keep her floating. Her tail almost sparkled in the light. It was so dark, but you could see hints of a deep ruby color between the dark scales. Her chest was bare along with the rest of her upper body. Her hair, a dark brown with reddish tint, bowed above her head in the shape of an obsidian flame. Her arms floated beside her elegantly, and you noticed her fingertips were black.

Then there were her eyes. A deep red like the color of her tail. Too much white between the bottom curve of her pupils and her lower lashes. Darkened around the lids with some sort of black paint. Even in the darkness of the water, the red of her irises caught you. Even in the fear, there was beauty. She was haunting, and her eyes stared you down like you were her food.

A mermaid, you thought. You’d only ever heard of them when the sailors of your town made it back from faraway fishing trips. Everyone had chocked the stories up to oceanic hallucination, but now here you were, face to face with one.

And then she smiled. And her teeth were ivory white, and in the middle of where there were some human teeth, there was rows of sharp fangs like blades. Her smile was uncanny, unsettling, evil.

And then you realized she wasn’t a mermaid.

Another choked, muffled scream bellowed out from your burning chest when she darted forward. You could feel the vibrations in the water when she swished her tail in a boast of strength, her hair darting behind her as she surged forward through the water with ease. Her eyes seemed to darken.

Screaming as much as you could underwater, you suddenly found that your muscles had defrosted with your fear. You swam upwards, kicking and thrashing as much as you could, your body fatigued from the cold and the lack of oxygen. Your muscles burned and quivered as you overworked them, your lungs aching, your throat burning, vision growing dark until finally you burst above the surface, gulping down a large breath of air and several more after that.

You didn’t have much time to breathe because you became aware that the siren was still below you. Looking around, you saw that your boat had floated too far away, and the nearest place you could go was the shoreline several yards away.

Before you could make a break for the shore, you noticed how quiet everything was. The siren could have easily grabbed you by now. You tried to look into the water that splashed up on your chin, but it was still black. A soft mist came down from the bleary sky, further wetting your head.

What if she was right below your feet where they kicked obscurely in the water? What if she grabbed you and dragged you down? Just the mere thought made you start to slowly float your way towards the shore. Maybe the siren was just like a shark, and it was only sudden movement that made her attack.

You kept slowly swimming backwards, craning your head all around to get a comprehensive view of the water’s surface around you. There was nothing. No swishing of water at your feet. No ripples on the surface except the ones you caused. Not even any bubbles.

Was she gone? Had she decided you weren’t worth the trouble? Or were you just hallucinating? Maybe this was the oceanic hallucinations everyone said sailors had. Maybe all that fog had made you paranoid.

Your body was rocking with how icy the water was, though you just felt numb now. You looked behind you at the island, wondering if you could seek shelter in the trees until someone came looking for you, or maybe you could make some sort of flotation device out of something. That was silly. Your best bet would be to go back to your boat and hand-paddle your way back home.

As you turned your head back around towards the direction of your boat, you gasped and froze.

There the siren was. Only the upper half of her head was above the water. You saw her hair, much more reddish now in the light, slick to her head. Her forehead, speckled with droplets of water. Her red eyes that seemed to reflect a glare of red on the surface of the water in front of her. Beyond that, only the bridge of her nose, the end of it under the surface. She was completely still, as if she was standing on flat ground. She was only maybe two feet away from you.

“P-p-p-p,” you tried to speak, but your body was convulsing from the cold, your lips numb and blue. “Please,” you whispered in a croak. It was getting hard to breathe as the harsh cold invaded your blood. You were begging for your life because, in the haze of your hypothermia, you recognized those eyes.

You’d heard stories from the village sailors about a particular siren. You’d seen her image sketched in books. Always those red eyes, that red tail. This wasn’t a mermaid, and she wasn’t just a siren. She was the deadliest ocean creature that all the myths and legends described. She’d instilled fear in children of your parent’s and even your grandparent’s generations just through stories of her malice. She commanded every corner of the seas, and sailors who were superstitious enough always kept an eye out for her during their voyages, lest she take them down.

She wasn’t a mermaid. She wasn’t just a siren.

She was the Scarlet Siren.

Somehow, she knew you recognized her. Maybe it was the look on your face, or the way you froze. She stretched her lips open in a charming yet malicious smile. And then slowly, inch by inch, she slipped under the water.

Letting out a choked scream, you quickly turned back towards the shore and started to swim. Your heart felt like it was going to rip right out of your chest if the Scarlet Siren didn’t do it first.

When you were halfway towards the shore, thrashing the water and letting out choked breaths, you suddenly felt hands grab your ankles and yank you beneath the surface.

You thrashed under the water, your long hair coming undone and floating around your face as you watched the Scarlet Siren come closer to you. You kicked at her so hard that your shoes came off your feet, your foot hitting her tail and feeling the fishy scales there.

The Siren’s hands were climbing up your body, grabbing at your coat and pulling it off as you spiraled in the water, trying to get out of her hold. Finally, you were able to kick her tail hard enough that the force sent you popping above the surface like a fish. You were able to take one gasp of air before she pulled you right back down again.

This time, the Siren growled and nosedived towards your waist, her teeth clamping down on the fabric of your shirt. You squealed as she ripped your shirt off with her teeth, the fabric so easily tearing. The blades of her teeth had caught the skin of your belly, four long scratches bleeding through your pale skin, the blood clouding in the water. The Siren paused at the sight of your blood diffusing in the water, distracted enough for you to kick her in the face so hard that she turned downwards in the water.

You took your chance to swim, popping up through the surface and pushing yourself harder than ever. The shore was right in front of you. Your body ached and the skin of your stomach stung, but you kept going until finally your fingers touched black rock.

Coughing up water, you lifted your body onto the pebbly surface, the blood from the scratches finally able to drip down your skin, the red following the lines of water on your waist. You flopped onto your back and pulled yourself more onto the shore.

You knew it wasn’t over. The Siren’s head popped out of the water, and her hands grabbed your ankles again. You cried out and tried to kick, but she held your legs down as she lifted herself completely out of the water.

You watched the Scarlet Siren crawl over you, her strong arms planting down in the rocks on either side of your head, entrapping you. The shockingly heavy weight of her tail crushed your legs down on the rock, the smell of ocean filling your nostrils. It felt like the end of your life. You thought to yourself, as the Siren laid herself over you, that this was what rabbits felt like with dogs. This is what lambs felt like with lions. Birds with cats. Fish with fishermen. Sailors with sirens.

“Now, what’s a pretty girl like yourself doing all alone out on these waters, hmm?” Her voice was shockingly heavenly, smooth like butter and sweet like a bird’s song. It caught you off guard and somehow made you more afraid. There was also some sort of foreign accent laced in her words, somewhat Slavic. How could a monster like herself look so beautiful and sound so sweet?

You could only make incoherent noises as you watched the Siren’s tail start to morph. It ripped itself apart, and the scales sunk inwards, and the flesh shaped itself into the shape of a human woman’s legs, and pale skin etched itself over them. She was now the sight of a fully human woman, naked and lain over you, except for her razor teeth and red demonic eyes and murderous intent.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked more seriously, her eyes flickering over you. Her underwater tactics left you in only a brassiere and fisherman pants.

You were shaking from the cold, but her body felt surprisingly warm on yours. Fear had overcome you, leaving you dumb and pathetic.

“Please d-don’t kill me,” you cried, tears rushing down your cheeks.

“You didn’t answer me, detka,” she continued calmly, bringing a hand to your chin and holding it. Her skin felt inhumanly smooth. “Do you know who I am?”

Breathing heavily, you squeezed your eyes shut. “The S-Scarlet Siren.”

The Siren puckered her lips. “What a demeaning term. My scales are more maroon, don’t you think? My name is Wanda.” She paused, pressing the pad of her thumb into the dimple on your chin. “What’s your name, pretty girl?”

You didn’t answer. She trailed her hand down your stomach, smearing the blood there before she grabbed hold of your pants. Sitting back on her knees, she started to yank them down. Instinctively, you fought her, trying to kick her away.

“Stop!” you screamed loud enough that a few birds from the forest cawed and fluttered. The Siren pursed her lips and used her strength to pull your pants off, but you flopped onto your stomach like a fish and started frantically crawling away.

“Stop it, human,” she growled, grabbing the back of your thighs and dragging you back down the rocks. Using the opportunity, she ripped the last of your clothing off, your brassiere, and threw it to the side. Grabbing you by your wet hair, she turned you back onto your back and lowered down. You were face-to-face with her now, about to try and push her off until she opened her mouth.

Voda glubokaya i golubaya.

YA smotryu na tebya svoimi krasivymi glazami.

Podoydi blizhe, i ya ispolnyu tvoye zhelaniye.

Podoydi blizhe i ya tebya potseluyu.

It was the song you’d heard earlier, before your boat tipped. But as she sang it this time, that buzzing feeling within you grew stronger. Her honey-like voice lilted in your ears as she sang, and you found yourself leaning upwards. Her red eyes, glowing now, watched you tremble as you weakly lifted yourself, your own eyes growing wide as she entranced you. You were very easy for her.

Smiling through her song, she snaked her arm under your waist and easily lifted you up, pressing your bare body to hers. You were so cold against her, so feeble and weak. Your eyes trained on her lips, your irises glowing red from her magic flowing within you. She could feel your mind breaking down, letting her in, growing weaker and weaker. Finally, you closed your eyes and leaned up to kiss her. The Siren held your head with her large hand and kissed you softly, her lips smooth and slippery.

Her song was how she got her victims, but her kiss was how she trapped them. You were under her will now.

Breaking the kiss slowly, the Siren laid you gently back down on the rock. “It’s much easier when you’re calmer, detka. Now, tell me your name.”

“Y/n,” you whispered inaudibly, but the Siren’s ears were trained enough to hear you.

“Y/n,” she repeated in her lilting voice, smiling with her sharp teeth. “You’re the prettiest one I’ve ever caught, y/n.”

Her eyes raked down your limp body that she held in her arm, her free hand pressing against the bloody scratches on your tummy. She gathered some of your blood on her blackened finger and lifted it up to her mouth, sucking your blood off her long finger. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head like a reptile.

Though you felt paralyzed, there was still some consciousness left in your head. You were starting to realize that there was a reason sailors didn’t let their women on their boats, and that the reason was hovering over you.

“You’re right, beautiful girl,” she purred, “But don’t even think about those other human women. You’re the best one of them all.” Her voice had an edge of malice, and it was sickening to hear it through the sweet, complimentary tone.

Her red eyes flickered back to the scratches on your tummy, and she leaned down, letting her long, snaky tongue slither out of her mouth and onto the scratches, licking up your blood. Her breath fanned over the expanse of your stomach, covered in goosebumps. Her hands gripped either side of your ribcage as she grazed her mouth over your stomach, landing on a spot off to the side before digging her teeth into your flesh.

“Ah!” you screamed out, feeling all the blades of her teeth stab into you. She let go, revealing a bloody bite mark on your torso.

“So sweet and fresh,” she growled.

A particular wave of water came up aggressively onto the shore, rolling over her ankles and causing scales to appear before the water receded and human skin covered it again.

The Siren moved to your chest, her large hand grabbing one of your tits and squeezing while she rolled her long, thin tongue over your nipple, her siren eyes flashing up at you. You squirmed, whimpering from the pain but also from another uncontrollable emotion. You were entranced by her, under her will, and had no control over any feeling she gave you emotionally or physically.

Moving her mouth to your other breast, she sunk her teeth into the mound of flesh, causing you to cry out again. You attempted to lift your arms to fight back, but she quickly snatched them and pinned them to the sharp rocks.

Voda glubokaya i golubaya.

YA smotryu na tebya svoimi krasivymi glazami.

Podoydi blizhe, i ya ispolnyu tvoye zhelaniye.

Podoydi blizhe i ya tebya potseluyu.

She sang again, her voice filling you as she gave you more bites between each lyric, blood now dripping down your sides. You were dizzy, from the blood or the trance or the entire situation, and helpless. Your blood was smeared across the entire lower half of her face, dripping from her chin, staining her razor teeth as she grinned. It was so strange, seeing a monstrous look on such a seductive, beautiful woman.

When the Siren glided her tongue down the center of your stomach, you felt a twitch within you. When her hands gripped your hips and scratched downward, coming to grab your tender thighs and spread them open, you obliged. You felt hotter now, as if steam would start rising out of your body into the cold air. There were already billows of fog coming out of your lips with each breath.

“Such a delicate angel,” the Siren purred at you as she lowered her body down. As she settled her elbows over your thighs, her legs tucked back into the water. The waves gushed over her bottom and onto her lower back, and when it receded, she had a tail again, halfway resting in the water, the crimson fin on the very end flipping up in the water instinctively.

You were naked, bleeding on the rocks, being overtaken by a Siren, the Scarlet Siren no less, but you felt overcome with a pleasurable sensation. It was a mix between drunken and sexual as the Siren licked her tongue over your thighs.

When she had you to a point of gyrating your hips for her, she finally put her mouth over your core, sucking on your sensitive nub immediately. You cried out, grabbing onto rocks as she suckled on you, causing arousal to already slowly gush out of you.

Her tongue was long and thin and bumpy, so when she lapped it over your slit and then pushed it deep inside you, you nearly went blind. She snaked her tongue in and out of her, her hands grabbing your thighs harshly as she forced your legs open wider, moaning onto your clit. She seemed hungry, ravenous, as she devoured you, and you felt the terrifying hardness of the very edge of her teeth almost hitting your sensitive skin every once in a while. You could tell that she had done this before, and you wondered what number you were going to be in the list of women she had killed.

“Ah!” you cried out, feeling yourself coming close already. The feeling was something entirely different, and before you knew it, you were clenching around her tongue and crying out, your body arching off the rocks.

“So delicious,” the Siren hissed when she retracted her tongue, staying where she was between your legs while you panted and squirmed. “And so tight.”

Without warning, she placed four fingers in a row at your entrance. You swallowed hard, your consciousness breaking through a little to fight back by thrashing around. You tried to close your legs, but she was amazingly strong.

The Scarlet Siren opened her mouth to sing her song, and you relaxed involuntarily. You could only scream when she forced four of her fingers into you. The pain was dizzying, along with all the blood you’d lost, and you were halfway unconscious as she stretched your cunt out around her fingers, forcing you to take all four of her unnaturally long digits. Your walls resisted, but she kept thrusting, lapping up any arousal and blood along the way. She bit into your thigh, rubbed her face in the wound and curled her fingers inside you, watching you tremble and squirm dumbly.

You finally started to come to when the pain went away, pleasure taking over. The stretch felt otherworldly, her tongue flicking your clit and lapping at it, fingers pumping deep and hard into you so that it was all you could feel. Besides the gentle waves of the water near you, all you could hear was the squelching noises that she committed on you. She devoured you and fucked you eagerly, hungrily, like an animal, becoming more and more carnal the more she had of you.

When your second climax crashed over you and you convulsed uncontrollably, whimpering and screaming and thrashing, the Siren chuckled victoriously between your thighs.

When the climax left you, your body dropped limp on the rocks. Your vision went blurry, and all you could see was red eyes hovering over you staring at you, and the dark crimson of blood on her face.

“You did so good, detka,” she lilted, caressing your cheek with her soft hand. “I think I’ll keep you.”

Fortunately for you, you could feel nothing but bliss. It was the Siren’s entrancement on you that made you feel heavenly as she took hold of one of your ankles and dragged you into the water like a dead fish, swimming away into the black and taking you with her.

Your abandoned boat still floated upside down a ways off from the shore. The cloud of fog was still on the sea’s surface, crowding into the cove. The water washed away your blood from the rocks.

[enha-stars]

✧ eyes on me ; s.j

pairing: bf!jake x f!reader (mdni)

synopsis: jake was greedy; he was soft and loving and a bit silly, but he was greedy for you, for your attention, for anything you’d give him

warnings: lots of fluff, down bad jake, mentions of religion, death, hell [romantic], shy/sub jake (sorta), sort of dom reader (if you squint), attention whore jake (affectionate), boob play, jake loves titties, suggestive, no smut, kissing, hair pulling

a/n: idk what this is but i'm having so many jake thoughts it's insane. what i would give to pull his hair once.

the smell of butter wafted through the air as you fluffed the pillows on your sofa, humming a soft melody that jake had strummed into your subconscious.

jake watched you from the kitchen as he poured the popcorn into a large bowl and grabbed two cans of pop before he walked towards you, a soft smile on his lips.

he loved friday evenings because he got to spend them with you; your arms wrapped tightly around him as you mumbled about your day, he spent better half of the night finding a way to crawl into your skin and build a home.

he wanted to be as close to you as humanly possible, and then some. sometimes —and he always thought he was being slick but you knew— he would listen to your heartbeat and will his own heart to beat in synch with yours.

it always did.

jake watched as you fell onto the sofa, a soft groan escaping your lips when your back dug into the armrest. his eyes twinkled and he set down the popcorn on the little table you had pulled.

“don’t wanna lay on me, baby?”

you shuffled a bit downwards before you smiled up at him, eyes a bit droopier than you would have liked. he looked so pretty, standing above you with his hair brushed back and his skin glowy.

“mm, i wanna hold you.” jake naturally bit his bottom lip as his eyes crinkled in adoration. it didn’t matter how many years you two had been together; jake sim would always have that shy lover boy inside him.

jake waited patiently as you got comfortable and moved to lay on you once you nodded at him, giving him the go ahead. you prepared for jake's full weight on you and tensed up your body but he gently laid himself in between your legs.

he slotted himself between your legs and smiled against your chest when your legs wrapped around his lower half, your arms following in suit and wrapping around his shoulders.

his arms wrapped around your waist and he breathed you in; tucking his face in your neck. it had been a long week for the both of you and he had been looking forward to this every second of the week.

you shivered when his warm hands slid under your shirt and rested on your back, his nails lightly awakening all the cells in your body. you dug your heel in his shin and he nipped the skin of your neck.

"you smell good," he whispered. his eyes were squeezed shut and when you pulled back to see his face, he looked immensely content; like this is exactly where he belonged, exactly where he would stay.

"i smell like you," you smiled down at him, a twinkle in your eyes. he wanted to kiss it, to brush it and feed it; keep it ignited forever like his own personal lighthouse.

"exactly," he replied. "and i smell like you. just how God intended."

instead of answering, you crinkled your nose at him and he felt his heart rate pick up at the sight.

you slid one hand down his shirt through the collar and your other hand pressed 'play' on the tv before it slid into his hair. you felt him shiver under your touch and you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

right then and there, if jake had died, he would have been okay with it. he would have hated leaving you all alone, but if he had to go, he wanted it to be in your arms.

he was sure that even if dante himself had pulled him through hell, a second in your arms was enough to make it all worth it.

the familiar blues and fishes graced your tv and jake hummed in content as he pressed his ear against your heart, listening to the melody of the mermaids and your heart synch into the most beautiful song jake had ever heard.

your eyes never strayed from the tv as you watched the film you had been thinking about for a few days. you couldn't pinpoint why the little mermaid had been swimming through your thoughts until you began running your fingers through jake's locks.

jake focused on the tv for a bit but the feeling of your hand pressing down on his back, the coldness of your palm against his burning skill had him dizzy. his eyes fluttered shut when your fingers scraped his skull.

"you remind me of prince eric," you whispered, tugging on jake's hair. you tilted his head upwards to catch his eye and your throat bobbed at his expression; the way his eyes burned with a simmering heat and the small hitch in his breath didn't escape you.

"yeah?" his throat was dry as he looked up at you, a familiar heat bubbling in his stomach. "what about him?" jake didn't care about the movie. he didn't care about ariel's dilemma or sebastian's lectures. he cared about you; he wanted you, he wanted your attention.

all of it.

you shuffled under him, lips getting closer as your fingers ran through the ends of his hair. you slid your hand from the nape of his neck to the front and grazed his skin until you could brush the hair out of his eyes.

jake stared up at you with shiny eyes and pink lips. he had been biting on his bottom lip for a bit and you brushed your thumb against the pulled lip, enticing him to release it.

his body was yours, after all.

"you kind of look like him," you responded. your fingers traced the lines of his face, the dips and plush of his flesh until he was sure that you could mold him from any clay. he rested his chin in between your breasts, putty in your arms.

"your hair," you mumbled. jake watched carefully as you ran both your hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. his eyes shut and he barely held on to the whimper that almost escaped him. "it looks like his. especially since you've grown it out."

"what else?" jake wanted your eyes on him. he couldn't really handle them, but he loved the way his body felt alive under your gaze.

"your personalities are similar," you mused. your eyes glanced at the tv and jake slid his hand from your back to your stomach. the rough calluses on his hand tickled your skin and you glanced down at him, a smile tugging on your lips at the desperation in his eyes.

"he's charming, optimistic, adventurous," you listed. jake listened carefully, letting your voice settle deep within his bones until he was sure he'd hear you even after death. you smiled brightly at him and jake felt the air in his lungs leave him. "he's sensitive and a bit shy."

"sounds like me," jake grinned.

"it does," you laughed. "i fell in love with you long before i even met you."

you turned back to the tv so you didn't see the look of pure astonishment on jake's face. he felt his cheeks warm and he pressed his face against your chest, grinning to himself when you laughed at his shyness. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and his hand slid up your stomach.

he wasn't full yet; he was still starving for your attention. he wanted to bask under your stare until it overwhelmed him. he let his hand travel further upwards until his fingers brushed the skin right under your breasts.

he was so glad you weren't wearing a bra.

you tried really hard to keep you attention on the tv. you knew jake was up to something, but you weren't ready for his wet tongue to press against your nipple through your thin shirt.

you naturally arched your back in response and jake took that as a sign to continue. your nails dug into his scalp as his tongue continued to poke and lick at one of your nipples while he pulled and pinched the other with his hand.

he loved your boobs. he could have spent the rest of his life like this, simply laying in between your legs with his tongue on your skin and he would have happily thanked whoever was responsible.

your head fell back and your eyes shut on their own accord at the pleasure. noticing the lack of attention, jake bit down on your skin and smiled against your wet shirt when your eyes fell on his.

"eyes on me, baby."

jake stared into your eyes as he sucked on your other nipple, his hand squeezed and kneading the other breast. your breathing had deepened and jake buzzed under your stare, sucking and nibbling like he had a point to prove it.

you swallowed a moan but jake felt it in the way your body squirmed underneath his. he released your hardened, perked nipple and raised his head, eyes shiny with lust and love.

"please," he begged against your skin. his breath brushed your face and you had never seen anything prettier. his hair fell across his forehead so prettily, and his eyes shone with so much love it almost choked you.

you smiled softly at him before your hands travelled from his hair to his cheeks. you cupped his chiseled jaw and pulled him towards you, lips crashing against his. you swallowed his little gasp and tipped your head further down, lips moving his passionately.

jake felt his entire core shake as his lips moved against yours, teeth and tongue all clashing as every unsaid whisper speaks itself into existence.

you pulled jake's hair, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. a string of saliva connects your bruised, plump lips and jake breaks it wirh his tongue. your eyes hungrily follow his movements and he knows he has all your attention now.

he knows he's always had it, but now you can't think about anything except him. exactly how he can't think about anything other than you.

"what do you want, baby?"

you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and smiled against his lips when his eyelashes brushed your skin. you pulled away and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

"you, jake. i always only ever want you."

he grinned at the look in your eyes and the breathiness of your voice and pressed his pelvis against yours, swallowing your moan.

"i always only ever want you too."

[sparklingcid3r]

Something I’ll always love about Soda and Darry is their fire and ice contrast.

Soda, whose love runs so hot it burns. It draws Pony in and keeps him at Soda’s side, craving the warmth and safety that his bonfire of a brother offers.

The way Soda wraps Pony up in his arms while they’re under the blankets and Pony’s anxiety and fear is rolling off his shoulders in waves. After nightmares, it’s Soda’s natural warmth he gravitates to. He’s a sun, and everyone else spins on their orbit, but they’re all revolving around him and his whims.

Soda, who’s one of the best fighters out of all of them. The way he sparks and blazes, quick on his feet and jabbing his opponents with the heat of a cigarette burn.

Soda, whose anger is an eruption of pent up fear and frustration, slow to ignite but a wildfire once it does.

Soda, whose letter was the lighthouse Pony needed to see to start slowly making his way home to his brothers.

Compared to Darry, whose eyes got cold and hard after their parents died. Who doesn’t smile anymore but who’s melted by Soda poking warm fun at him, and who’s shattered by the tragedy that follows Pony from the lot to Windrixville back to Tulsa.

Darry, whose love is a cool stream of air on a sweltering day in June, invisible and unassuming until suddenly it’s all around.

The way he was the iceberg that Soda and Pony found purchase on in the middle of the dark sea of grief, staying firm and upright, freezing himself so that nothing could touch him, nothing could risk breaking him too, not when his brothers needed him. He’d sooner lose himself than the rest of his family.

Darry, who has to wait for someone to step up to him at rumbles and who can take a blow on the chin that would knock anyone else down. And once he gets his turn, it’s hit after hit, kick after kick, a hailstorm that pins his opponent to the ground.

Darry, whose anger is loud and roaring like blizzard winds, but once he gets quiet it’s frigid and biting and permeating every room of the house.

Darry, who hugged his kid brother while he was still covered in soot and ash and doused whatever lingered of the blaze that followed him to the hospital.

Just two brothers who exist so differently yet so similarly, trying to look out for their family the only ways they know how.

[thegnomelord]

you have me thinking about pregnant sex with gaz 🥵🫶🏼

Fuuuck dude your Kirby looking ass is unlocking kinks I didn't even know I had

CW:NSFW, MDNI FTM Gaz/domtop Mreader, pregnant sex, quick and rough.

Gaz loves you with all his heart. You're the love of his life, his lighthouse and his anchor, the father of the children growing inside him (yes, children, a healthy pair of twins Gaz feels is the universe's apology for him not getting pregnant the first time)

But by god he's ready to kill you in a hundred different ways.

Ever since his bump started to show you've been treating him like he's made of glass. Which, in of itself, isn't a bad thing — he loves it when you spoil him like he's your king, preening under every praise and leaning into your soft touches, the soft and loving kisses he rewards you with enough for you to continue to feed his gluttonous need for you as you roll your hips to push your cock into him in long even strokes, spooning him from behind so your hands can rub and caress his growing stomach, making love to him like you have all the time in the world.

But he's so god damn horny! There's always a lick of heat burning under his skin and the slow and careful way you fuck him just doesn't scratch his itch. He talks to you about it, but you're still hesitant to be rough with him, especially as he enters his second trimester and his stomach continues to grow to the point he doesn't fit into his pants anymore and Price forces him to desk duty.

It's the lack of action that wears down his quickly dwindling patience. He tries to distract himself with exercise but that's hard to do when there's two tiny humans using his organs as punching bags and making him go to the bathroom every 5 minutes.

So he nearly pounces on you when you return to your shared room in the evening, but you're faster than him, unknowingly calming his nerves with your warm embrace and kisses. "Hello papa." You hum into his neck, your hands naturally falling to massage his bump. "Did you lot miss me?" And that loving look you give him reignites his need.

"Do you even have to ask?" Gaz growls and pulls you down by the collar into a demanding kiss. Using your distraction he pushes you until you tumble down onto the bed, quickly taking his position in your lap. "You-" Kyle grins down at you wolfishly, his hands on your shoulders keeping you laying down, "- are going to let me do this an' anything you say will be used against you."

"Sir," You say, breathless, your eyes just as dark and dilated as his, "I just got really hard."

"Good man." Gaz purrs and kisses you. It doesn't take much to get you two out of your clothes, your sweat slick skins rubbing together as he rides you. The position is a little awkward as he uses your bent knees to balance himself, his stomach pressing against your abdomen as he rides you. He's huffing and puffing like a racehorse, already losing steam even as his cunt flutters around your cock.

"Come on daddy," He moans and rocks his hips, "Put another one in me," He urges you on, and you don't know what comes over you but you grip his hips firmly and thrust up the next time he lowers himself onto your cock, forcing the most beautiful sounds out of his throat.

"Oh- fuck, yes, yes, yes!" He groans, gripping your knees in a white knuckled grip as he bounces on your cock. He looks so handsome like this, eyes closed and mouth open to moan freely as his belly gently bounces with your thrusts. You can't keep your hands off it, something about seeing him heavy with your young has you harder than you've ever been.

Your kiss is just as desperate as his had been when you finally push him into an orgasm, the clenching of his hole pulling you down into your own orgasm. "God, that was so good lovie." He whispers against your lips, his eyes going wide when you don't stop and buck your hips into him again.

"Said you wanted me to put another one in you." Is all you say as you roll your hips, your cock somehow still hard. His cunt flutters around you, wet and sloppy with his slick and your cum mixing between you two.

You really are the love of his life.

Taglist: @dead-end-stuff

[iluvmattsbeard]

nobody knows like me (c.s)

master list

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: nothing!

preview: you knew you weren’t like everyone else. Chris loved that about you. he loved that you were carefree and in the moment of everything. Chris’ friends on the other hand, thinks you’re a bit too much, judging you from the get go. you over hear one of their conversations and it crushes your spirit.

a/n: LIKES, COMMENTS, AND REBLOGS ARE VERY APPRECIATED!

you and Chris have been together for a couple of months now. you guys were brought together randomly as you bumped into each other on a random afternoon when Chris was on his daily walk. he accidentally bumped shoulders with you, causing you to drop the paper bag that you had filled with fresh produce from the farmer's market onto the ground. when you bumped into each other, he was already captivated by your natural beauty and your unique style. he helped you pick up the fallen items as he repeatedly apologized. you laughed softly at him as you reassured him it was okay.

as you both continued in small talk, Chris eventually asked for your number. he promised you he would make up for the lost fruit that fell out of your bag and you took his word for it. after exchanging numbers, you guys eventually went on dates and he got to know you personally. he noticed little things you did that were unique that he admired. you were always radiating positivity and you never not had a smile on your face. every room you walked into, you lit up in his eyes.

the first time you hung out, he took you out for breakfast as you ordered smiley face pancakes and a large strawberry milkshake. he looks at your food and back at you. you had the biggest smile on your face like a little kid, making him laugh softly to himself. as time went by, he found out you and him were like children at heart. he admired the fact you still had that childish feeling. it made him feel like he could live without constant worries and fears. for halloween, every girl was in seductive costumes as you showed up in a bob ross costume. Chris’ reaction was priceless. he was not expecting you to show up in an afro and beard. “this is incredible.” he says with a smile. “i know. i’m painting you a visual of what you’ll be receiving down the road.” you say waving your paint brush around which made him laugh at your cheesy choice of words.

when walking down the street, you would see little bugs in the grass which you would pick up and freak Chris out. “Y/n get that away from me.” he says with a nervous look. you had a sneaky smile as you started to chase him with the bug in your hand. “how are you even holding that thing?!” Chris says loudly as he continues running. “it’s a little friend! it wants to say hi Chris!” you say chasing him. he starts to scream high pitched which caused you to stop and burst into laughter. when you knew Chris would be stressed, you knew how to get rid of it. you would lift him up onto his feet and play music, forcing him to dance out the worries and problems. which at first he thought was ridiculous but once he saw you dance, he couldn’t help but smile and dance with you in the same weird way. every moment with you was filled with laughter and joy.

it was like a magical spell you had him in. the more time he spent with you, the more he was attached to you and missed you every time you weren’t near. he could think of more memories he has but those were just a few that stood out to him. you made him feel comfortable and uncomfortable in a good way. you pushed him to do things he couldn’t do on his own. you were his biggest supporter and motivator.

Chris was sitting down on his couch as he hears the door bell ring. he knew it was you. you guys had plans to hang out with his friends today. it was going to be the first time they would meet you. Chris gets up from the couch as he opens the door. as soon as he locked eyes with you, he immediately lit up. every time you were around, he always felt a boost of serotonin. "hey beautiful." he greets you, instantly pulling you in for a hug. you grew a big smile as you embraced him with a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck, "hello handsome." you pull away still smiling as you continue to speak, "i'm sorry for running late." he chuckles as he notices the flowers in your hair.

you always walked to his house. on the way, you always picked the prettiest flowers to put in your hair. "yellow flowers this time." he says tucking a strand behind your ear. "yeah it matches my outfit!" you say twirling around to show off your long white skirt, a yellow patterned tube top, and a cream cardigan. he lets out a soft laugh, "I love it." you walk over to the kitchen as you sat at the bar stool, "so, when will we meet up with your friends?" you ask. "we're going to meet them later at Nate's house. he's throwing a little get together." he replies sitting next to you. you turn your body to face him, "are you excited?" he asks.

"of course I am! i've been wanting to meet them. your family was so kind to me when I first met them, i'm expecting to click with your friends as well." you say with a smile. "that's good. I've been talking about you constantly. they can't wait to finally meet you." he replies holding your hand. "well I can't wait to meet them! i'm just going to be me." you say as he lets out a soft laugh, placing a kiss on your cheek, "that's how it always should be. just you being you." he says with a smile.

“i’m going to warn you right now. they can be a bit much. so if you feel overwhelmed just tell me okay?” he says. you let out a small laugh before responding, “Chris, i’ll be good.” “okay i’m just letting you know.” he responds.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

you and Chris arrive at Nate’s house. you both stood in front of the door as you hear muffled music playing behind the door. Chris looks down at you as he smiles, “you ready?” he asks. “of course i am.” you say with a smile. he stares at you for a bit as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, just like earlier. he then rings the door bell.

you see the door open as you were greeted by a girl, “Chris! you made it!” she says. “hi Madi. is everyone here?” he asks. “you know it.” she then focuses her eyes onto you, “you must be Y/n!” she says smiling. she greets you with a hug as you embrace her back, “yes i am!” you reply. she then pulls away, “Chris talks about you nonstop. you are definitely a natural beauty.” she says. she then focuses her eyes on your hair. your hair was long and curly, sort of “untamed”. you still had the flowers in your hair from earlier. she looks at them as she just ignores it. “thank you so much. you are gorgeous.” you say back to her. all she does is thank you with a smile.

you and Chris step inside as you look around. you noticed that everyone had the same type of vibe. if Chris ever lost you in the crowd, he would definitely spot you from your brightly colored clothes. the music was loud as Chris was leading you the way to find more of his friends. eventually meeting up with a few guys. “hey guys.” Chris says smiling as he lets go of your hand, greeting each of his friends. you stood there as you notice his friends’ eyes on you. you could tell they weren’t use to your presence. “this is my girlfriend Y/n.” Chris adds on, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. you smile before speaking, “hi, it’s nice to meet you guys.”

Chris POV

Y/n greets my friends as i notice them looking at her in a weird way. they were looking at her clothes and at her hair. “hello, i’m Nate.” Nate says while taking a sip of his drink. “i’m Baylen.” the rest of my friends introduce themselves as Y/n just smiles, “i’ll try to remember those names.” she says. they all just laugh at her response. “Chris tells me about you guys all the time. it’s great to know he has such good friends.” she says. the guys just look at her and smile awkwardly as Nate responds only, “same with you.” that’s odd.

I could tell Y/n was trying her best to keep conversations but none of my friends wanted to keep it going. “Y/n? do you want to grab a drink and chit chat?” Madi asks her. Y/n looks at her and smiles, “of course!” she says with her cheerful voice. she looks at me as i smile, which let her know i was fine here. they walk away as i watch them head towards the kitchen. i hear some of the guys laugh as i turn to face them, “what’s so funny?” i ask out of curiosity. “dude, where did you get her from?” Baylen asks. i raise an eyebrow, “what do you mean by that?” they all look at each other and back at me, “Chris, are you not seeing what we’re seeing?” says someone in the group. “what about it?” i ask. “she looks like she just stepped out from some hippie delusion.” Nate says, making everyone burst out into laughter.

i stood there unamused from his words, “how could you just judge her from the way she’s dressed?” i ask with a blank stare. “yeah that’s kind of rude of you Nate.” Nick says stepping in. “Chris is happy with her and she’s more than just the appearance.” he finishes. Nate just scoffs taking another sip from his drink. i look at my brother, “thank you Nick.” i say. he just nods as a response. “all i’m saying Chris, girls practically line up to try and get a chance with you.” Baylen says. i just give a confused look, “so? i’m happy with where i’m at.” i say. i then notice the groups attention wonder somewhere else as i go to look as well.

End of Chris’ POV

you joined the crowd as they danced around you. you were with Madi as she watched you dance. you didn’t know how to dance at all so the way you moved, came off a little different. you moved your body a bit weird which made people stare and laugh. you didn’t notice the stares as you continued to dance and have fun in your mind.

it catches Chris’ friends eyes and also Chris himself’s eyes. Chris watched you as he chuckled a bit to himself. he saw you were having fun with no care whatsoever and that’s what made him love being with you. you were so care free and you didn’t let stupid stares stop you from enjoying your time. “i’ve never seen someone move like that before.” Nate says holding in a laugh. “she’s something.” one of the guys say causing Chris to tense up. “she’s just having fun.” Chris mutters out. he stands there as he continues to admire you.

Chris POV

why did they have to make stupid comments? typical immaturity. this is one of the reasons why i didn’t want to introduce her. my friends are too insecure to handle a girl like Y/n. i just think everyone who’s staring is intimidated by the fact she knows how to let loose. i notice Y/n starts to slowly stop her movements as she looks around at the people looking at her. she shifted uncomfortably as she kept an awkward smile.

Y/n’s POV

i was never the type to care about what anybody had to say about me but, being here with the people Chris surrounds himself with, staring at me like i’m some type of weird disease, made me start to overthink a little bit. the one thing i don’t want is to embarrass Chris. so i stopped myself a bit as i walked away from the dance floor. “Y/n! where are you going?” Madi says chasing after me. “what’s wrong?” she asks holding onto my arm. i turn to look at her, “i just got tired of dancing that’s all.” i say with a fake smile. “do you want more to drink?” Madi asks. “just water is fine.” i say as she leads me to the kitchen, handing me a water bottle. “i should head back to Chris.” i say after taking a sip.

“okay! they’re still at the same spot they were at.” Madi says with a smile. i turn to leave the kitchen to head towards the group. as i was going to turn the corner i stopped myself once i heard their laughter and words. “yeah she dresses funny, yeah she’s a bit weird, and yeah she’s quite unique…” i hear Chris say. everything else i blocked out because i felt a sudden saddened confusion. why would he call me out like that in front of his friends? i could hear their taunting laughters which caused my eyes to build up with tears as i head out the front door.

Chris POV

“yeah she dresses funny, yeah she’s a bit weird, and yeah she’s quite unique-.” i say but got caught off from one of the guys. “that’s for sure.” which caused the group to laugh. “let him speak.” Matt sternly says. i shake my head as i continue to speak, “yeah she’s all those things but, i know how she truly is. she’s fun and she’s care free and i love that about her. she’s more than her appearance and her goofy antics. if you guys would’ve given her a chance, you would’ve understood.” i say before leaving to go find Y/n.

i looked around for a bit and i couldn’t seem to find her. i bump into Madi and notice they’re not together, “where’s Y/n?” i ask. she just shrugs, “i don’t know. she said she was going to find you.” she says. i nod and walk away confused. i soon step outside to see if she could be there and notice her sat down on the side walk. she was taking out the flowers in her hair, throwing them onto the street. i walk up to her and sit down next to her, instantly noticing the tears down her face, “Y/n? what’s wrong?” i ask with a worried expression. she just shakes her head and continues to cry. i go to hold her hand but she pulls away. i look into her eyes as i try to figure out what’s wrong, “did i do something?” i ask. “i heard what you said in there.” she says. “you did?” i say confused, “then why are you crying?” she looks at me with the same confused look, “w-what do you mean? i heard you call me weird and that i dress funny like i didn’t already know that. you didn’t have to call me out like that. i know i’m-.” i cut her off with a small laugh as she glares at me. “Y/n, did you stay for the whole conversation?” i ask.

she shakes her head, “no but all i know is that i understand now. i get i embarrassed you in front of your friends.” i smile as i hold her hand, “Y/n you didn’t embarrass me. if you stayed you would’ve heard me say that so what if you’re all those things? you’re more than just your appearance and your goofy antics.” i say causing her to roll her eyes. “hey just listen.” i say with a small laugh. “i told them they don’t know you like how i do. which is fine because you don’t have to prove yourself to them with how amazing you are, because i know. i know how truly amazing you are.” i say which makes her expression soften. “yeah you’re not like everyone else, so what? that’s what made me fall in love with you.” i say which catches her off guard. i never expressed my love to anybody before. she knew that.

“there’s something about you Y/n that makes me feel like the luckiest guy ever.” i say rubbing her hand with my thumb. i look on the side of me, seeing a pretty flower which causes me to pick it up and tuck it behind her ear. she smiles and more tears flow down her cheeks, “i love you Y/n.” i say wiping her tears gently which causes her to let out a soft laughter, “you really mean that Chris?” she says sniffling with a weak smile. “my love grows for you everyday. i really mean it.” i say which makes her even sob more, embracing me in a hug. “i love you too Chris. that is the sweetest thing anybody has ever said to me.” she says as i rub her back softly.

i just had to tell her that i love her. she truly doesn’t understand how she makes me feel. my friends? i don’t care if they don’t see her the way i do because nobody knows like me.

a/n: i don’t know i just thought this was a cute idea 😅

[catcherintheryuu]

𝙲𝚘𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚏𝚝. 𝚈𝚎𝚓𝚒

1.1k words | barely smut

A/N: Just a little something I wrote in collaboration @i-am-lifeform24 and the other writers. Check out the whole thing: https://www.tumblr.com/i-am-lifeform24/755507436706807808/curated-companions?source=share

It falls, droops past the horizon - and now it’s a blackout. It happens too fast for some people with how cooped up they’ve been: surrendering their time to serve others, earning their keep. It builds up. It stresses them, pushes them over the edge of the barricade, set by whomever, to prevent what's currently happening: them careening on the rocks, skin and flesh tearing at the slightest impact as they get closer and closer to terminal velocity - through impossibility and then some. 

And here you are, braving through the settling dusk, arriving only when the moon’s set itself atop your head - smart to procure your services at the dead of night. 

Just like always, you perform one last check of yourself - there’s a certain standard that you uphold to yourself; after all, you are being paid and this is the least you could do for these troubled individuals. 

It rings, the same annoying, unending, and inevitable ringing that started this escapade. No answer. You check your watch - you’re not late - It ticks and ticks. And for some reason, it mimics the scrambling behind the door of your destination. Enter… well, exit Hwang Yeji, ITZY’s - yes, that ITZY’s - group leader and also your most prominent client so far. 

The sight of her prompts you to turn away. “It was me,” she says with the slightest attempt of hiding her chagrin, “I was the one that called for you and… your services.” 

Chalk it up to collective karma but somehow the Hwang Yeji is in front of you in all of her glory. Keep calm. She’s not exactly who you had in mind as your first booking for the night but certainly not someone you’d decline - not like you have a choice to begin with. 

“Ma’am? Miss? What would you like me to call you?” you say as she lets you through the gate. No response. You’d think she didn’t hear you but you were at arms length with her. And so it was, your words have gone on deaf ears, Yeji’s ears as a consolation, but not what you’d call welcoming, so you decide to take matters into your own hands - aka doing your job. “Yej-” 

Her dainty fingers meet your lips - salty and shaking. Yeji pulls you to the walls, narrowly avoiding the lighthouse-of-a-light from the windows. “Look,” she whispers in the most breathy way possible like she’s got a finger sticking through her rib, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not exactly allowed to be seen with a man… especially in hours like these.” 

“Yeji,” you take her by her wrists, “colour me rude, but my time isn’t exactly cheap. You should know that.” 

“Of course!” Yeji gets a bit too defensive, accidentally flaring her voice out, “fu-” She mumbles, spits even, as your hand interrupts her expletive, something you didn’t expect would come out so naturally from an idol’s mouth - both the word and bodily fluid. 

“Really? Is this what the Hwang Yeji is capable of?” 

Yeji pouts, craning her neck down, putting her eyes on full display as they take shelter under her furrowed brows. 

“Got something to say?” You’ve laid your hands on her already, albeit not sensually so why not go further - trace a finger on her chin, your nail skating along her nerves, dropping further until you start to thumb her collarbone.  Her jaw slacks and she tries to let a word out, however, you’ve sucker punched her, taken the wind out of her sails - your finger a hurricane that stirs something inside her.

Her string of words - not even - are barely able to make it through, “Y-you… I want you.” 

Yeji is as upfront and direct as one can be, and it still somehow takes you aback. “M-may I ask abou- what about me -” you pause, recompose, “- in particular has got you wanting me?” You’re stumbling on her stairway. 

She goes a step too far - a step too close - Yeji leans, places her body weight on your shoulders, pushing you through her door. She props herself up on your shoulders and whispers, “Are we really going to waste time on this?” Caught up in the moment, you couldn’t help but stare - how this creature of myth nuzzles its way to the crook of your neck, how it looks up at you with this unmarred admiration, the same unquestioned look lemmings have before they go plunging down the cliffs..

Yeji debunks it all - an urban legend - with just her lips, the coming to blows of your lips. She’s kissing you, the soft little tug on your clothes, that little look of a successful leap of faith. It’s needy, messy as her tongue slips through your slack jaw. It’s this heavy intoxication that has you feeling like you’re at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, like you’ve just woken up from a heady herbal mix of a concoction. 

It takes a few minutes - a few minutes of lips locked together, tongues wrapping around each other - before you realise the gravity of the situation. Your lips part, instead you take her by wrists, feeling her ramping pulse, and turn her around, back to your torso. “Is this what you had in mind when you called?” you say, thumbing her jaw.

“Ok, don’t judge,” Yeji starts, pausing for a slight moment of repose, “but I… I was looking for something rough, you know? Some stress relief, maybe? Nothing beats getting thrown on the bed with no regards, have my hair pulled, oh God…” 

“Hell, you could have had me gagging on that cock of yours,” she bundles herself tight into your arms, rubs her dainty ass on your cock, “maybe even filled to the brim with your hot cu- Sorry…”

Two, maybe three, hours ago, this person in your arms was yet to be Yeji, and now you’ve eased yourself into her ribs - being the lingering annoyance that could either get her smiling from cheek to cheek or satisfy her more masochistic side.  

You wrap around her with a tad bit of desperation, perhaps realising that your time is running out. “Hey,” you dip your lips into her nape, “I’m not objecting.” Yeji’s head falls back, “God, you’re cute…” She flushes pink - plum - her ivory-like teeth spilling at the corners. 

She draws the vowels out, “So you’d ruin someone cute? Someone like m-” 

“Yes. Someone like you.” Your eyes meet, and you give her one last kiss. “Fuck - sorry - this is nice but I have other clients to attend to. I gave you an extra hour… just cause, but I really would have loved to meet your expectations. Why don’t you book me again tomorrow?”

“No,” a giggle escapes her lips, “no way you thought I was that much of a cheapskate?” 

“Sorry?” You tilt your head quizzically, brows furrowing.

“I booked you for the whole twenty four hours, dummy.” 

ps: idk why I posted this so late

[abarero]

"Magia Record Puella Magi Madoka Magica Gaiden" Review Dialogue | Director x Main Scenario Writer

This is a quick overview of this article featuring a dialogue interview between Taguchi, Director (COO) and Director of f4samurai, and Mori, who served as the main scenario writer for MagiReco.

- MagiReco has been in development since 2015. Some of the staff have worked on it for 9 years.

- Originally, only 3 members were assigned to work on it. This included Taguchi and Mori.

- Taguchi continued to work on the project up until the release of Last Magia / the end of Arc 1. Mori continued to work on it until the end.

- The first Azaleas event (our first branching event that had “bad ends”) was not planned at the start of release. This event type was developed in the 2 months prior to appearing in game.

- Arc 2 (which completed in 2022) was something they’d been working on for three years.

- Roughly speaking, the total of MagiReco is 8,390,000 characters. Mori probably wrote about 3 million characters directly, including events and Magical Girl Stories.

- That word count is estimated to be about 70 light novels (80,000~120,000 character books) worth of content for the entire game.

- In regards to Puella Historia, Mori said, “I started with the idea of portraying magical girls who appeared in history as they appeared in the original work, but in the end it became a completely new approach to portraying magical girls from other past eras, which was fresh and interesting as a scenario writer. As expected, it was not possible for one person to do the historical research alone, so it was great that we were able to share the scenario with everyone.”

- They remark that given the nature of gacha games, it’s uncommon to write about character death. Mori notes it made Main Story a little more predictable since they were limited by this to some degree.

- Including spin-off characters, there were more than 150 characters represented in MagiReco.

- Mori notes that there were fans who supported each character, so when he could he made an effort to explore them in events.

- Taguchi asked if there were any scenarios that Mori thought had a particularly strong response. Mori noted, “The storyline with Sena Mikoto, the last boss of Part 2, received a great response and left a strong impression on me. As some users may have noticed, Mikoto was originally not intended to be the last boss at all. We were very excited and happy when we were able to show her off at the event.”

- The two comment that the release of Ultimate Madoka for first Anniversary did so well and got them number 1 rank on the App Store in sales at that time.

- Mori notes that the final story had a lot of influence from the publisher (Aniplex) on how it should play out.

- In regard to Magia Exedra, they note that MagiReco will be tied to it.

- Mori was responsible for the design and scenario behind Namae and the Lighthouse, but will be working on other projects. However, there are people on from the original scenario team who continue to be involved in scenario production for Exedra.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 5: His very own lighthouse

genre: honestly who even knows at this point - angst, fluff, comfort, EVERYTHINGGGGG

word count: 5961

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: things are happening too fast– it's been nine days of this madness and, once again, everything just seems to continue to spiral. but sometimes, in the midst of all the darkness, you find some light, and that is enough to make you keep going.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: sorry for the delay on the update, but it's finally here! I'm excited to see this story evolving! what are you excited about with this chapter? Let me know in the comments! <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

“Knock, knock.”

The hospital smells of rubbing alcohol and plastic and it’s all a really weird experience. On one hand, you have kids books, three or four that you managed to get from the store before Spencer got you out of there. On the other, you have flowers with a card signed by both you and the boy genius that couldn’t come with. Very last minute, Spencer had gotten a call from Agent Hotchner and he had to go to the office, but he had been kind enough to drop you off to see Officer Kaper. s

“Miss Y/L/N!” He smiles from where he’s laying in bed, daughter tucked under one arm and wife by the other. “Sweetie, this is the nice book lady I told you about,” The baby girl eyes you up with that shy nature you love some much in kids. It’s a quiet kind of judgement that you fly by with a smile, slowly approaching and turning the books towards her. 

“The book lady brought more books!” You whisper, trying to keep the energy in the room positive, but not too excited. Spencer had said this was a minimal injury case– apparently Officer Kaper was at home when the break-in happened and he kept his wife and daughter safe, but had gotten injured while doing so. Stabbed, to be more precise. And although you can’t see the stitches, you can see the large bandage around his torso. Gulping, you look away, finding that his wife’s sweet smile melts your heart. “Hello. It’s really nice to meet you, I’m Y/N… and I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, no,” His wife smiled, shaking her head before coming to you and grabbing the flowers so delicately. “You have nothing to apologise for, this is not your fault.” She takes the books too, smiling at the silly little drawings in the cover before giving it to her husband.

You’re not really sure what to do in there, with this family that looks oh so happy despite the circumstances. Have you ever been that happy just to be around someone? 

Yes. 

“Y/N, let’s go! We’re going to be late!”

There is a tired drag of your feet underneath you, but you still smile, giggling at the dramatic reaction when he sees you in your dress. “Oh stop it,” You mumble, applying a final layer of lipstick before turning to him and saying, “I’m ready.” 

“And I’m the luckiest man alive,” He mumbled, kissing your forehead sweetly before opening the door to go call the elevator. That is the kind of man he is– someone who likes to be prepared for everything, who predicts what will come his way and plan accordingly to be two steps ahead. At first, it’s impressive, seeing how ready he is to deal with whatever life throws his way. It makes you puff your chest proudly and say ‘that is my man.’ But then it feels a little bothersome, really, not being able to have a thought to yourself without his curious hands prying it open and public. You can’t have anything just yours, because Josh wants everything to be his, and suddenly’y he is not your man, but you are his woman. And that doesn’t sit right with you. 

For now, though, when everything is great and amazing, anything he does has you smiling; even if your feet hurt in the too tall heels, even if your can’t breathe right in the too tight dress– you smile. Because Josh likes you smiling and you love Josh when he likes you. “And I’m the luckiest woman in the universe.”

“The entire universe?” He mumbles, smiling and pecking your lips with a calculated kiss that doesn’t blur your makeup. 

“The entire universe.” 

“That’s a big, big universe you’re talking about…”

Later on, you’d find out that even though yes, the universe is big and so much of it still goes undiscovered, sharing it with him makes you feel very, very small. 

“How is Officer Kaper doing?” Spencer asks once you step into the car. You look at him with an empty look in your face that makes him sigh. You’ve been like this since the news broke last night, alienated from your own self, and he hates it– he hates seeing the light in your eyes dim and the way your lips struggle to stretch into a smile. “Y/N?”

“Sorry,” You mumble, shaking your head to try and get your jumbled thoughts in order. “He’s uh, he’s okay. The nurse said he got lucky, which I don’t really see how, I mean, he was– he uh, got stabbed. With a knife. So not really lucky of him, in my books.”

“But he’s okay,” Spencer repeats, reaching out to lace his fingers with yours, and you’ve never held onto something so tightly like you did then to his hand. “Y/N, he’s okay. In the mean time, I’ll be in charge of your protection. The higher ups have deemed this an active case now that someone’s got injured and–“

“Wait, what?” Your head snaps to look at him, eyes wide. “Was it not an active case before?!” 

“Not officially,” Not even his soft voice can make you feel better. “It was for me and my team but… not for Strauss. That’s our section chief, she’s… complicated. Bureaucratic.”

“And there is nothing in the fucking FBI bureaucracy about considering a case of an innocent civilian being stalked by a serial killer active?” Scoffing, you pull your hand away from his as if his touch burned your skin, suddenly too aware of your situation. “What? Are they waiting for me to die or something? For her to finally get me? What the fuck, Spencer, why didn’t you tell me this before?” 

“I didn’t want to worry you,” He says quietly, eyes glancing at you for a fraction of a second before moving back to the traffic ahead. “And I still don’t. It’s going to be okay, I pro–“

“Don’t,” You say through gritted teeth, head swimming in the growing amount of information you are struggling to process. “I know you mean well, but please don’t promise me anything, because I… Spencer, right now, you’re the only person I trust, and if you promise me something you can’t keep, I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

The craziness of it all doesn’t escape you. When you were a kid, dreaming of fantastical adventures, this surely wasn’t what you had in mind. Spencer, as cordial and gentlemanly as he is, is not the perfect prince you hoped for and you, all tears and judgments, are far from being a princess. This is real life; it’s raw, and burning, and stretching, and painful, but it’s yours and you are determined to make something out of it. And whatever it is that you are making, this can’t be it. You refuse to let this be the one big event that forever determines the rest of your life. 

Takes you a little while to notice that you’re not quite going to his apartment, and your heart flutters. The thought of those beloved green walls used to make you smile. It was a glimpse inside the world of Spencer Reid, your favourite customer– of his plants, his books, his odd addiction to the colour purple showing in the smallest of details, in the pillows, the blankets, the place mats left and forgotten on his counter. The excitement is still there, though, and you will do virtually anything to keep it alive, but… but just like his walls, that spark of giddiness inside of you whenever you enter the place now is smaller. Faded. Muted. You feel guilty, admitting that yourself, and that guilt morphs into something akin to embarrassment. Sitting next to you is a man who is doing everything and anything to try and keep you safe, and yet, you just can’t find it in yourself to be as positive as he seems to be. Hope might be the last one to die, but eventually, it dies. You wonder if yours was just never there to begin with. 

“Where are we going?” You ask, looking at him for a brief second. There is a lot going on right now, specially between you two, and even looking at him is hard. Whenever you do, eyes lingering on his sharp jaw or his messy hair, you remember yesterday. You remember his hands holding you close, and his breath hitting the back of your neck. You remember how you felt, all warm and tingly everywhere, and you remember how you imagine he felt by the way his heartbeat drummed against your back. But yesterday is not good only. Yesterday is not just emotions and ease and comfort, because yesterday was also day eight of this nightmare. Day eight that marked the beginning of a new week in this torturous purgatory, baiting you with the happiness you could have but seemingly never would. “Spence?” 

He exhales, letting something heavy within himself go, when you call for him. “We’re going to the BAU. Hotch asked me to bring you in so we can ask you some questions, if you feel up for it.” 

You don’t feel up for it, but you will not tell him that. Not when it finally feels like people are finally starting to take this seriously. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” You gulp, nodding and already digging in your bag for your ID. At this point, you know the drill, thanking the front desk man twenty minutes later when he gives you your visitor’s pass. 

“Y/N!” 

It amazes you, really, that in the midst of all of this, you still manage to make a friend. Penelope is an obvious choice, though you wouldn’t even say you had much of a choice anyways. At first you thought she had gotten your phone from Spencer, wanting to provide you with some encouraging words and a shoulder to cry on. But after learning more about her job, you know for a fact that she probably pulled your number from whatever database she could. The whole thing starts after that day in her office, with you sending her a quick apology for the entire thing– you crossed the line asking to see Cat Adam’s photo and Spencer took it even further by screaming at her. Just as you thought, Penelope is quick to forgive and forget, and since then, most of your conversation consists of memes and borderline sexualised comments about Agent Derek Morgan. You even get some pictures, though you are too scared to open them fully. From the small preview you can see on your phone, these photos are not meant for your eyes, and even know, when Agent Morgan smiles at you and Spencer walking in, you can’t help but blush.

“Are you okay?” Penelope asks, brows wiggling with knowledge that Spencer would, hopefully, never get. You don’t imagine he would be all to pleased with you seeing pictures of his co-worker shirtless, though you are still too scared and careful to admit to yourself the reason why he wouldn’t be all that happy about it. The higher the climb, the harder the fall, and you’ve fallen enough for Spencer. “You’re all red in the face and looking a little bit spooked there, Y/N. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re embarrassed. But my oh my, what would you have to be embarrassed about?”

Staring at her with your mouth hanging open, you blush even further, chortling out something akin to laughter mixed with an indignant squeak. “Penelope!” Your whisper-scream is not as subtle as you think it is, and both men look at you with curiosity all over their faces. 

“Do you girls want to share with the class?” Derek asks, stepping closer to you which makes you step closer to Spencer. It’s a weird chain reaction that leaves everyone but Penelope confused, and you want to kill her and thank her at the same time. It seems that she is the only one trying to bring some normalcy back to your life. 

“Not particularly, no,” Penelope takes the lead and you’re happy to let her, purposefully ignoring Spencer’s squinted eyes on you. You know that look– you know many of his looks, actually, but that specific look is his thinking look. The one he got whenever you tell him something about celebrity drama or fan-fiction writers. Whenever Spencer has that look, you usually smile wide, knowing that it’s his own way to tell you he’s paying attention to you. Right now, however, you want him to look away and pretend you don’t exist. “Though I’m easily convinced, my hot, cho–“

“Nope,” You intervene, hands shooting to cover your ears. “Stop! Don’t you dare!”

“Aha! I knew it!” She laughed, and while you walk inside the bullpen that is now, unfortunately, familiar enough, you two bicker like children. 

“What’s going on?” The way your head snaps to the women sitting by a desk is enough of a tell for Spencer to know you are about to freak out. 

“Guys…” He tried to stop them, and you have so much faith in him that he will that your eyes sparkle for a second. It pains him to see that light within you turn off when the women clearly ignore him. 

“Emily, JJ,” Penelope giggled, rushing to their side, phone in hand. “I sent this to Y/N and–“

“Oh wow,” Emily laughs, shaking her head and looking at you with pure and raw sympathy. “You have now been through the initiation, you’re officially one of us. Congrats, Y/N!”

“Yeah, Penelope sent me those pictures on my second days as a liaison,” JJ winced, laughing nonetheless. “I will admit it made my first week very awkward.”

“What initiation?” Derek is Spencer’s opposite. Penelope has told you about them before, about their friendship, about how Derek, despite the teasing and the overbearing duty to protect his friend, was always there for little boy genius. While Spencer is silent thinking and careful calculations, Derek is quick action and instant reaction. It’s a sight to behold, those two together, and you smile when Spencer nods vigorously. 

“Yeah, what initiation?” He is looking at you because he knows you’re the one most likely to crack. 

But this time, you hold your ground, shaking your head and pursing your lips. “I–“

“Miss Y/L/N.” The mood shifts instantly, and you even feel a little bit bad for the two man walking towards where everyone has suddenly gone still. 

“Agent Hotchner, hello,” You mumble, smiling as best as you can under his gaze. 

But then something happens. 

Something changes. 

And his eyes soften. “Thank you for coming. I am sorry that it took this long for the higher ups to clear us for a full investigation of your case, but now we have proof that Cat has a partner and they they are escalating.”

“Escalating?” Little by little you learn about their vocabulary. It’s not something that any book you’ve read has touched on and it feels eerily realistic to be saying those words yourself, like you have been transported inside a book you’ve never even wanted to read. 

“It means they are evolving their methodology of… attack,” Emily words gently, trying to explain it as softly as she could, but not even the sweetest of voices or kindest of gestures could take away the fright of this entire thing. “They are getting bolder, and so they might try something that, otherwise, they wouldn’t.” 

“O-Okay,” You whisper, frowning in thought. “But, and sorry if this is a stupid question, but what is making them bolder? It can’t just be out of nowhere, right?” 

“Spoken like a true profiler,” JJ smiled with a pat to your shoulder. “Behaviour changes this drastic usually have triggers, and something triggered this. We don’t know who this partner is, but they were bold enough to try and break into a police officer’s house. This means they are reckless. Impulsive.” 

“What if it was pre-planned?” You ask, missing how Spencer looks at you with a huge smile. Having you interested in his job is better than having you hate his job, and he would take this over the other any day. “The attack.”

“We can assume it wasn’t, since Officer Kaper showed up halfway through the break-in,” Derek concluded. “Meaning the attacker didn’t account for him coming home.” 

“But you said Cat Adams is calculated,” You turn to Spencer with wide eyes– things are starting to click in your brain and you need him to know you’re not just putting all the weight on his shoulders, you need him to know that you’re trying too. “You said she plays mind games.” 

“She does,” He mumbles, holding back a smile made for you and you only. His hands find your shoulders, rubbing it up and down to try and hold back the energy he knows is accumulating inside of you; whenever you get too excited about something, be it new books or a new sale, you like to ramble a little about it, and every time you do, you bounce on the heel of your feet, up and down, up and down, up and down. “But Cat also targets men. Cheaters, specifically. And… and fathers. She has deep rooted issues with her father–“

“Cat Adams has daddy issues?” You deadpan. 

“–and her downfall is her projection. So yes, they are getting bold as a duo or… or her partner went rogue.” 

“Which one is better?” Looking at Hotch, you wince a little at your own joke. “None of them, got it.” 

“Since this is an active case, we will need your constant collaboration,” Hotchner says, guiding the entire team to a room up the stairs and, as naturally as the sun sets and rises the next morning, everyone found their place at the round table. 

Except you. 

You are not one of them. You don’t have a place. 

Or you didn’t. 

“Y/N, come here,” Spencer says, pulling an extra chair next to his. And that’s when you realise that in this weird dynamic group of people who knew way more than they should, you belong next to him. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled, nervously shoving your hands between your thighs and waiting for Penelope to take the lead. That seemed to be her thing, even if she stands out like a sore thumb in that beige room with her bright orange dress and neon blue heels. 

“Okay, fellow brainiacs and dear beloved Y/N. Let’s figure this out,” Her declaration makes you feel somewhat calmer, the sounds of buttons echoing in the room. The TV goes bright with pictures– of you, of Spencer, of Cat. Her eyes, tempting you closer with the prospect that she knows something you don’t, won’t let you look away until Spencer forces you to, his hand sliding down your arm to find yours. You’re not sure if he realises how intimate this is, specially with his co-workers surrounding you two, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you open your legs a tad, just enough to let his hand slider between your clasped ones. Just like a vine, you lace your fingers with his, and then press your thighs back together, caging him there and refusing to let it go. “Cat Adams is currently in Mount Pleasant Women's Correctional Facility serving time for countless of murders. A week ago–“

“Nine days,” You say without thinking and immediately shrink in your chair when all eyes brush over you for a second. 

“Yes, thank you! Nine days ago our dear boy genius got a package sent to his apartment while you all were out on the Oklahoma case, and since he had asked Y/N to water his plants, she ended up being the one who signed for it. We assume that’s when Cat got to know of your existence. In that box there were a bunch of, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, sexual uh, sexual paraphernalia. After that, Y/N has been under protective custody with either Officer Kaper or Reid himself. However, yesterday, Officer Kaper’s house has been broken in by a suspect we are yet to identify,” Pausing for a breath, she clicked on the remote control making photo after photo pop up. Once she has a picture of the box, though, contents on show for everyone, you look away. Even the slightest sight of it has your blood boiling. “I’ve pulled all cameras I possible can leading to Officer Kaper’s house, but most of them had been turned off ahead of the invasion. They also didn’t receive anything, no notes, no packages, nada.” 

“That is inconsistent with their MO,” Emily hums, turning to look at Spencer. “But then again, her main target is Reid, so I doubt Cat would diverge from that. She is smart, but she also likes that he knows she’s taunting him.”

“We also know that Cat doesn’t know about the bookstore,” Spence says, squeezing your hand so naturally that nothing in his face gives it away. “Her note went straight to Y/N’s home. The box went to mine. It is safe to say that she has no clue about Y/N’s personal life outside of what she shares with me.” 

No one says anything while they all stare at him, you included. “What?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” By Derek’s tone of voice, you know some teasing is about to come. “And just what do you two share, pretty boy?” 

“I-I mean– no, I didn’t mean it like that,” Spencer’s face is fire red, and though he tries to pull his hand out of yours in a moment of panic, you don’t let him. “I di– Morgan! I meant… I meant outside of what we shared.  Past tense. She has been staying at my place for nine days, so we’ve shared nine da– Morgan stop laughing! Hotch!”

At this point, even you are laughing at his high pitched voice. “Spence, it’s okay.” 

“Yeah, Spence, it’s okay!” JJ repeats and you stare at her with wide eyes. “What?! You two are adorable!”

“Focus, please,” It’s impressive how Agent Hotchner commands the room, demanding the attention back to him with just one expression of stiff frustration. But then he lets his eyes run over you and Spencer, and you notice how the corner of his lips twitch. “And yes, you two are adorable.” 

The rest of the meeting passes by in the blink of an eye. You don’t really catch onto what they are saying, most of it too deep into the field of psychology and behavioural science for a layman like you to be able to participate. However, you do listen to them. Almost like a true crime podcast playing in the background, you listen to the team narrate this entire ordeal and you’re quite surprised to notice the emotions bubbling inside of you– the anger, the frustration, the sadness. The factual tone of their voices sends shivers down your arms, creating the much needed distance from it all that you’ve craved all along… and making it all that much worse. Now that you have the opportunity to look at it from the outside, from their perspective, and you can truly see how pathetic you must be to a team of… of… of super people like them. 

Sliding down the chair, you try to hide yourself from the occasional glance in your direction, but what you seem to miss is the way your hand, clasping Spencer’s so tightly like you might just float away if you let go, shifts upwards between your legs, dangerously close to your crotch. 

“Y/N!” Spencer hissed, head snapping to look at you with eyes so wide you can see the speckles of chocolate brown in the midst of his honeyed hazel pupils. 

“What?” You whisper, almost falling from the chair with how abruptly he turned to you. “Jesus, Spencer, what is it?” 

“You okay there, kid?” Derek asks with a frown so deep you think his brows might jump out of his handsome face. 

“Yup! All good!” But he can’t fool anyone in there, not even you, with his high pitched voice and the way he snatches his arm up and away, hands fidgeting with the iPad in front of him like that would erase the redness in his face. “All fine. Moving on, next steps. Y/N and I will go back to my apartment and–“

“No.” 

To your surprise, it’s not you that say that– it’s Penelope. 

“No?” Agent Hotch asks, brows raised at the technical analyst. 

“I’m sorry sir, but… no.” 

“Pen, it’s fine,” You mumble, nodding with a sad smile. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, and Spencer is too worried to see that you, my little flower, are wilting without your daily dose of sunshine!” She speaks so fast that even Derek takes a moment to fully understand what she’s saying. 

“Baby girl,” He sighs, shaking his head. “I understand what you mean, but the kid has a point. With the partner now possibly escalating the nature of their crimes, Y/N unfortunately needs to limit–“

“Limit my presence outside in public, yeah, I got it,” Nodding to everyone, you exhale slowly, only to take a deep inhale again. One second– that is all you need, one second to gather your bearings again, before slapping your hands gently on the table and rising slowly. With an appreciative nod and a joking tone, you smile at JJ, Emily, and Penelope. “Back to prison for me, I guess.” 

————————————

“Do you want to order some food?”

The whole ride to his apartment, you’ve been trying to get Spencer to talk to you. He’s quiet once his boss lets you two go. Not even the radio can make this a less uncomfortable drive and you are not really sure what is going on.

“No? Do you want me to cook some dinner?” Nothing but the sounds of him walking around the place. 

Doesn’t take too long before he comes back to the living room in sweatpants and one of his sweatshirts, hair even messier and glasses crooked– just a little, honestly, yet your hand still itches with the need to stretch out to him and fix them on his pretty little nose. Before you can say anything, he turns around and goes back to his room. The urgency in his steps makes you think he maybe forgot something in there, but then he comes back out and opens him mouth… only to close it and go back to the room. 

This happens a couple more time before you lose your patience. “Spencer!” You groan, quickly moving to grab his wrist before he disappears again. “Spence! What are you doing?” 

“Do you really feel like a prisoner?” 

His words shock you a little. “What?”

“Earlier you said ‘back to prison for me, I guess’ right after you said ‘limit my presence outside in public, yeah, I got it,’” The way he repeats your words verbatim makes you gasp, blushing out of self-consciousness. 

“Okay, I got it, I got it!” You grimace, still not letting go of his wrist. “I–“ 

Lying to him would be very easy. Sure, he can read your micro-expressions or whatever they are, but living with a profiler has been teaching you a thing or two about what they look out for. On top of that, living with a profiler that makes you heart beat faster with the slightest of smiles has taught you just how to hide what they are looking for… or at least how to try and hide it. So you smile a little, and just like him, you open your mouth without being able to say anything. 

Yes, you can try and lie to Spencer, but the problem is that you simply don’t want to. You don’t want to lie to him, not when he’s been putting such an effort to be truthful and honest whenever he can. 

“It’s not that I feel like a prisoner,” You whisper, looking down at how you hold his wrist so tightly and yet, he says nothing. He doesn’t complain, not even when your knuckles turn white, those eyes stuck on you the entire time. Sighing, you ease up a little, letting your hand slide down until your gently holding his hand again. It makes you brave enough to look at him without wincing in guilt. “It’s just that… I don’t know when was it that protecting me turned into… isolating me. You know?”

Spencer just shakes his head, a little exhale coming out of those beautiful lips almost as if you had pushed it out yourself. “Iso– You think I’m isolating you?”

Oh. “No, Spence, no, it’s not like, it’s not you,” You trying to make him feel better clearly just makes him feel worse. “It’s me!”

“I’ve heart that before and–“

“Spencer, I know you don’t want to isolate me from people. I know that, I really, really do,” Tugging him down to sit with you on the couch, you scoot closer to him to hold both his hands on yours. You two have done this so much at this point that there is no hesitation in reaching out to touch him anymore. “It’s just hard. I’m someone who thrives in routine and I was taken away from mine. I… I can’t work. I can’t go outside. I can’t– it just… it makes me feel a little suffocated.”

It also terrifies you, how familiar this all feels. Trapped, lonely, ignored. Just like before, people talk about you but never with you. They hear you, but no one really listens to you. It’s like you are nothing but a shell of a person, blown around by the wind of other people moving. Of Josh moving. Of Josh moving you, commanding you, caging you. And you have to remember– Spencer is not Josh. Spencer would never do to you what Josh did, he would never belittle you and then apologise with crocodile tears; he would never bring you high up for weeks and then pull the rug with one quick take down; he would never raise his hand at you and much less actually bring it down at you. No, Spencer is not Josh… but you are you, and despite all the changes you managed to fit in the past year, at your core, past the different hair and the new clothes, you are still the same girl who ran packing out of New York City. 

“And I can get a little claustrophobic, and when I get claustrophobic I panic, and when I panic I–“ You stop yourself before you say something stupid. “I’ve been in this position before, Spence. And back then I didn’t have you. I didn’t have someone who was looking out for me like you are, or who just wanted what’s best for me– because I know that’s what you want, Spence, I know you want me to be safe,” The way he slowly nods fills your heart with adoration and your eyes with unshed tears. “Back then I just had someone who wanted me. Like a kid wants a toy. He… He wasn’t a very good man, Spence, and he made sure to scare away all the good people I had, and at one point he started scaring me so I just–”

“Ran away,” And it’s like something clicks for him because his eyes get oh so sad, to the point that you turn your face when a singular tear escapes through your lashes. Offering him a gurgled laughter, you quickly wipe it away. “You ran away to Washington with just a backpack.” 

Nodding, you look up at him again and you’re a bit unsure of what to think of him like this, eyes shinning with something so unfamiliar to Spencer that it just feels wrong. It’s the way his breath picks up, ragged and loud, that makes you realise he is actually angry. No, no, scratch that– Spencer is pissed off. “What did he do to you?” 

“It doesn’t matter, Spencer.”

“What’s his name?” 

“I’m really not going to tell you,” You say with squinted eyes. “You’ll go all FBI on him.”

“That’s the entire point!” There he is, the high pitched voice, wide eyed man you adore so much, wildly gesticulating as he speaks. “People like that shouldn’t be allowed to… to… to be! I–“ Then, his hands fall down on his lap, suddenly lifeless and unmoving. “I–“ It’s like he is choking on words, frowning in desperation at his lack of speech and you don’t know what to do. You’ve never seen him this… distraught. “I–“

“Spence, it’s okay,” You whisper, clasping your hands around both of his like a little cocoon of warmth. This is the first time Spencer hints at the ghosts of his past, but from the way he flinches when you pull him closer, slowly leaning his taller body towards you so you can hug him, tells you that tonight is just not the night to talk about them. For now, you’d hold him, and you beacon him back to the real world with soft words of encouragement, like his very own lighthouse. For now, you’d be light enough for you both, even if some darkness still tries to creep in for time to time. “I’m okay.”

“I made you feel trapped,” He whispers against your neck and you can’t help the shiver that shakes your body. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry, I’m just trying to keep you safe. I’m doing the best I can, and I’m sorry it’s not enough.” 

“Hey!” You gasp, and now boundaries don’t mean anything– coyness and slow intentions are thrown out the window as you tug him closer, closer, closer, until he is practically laying on top of you. Your back is against the side of the couch and you stretched your legs, entangling them with him. As much as he tries to move, grumbling something about squishing you, you don’t let him. He needs to know. He needs to know just how much more than simply enough he is. “You are way above enough and you know that. You have to know that, Spence, you have to. Because you’re so incredible and I… I adore you, Spencer Reid. My favourite customer. My FBI agent.” 

All versions of him, all parts of him. You love them all. 

Because, in the end, all that matters is that you love him. You love Spencer Reid. And that’s a little scary. Even it is exciting, it’s still a little scary. 

His little chuckle makes it a bit more bearable, though, and he soon gives into your embrace. The weight of his body keeps you down in the most delicious of ways, and the heat he radiates is enough to have your eyes getting heavier. In the comfort of his home, snuggled up in his couch, hugging him close, you find that there is such a thing as comfortable stillness. There is peace in the unmoving. There is no need to, all the time, be moving. Because there, with Spencer in your arms and his soft breathing on your neck, you think that nothing could in the world could make you want to run again. 

“I’m sorry I made you feel isolated,” He whispers, arms enveloping you like two lifelines holding you close. “I never meant to make you panic.”

“It’s okay,” You mumble back, eyes already closed and nose buried in his sweet smelling hair. “You might have made me panic, but Spence… I don’t think you could ever make me want to run.”

No… Spencer makes you want to stay. 

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

Taglist:

@fanfic-viewer

@mysticpeachobject

@donttrustlove  

@r-3dlips 

@lolitsbuckybarnes 

@lilrios-world 

@iniyalovesall 

@beabfleab

@dojacatismywife 

@queenofshinigamis

@beersangel

@catchthewindd

@charismatic-writer

@freaky-dcaky

@scarlettoh

@drreidslove

@spicyytomatoyay

@kitty-kei

@sapphirecobalt-1

@jebesovovise

@cultish-corner

@areiofhope

@candid-confetti

@godilovetoomuch

@redros3y 

@gibson-g1rl

@bunnylov-3-r

@yokaimoon 

@glorioussunrise13

@idkimheretoreadonethibgofpsencdd

@pleasantwitchgarden

@issy25

@ilovechanyeol16

@gghostwriter

@stanswifties

@chicaconfundidaycuriosa

@dragon03138

@tbsloneely

@bloodredrubyrose

@rossemayme

@jackchampiongf13

@prentissmybeloved

@danielle-munya

@eliscannotdance

@keira-fitzsimmons

@jamieeboulos

@starofthedawn

@alikpo

@writingforoursouls

[peachesofteal]

Happy Hunting

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader 4.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Consensual non consent. Explicit sex, creampie. Predator/prey, hunter/hunted. Use of restraints, a gag. Blood, violence. Dirty talk, size kink, praise kink. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Horror-ish. Horror media references/influenced. Tags are for your health, not mine. “Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance." - Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

It was the porch light, that cost you everything.

The porch light that flickered through the brush with strokes of silver moonlight, the porch light that cast a wan, yellowed haze out from its warped wooden and stone host. The porch light, that shone like a lighthouse, calling you home, calling you to safety, security. To sanctuary. 

You spotted it from a distance the first day, once you had already changed course that morning, tromping across a stream and shimmying through a nasty spool of barbed wire. You hunkered down next to an outcropping of rock, peering through the morning fog, searching for your hunter, watching for the tell tale signs of his presence, a wide path cut through the forest by his broad body, punctuated by trampled underbrush, damaged petals and leaves. The house stood on the hill in the distance, rising just above the tree line, the shimmer of the little yellow light drawing you in, making you curious, filling you with an urge to look closer, as the hair on the back of your neck rose in warning. 

The rocks were a perfect natural shelter, a good place to take a nap, if you wanted, if you could. It would be easy to bed down in the soft dead-fall of the leaves, sink into the earth, into the heavy mist that had lingered past dawn, but you couldn’t risk closing your eyes. Not even for a second. Not when you knew he was so close, when you could hear his breath, feel the pads of his fingers on your skin, reaching, stretching, desperate to snatch you away forever. If you held your body still, you swore you could feel the vibration of his feet in the forest, rustling against the brush, covertly honing in on your location, stalking closer and closer to his target. His victory. 

Even if you never saw him, you knew he was out there, watching patiently. Waiting for you to make a mistake, for you to miscalculate. 

You told yourself the house was not an option. Even when you got a good look at it on that first day, something about it stuck low in your belly, an off feeling, a warning. You opted to circumvent the entire thing, giving the long overgrown driveway, endlessly black windows and snarled thicket that grew thick at its foundation a wide berth. 

Old stone mansions left abandoned, remnants of old families, old money left to rot, were not unheard of in this area. You had spent your youth crawling around in them and knew them well, knew their warning signs, understood what it felt like when they might give way on you. You knew how to unlock their secrets, knew how to read the gothic stories that had settled into the crumbling, peeling wallpaper. They spoke their own languages, histories spiraling out from their nooks and crannies, trauma and laughter etched into the joists and support beams, sagging with the weight of their own age. They could be easy to read, easy to listen to, if you knew which doors to pry open, and which to leave locked shut. 

Still, it was too convenient. Too much of a risk. Too much confinement. There was a zero chance of you besting him in a physical fight, and you had to depend on your speed for survival, your aptitude, your skill to ensure your success. Pigeonholing yourself in a mansion with god knows what inside did not allow you to excel at the things you were good at.

You felt confident in your decision to avoid the house. You felt good about it.

The storm rolled in with tenacity. The rain was frigid, wind howling through to your bones, chilling the blood that pumped in your heart. It's strength pulled at your resolved, ready to tear you to pieces, to force you to your knees. It pushed you off course, away from the rushing water of the creek, and up the hill of water soaked leaves. 

You lost your bearings for a moment, and that’s all it took for you to slip up, all that was needed for you to catch the sight of his grim shadow from the corner of your eye, the crack of a branch breaking beneath his boot shattering across your brain like a gunshot. 

You tore through the woods, gait bogged down by the water logged earth, by the thick of the mud, chased by the sound of his voice, calling for you through the forest over the raging fury of the storm. 

"Happy hunting, little dove." 

You narrowly escaped, but the skull mask watched. He waited. He tracked. 

He hunted. 

It’s too dark.

Too dark to see anything, too dark to see your hands that are spread out in front of your body, hands that desperately try to act as your eyes, feeling, touching, scraping across surfaces to keep you from bumping into things. Doors. Walls. Whatever could be lying in wait here.

The weight of your wet clothing irks you. It hangs heavily on your body, and you wish you had chosen better layers, shivers working up and down your spine, goosebumps rising against the soaked chill of your shirt. It could be pneumonia that gets you in the end, if he doesn't catch you first, you muse bitterly, wringing yourself out as well as you can, water droplets pattering against what you believe sounds like a wooden floor. 

The lack of light is unnerving. You'd expected it, knew the chances of there being anything working in here slim, but you still hoped that maybe the lone flickering porch light meant there was something still left inside these old bones, a spark, a connection feeding a light switch or a lamp somewhere. The dark of the house is endless, and your mind works quickly to imagine the worst case scenarios, the potential that this tenebrous pitch may drag you below forever settling heavily in the back of your mind. It's deep, the darkness of the house, like you could fall into it and drown, never resurfacing, never to see the sun again. You move slowly, hands in front of your face, body and feet making contact with as much of the wall as you can, trying to paint a picture with touch. The dark, combined with the new and unfamiliar territory, is enough to unsettle your usual steady demeanor. 

The combination is a lethal one. It’s one that leaves you hesitant. Unsure. It’s one that keeps you off balance, spine ram rod straight, nerves alight with fear. 

It wasn’t so bad, in the woods. The silver glow of the moon illuminated the lay of the forest, sprawling swaths of brush and low growing thistle, tall trunks that stretched to the sky, stout shrubs with thorns that scratched at your clothes. That was easier, than this. 

Easier than this maze called a house. Easier than these hallways that morphed into a labyrinth that stretched for miles and miles, twisting together into a Fibonacci sequence of pitch-dark terror.

No. You swallow. You’re not afraid. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine. You're going to win. 

But even as you repeat it to yourself, even as you coach your reserve, you can hear his voice. Can hear the grit and gravel of the Manchester accent, can smell his skin against yours, lips rough on your mouth before your cheeks were pinched between a thumb and forefinger.

“Want to play a game?” 

You work forward in a half crouch, staying pressed to the wall, form as tight as you can manage, unobtrusive. Your hand stays projected in front of your body, the other along the wall, waiting to feel an angle, an edge, a door, a window… anything.

You shouldn’t have come in here. You walked right into a trap, you're sure of it now, fairly positive after feeling the way the corridor twists and turns away from the front. Walked right into a confined space and now you’re lost, stuck, like a fly in a web. Waiting to be devoured. Waiting for your end to be delivered by a spider who lurks just out of sight.

But you did it for a reason, didn’t you?

You’re so, so close to the finish line. So close you can taste it, the trepidation beading into sweat that drips down your back, cold and unwelcome against the damp of your shirt. It’s already been two days. The morning of the third day is just on the horizon, sun due to come up, you think, within a few hours. Your mouth salivates at the thought of it, the idea of sinking your teeth into sweet, sweet victory. Of winning. Of beating him. 

You take a moment to stop and reassess, swiping your palms along the wall and floor, working on controlling your breathing. It’s becoming jagged, anxiety spilling out through your lungs with each step you take, fear moving through you like ice freezing in your veins, creeks and streams being lost to the winter’s chill, a disease slowly spreading towards your heart.

You use it to focus. You cannot see, but that doesn’t mean you've lost, and it doesn't make you weak. It makes all your senses stronger, your hearing, your ability to smell, your translation of touch into sight. The wall turns here, the floor dips there, does that feel like a ledge? You crawl in your crouch, lips sealed tight against soft whimpers that threaten to expose you over the little pieces of wood that get lodged in your palms.

Splinters. Unfinished lumber.

It confirms your theory. The mansion itself is old, stuck up on this plot land, nestled in the thick of the forest, abandoned, nearly completely forgotten about by all… save for one. One, who’s been building inside of it, one who’s been creating in its guts. Hollowing it out and remaking it into something new, a hellscape of hallways, a complicated vision executed by someone who’s running from the same demons, the same nightmares that you are.

Your heart sinks past your stomach, down into your knees. Continuing to run this rat race is foolish. He built it. He knows it. He pushed you here, urged you over the hill, across the stream, beneath the barbed wire. He dictated your path, forcing you into the light of the porch, herding you closer and closer because he knew. He knew you wouldn't be able to resist it, in the end. He knew you. 

Find a different part of the house. Escape. Hide, until sunrise. 

You keep going, carefully, creeping along the walls, navigating lefts and rights and forks in the labyrinth until your fingers tap silently across an empty door frame, nothing on the other side except the continuous black void of darkness.

Your feet slide forward, boots sliding until the floor disappears. A drop off? There’s more, a flush piece, a curved groove.

Stairs.

You blink, even though it will do you no good, it won’t clear your vision or make the lights in this decrepit place suddenly flicker on. Your hands are your sight, and you run your fingers along the curve of the top step, until you feel the next, and the next.

You take them half on your belly, half on your knees. It’s slow, achingly so, and puts you in a vulnerable position, but the fall, if there were to be one, would be much, much worse if you risked attempting them fully standing. It takes forever to get to the bottom, and you feel a small tug of relief when your palms rub across a cold concrete floor. 

There’s a noise. It’s a banging, of sorts. Like a door swinging, and you jolt, reaction fueled by adrenaline, barreling forward into the dark, slamming into the wall with your hip. It stings, the slap of concrete zinging across your skin and you hiss instinctively, before clapping a hand over your face to muffle the sound.

You curse yourself. That was too loud. 

A floorboard creaks above your head. The acid in your stomach rises.

You hold yourself as still as you can, palm still pressed over your mouth, body bent low. You keep contact with the wall as much as possible, shoulder, thigh, part of your back. Stay low. Stay small. It’s an advantage you have, your size versus his. Even if you aren’t particularly petite, you’re nimble, graceful and quick. Something you’ve been using for the past two days to stay one step ahead, something you used earlier to orchestrate your narrow escape in the woods. You use it now, to find a corner, a little nook of rough cement, and squeeze your body inside.

Heavy feet take the stairs slowly, step by step until you see the bright white beam of a flashlight sweeping across the floor methodically, back and forth, back and forth. It moves across the room, around the stairs, opposite of the corner you think you’ve tucked yourself into.

Just hold your breath. Stay quiet. You can still win. You can still make it. 

The flashlight flicks off with a dramatic click. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip so hard it draws blood.

Maybe he didn’t see you. Maybe he doesn’t know you’re even here. 

Seconds drag into minutes, and you think you hear heavy footfalls upstairs. Or possibly on the stairs. You can’t be too sure. It’s too dark, and the pitch is disorientating. It’s hard to tell right side up, up from down.

This could be heaven. It could be hell.

You stay burrowed in that corner against the cinderblock for what you believe must be at least fifteen minutes, if not longer. Your body aches from being pushed in on itself, and you blink in the dark, breathing slower than a corpse, listening. Waiting.

Your boot slides across the concrete. Seeking. Touching… bumping into solid mass. You realize it a second too late. Time freezes, and you with it, heart encased in ice. Your eyes slam shut, and a whimper builds in the back of your throat.  

A hand wraps around your ankle, and you screech, curling forward with your fingers bent like talons, flying towards what you hope is his face, desperate to sink your nails into his skin and tear, rip him open so you can get away. He grabs your arm, stabilizing your contact, the strength in his grip that of more than two men, at least, and drags you across the floor, iron bar of his ulna holding you still and steady.

A piece of metal scratches against wood. A flick, a flicker, and then-

A wash of orange-yellow light. You’ve been in the dark for hours at this point, and your sight struggles to refract, pulling back behind half shut lids even though the light itself is not that bright.

You tilt your head back and look up.

String lights. He’s hung string lights up down here, little bulbs on black wire stapled to the rafters like you’re in some romantic comedy. Like there should be a two top table here with a pile of spaghetti and meatballs, carafe of wine and checkered tablecloth.

“Hung these just for you, dove. Knew you’d like ‘em.” His breath is burning hot against your face, and you twist, swinging your entire skull into his chest and trying to dig your heels into the ground for leverage. You catch a glimpse of his face, maskless, the twice-healed broken nose, cheek scar and sharp edged jaw unmistakable, even with your fogged vision. 

“Get OFF me you FUCKING FREAK, I-“ His thigh presses against your knee and then you’re swooping, thrown off balance in a second thought with a scream, free hand ripping across into his hair and yanking with everything you have.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t flinch, wrestling you to the ground with ease. You don’t have much fight left in you, after two days of hiding, running, trying to be smarter, be faster, and you’re spent on all ends, this last little spat the end of everything you had. He knows it.

Still, when he fish hooks his thumb into between your lips, you bite down with all your might, sinking your incisors into his skin in hopes of drawing blood.

He laughs, and your mouth fills with the mineral-metallic liquid, his thumb swirling inside your teeth and across your gums. 

You know you’re well and truly fucked.

The knife makes quick work of your shirt. Your tac pants, the good pair, go next, along with your boots. He lurks above for you a long moment before he cuts your bra away, your nipples tightening in reaction to the temperature, to everything that’s happening in this moment, in this basement.

“Gave me the slip in the woods earlier, little dove. Very clever.” He praises you, bending your arms behind your back and then working a rope around your wrists, knotting it securely, but not too tight. “Almost made it. Think you might’ve, if you hadn’t come in ‘ere.” Your underwear rips away without pretense, without hesitation and you swallow, mouth gaping wide, teeth trying to cut over the gag. “But I know why you did. I know you wanted to get caught.” You shake your heard furiously, and he clucks his tongue in mock sympathy, soothing a warm hand up and down the outside of your thigh. “Come on dove, let me see.” He pries your legs apart, baring you wide, where you drip for him, slick with arousal, with heat. He hums something to himself; two blunt fingers stroking down your seam and then back up around your swollen clit. You buzz with his touch, muscles reacting on their own, spine curving just a little, hips twitching. He stays there, on his knees between your thighs, an immovable force, keeping you from closing up around him or blocking his touch, and his thumb rubs your clit in a circle. “What a good girl. Gettin’ all wet for me.” You shake your head, and he tips his head back and laughs. “Don’t lie. Pretty little cunt here loved bein’ hunted, eh? Look at how soaked she is. Practically dripping.” He presses a finger inside, the depth of his reach enough to punch your lungs out, body seizing up around him as he strokes upwards, thumb slicking across your clit until you're writing underneath him. You’re going to cum, you’re going to cum on this dirty fucking floor like a- “Ah, ah. You know the rules.” He rasps next to your ear. “What do you need to do?”

“Nnrgh!” you spit through the cloth, and he sighs long and loud, like he’s emptying himself of all his breath with exasperation, fingers smearing your own fluids over your face as he pulls it free. “Please.” You gasp. It’s barely a plea, something more venomous, more spiteful, but it’s enough for him, and he nods, placing the fabric back into your mouth with a pop of his wrist. You don’t want to, you don’t want to give in, let him win, let him have this, make it so easy but he's playing your body so well, expertly, making you sing for him from behind the gag, and you cannot stop the tidal wave that swims over you, your orgasm breaking you apart, smug grin scrawled across his face with pleasure. 

When he takes his cock out, dragging his briefs and pants beneath his hips, all while keeping a single hand pressed to your belly, your eyes widen. He’s huge, thick with a fat red tip, dribbles of pre cum leaking above where he’s got you splayed open. He’s going to tear your apart. 

“You put up such a good fight, dove. Made me wait so long, hid so well.” The heat of his cock sears against your thigh, and you grunt, brows furrowed, mouth dry behind the gag. Your tongue pushes against it helplessly, fingers fisted tight in the binding beneath your lower back. It’s not particularly comfortable, but the position bares your breasts to him, and keeps you off balance enough that he can manipulate you as he sees fit. “But you still lost.” The gleam in his eye is wild, wicked enough to make your toes curl, hair on the back of your neck standing straight up. Is this a man? Or a monster? Or both?

He presses inside and you see stars, you see the whites of your own eyes, see the currents of electricity in the air. It hurts, a gnawing bite that spreads to your cervix, magma spilling forward and scorching along your walls. He doesn’t slow either, doesn’t stop, just thrusts all the way through, deeper and deeper, splitting you open on his cock just how he likes. 

“Ffuumph-“ You moan, and a plate sized palm pats your face soothingly, your knees pinned back towards your ears, his chest against yours. He knows it hurts. Knows it stings, his hips stuttering with his strokes, tongue hot against your neck, mopping up the tears that leak from the corner of your eyes.

“I know, I know. Be good." He licks your cheek before taking it between his teeth, and you keen, clenching around him the heat of his cock without a thought. It’s wild, and violent, like you’re being ripped open raw, torn apart by the weight of the end of it all, the consequences of your loss, of getting caught. “Is this is what you needed? What you begged me for-“ You sputter a refusal, a wail of nonsense but there’s no denial of your body’s reaction, the way you tighten around him, the way your body goes gooey for him, cunt glossy with it.

He thumbs your clit, and you moan, half agonized, half delirious, stuffed full, neurons firing across your brain, cunt spasming in time with his thrusts. "So proud of you. Did so good, dove." Your back arches involuntarily, legs trying to snap closed, burn in your belly growing and growing to a precipice, a reckless edge that you know you’re going to be thrown over in a matter of seconds. He reads it, reads you, and plucks the gag free, swooping low to replace it with his mouth, holding your jaw steady, the kiss long and lingering. He gives you more and more, spearing you with his cock, dragging in and out of your pulsing cunt, cooing in your ear over the sound of your moans. "That's it, that's my girl. There you go, come- come on." Your muscles tense and you explode with an orgasm, body melting with a shudder. You turn to liquid, practically putty, all soft and malleable in his arms and he fucks you deep, frantically, chasing after his own release, dragging his nose into your hair with a groan of something unintelligible. You're still clenching around him, wired tight, little explosions of fireworks reverberating through your cunt as he takes his victory, notching himself to the very depth of your body and flooding you with come.

 

“Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist it. The house.” His arms cradle your limp body, nose skimming up your jaw.  

“It was a nice touch.” The words come out as a yawn, stretched out and spent, like your body. Like your mind. Just how you like it.

“You lost, dove.” He murmurs and you nod pathetically. “Want to try again?” He works his touch in the wet mess between your legs, flicking through his own come, your slick and you mewl in his palm.

“Yes."  

“I think I should get more of a head start this time.” Simon raises an eyebrow, a shadow of greed, of hunger arcing across his irises before his arm is curling around your back and pulling you into his chest. 

“Don’t I usually give you enough of a head start, love?” 

“You do, but… Si. Come on. It’s hardly fair.” 

“You’re faster than me.” Lips press tenderly against your temple. “Beat me every time in a foot race. Besides, I have something… for you. A gift.” Your head spins when you think about that word, gift. It frightens you. It electrifies you. 

“I know but… I want to build it up a little more.” Still, you have to protest a little. You want a longer chase. Need it. Crave it. 

“Alright.” He concedes, head tilting to the side, eyes half lidded. “And the prep-“ 

“Not too much.” You tip back your glass of wine, drop of red leaking from the corner of your lips, tannins blooming across your tongue as he laps it up. “I want it to hurt.” You murmur it into his mouth, rolling the rich liquid from behind your teeth until he’s working you open and it spills forward, drowning the two of you in red cherry and oak until you’re falling to the floor, and he’s kissing your breastbone with a whisper. 

“Okay, dove. Not too much.”

[sophie-frm-mars]

We've just spent 3 days on the ZAD filming a documentary and I'm really excited. If you don't know, the ZAD is a French term that means Zone a Defence and means somewhere squatted or occupied to resist the state. In particular we were on the Notre Dame des Landes ZAD, a massive area of biodiverse wetland that was squatted by farmers, ecologists, anarchists and communists for over a decade to stop the French state building a new airport near Nantes. Eventually the state gave up and the squatters won, and now they live there outside of modern capitalism taking care each other in a manner that it wouldn't be unreasonable to call real, actual communism that's happening inside the imperial core right now

We stayed at pa Rolandiere, one of many little communes within the ZAD, and home to Jay and Isa, authors of We Are Nature Defending Itself. Like many of the places we saw, there is a central common living area and lots of little cabins and caravans around for sleeping in, but la Rolandiere also has a couple of pretty unique things. They have a lighthouse, and a visitors welcome centre. Jay told me this is because they see conviviality as a certain kind of revolutionary practice. The state paints the people on the ZAD as terrifying violent criminals, so having a welcome centre for visitors to come and learn about the ZAD is a kind of direct resistance to that.

I learned a hell of a lot being there. I talked to farmers, artists, squatters, a medic, a botanist and of course, lots of communists. I also walked miles through forests and fields and got to forage some interesting mushrooms which was very special for me. I'm looking forward to seeing the documentary develop into a real thing, but sitting on the train back from Nantes to Paris right now I'm reflecting on it all and I really feel like I'm coming down off an incredible high. This morning I was weeding a row of carrots!

I keep thinking about our interview with the botanist Jasmine, who told us that on the ZAD it's really hard to be lonely, because even if you aren't around human beings, you feel the presence of all the plants and animals in a way that you don't do anywhere else, and I really think it's true. I'm going yo be thinking about the ZAD for a long, long time. I may not have been a part of their struggle but I hope that my documentary can be. We are not defending nature, we are nature defending itself 🌺🍄🦎

[baphometsss]

Starting to think that 'memories of a duet' might also be about a high approval Inquisitor.

Ofc it will never be confirmed/denied, especially since it makes little sense to be there for a low approval inquisitor and it can also be read as being about Mythal and the early days of Solas living in a body, where she forged him into a weapon. But it's interesting to have it in a room which is otherwise a shrine to the Inquisition. There is beautiful sunlight pouring in through the windows, and it isn't the dull bluish light in the rest of the Lighthouse. He has repainted the frescos from Skyhold, to remember his time as Wisdom ('seeing wholly, and being wholly seen'), with those friends he loved and betrayed. There is a chair with an Inquisition mural on it facing the harpsichord, as if waiting for the Inquisitor to sit and watch him play. A ton of cheese, because they were in Ferelden. There is an Orlesian clock, a Astrarium, and basically 0 references to Mythal. It's odd, then, that the Duet codex would be about Mythal, in a room that is otherwise devoid of her presence. It is a sanctuary, the only part of the Lighthouse that truly lives up to its name for Solas.

You have to make the statues of Fen'harel and Mythal face each other to access it. As if it's only by facing his regrets and humbling himself that he will allow himself to indulge in his 'selfish' desires to be loved and seen for who he truly is, something that Mythal and even Felassan did not give him. The rest of the Lighthouse is filled with destroyed frescos of memories he wants to forget (mainly featuring Mythal), and there is a fragment of Mythal in the Crossroads that he never goes to see. He doesn't allow himself to be selfish or he'll be tempted off his path like he was when he was with the Inquisition, and the presence of Mythal in the Lighthouse is his way of reminding himself to stay true to his purpose. Yet still, he destroys references to her; he destroys the murals because they are too painful to witness, his Pride cannot handle it.

The truth is that since gaining a body, nothing about Solas's life has been about want. He never wanted to come through, but he was asked to by a friend who wanted his help and wisdom to fight a war they would likely die fighting in. He cannot resist appeals to his true nature. He didn't want to stay and seems to have returned to the Fade at some point (the second memory where Mythal shrugs him off to return to the Evanuris appears to take place in the Fade).

He hasn't had anything he wanted since he was a spirit in the Fade. A romanced Lavellan/high approval Inquisitor, and the bonds he formed in the Inquisition, made him reflect his true purpose, and it's through his time in the Inquisition that he begins to change. By his own admission, he came very close to breaking during the Crestwood moment with a romanced Inquisitor. However, the destruction of his orb by Corypheus, and the ritual to tear down the Veil already being underway, meant that he couldn't abandon his plans. He failed in his attempt to unlock the power of his Orb.

And that's kind of the crux of his change: Pride cannot handle failure, as failure requires humility, which is its opposite. Solas in DATV is Pride is trying to prove its purpose; Mythal is used a figurehead for all his regrets, but don't forget that he destroyed a fragment of Mythal in his pursuit of tearing down the Veil, to steal her power from her. It's no longer just about the debt he feels he owes to her for leaving her to fight the Evanuris alone (i.e. leaving her to die), it's the fact that his words of wisdom were not heeded, and as a manifestation of Pride, he cannot tolerate that. It's the fact that he left to start a rebellion, and it got Mythal killed because he wasn't there when she needed his help. His Pride has convinced him that it would've made a difference, when by all accounts he was outnumbered and not powerful enough to fight them all anyway. All of these mistakes and regrets are deeply humbling. So of course he's desperate. Pride will stop at nothing to prove its purpose, like Elgar'nan's Tyranny will not stop until he achieves godhood.

To a point though, it's kind of Mythal's fault that Solas/Fen'harel happened in the first place. She shouldn't have twisted him from his purpose and used him as a weapon, she shouldn't have kept him loyal to her so she could keep the fight against the Evanuris by manipulating and branding him as her lap-dog. She shouldn't have made him forge the Wolf's Fang to kill the Titans and start the Blight. But also--she was Benevolence, who became Retribution, and that meant that she also needed to prove her purpose. Solas/Fen'harel is the collateral damage of that.

It is only by appealing to his true purpose (Wisdom), that Solas has a chance to be redeemed. The Inquisitor is the one who brings the statuette to Rook's attention. The Inquisitor is one half of the key that brings humility to Pride, to make him see that there is Wisdom in humility too, that he still has that good in him, that he is loved and cared for despite everything. It is Mythal who is the other half of that key, as she is the one makes him understand that the shame isn't just his own, but a shared burden that he must accept a proportionate amount of blame for. Mythal is the release, and the Inquisitor is the guide for his new direction. They are foils. He says that the high approval Inquisitor is why he can see a better way forward, and a romanced Lavellan is there to remind him that he is loved, that he has a purpose beyond all he has known for thousands of years, that he is not alone in his struggle.

[chaosqueery]

I am just gonna go ahead and say that I'm not playing Double Exposure. I don't really care if people say I'll be missing out or if I sound juvenile. It pisses me off that they say they are trying to honor both endings when a lot of us sacrificed an entire town so another queer character wasn't thrown away and Pricefield could be together.

Listen, I'm not gonna spend a crap ton of money to play something that mischaracterizes Chloe so bad. I understand why they wanted to focus on Max's story outside of Chloe, but they didn't have to do it the way they did. Yes, Chloe was a complicated character. She was bratty, irresponsible, and explosive. She was also sensitive, loving, and insanely loyal. You sit and think about all the stuff she did to stick by both Max and Rachel, and the idea she would just leave Max is ridiculous. Especially since it had to do with what happened in Arcadia Bay. You really expect me to believe she was able to mend fences with David, but being around Max was too hard for her? No matter what guilt she felt over everything, Max felt it too, probably even more so. The only person who could truly understand what she was going through was Max and vice versa. They knew that when they held hands at the lighthouse as they watched Arcadia Bay be destroyed. Then Chloe said "I'll always be with you".

I'm not saying that I expected Chloe to be attached to Max's hip. She didn't even have to actually show up, in person, in the game. They could have honestly just shown her through text chains, something that's easy to take out if you went the Bay route. Max and Chloe could have been having a long-distance relationship. It's even a small thing that could show how they've grown up and how they deal with long-distance relationships now that they're adults (as opposed to how they handled the friendship when Max was in Seattle). And since they couldn't have Chloe involved in the main plot, maybe Max just kept her in the dark about it. Chloe could have found something to do for a living that makes her happy, and Max doesn't want her to worry while she's away.

That's all they had to do. It didn't have to be that, exactly, but it didn't take any time to think up. The developers of Double Exposure didn't even try to think up a satisfying continuation for the people who chose the Bae ending. At this point, it's starting to feel like a punishment for making the "wrong" choice. Chloe couldn't accept Max's choice to save her, and these writers (not the original writers) can't seem to accept our choice to save her either. But I will not apologize for it. I've proudly had Bae over Bay in my bio for years now. I refuse to consider Chloe Price as expendable.

So I am just gonna stick to the comics. That's got the star-crossed sapphic love so powerful it becomes a force of nature vibe I'm looking for. I should probably just be happy I saved myself 50 bucks.

[violet-butterflies]

❥︎ yandere! Merman Part 2

❥︎ Warnings ! ☞︎︎︎ None ! ( male yandere! oc x gn reader ) Click to see part 1 and a nsfw spin-off !

You woke up in god knows where. The sun's rays were shining right on your face until you simply couldn't ignore the heat and your dry throat any longer so, you sat up.

"Where the fuck am I?"

You were on a small island surrounded by water. But, that wasn't the weirdest part. The weirdest part was how it looked like you were surrounded by mountains a few kilometers away that caged you from going out of your small area. It was as if you were in the middle of a huge crater that was mostly submerged in water. The more you observed, the more you noticed more details in your new natural cage. There were smaller islands scattered around it inside the crater. On them, there were tropical fruit trees that were bearing fruits.

You couldn't stand how dehydrated your throat felt anymore so you decided to swim over to one of the small islands with mango and coconut trees. You were pleasantly surprised at how cool the water felt and how it was a comfortable depth for you to swim in; the deepest part only reaching up to your neck. When you were almost there though you were instantly tackled into the water, causing you to lose your footing.

"Oh shit!" you shouted before being engulfed in water, hearing happy coos in your ears. A strong pair of hands kept you in place while a face excitedly nuzzles into the crook of your neck. Only when your lungs were starting to burn for air was when you were finally thrusted up from the water by the person showing you affection.

"y/nnnn!" the merman that kidnapped you said as he smiled in front of your face. He then began peppering kisses all over your face before giving you another tight hug. You quickly pushed him off before going on land and looking at the merman, mortified.

"Where did you take me?!" you shouted at him angrily while he looked at you with a sad-puppy-like expression.

"Homeee.... with meee." the merman slurred while he began trying to claw himself up from the water onto the island. On his hand was a gold necklace he got from somewhere as if trying to lure you back into his arms.

"y/nnn.... come hereee... I got you gift!" When he sees you not reacting, his eyes started to water as his lips began to pout and quiver. Letting out a big sigh, you trudged yourself back into the water as yandere!merman's eyes shone with happiness. You took the necklace and was about to put it around your neck before he snatched it back and put in on for you. As soon as it was on, he gave you another kiss as he nuzzled his whole body onto yours.

"I need to go back home... Can you bring me back?" yandere!merman looked at you with confusion.

"But but... I said that you are home... With me! Silly y/n," he said with a teasing smile as if you failed to understand something so simple.

"No... My home. The lighthouse? The cave where I saved you from?" you said, trying to jog his memory. In an instant, he looked at you with a deadly look as he began to dig his somewhat sharp nails onto your neck.

"No. Here. Home" he said with a slow warning tone before going back to his cute and cuddly personality as he continued to nuzzle himself onto you.

You sighed in defeat before standing up, causing him to reach for your ankle before you managed to go any further.

"Jeez chill dude... I just want to get a coconut I'm going dry here," you said as you pointed towards the nearby coconut trees. Only then he understood and let your ankle go.

Going back home was definitely going to be a challenging task.

A/N In case my explanation of the place was too confusing, I drew a simple drawing with my nonexistent drawing skills!

[rosenbergamot]

“The snails like you?” Gem’s bewildered voice knocks him out of his building trance. He turns to her, then looks down at the snail that’s standing at his feet. It’s beady little eyes stare up at him. One could say they’re filled with love and admiration, but Grian is not that person. 

“I… guess?” He reaches down and pats it on its shell. His hand comes back thick with slime. His nostrils flare. “I dunno, they just keep coming back to me? I haven’t really given them anything.”

Gem puts her hands on her hips, stares down at the snail. She looks just about ready to punt it across the bay. It’s just a snail, though! “These stupid things have been eating my builds ever since I got here, and look at you! They love you! What are you doing that I’m not?”

“Fishing an exorbitant amount?” He tries. 

She throws her hands in the air. The snail begins to slowly turn to her. “No, I do that too! I’ve been doing that since I got here! I swear, you’ve just got a snail spirit or something, because I haven’t known anyone else whose builds they don’t eat.” 

The snail has reached her and begins to chew on her boots. He watches as its slime dissolves the leather at her toe. He looks down at his hand and notes that his skin isn’t dissolving. 

Huh. That’s weird. 

She shakes it off and huffs, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Tell me what you did!” 

“Gem, I seriously have no idea. I-I’ve just been fishing!” The snail slides towards him and starts to crawl up his leg. There’s a slight tingle where it touches. He reaches down and pats it again. “I think maybe they just like what I’ve got going on here. Isn’t that right, snail?”

No response, just beady lifeless eyes. 

“Ugh.” Realistically, he agrees with everything she’s saying and has no qualms with her getting this angry. Because of this, he doesn’t know what to say. There really is no reason these silly things like him so much. It’s just as confusing for him as it is for her. 

The snail is now climbing up his back and staining his sweater with slime. “Next thing I know, you’re going to turn into a snail and start eating my stuff!”

He giggles. The snail sits on the top of his head like a hat. It’s ridiculously cold. “Come now, Gem, you know I wouldn’t go for your base. I’d go over there and eat Scar’s stuff.”

The tension drops from her shoulders. She rolls her eyes, smiling a bit now. “Yeah, that’s only natural. Well, don’t let me keep you from your snail shenanigans! But I swear I’ll get to the bottom of this!” She waggles her finger at him playfully. 

The snail falls off of his head as he nods. “I’ll hold you to that!”

He watches her hop across the water back to her lighthouse. His back is tingling from where the slime met his skin. It feels like he’s been dunked in mucous. Ugh. He needs to go have a shower. 

Later that night while he’s cleaning up, Grian stares into his bathroom mirror. Something has been feeling off. His back has started to itch. It feels like something is crawling underneath his skin. He wants to check his back to make sure nothing is wrong, but there’s a heavy feeling of dread that overtakes him whenever he thinks about it.

Indisputably, that must mean something is wrong. 

Still, he manages to steel his nerves and turn so he can see it in the foggy mirror. 

The first thing he notices is how red his skin has gotten. It looks like it’s raised a bit, as if a foreign object has been shoved underneath the surface and is trying to escape. He turns more fully, allowing himself to see all of his back.

The raised skin is in the shape of a spiral, bigger towards the outside. It spans the entirety of his back, sucks up his shoulder blades, dwarfs his waist. 

He flexes, noting the dull ache that comes with the movement. Curious. It looks a little bit like a snail shell. 

Huh.